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To everyone who held each other through the stress, the refreshing, and the full emotional breakdown. I wouldn't have survived this with any other fandom. We didn't just lose a website, we briefly lost our escape, the place that makes the hard days a little easier 😂🫂

As an author, I'm grateful on behalf of all of us.

I didn't really get involved in the whole discussion about whether it was fair or not for people to read our fanfics on alternative sites (although I did see some people reading mine), because I hadn't really made up my mind about it

I heard so many readers saying they would come back to AO3 and leave comments once it was available again, and to my surprise, that actually happened to me. So I really hope more authors get to experience the same thing.

Thank you, readers. It means a lot to know you enjoyed a fic enough to come back to AO3 just to leave a comment. That genuinely matters to us.

And one more thing: if you missed a particular author or fic during the shutdown, go leave them a comment. It's such a lovely thing to do.

Personally, I can't wait to log back in and tell sheg0 she's a legend lol

I repeat AO3 is up!

Apologies in advance, this may be an odd thing to specifically post about. Maybe I've just never noticed, but I feel like I'm suddenly seeing the use of " There she is " in every ( Specifically ) Wenclair fic I've been reading lately. Was this line in the show and I'm just forgetting?

Don't mean this as a negative and I get it's probably just a commonly used due to how dialogue with Wednesday is done & it is a line that works.

It's just one of those once you notice it, you can't unsee it kind of things.

There are other phrases and lines that pop up regularly in Wednesday Fics, but most are because their from the show. But as said, this one may have just been a blindspot for me all this time.

Okay so I wanted to know your hopes for wenclair in s3 or the seasons that will come after here. Tell me your theories. We know that the cast and writers denied a body swap and ot happened. We know they hired a executive writing editor that has worked with and on gay plots. We know the stares at the lips lf wednesday and enod, and the romantic subtext were planned, otherwise they wouldve just reshot the shoots bc its pretty obvious. For anyone hating wyler, it wont happen, im almost 98% sure. Weyler wont sell, speaking that around 80% of the fandom are wenclair shippers, netflix wants money and they know introducing wyler will decrease views (since most views are gotten thru reviews) and it in general goes against the addams family code. I think they will let wednesday single this season HOWEVER they want money right, they know wenclair fans will replay every wenclair episode right, so they dont wanna loose the ship or fandom, the producers will add obvious romantic subtext imo, Like OBVIOUS, hands brushing, obvious lingering glances or stuttering. Just a bit here and there to keep our fandom alive, I think wenclair will be closer than ever in this season tbh. There is for sure a possibility for a kiss at the end of the season, i wish, but chances are low (never 0), I think they are cowards abd wont risk it BUT i think they might do a kiss scene at the end of wednesday like the last season because they wont have anything to lose.

https://x.com/judehallow/status/2121488718859235803/photo/1?a=Gzxl74bYBjM2jgvTuws&s=19

Wednesday was not amused (she lied)

I’m absolutely HOOKED on The Body. I love how openly it explores lesbian themes of repression, Catholic guilt, unrequited love, and sexual frustration. At the same time, I can’t help feeling a little envious of how skilled the writers and producers are. The fact that these themes are portrayed so overtly rather than buried in subtext proves that it’s not Netflix refusing to greenlight sapphic-driven shows. The choice lies with the writers. So if, unfortunately, Wenclair never becomes canon, or their love is only ever addressed through subtext, I’ll know that was the writers’ decision, not the network’s.

NOTE: click on the image because it cropped him out💀💀💀

i ALWAYS preferred this guy😭😭😭😭 millar is such terrible vibes, gough is always roped in with him but it’s always millar saying the quotes and being pro-wyler . gough is always caught liking wenclair stuff

https://x.com/yuulianski/status/1593342222581190657/photo/3?a=rLdQ710111_YPQxtKgM&s=19

https://x.com/potato_bun0308/status/2121695672181358968?a=ePi-GGXaH7nwqCxjUTA&s=19

https://x.com/cigarroqx/status/1601115715578527745?a=Sh9SYycAnDxzD2FMtfg&s=19

https://x.com/Tanukiii_pyon15/status/2121384748622766438/photo/18?a=zewZgSyezDjqs-2TXaI&s=19

https://x.com/petetasama43336/status/2121290059274133913?a=_jEAZbGxG_QYEQX59Bw&s=19

Chapter 1: The Architecture of Bleed and Bloom

The razor-wire division of Room 49 remained a masterclass in psychological warfare. To the left, a monochrome expanse of obsidian, ash, and the damp, copper tang of dried specimens. To the right, an aggressively cheerful explosion of neon pink, faux-fur pillows, and LED fairy lights that hummed with a low, insidious frequency.

Wednesday Addams sat rigidly at her desk, the rhythmic, staccato violence of her Olivetti typewriter slicing through the ambient noise of Nevermore Academy. Clack-clack. Ding. Each keystroke felt like a small, satisfying execution.

She was currently describing the precise chemical composition of hemlock poisoning in her protagonist’s left atrium when a soft, unmistakable hiss broke her concentration.

Wednesday’s fingers froze over the metal keys. Her obsidian eyes shifted slowly toward the other side of the room.

Enid Sinclair was sitting cross-legged on her pastel pink duvet, a heavy, oversized knit sweater swallowing her hands. Her knees were pulled up to her chest, and she was staring intently at her right wrist, biting down hard on her lower lip. A faint, metallic scent—sharper and more feral than usual—drifted across the room, cutting cleanly through the synthetic aroma of Enid’s coconut-scented body spray.

"If you are bleeding out on the Persian rug, Sinclair, I expect you to move your corpse past the threshold before expiration," Wednesday said, her voice a flat, melodic drone that lacked any genuine malice. "I refuse to be implicated in a biohazard violation that requires industrial-strength bleach."

Enid flinched, pulling her sleeve down faster than a startled rabbit dodging a hawk. A forced, slightly strained grin stretched across her face, though her eyes remained wide and glassy with suppressed pain.

"Oh! Hey, Willa. Didn't realize my typing was bothering you," Enid chirped, though her voice lacked its usual morning-announcer vibrancy. "Just... you know, clumsy werewolf stuff. St stubbed my wrist on the doorframe. Totally fine. Nothing to see here, move along, citizen."

Wednesday rose from her chair with the silent, predatory grace of a stalking panther. She crossed the invisible border of the room—a transgression she rarely permitted herself—and stood before Enid’s bed.

"Your pulse is erratic. Your body temperature is elevated by at least four degrees Fahrenheit," Wednesday stated, her gaze dropping to the edge of the blue-and-yellow striped sleeve where a dark, sluggish stain was slowly blooming through the wool. "And you smell like scorched iron. That is not a stubbed wrist. You tore open the sutures from Tuesday’s full moon transformation."

Enid shrunk back against her wall of stuffed animals, her shoulders curling inward. The colorful bravado she usually wore like impenetrable armor seemed to crack, leaving behind something painfully raw and small.

"It's just healing slow, okay? The pack medicine isn't... whatever. It's fine," Enid muttered, looking down at her lap. "You don't have to look at me like I'm a particularly annoying specimen in your biology jar."

Wednesday did not step back. Instead, she reached out with clinical precision, her long, cold fingers gripping the cuff of Enid’s sweater. For a microsecond, Enid’s breath hitched, her muscles tensing as if she expected a strike—or worse, pity.

Instead, Wednesday simply rolled the fabric back with surgical gentleness.

Revealed against Enid’s pale skin was a jagged, angry tear across her inner wrist, where silver-infused scar tissue had failed to knit properly under the stress of her recent training. It was an ugly, inflamed wound—one that would leave a permanent mark if left untended.

Wednesday’s expression remained an unreadable mask of stoic neutrality, but a faint, almost imperceptible twitch betrayed the tight coil of tension in her jaw.

"You are an amateur, Enid," Wednesday murmured, though the usual bite was missing from her tone, replaced by a strange, heavy quiet. "Your healing factor is being choked by your own stubborn refusal to rest."

"Well, sorry I can't all be cold, unfeeling marble like you," Enid retorted, though there was no heat in it, only exhaustion. She tried to pull her arm back, but Wednesday’s grip, though slender, was an unyielding vice.

"Do not move," Wednesday commanded softly.

Without another word, Wednesday turned on her heel, marched back to her side of the room, and retrieved her black leather medical kit—a relic of her grandmother’s unorthodox apothecary.

When she returned, she sat down on the edge of Enid’s mattress—a concession to proximity that made the air between them feel suddenly thick, charged, and dangerously fragile. With steady, unhurried hands, Wednesday began to clean the wound with a stinging antiseptic, watching Enid's face for any sign of flinching.

Enid didn't make a sound, but her eyes locked onto Wednesday’s profile—the sharp curve of her nose, the dark fall of braids, the absolute, unwavering focus she was giving to something as mundane as a torn ligament.

"Why do you always do that?" Enid whispered into the quiet space of the room, the fairy lights casting soft, distorted shadows across their faces.

"Do what?" Wednesday asked, not looking up as she applied a fresh, sterile bandage with practiced efficiency.

"Care," Enid said simply. "Even when you act like you despise every living molecule in this school."

Wednesday’s fingers paused for a fraction of a second against Enid’s pulse point. The silence stretched, heavy with everything left unsaid, before Wednesday tied off the gauze with a sharp, neat knot.

"I do not care," Wednesday said, her voice dropping to a low, deliberate register as she finally raised her eyes to meet Enid’s luminous blue ones. "I merely find the prospect of replacing an adequate roommate highly inconvenient."

Enid let out a breath that sounded suspiciously like a laugh, a soft, genuine smile breaking through the exhaustion. "Right. Obviously. Thanks, Willa."

Wednesday withdrew her hand, the sudden loss of contact leaving a phantom chill in the warm air between them. She stood up, smoothing down the front of her black uniform, her mask firmly back in place—though the air in Room 49 had irrevocably shifted, stretching the distance between them just a fraction closer to breaking.

I just read a brilliant fic with jealous enid and i wanted to know if anyone had any that they thought were great. Its harder looking for fics during the great shutdown but any suggestions would be greatly appreciated.

ARTIST: @cultsaotome