#HOYLSHTITITT

[streaminn]

I was going to write this in Wednesday's POV, but she got to have 'Her scars are pink, Her eyes are blue' so Enid gets this one :)

(Also, I love you noticing that the pink in her hair and scars would leave and her eyes would remain. 'Her scars are pink' was just meant to be something representing Enid's colorful personality and brightness, but I don't think 'Her hair and scars and bedspread and dresses are pink, Her eyes are blue' would've hit the same. But I know what you meant. Maybe I could've fit it in as a one liner, like the "The scars would be pink, Her eyes would still be blue." I dunno.

Who knows, maybe someone could make it work.

Also, I adore reading your thoughts and reactions to my writing. It's nice to scream words of love and caring relationships into the void and have it scream praise back.)

Enid's never liked black.

That's dramatic, but when isn't she? She doesn't mind black, it can complement another color greatly! But it's so. Dull. Dead. Devoid of fun and pep and springiness.

She doesn't have a favorite color. They're all too pretty and expressive to pick just one.

Green is healing and quiet and gentleness. It's the quiet of the forest after a big storm, before the water has evaporated and restarted the water cycle. It's wet blades of grass and cold leaves.

Teal, viridian, forest.

Red is bright and loud and confident. It's here and makes it everyone else's problem and never for a minute thinks it should change itself for someone else.

Pink, maroon, crimson.

Blue is sweet and shy and humble and mysterious. Aware of it's faults and accepting of them but not yielding to them, not bowing nor wallowing in them. Forgiving and listening.

Aqua, cobalt, cerulean.

Yellow is snappy, sharp and quick and bouncy. Unforgiving in itself and yet so giving. Yellow is burning sun and relaxing dawn.

Aureolin, gold, canary.

Every color has a value. A meaning, a reason.

Except black.

Black is... sad. Dark, rainy clouds and thundering skies and decay and death and nightmares. Where's the fun? The light, the pizazz, the razzle dazzle? It's unforgiving and loud and quiet and shy and sharp and quick.

Enid Sinclair dislikes black.

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Wednesday Addams is a weird roommate. That's not wrong nor mean.

She's weird as shit.

She's dark and a nightmare to be around. Quick-witted and sharp-tongued and dressed in too much black.

She's morbid, too. Obsessed with death and decay and rot and hate and sorrow.

Enid doesn't get it. Why would someone want to be sad? Angry? Mad?

It's so weird. She acts like a little pink would kill her. Like a lil' splash of gold on the cuffs of her blazer out cause her some great sickness!

At least she has some white on, other Enid fears she be better at stealth and scaring the fuck out of people.

Her freckles are dark against the pale of her nose and cheeks.

(Enid's counted them when Wednesday fell asleep at her desk once.)

(93.)

Her eyes are dark.

(So, so dark. Enid's looked so far in her eyes she knows they're gorgeously dark brown, not true black. There's flakes of gold in them. Enid wants to put gold on her cuffs and gold eyeshadow on Wednesday and watch it bring out the perfectly dark brown of her eyes.)

Her hair is dark.

(Enid wants to braid and style and touch it.)

Enid Sinclair is confused by black.

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They made it to 2nd year, against whatever gods try to off them.

Enid killed Tyler.

She finds it brings her some morbid comfort. She's safe. Thing is safe. Her friends are safe.

Wednesday is safe.

Enid no longer knows how to feel about black.

Black was what she felt when she wolfed out. Decay and death and nightmares.

Unforgiving and loud and quiet and shy and sharp and quick.

Black was darkness of the crypt and the forest.

Black was what she saw when her eyes were to sensitive to look and use after wolfing out because apparently turning means kicking those senses into high gear for a bit and mom never told her because she was so confident that Enid would never wolf out and fuck why can't she just be supported by her for once-

Black is almost Wednesday's eyes and was her clothing and hair and freckles and hair and scent (dark black coffee, dark black fresh ink, dark black belladonna berries) and Wednesday's dark black personality and-

Black is a safe color.

Safe.

She didn't think she'd feel so safe around the color of death.

Enid learns Wednesday does have color in her wardrobe, she just hides it.

There's the green in the expensive gems in her earrings.

Healing and quiet and gentle.

Viridian.

She owns this really nice red jacket. It makes her exude this warmth that Enid wants to burrow into. It makes her seem more... refined. Classy. Confident.

Maroon.

She has a dagger with a beautiful blue crystal in. Enid asked what it was- Wednesday gave her an ominous "wouldn't you like to know?" Sweet and mysterious. She doesn't wallow in her faults and doesn't yield to them. When Enid breaks down in their dorm, speaks of the way her mother treats her and how she wishes she could be better for some approval for once- Wednesday listens. She listens and forgives her when she snaps. She listens and she forgives.

Aqua.

Wednesday is snappy and sharp and quick. She doesn't apologize for her existence and when Enid quietly requests affection too close and intimate for two normal friends, she gives it.

Gold.

There's black around them all, though. And that's confusing.

Her gems are surrounded by a black metal casing, hidden in dark hair.

The inside of her maroon jacket is solid black. Well worn.

The dagger has the most exquisite obsidian black handle, the sheath it sits in is black.

Enid was incorrect and correct all at once.

Wednesday's eyes are a perfect almost-black brown.

When the lights shift and hit just right, they're all black charcoal. Waiting for a spark.

The gold in her eyes are hidden and obfuscated by black.

Sometimes by an almost-black brown.

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"Willa?"

"Yes?"

"What's your favorite color?"

"Pink and blue. What's yours?"

She stare at black hair in dark lighting, black clothing hidden in black sheets and throw blankets and quilts.

Black-brown eyes with little sprinkles of gold and love and warmth.

"Black."

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It's silly to not have a favorite color. There's something good in them all.

There's bad in all of them.

Pick what you like most. Simple.

Enid Sinclair has a favorite color.

Enid Sinclair loves black.

-Writer Anon.

God, just JAJWUAKFUAIDKDND

I don't have a reaction image bc I don't download them but sometimes having an image helps alot so have this

IT'S SO GOOD FUCKKK

WE LOVE ENID ACCEPTING HER LOVE FOR BLACK.

Black used to be empty, of nothing except a placeholder for darkness and the bugs that hide in it. It's the creak of a rusty door in deep basement, the howl of the wind in a damp forest.

Now it's filled with the memory of a person. Black is the color that filled Enid's vision that night she wolf's out. Black is the clothes her love wears as she hugs the person most deer to her. Black is the blanket thrown over them as the moon lights the sky.

BLACK IS FUCKING AMAZING AND IDK HOW TO END IT SO JUST HAVE THAT

Imma die, this is so cute

I'm happy for them

And happy for Enid too, bc im writing her time in jail and it didn't go good at all 💀 so like, warning for Enid going insane ig