u/Historical-Grade-604

I recently finally got around to watching Riverdale and am halfway through season 3. So far I’m really enjoying it, when I didn’t think i would last this long. Season one was kinda slow and not a lot happened. A lot of episode plots felt rather thin and it got a bit boring at times. It really picks up with S2 and 3. :) …..I’m loving the vibe of S3 so far. The GnG thing is cool, although I’m disappointed it’s turning out to not be so supernatural. ha ha!

The girls in this show make it. Veronica and Cheryl are my favourite characters by a considerable margin. I love how Veronica is a fashion queen and just goes around calling everyone out on their crap. Although the whole “getting involved in my mob family’s business” thing is questionable. A bit hypocritical there.

I’m a little disappointed Cheryl isn’t as catty as she is in S1, but there’s a good reason for it I guess. And Betty….well, you don’t mess with Betty. She’s savage. :O

I’m not a fan of Archie or Jughead. Jughead‘s a know it all who clearly doesn't know half of what he thinks he does. Archie is a wanker. I can’t stand how he regularly carries on like a twat, yet everyone is always saying what a great guy he is. Ugh! …….He just tried to fight someone at work because they told him to take a break, lol.

Hirem Lodge is a massive dick, but I love to hate him.

We need more Pop! ….and more Toni. :)

What happened to the other two pussy cats? They just vanished. :(

Hello. :)

I'm currently writing a few scripts for a few episodes of a supernatural investigative TV series. The main characters are a PI agency and one of their close allies is an NYPD detective. They have to undertake a dangerous mission under the city to an abandoned subway station to clear it of a nest of ghouls and I was wondering what sort of equipment our detective could conceivably get his hands on that would help.

I was thinking of having him take some SWAT gear, but then I thought he probably can’t just walk in take an MP5, some ammo, some gas masks and a tear gas gun with a load of canisters and waltz out with it. Or could he? Is it realistically possible he could obtain this stuff on the sly without anyone noticing?

I kinda want to try to make it as believable as possible. Even though it’s a fantasy sort of setting, I want to mirror the real world as much as possible outside of the supernatural/horror elements.

Thanks for any help you can offer. :)

Early this year for fun I developed an idea for a sequel Wednesday series set 7 years in the future where Wednesday is a PI with her own agency that hires Enid and Agnes. I wrote the first episode as a short story and decided I may as well keep going and recently finished episode 2. I thought some people might be interested in it and included a sample from it that's an appropriate with the group theme by sharing a scene where Enid and Wednesday go to the threatre together. I also posted the link to the whole story if anyone happens to be interested. It's got specific praise on AO3 for its character accuracy and portrayal of their dynamic. 😄

.....
Enid waved the tickets in front of Wednesday's face. “Look Wednesday! It's called 'The King In Yellow,' and it's a gothic fantasy! Just the thing we can both enjoy!” she beamed.

Wednesday's response was a non-committal grunt.

“Oh don't be a killjoy! You'll love it! Come on, I've already got the tickets!” Enid beamed, holding them out for Wednesday to inspect. “I got us some great seats!”

Wednesday studied the tickets and sighed. "Okay, fine. I'll get my coat. But if this turns out to be another poor imitation of a fairy tale romance, I'm leaving," she warned.

Enid cheered, and soon they were at the theatre weaving their way through the crowd as they made their way towards their seats, Enid cradling a huge drink and bucket of popcorn to her chest. Wednesday had to admit she was impressed with the seats Enid had purchased. They were central seats close to the stage with a good view of everything. Prime positions not easily obtained, especially for an opening night.

As the play wore on, Wednesday's sense of disillusionment grew with the passage of the minutes. The play seemed to be about a bunch of arrogant, rich aristocrats acting like arrogant, rich aristocrats. The only plot point of interest was the side plot of the character of Cassilda, a beautiful but vapid and dim-witted girl who was terrorised both physically and psychologically by many of the other characters. But even her torment grew stale and uninspired as the handsome lord who had previously claimed to love her now cruelly rejected and mocked Cassilda. Wednesday had a hand propped up under her chin on the arm of her seat, while on the other arm her fingers tapped an impatient rhythm as she gave a loud sigh of exasperation. Her initial attitude of cautious curiosity had quickly developed into bored contempt.
She heard a sniffle and a sob beside her, and she looked to see Enid in tears, utterly absorbed and enamoured with the performance.
Wednesday rolled her eyes and sighed again. The man beside her gave her a dirty sideways glance, which Wednesday returned with a glare of her own. He didn't dare comment or look her way again.

Enid blew her nose loudly as she sobbed, earning a few disproving looks from the people around them. Wednesday looked like she was ready to walk in front of traffic. It would be a less punishing and far less tedious fate. “Poor Cassilda! She's so kind and sweet to everyone, and they all just take advantage of her, yet she doesn't let that ruin her view of the world or the people in it. They don't deserve her!” Enid sobbed.

Wednesday thought if she rolled her eyes one more time they might get stuck like that, so she refrained. “Cassilda's an idiot,” she retorted. “Her embrace of the role of victim, based on this foolish notion of being a damsel in distress, is exactly what contributes to her misfortune. The fact she hasn't realised there's no handsome prince coming to save her is both unrealistic, even the greatest simpleton would've realised this by now, and narratively bankrupt. The repetitive nature of her torment loses its impact and becomes tiresome quickly,” Wednesday explained. “A fool who openly invites and plays a part in their own demise isn't worthy of pity. Cassilda is happy to live in a cage constructed of gilded thorns, merely for the fact it is gilded. Her vanity and material obsession are key to her own downfall.”

Wednesday looked at her watch. The play had seemingly been going for hours, yet it showed no sign of coming to an end any time soon. She frowned. The play had been going for an hour and a half; she still had to endure another hour of this nonsense. She decided she would take an exceedingly long toilet break and went to stand when a line from the stage stopped her in her tracks. The line made mention of a facet of the occult she recognised, a random and unusual insertion into the script. She stayed out of curiosity to see if anything came of it.

By the end of the play the two friends would have two very different experiences from their current states. The play morphed quite suddenly but seamlessly from a dark, fantasy tale of court politics and relationships into a hellish Lovecraftian nightmare. Enid gaped in terror as the play took a dark turn from mundane evils of humanity and the abuse of a dimwitted lady of the court to a spectacle of horror, grotesque, monstrosity, cruelty and evil that made satanic gore horror films seem like child's play. Enid let out a frightened whimper as she glanced at Wednesday, who was now engrossed in the play. Her reaction was one of profound religious experience.

I finally got my account approved on AO3 and to celebrate I posted the closest thing I've written thus far to a Wenclair story. I ship Wenclair, but romance stories really aren't my genre, so I don't feel inclined to try and write something that's not me. Plus there's already a plethora of those sort of stories out there so I don't think I need to add my voice to that crowd.

Instead, I wrote a story based on an idea of a Nevermore tradition and the rest just kinda wrote itself. I'd rather focus on plots revolving around their friendship and situational sort of stories putting Wednesday and Enid in unsual circumstances we've not seen them in before.

Courting Day is a proud Nevermore tradition where the male students attempt to court the girls and ask them out on a date to the big Courting Day dance that's held that evening. Enid and Wednesday find themselves the objects of more than a few guy's desires and Enid learns that sometimes being the centre of attention isn't what it's cracked up to be and she has more in common with Wednesday than she realised.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/86465871

Over the past couple of months I've been drafting a sequel series for the show that's set seven years after the current date. It's called Wednesday Addams: Preternatural Investigator and is about Wednesday and her PI agency where she, Enid, Agnes and a new character Abby work at investigating and combatting the supernatural. I've got plots for about 120 episodes in mind and recently decided to start writing them as fan-fict stories. This one is a sample from the start of an episode that sets the plot for that episode:

The group is exploring some abandoned apartment that’s full of magical and supernatural paraphernalia when Enid picks up some trippy looking doohickey and studies it. Wednesday upon seeing her tries to take it.

“Enid! Don’t touch that!” she cried, grabbing the object, but Enid wasn't having any of it. “No way! I saw it first, get your own!” she exclaimed as she and Wednesday engaged in a tug of war over it. “Let it go!” Wednesday snapped. “You don’t know what it is. It could be dangerous!”

“I found it first!” Enid insisted, unwilling to surrender her prize.

“You’re acting like a child!” Wednesday chastised her, when WHOOSH! a blinding white light fills the room. When it clears Agnes and Abby are standing wide eyed in shock staring at Enid and Wednesday. Then the dam broke, Agnes hid a smile behind her hand and started giggling as Abby choked back laughter as Enid and Wednesday, look fine, but very different…….they’re now 5 years old.

Little Wednesday glared in fury at little Enid. “Now look at what you’ve done, you stupid head!” she cried.

“Me!” Little Enid protested. “You’re the one that tried to take it off me. Then said, you’re acting like a child, before poof!…….this is all your fault!” she screamed. Growling low in her throat she suddenly hurled herself at Wednesday who’s eyes went wide in shock before she was crash tackled to the ground and the two of them began wrestling and fighting.

Agnes and Abby watched in amusement before Abby shouted “Enough!” Both girls freeze. Wednesday with a handful of Enid’s blonde hair, pulling it roughly and Enid with her teeth clamped down on Wednesday’s arm.

“Nothing will be achieved by fighting, girls,” Abby said calmly. “Now apologise and be nice.”

In response the two girls stared at her for several seconds, then resumed their battle in earnest.

Abby groaned and sighed in frustration as Agnes titled her head and said. “Hhmmm….maybe we should just let them go at it. They’ll run out of steam eventually.”

“No,” Abby said with a shake of her head. “We’ve got to stop them before someone gets seriously hurt and loses an eye or something. You grab Enid and I’ll get Wednesday,” she said as the two of them moved to pry the fighting children apart.

Wednesday, even at that age, was small for her age and subdued without too much difficulty. Wednesday glared at Abby with a very unmistakable Wednesday stare, and crossed her arms as she pouted.

Agnes fought to control the thrashing and growling Enid. “Ow!” Agnes cried, releasing the small blonde child who snarled at her like a rabid werewolf pup. “She bit me!” Agnes exclaimed.

This is a very short story I wrote as a slice of life moment between Wednesday and Enid, showing them just existing in the same space together. Something so simple, yet the show often overlooks these invaluable character moments.

Wednesday lay reading on her bed; enjoying the peace and quiet of the evening when a sudden grating sawing sound from across the room violated her ear drums.

Shick! Shick! Shick!

She frowned in annoyance and tried to ignore it. It continued unabated and she found she kept losing her spot, no matter how many times she tried; the sound being an unwelcome distraction that forced its way into her sphere of awareness. She put the book down and glared across the room to locate the source of the irritation.

Enid sat on her bed reading some gossip nonsense on her blog while she filed her claws.

Shick! Shick! Shick!

Wednesday's eyes narrowed as her gaze focused on the filing, the sound seeming to get even louder and more intense as she did so.

Enid continued oblivious.

With a sigh Wednesday got up and took a seat at her desk and decided to do some writing. She began banging away at the keys of the type writer in earnest her focus razor sharp and consumed by her work. It was the only thing that she could focus on 100% and have nothing distract her when she was in the zone.

Click, clack! Click, clack! Click clack!

The rattle of the keys permeated through the room like a train riding over the tracks as it became impossibly loud and Enid found she couldn't ignore it. She lost her place on the blog once, twice, three times before she sighed and gave up and focused on filing her claws.

A new sound sent a shiver of discomfort up Wednesday's spine, bursting through even the intense focus of concentration she had on her writing which required 100% focus and no room for mistakes.

Squish, squash, squish! ....Pop! Squish, squash squish!...Pop!

The last part being like an explosion in the room as Wednesday grit her teeth in frustration. She looked over her shoulder to see what on earth Enid was doing and saw she was now chewing gum and blowing bubbles that exploded with the infuriating pop. She glared at her roommate, a bubbling rage building inside of her that threatened to spill over. She turned back to her work and began typing away furiously once more, her anger giving her focus as she was consumed by the process of creating.

….….Pop! bang!

A sudden double pop made her flinch and she hit the wrong key, making a typo. Wednesday leapt to her feet, knocking her chair over as she span around and snapped. "Enid! Will you cease that infernal racket!"

Enid gaped in surprise, her expression quickly changing to one of annoyance. "My racket? My racket?" She cried, jumping to her feet. "You're the one who's making the racket. Typing furiously. It's like being in the room with someone firing a machine gun!" she retorted.

Wednesday inhaled in anger and brought herself up to her full, albeit unimpressive height. "You dare call my creative process a racket!" she snapped back. "I'm creating an intricate piece of literature, a work of art. You're gossiping, filing your claws as loudly as possible and making that aggravating chewing sound. Made all the more irritating with the rhythmic pop of banality," she cried, her eyes blazing with anger as the two of them engaged in a stand off.

Then to her surprise, Enid began to giggle. "Tee hee hee!" Enid placed a hand over her mouth to muffle the laughter as her shoulders shook and she winced and giggled into her hand.

Wednesday frowned. "What's so funny?"

"We are," Enid replied. "This is ridiculous," she said, then gave up and laughed openly, her body vibrating with glee as she burst into a fresh bout of laughter.

It dawned upon Wednesday that she was correct and the faint hint of a smile curled on her lips before she span away to hide it and righted her chair before sitting down once more.

"I'm sorry," Enid said. "I'll try to be quieter and less annoying."

Wednesday didn't look back, but gave a curt nod. "Acceptable."

When she said nothing more Enid cleared her throat.

Wednesday rolled her eyes, and sighed. "My outburst was inappropriate."

Enid giggled from behind her. "Apology accepted."