#anyways. excommunication sweep

[gideonisms]

I don't think John gets harrow, really at all. I think he is constantly misjudging her and her level of attachment to him. She's been indoctrinated to love him but she's literally always put her unhinged lesbian crushes ahead of him in her loyalties. She tried to release the girl she thought could kill him age 11. She lobotomized herself out of being useful to him because she thought he was wrong that she couldn't do anything to save gideon. She hates the food he gives her and she finds his interpersonal relationships distasteful. She's been trained to put him first but she doesn't actually like this guy. Imo

[hexpea]

Ch. 2 - A Mother's Mission

You weren't born with any abilities, but your father was, now, a former sorcerer. The career choice nearly led to his death many times and put a strain on your family's relationship, but now it was going to lead you into your new life where you could properly care for your daughter.

Your mother had sent you the information for the caregiver position. It was just as she had said it was. The child, who you learned was named Megumi and carried their mother's surname of Fushiguro, was potentially born with the Ten Shadows technique, one of the most valuable techniques within the Zenin clan. The baby's mother did, in fact, die in childbirth and with his father excommunicated from the clan from his record of violence he was restricted from seeing his child. Because of all of this mess, the Zenin family needed a designated caregiver. And that caregiver would be handsomely compensated for doing so.

The only downside to the position was that it was for a live-in caregiver. Despite the fact that you'd have to leave Tsumiki behind, you figured that with the compensation from the gig, you could save up enough to establish yourself and prepare for the legal fees that came with obtaining full custody. You were at least grateful that your husband wasn't an overly violent man, that the situation you had faced was one-off, you knew Tsumiki would be safe for the time being. It was all for her benefit, you had to remind yourself. You would get your justice.

You spent the rest of your week packing a few bags of most of your things. Masaru primarily gave you the silent treatment while you prepared. You figured his mind was elsewhere anyways, your absence something beneficial for him. It hurt to think about, but you tried your best to convince yourself that you couldn't care less. 

When the day for you to leave finally came, you shared a heartfelt, tear-filled goodbye with Tsumiki. She was all giggles and smiles in her father's arms, she had no idea what was going on. You kept her smile in your mind as you departed for the train station with your two overly-stuffed suitcases. 

When you arrived at the Zenin estate, located on the other side of Tokyo's countryside, your bags were taken by two attendants while a third led you toward the main hall. Your heart began to pound with nerves, already knowing the type of man Naobito could be. 

The attendant leading you to the main hall opened the large screen door. There in front of you sat Naobito Zenin, the head of the clan, on a zabuton with his brother you knew as Ougi and a third, bulky and hairy looking man standing on either side of him. You immediately bowed once you were presented in front of them, trying your best to put on a respectful façade. 

"Welcome," Naobito's aged voice cracked out almost sinisterly. "You must be the one here for the caregiver position," he maintained serious eye contact. It almost made you want to dart out from the room, but, instead, you gently nodded. "Very well," he took in a deep breath with a small, crooked smile. "I am Naobito Zenin, current head of this clan," he introduced, "and this is my brother Ougi and my nephew Jinichi," he motioned to each of the men respectively. You gave another light bow to each as they stood with a sense of big-headed pride. "Let's begin the interview, shall we?" 

The questions began like rapid fire. They kept you on your toes, but you managed to sweep each one. You had to hide your own sense of pride in parenting knowledge. They also asked you about your past and associations within the jujutsu community. Those made you more nervous than the questions regarding job duties, even with nothing to hide! You'd be lying if you said you weren't sweating thanks to Naobito's short-temperament and heavy skepticism. He obviously wanted someone completely neutral with very little attachment to any of the major clans. The less you knew, the better. 

Naobito suddenly paused as the primary questions came to a close. He looked up at you seriously for a moment and then back down at the pages in his lap. "And you have a child of your own, do you not?" He held the pages of your information far from his face, attempting to read through a poor set of reader glasses as if he couldn't afford better ones. 

"I do," you answered simply, standing as straight as you could with a low hanging, humble head. "She is currently living with her father."

"I see," he twiddled the hair of his thin, straight mustache between his fingers. "So you do have hands-on experience?" You kept silent, knowing that this wasn't necessarily a question. "Then we shouldn't have a problem keeping you in our company to care for Megumi."

Your heart jumped for joy as you contained your excitement. Step one of getting on the right track was accomplished! 

"The baby is only three months old," Naobito explained with a hint of exasperation in his voice. "He is a quiet child to my understanding from the current attendants who have been caring for him." 

A boy?! You thought for sure the baby was a girl from their namesake. You tried to shrug off your confusion as Naobito continued explaining. 

"The primary threat to the boy's health would be his own father and my other nephew, Jinichi's brother, Toji, who now goes by the surname Fushiguro. It is his deceased wife's name and also the surname of Megumi," Naobito sounded almost irritated with this, as if he'd lost a battle he didn't sign up for.

As he spoke, he held up a head shot of Toji and kept a serious look on his face. The man in the photo looked absolutely sinister and cold, a dark figure with a scar along his lips. The gaze of the photo was so ice cold you swore you could feel it. "If you catch any glimpse of this man, you are to tell an attendant or one of the clan immediately. We will try to keep an extra attendant with you at all times, however, there will come times where you will be alone. If anything happens to the child, there will be consequences. That is, if Toji doesn't just take care of you himself," he smirked knowingly. Your mouth went dry with nerves as Naobito concluded. You were too far in to back out at that point.

They weren't giving you much of a choice, and you had very little knowledge in self-defense – as if that could help you against a man like that. And the Zenin clan was known to make people...disappear. But you had to go through with it, there were no other options. Saying this became your mantra, your way to push through an already cruel world. You gathered up as much bravery as you could. 

"You will be caring for Megumi at all times. If, at any time, you need to be away from him you are to establish a line of communication and ensure he is in the care of an attendant." He read the rules as if they were a verbal contract, his voice strict and unwavering.  "You should not be away from Megumi for longer than five hours per week. If you are, you will be subject to termination," he drew out that last word as if it were some kind of threat. "But I can assure you, you will be heavily compensated for your time should your work be of quality," he grinned in what could almost be described as an malevolent kind of way, as if he knew what he was asking for was unreasonable. "Do you accept these terms?"

You paused for a single moment, backtracking your thoughts, thinking if there were any other solutions. You couldn't find any. "I accept," you bowed deeply and humbly. 

"Wonderful," the man's smile continued as he motioned for a few attendants. They came forward and gave a small bow to you, keeping their heads low in the presence of the Zenin leader.

"Please, miss, come with us. We will give you a tour of the grounds and introduce you to Master Fushiguro," the attendant in the middle smiled cheerfully and motioned you to follow. You did as you were told with no second thoughts.

The Zenin property was much more vast than you had imagined, and were told. The main building itself, though large, was only a portion of the complete property. Most of the extended Zenin family members lived in smaller, still sizable homes on the property with the main building obviously housing the family head and his close relatives.

The final part of your extensive tour of the grounds was the final wing in the main building, what would be considered baby Megumi's place of living. Though an influential little one, it seemed as though Naobito had ostracized him to the farthest part of the building, a small corner with just his nursery, a restroom, and two attendants' chambers – one of them to be yours. 

Based on your experience of familial trauma, Megumi's forced distance was likely due to his father's behavior and banishment. That kind of trauma was unfortunately something you and the boy had in common; things always hadn't been smooth sailing between you and your parents, especially in this line of work. Perhaps having a similar experience would make raising him a bit easier. Time could only tell, but hopefully not too much time. 

You and the attendants giving your tour rounded the final corner to where Megumi's room was. Your heart fluttered with bittersweet excitement. You missed your own little one so incredibly much, hoping with all of your might that her father was keeping her safe and caring for her properly. But being around another little one to do a job that you felt born to do gave you at least an ounce of happiness back. 

"Hello, ma'am," a young, female attendant smiled from the armchair she sat in. A baby with thick, pitch black hair that darted in all directions, almost as if he had bedhead, was cradled quietly in her arms. "This is Megumi," she introduced, carefully coming to a stand. Megumi seemed pleasantly satisfied sucking on the ear of a small, stuffed elephant he carried. 

You were nearly too stunned to speak as she brought him closer to you. You choked back a stray tear or two as she gently placed him in your arms. Right away, he made you think of Tsumiki at that age: the chubby, little cheeks and bright, wandering eyes. You gave a small smile and whispered, "hello, sweet boy." 

[bishop-percival]

@eyeballcommander

(prev) So that reclusive religious nut wasn’t completely helpless in hand-to-hand combat, huh? Good to know. Good to know… Or maybe he was just cocky. Like Peepers couldn’t dodge that slow, shoddy punch anyways. Once his horrible caffeine concoction was completely gone he handed it back to Teddy. “Can’t wait to sweep the floor with you!” Then he directly looked Percy in the eye, wearing his best shit-eating grin, as he pulled Walters forward by the shoulder. He had dug in his heels at first before resigning. “See? He’s more loyal to me than you!” “Do you want to get me excommunicated!?” …In his drowsiness Peepers had been so focused on one-upping Bishop Percival that he almost blew Walter’s cover. He maintained his grip for a few seconds— long enough for him to mutter a few curses under his breath as he struggled to pry his boss’s hand off— before letting him slink into the nearest intersecting hallway. “All of them are in the end!” Peepers ignored Hater’s scoff. Or… stifled laughter? Whatever. He tried to look back at the group and put on his best innocent face as he turned his attention to him instead. “Can you please let me go so I can see if I can recognize any of my soldiers? I wasn’t actually trying to hurt him anyways…” Hmmmmmm…. Which is funnier…. Enabling him or letting him do nothing more than run his mouth? After a long pause Hater preemptively scuffed the tiny pope too. “Don’t care. Get ready for the pit.”

Percival did nothing but clench his fists and silently sneer at the Commander’s continued taunts. He was SO headache inducing! Percy breathed a sigh of relief when Hater finally decided to get going to the pit.

Some of the Glornists, however, weren’t about to settle for the fact that that annoying commander spoke for them. Amy, a soldier yet devoted acolyte, spoke up.

“Spill his guts Per-cy!!!”

The deacon Autumn smiled and joined in. “Tear him limb from limb, Your Excellency!”

Even though they'd thinned out a bit, the Glornist crowd made some noise for their beloved bishop by cheering and continuing their own taunts. Even some of the random watchdogs who started straggling along joined in purely because of the hype.

D’aww. Percy did appreciate the ego boost. 

[avelera]

Whenever I see those posts that say your ancestors would be so amazed at you for having easy access to spices, and food, and all the technological wonders of our day, and so proud of you for your education, I always appreciate them for how they remind people to not only appreciate the wonders of our time but also to see them as the result of so much work by our ancestors to get us here. Even the societal woes we deal with today are often the unintended consequences of the goals of our ancestors to make the world better for their descendants, or are consequences that were impossible to predict back when the goal was to solve problems like starvation, exposure, or scarcity.

H O W E V E R, because I'm also the ultimate anti-nostalgia history pedant, I always get stuck on these anecdotes thinking, "Ok, but what would they be HORRIFIED about? What would they denounce us for? What would they look at and simply not understand how it's gone so very wrong? What would be dystopian for our ancestors?"

In my opinion? The precipitous decline of religion as central to daily life.

(By the way, I don't just mean the things we think of as dystopian in our society. Ancestors who lived in a world with child labor and slavery aren't going to be horrified by the woes of modern capitalism the way young online people today hope they would be, or if they are, it might be for reasons you'd never think of, like how few people are self-employed, though of course, everything is subjective based on the demographic of the historical person we're imagining. Honestly, one of the things they might find horrifying is the speed of our communication, and how we're always at the beck and call of others because of the cell phone in our pocket pounding us with messages and notifications all day without rest, but I digress.)

Now, I only speak to my own experience here, and I live in a part of the US with the highest level of atheism, and consider myself an atheist by any standard that matters and so I mostly see this as a good thing even as I try to see through my ancestor's eyes as to why it wouldn't be to them, but I have to say the one thing that I never see these rapturous posts about how we are the envy of our ancestors mention is religion.

Even relatively devout Christians today (Anglosphere, Western, etc, I don't speak for the world) who go to church every Sundays are practically heathens by Medieval standards, where society was built around attending church multiple times per day, including at midnight. Where being pious and devout was considered a desirable virtues in a marriageable woman. Where the church was the center of the town and the center of public life. Where the Pope could excommunicate a king and cause a revolt from that king's people with that leverage, because excommunicating the king meant excommunicating the whole country and the people went ballistic at the fact they were doomed to Hell (supposedly) because of their ruler's choices. A society where men traveled to the Holy Land because their souls were guaranteed salvation if they did and because they devoutly believed in that cause, and who would walk on their knees an equal number of steps to that journey if they could not make it for real.

I can't help but think these ancestors would look at secular life, even with all its technological wonders and marvels of health and convenience and think, "Was it worth it? If they're all bound for Hell as a result?" and for many the answer might actually be no!

Anyway, it's just a thought exercise. One I engage with whenever I hear a sweeping argument that seems to have no counter to it, that of course things are always getting better with time. There are no doubt many, many things our ancestors took for granted that we'd find amazing too, or that they'd look at with us and see as a huge step down compared to their life. On the other hand, one also can't understate how huge it is that we've basically eliminated child mortality, at least in the US, compared to only a century ago, or that huge societal famines are basically nonexistent (even if nutrition is another matter). There's plenty to recommend us, but there are also values I think that get lost in this discussion that as we travel further from them, become almost alien to us.

[wendimydarling]

Cover the Mirrors

Summary: Amber is earning a masters degree in mythology and folklore; when a handsome stranger sweeps her off her feet, she’s left wondering how, and struggles to keep up with his lifestyle.

Pairing: Vampire!August Walker x OFC (first person reader)

Word Count: 6826

Warnings: Alright, we ready to get into the menu of delights we will be reading today? Okay but seriously, if you are triggered by anything on this list, it is your responsibility to not read this work of fiction. The warnings are as follows: manipulation, subtle exhibitionism, fingering, penetrative sex, mention of oral (male receiving), biting, clawing, choking, blood, male violence, gore, non-con, rape, spitting, fear play, primal play, breeding, mention of death, torture, and potentially cannibalism, if you squint.

A/N: Okay so this story is based off of this thread where @killjoy-assbutt-1112​ gave me a fic title, but I added another twist to it that I’d been brewing for months; I was excited about it but now I’m not. Whatever, I’ll give it to you anyway. Sources for my vampire lore came from here and here. Cover art was made by me; August was drawn by the amazingly talented @cheyentjj​ and has been used with her permission. Thank you so much to everyone who brainstormed with me, and a special thanks to @agniavateira​ for betaing! 

“If you look at the Slavic region, vampire folklore runs rampant. One especially interesting specimen is the Pijavica. The Pijavica (translated “leech”, or “drinker”) was a rare species of vampire— traditionally male, and a powerfully strong, cold-blooded killer. The potential for conception is most commonly believed to be through the incest of the deceased with his mother during his life, though some believe that one can be created through the exceptionally malicious and evil acts of the deceased before his death. 

The birth of a Pijavica is attributed to many different causes, including suffering an “unnatural” or untimely death such as suicide, excommunication, improper burial rituals, or even simple causes such as an animal jumping or bird flying over either the corpse or the empty grave, being conceived on certain days, or being born with a caul, teeth, or tail.” 

I paused my typing, fingers leaving the keyboard in order to brush loose strands of hair from my face. Around me, the baristas of my favorite coffee shop were buzzing like worker bees in an old hive; they were gearing up for the lunch rush, and I realized I’d been here four hours already. 

This place had long been my go-to study zone. It was small; there was just enough hustle and bustle to keep me from descending too deep into the abyss of studying and yet, it had the respect of the patrons that a library does. The owner, Fred, made sure that conversations were kept in hushed tones, courteous to those of us who needed to work in noise instead of quiet. 

“If ya wanna be loud, go sit at a Starbucks!” He’d huff at those who didn’t heed his warning.

My eyes took in the familiar surroundings as I stretched. An oversized wood-burning fireplace filled the wall next to the vintage cash register; it was sandwiched between two built-in bookcases housing stories of all kinds that were meant to be read and enjoyed. The old stone clackling ran all the way up the wall, and a custom mantle made from an old oak tree that had fallen in Fred’s backyard sat delicately above the firebox. Yes, this shop was magical. It held a special place in my heart, and I’d visited so often that old Fred had deemed the table I sat at as “my table”. It was always kept reserved for me. 

I reached for my coffee without looking; my brain needed more caffeine. I’d spent months on this master thesis, and yet for some reason, the notion of vampires was such a struggle. I didn’t understand the fear of those who lived back then. The origins of bloodsuckers were chaotic, the “treatments” laughable and still, people were willing to kill their own offspring over such nonsensical superstitions. Cold drops of stale roast hit my lips in a harsh reminder that I’d finished my previous dose. I sighed heavily and dropped the cup to the wooden surface of my table. Eyes closed, I laced my fingers around my neck and drew my elbows together to stretch my spine. Coffee. I need more coffee.

“Having trouble?”

A man’s baritone, smooth as whiskey interrupted my thoughts. My body jolted at his leisurely tone, and I nearly tumbled off the chair as my eyes snapped open to view the intruder. Sitting across from me was anything but a man; I was in the presence of divine artistry, two breathtaking orbs of gray-washed sky centered below auburn curls that adorned his perfectly symmetrical face. A sharp nose pointed to his strong jaw, while an amused smirk tugged at the corner of lips that I’m certain could send even a nun to her bedroom for self-maintenance. He wore a crisp, pinstripe suit, the buttons of his dress shirt undone sinfully low, revealing a smattering of additional curls. 

My oversized turtleneck sweater and leggings suddenly felt subpar.

“The name’s Walker,” he mused further, gesturing a large hand toward the empty paper tumbler that was now lying on its side. “What were you drinking?”

“I--I um,” I fumbled with my words, embarrassed by my sudden inability to form a proper sentence. “I had a flat white? With two extra shots of espresso.”

The man named Walker had the cup in his hand and was out of his chair before I could blink; he was already ordering another coffee by the time I managed to process his intentions. I watched him hand the barista a bill I couldn’t see, but by the shocked expression on her face at the man’s declination of the change, it must have been a sizable amount. He sat down at the table again and stared at my chest unabashedly, making it clear he wasn’t just looking but imagining as well.

I should have been offended or felt objectified, but instead I felt drawn into his gaze.

“Having trouble?” He asked again, gesturing this time at my laptop.

“How long were you sitting there?” I blurted out, still too flummoxed to answer his question. Walker laughed and I swear, time stood still. Never in my life had I heard something so beautiful.

“Long enough.”

His reply was short and cryptic, a dismissal of my burgeoning curiosity. The barista chose that moment to bring two orders of coffee to the table, offering both of them to Walker by mistake. I took in her awestruck countenance, and there wasn’t a doubt in my mind that if my face matched hers I’d sink to the floor and die of shame. That notion shook me from my stupor and I was finally able to address his question.

“It’s my master thesis,” I explained, taking a sip of the scalding liquid he handed me. “I’m a History major, with an emphasis in mythology and folklore.”

I took another sip and tapped my phone, large numbers greeting me on the screen. Numbers that told me I was extremely late.

“Oh my god I have to go, I’m so sorry!” I apologized, scrambling to pack my things. In my haste I knocked my drink off the table. Resignation sunk in deep, submission to the knowledge of further humiliation at the impending spill. None came however, as Walker caught the drink in his hand before it crashed to the dark tiles.

“Thank you,” I murmured, gawking at him in bewilderment. Who was this man?

“It’s my pleasure,” he said, standing to help me collect the remainder of my books. “I’m interested in your thesis, could we perhaps discuss it over dinner? I don’t want to keep you from your next engagement.”

“I—” I stared at him, his face open and inviting. I’d been asked out before, but never this abruptly, and never by someone who looked and behaved like him. It sounded like an adventure…or a good story to tell on girls’ night at least.

“You know what, sure. Why not?”

I scribbled my number onto a napkin and slid it his way, grabbing the rest of my gear and heading toward the door. As I pushed against the hard metal, Walker’s large fingers caught my wrist, wrapping around it like ivy wraps around a lamppost. They were cool to the touch and yet somehow, my entire body immediately felt heated.

“We forgot first names,” he chuckled, “I’m August.”

I grinned sheepishly, pulling my arm from his surprisingly firm grip. The clank of the metal door handle resonated with the introduction I threw over my shoulder as I left the warmth of the shop and the handsome man behind.

“Amber.”

It took August a full week to call me. I felt like a fool; Did I leave on a poor note? Had I offended him somehow? Did he simply decide to change his fucking mind? I was kicking myself for saying yes; how could I have agreed to go on a date with a complete stranger? Now that I was no longer in his flustering presence, I began to see reason again. I knew nothing more than this man’s name, and the fact that he was more than likely rich. He could be a cold-blooded killer for all I knew, and I had every intention of telling him off.

I was in my apartment when he called. Still stuck on my thesis, I was currently unable to determine how best to explain the theory behind the sexual appeal of vampires. In my frustration, I hung upside down over the side of my bed, reading a book that discussed the many different works of literature revolving around vampirical romanticism and hoping the blood rushing to my brain would help me ascertain how to go about my explanation. The book was written by two authors who essentially argue the whole time, one of them convinced that the human fascination with vampires stems from the cannibalistic nature of bloodsucking or that it alluded to other bodily fluids such as semen, whereas the other stood firm in his belief that it held a much simpler cause; it was nothing more than the presence of oral fixation and sadism that caused the fantasy to plant its seed.

My phone vibrated but I ignored it, too engrossed in my book to be bothered with answering. I was so close… the answer was right there, it just continued to escape me. It wasn’t until my phone vibrated a second time to notify me of a voicemail that I put the pages down and picked up the electronic device.

The moment I heard August excusing his delay in calling to a work emergency, I immediately sat up and hit redial. There was something in his voice that made my heart quicken and my pulse race; it made the hair on my arms stand on end. I regretted sitting up so fast as it rang, the blood surrounding my brain draining quickly into the rest of my body. August answered on the second ring.

“Hi, Amber.”

“I—hi.”

I rolled my eyes then flinched in pain, congratulating myself sarcastically on how pathetic that response sounded with a slap of my palm to my forehead.

“Please, allow me to apologize again for waiting so long to call,” August insisted, seemingly unphased by my lack of vocabulary. “I still intend to take you to dinner, that is if you haven’t written me off completely.”

“No it’s fine, I totally get it,” I assured him. I had completely forgotten my earlier annoyance. He had explained it after all, and it could happen to anyone.

“Perfect. I’ll send a car tonight then, at seven. Wear something revealing please, I wasn’t able to see that pretty little neck of yours last time.”

My insides shook with an unexpected pang of shocked arousal at August’s request. The sexual confidence saturating his tone had me instantly reduced to nothing more than a deep desire for him to drag me to my knees by my hair. Why I wasn’t offended by the dominantly abrupt way this man spoke to me, I’ll never know. I put on the best flirty air I could manage in my stupor.

“I think I can manage that. Might have to charge you though.”

August laughed for the second time since I’d known him and I smiled, proud that I’d caused such a melodious sound to grace this earth.

“I like your spirit; you’re gonna be fun. I’ll see you tonight.”

“I—okay bye,” I managed to say before he hung up. I stared at my phone stupidly, as though I thought he was going to call again. Instead, the large clock face glared up at me like it always does, an ever present reminder that I live on a different plane of time than the rest of the world. I fell back on the bed, thinking about the man named August.

He likes my spirit? I hadn’t really shown him much, I’d been unable to do anything but stammer and trip over my words like a schoolgirl would when confronted by the cutest jock at school. What could he possibly see in me? The woman I truly was, the one I knew was underneath the bumbling idiot finally answered me. You’ve got three hours, Amber. Show him what you’re made of.

Resolve set in, and I bounced off the bed and walked toward my closet. For whatever reason, he’d chosen me, so I was going to let my confidence in that thought override all the self-doubt that was threatening to surface. I pulled my favorite dress from the hanger and set out to work. He wanted revealing? Then revealing is what he’d get, but I was going to do it my way.

The car was punctual, though I was less so. I scrambled to put diamond studs in my ears while being driven to some unknown location, my nerves making my hands shake. Once again, the notion that I could be driving to my death crept up my spine, but I brushed it off. Rich men send cars, it’s what they do. And I am an intelligent woman, I wouldn’t let myself be put in that situation.

Would I?

Touching the final stroke of Red Wine lipstick on my lips, I pulled my loose curls over my shoulder to expose my neck and put my things in my vintage black clutch, staring out the window at the ancient building that housed the most expensive club in town. I was suddenly grateful I’d chosen such a fancy dress. I fidgeted with the soft hem of the sleeve at my wrist, drawing it back and forth between my fingers while I waited for the driver to come to a stop.

I saw August there waiting, looking sharp as ever in another expensive three-piece suit, buttons undone just as low as the first time. This time however, I felt much better matched to his attire, and my confidence rose right next to my excitement. August came down the steps to open the door and I took his hand, hiking the burgundy velvet up to my thigh so that I could exit the car smoothly. The heavy fabric dropped to the ground the moment I freed it from my grasp, allowing August to study how I’d chosen to honor his request.

August drank in my covered form, taking in the way my dress hugged my curves and accentuated what it needed to. His eyes darkened as they lingered on the single large triangular section of bare skin that started at my shoulders and came to a point between my breasts, and I watched his tongue dart out of his mouth softly. He looked downright hungry. August stepped closer, fingertips grazing the flesh on my collarbone before he fastened his grip onto my nape and inhaled the hair at my temple deeply, pressing his lips to my ear.

“You are simply mouthwatering,” he growled, low and possessive. His hand released my neck and slid down to the small of my back, sending a shiver down my spine. My insides quivered at his touch, fragrant drops of dew pooling rapidly in the flimsy lace that guarded my mound from potential intruders.

“You wanted to see my ‘pretty little neck’,” I teased his earlier arrogance, lifting my skirt to traverse the steps leading inside, “I thought I’d frame her for you, give her the spotlight.”

August cocked an eyebrow at me in amusement, sensing my challenge. His fingers dug into my hip a little harder than necessary as he guided me through the establishment with nothing more than a nod to the hostesses. Apparent jealousy marred the face of one, and I thought I saw a hint of worry on the other. We were gone before the emotion could register in my mind.

I was escorted to a private booth in the upstairs of the establishment. While the first floor was crowded and full of people, the second floor was empty; August had requested it for our use alone. I could hear the hum of nightlife below, the haunting, non-lyrical melody of a soft alto wafting over the balcony as we walked past, the whispered promise of an enchanting night. A few tables and chairs were strategically placed on the floor, hugged by back-to-back rounded booths on either wall. Light ethereal curtains hung on either side of them, offering privacy from the guests who would typically sit in the next box over. August led me to the corner booth nearest the balcony so that we could look upon the stage if we chose.

“Our table, milady,” he joked, leaving a wet kiss on the back of my hand. Though the charade was seemingly in jest, it could not have been farther from it. His piercing eyes never left mine and I gasped at the feel of his brazen tongue on my skin. The suggestion of what he could do with it hung thick in his gaze, lacing the air with the succulent first tendrils of decadent tension. Playing along, I took a sharp breath and curtsied. I stayed low as August stood to show him the appeal of my figure at this angle, tilting just my head to look up at him. He stood there, head held high like a king, and the smile I received at my display was downright sinful.

“What a treat you are,” he murmured, cupping my chin briefly. My breasts swelled as I stood, consenting August the claim to chivalry by way of settling me into the alcove. He swept my hair over my shoulder again, trailing a single finger down my neck in admiration before taking his own seat. My insides were nothing but a pile of kindling, and every touch he gave was a spark that threatened to ignite the dry leaves into a burning flame of need.

The courses came and went just like those moments, every phrase emphasized with physical intimacy of some kind, whether it be just a gossamer brush of his fingers on my ear or an intentional grasping of my hand. He went as far as to boldly stroke the back of his knuckle along my cleavage, making me dizzy with desire. Each touch was avaricious—like he owned me—and I had zero qualms about letting him.

We ate our fill, but August made no move to leave the comfort of our small corner. With the noise of people below dulled by the far reaches of our seclusion, it was easy to converse. I told him more about my master thesis and the Pijavica, how they could read minds and enjoyed the power of persuasion, how they were impervious to all but decapitation, and how only their offspring could kill them. He listened intently, sharing tales of his own career. It was how I discovered that he was a doctor.

“I don’t practice anymore though, I prefer to study and learn. Specifically, I’m attracted to tears.”

“Tears?” That struck me as odd; it wasn’t often you came across someone who had such a unique field of study. “Why tears?”

August swirled the whiskey in his glass and downed it abruptly. He subtly indicated to our attendant for another before continuing his explanation.

“I’ve always had a fascination for the small things, things that people don’t seem to think matter; the mind-body connection, you know? For example,” he brushed a thumb over my cheekbone, “Did you know that the cellular structure of tears looks different based on the type of tear?”

August cupped my neck with both of his hands, tilting my head this way and that, his calm features set in measured focus as he spoke.

“Basal, reflexive, emotional... they all look different.”

I closed my eyes, letting him caress my skin. August’s touch was intoxicating, addicting. Even his scent was an aphrodisiac to my senses. I couldn’t get enough of it, lured ever closer to his sturdy frame, letting him manipulate my body how he saw fit. He nuzzled my hair, his soft spoken words dripping with lust into my ear.

“In fact,” he went on, “Even among those categories they differ, dependent on the stimuli.”

I could feel his breath on my neck, his lips surrounding the pulsepoint in my veins as he spoke, my jaw his destination. A hand snuck under my skirt, skimming along my trembling skin toward the seeping treasure that awaited him at the end of his journey. I spread my legs willingly, inviting him into my deepest of secrets. August hummed as he went on, sending spirals of tingling vibrations through my chest.

“The sting of onions, the sadness of grief… the satisfaction of overwhelming pleasure.”

“August…” I breathed, but my voice was severed as August simultaneously laid claim to my mouth and my womb. Thick fingers penetrated me in the same moment as his probing tongue, and it was in that moment I knew I was lost; August Walker could pull everything from me and I wouldn’t care; I’d want it, need it. He had spent all night teasing me, testing me, manipulating me and filling me with nothing but a desire for more, leaving me empty and wanting. He had succeeded, I now craved him above all else in this world.

August lifted my skirts, hoisting me with little effort to straddle his lap and I cried out in shock. The sound of my sudden impalement on the thick steel of his manhood was camouflaged by the crowd of people below; no one heard the echo of carnal awakening that sang through the air. When had he undressed? I bit my lip as he sank deeper into my core until the salty bitterness of copper and iron stung my chin. August’s eyes fell to the red droplet, darkening until the only color left in his pale irises was the very absence of light. With a hideous growl he ravaged my mouth, tasting every inch of my bruised lips with the hunger of an animal that’s been caged for far too long.

Thrill and terror tangled themselves in my mind, weaving an intricate web of wanton desire inside of me as August took me right there in the booth. Time itself seemed to halt, the room disappeared. Were we still in the club? Was it still the dead of night? Did I still require oxygen to breathe? Or was my life source now August’s touch, the light in my very soul dependent upon his kiss?

I didn’t notice when we left, nor when we arrived at a house that overlooked the city. I didn’t notice the lock on the basement door, or the fresh garden in the yard. I didn’t notice the continual rising and setting of the sun. I didn’t notice when I grew hungry, nor when I grew tired. I didn’t notice, not anything but passion, need, and desperation.

I didn’t notice.

Sleep drained from my limbs slowly. I awoke to black silk caressing my skin, dim sunlight shining through the wall, diffused by a covering of clouds that hung in the sky. It confused me that it was coming through the entire wall, until I realized that said wall was simply one large window, and the room I found myself in was built into the rock of an obsidian cliff overlooking the city. The room was minimally decorated in dark tones that coordinated with the nature outside, save for a striking, golden painting of a woman crying on the far wall. I clearly wasn’t home, and last night’s events slowly returned to the forefront of my mind.

August.

August was, without a doubt, the most attentive lover I’d ever had. Memories of his lips, his scent, his god-like physique that was surely carved from marble entertained my thoughts, returning my mind to the pleasure I’d never experienced in my life. Chills ran up and down my skin, alighting in wonder as my hand drifted to my sex. My fingers found my petals, swollen from overuse, aching in the dull agony of satisfaction. I stroked them gently, soothing the pleasant tenderness, moaning softly as the blood rushed to swell my clit once more, my other hand slipping beneath the silk to join in the heavenly edging torment.

A sharp, sudden sting at the brush of my inner thigh caused me to cry out, my hands snatching away from their play. I sat up, peering beneath the sheets to discover a semi-circle of divots cut into my leg. Is that a… a bite mark? I pulled at the skin and felt the dried blood crack, a small pinprick of new red seeping through the scab. I lunged from the bed to stand in front of the full-length mirror in the corner and look for other signs or markings, but what I found made me gasp.

Bruises peppered my neck, chest, hips and thighs. A few other crescents were scattered amongst them, standing out against the dark patches that shaded my skin. I took a physical inventory then, feeling the soreness in my jaw from being stretched by his cock, the ache of my neck from having my hair pulled, the shaky feeling of muscular fatigue in my legs from being tensed by orgasm after orgasm. I thought I detected a slight sheen on my skin, but I couldn’t tell if that was from the tremulous bliss of a satisfying fuck, or if it was the sweat and oil caused by said satisfying fuck. Either way, I looked happy and content. I grabbed August’s dress shirt from the floor and threw it on as I left the room to explore.

The bedroom led to a hallway, the wall to my left still nothing but expansive glass that showed off the impressive view. On the other side were large, black and white abstract prints, hung evenly spaced against dark panels. To the left of each was a shadow box with an ornate glass vial inside; each bottle was thin, no longer than my palm and differing in design from the others. Tiny, intricate patterns were painted on the outsides in white, blue, and gold, and gold stoppers sealed each one. When I entered the main room, I discovered a curio cabinet that housed at least a hundred of them, and I leaned in to look at how varied each one was.

“Victorian tear catchers,” August’s voice was suddenly behind me and I whirled sharply, startled. He chuckled at my alarm and I laughed with him, enjoying that glorious sound.

“They’re beautiful,” I murmured, turning back to look at the delicate glass. August pulled me against his naked chest, nosing my hair and kissing my neck.

“Yes you are,” he whispered, earning an eye roll from me. August chuckled and opened the cabinet.

“Would you like one?”

“Really?”

I looked at him, stunned. He simply nodded his head in the direction of the vials and I examined them, selecting one that had a white pattern on it that looked like lace.

“Mmm, a good choice. Perhaps I can collect tears of ecstasy for you,” August whispered. The thrill of what he was implying awakened my senses, and I let him lead us slowly back toward the bedroom. I felt like teasing him, so I delayed a bit by asking about the art on the wall.

“What are those?” I pointed to the first print, a cross-hatching pattern that looked like it was made of sewing pins.

“Those are tears of grief,” he stated, stopping in front of each as he walked me gradually down the hall.

“A yawn,” he said of the next, a white background with dark, fern-looking splatters. August traced his mouth along my jaw, his hand dipping beneath the button of his shirt to play with the sensitive nipples he had rediscovered. I keened as he continued shifting us toward the kitchen, struggling to keep my composure. The next print was a much darker gray, and it looked like it was covered in snowflakes.

“Any guesses?” August asked, mouthing my earlobe in tandem with the flick of his thumbs over my hardened nubs. I whimpered, my knees weak in his lustful embrace.

“Uhm… cold air?” I rasped as he sucked on my neck. August chuckled through his nose, the vibrations of his voice rippling through my chest to connect with his teasing fingers.

“Onions.”

“Yeah okay.”

I tilted my head so that I could kiss him, but suddenly the thought of onions turned my stomach. I lurched, pulling away and gagging slightly. Instead of concern, August smiled knowingly, seemingly unbothered by my retching.

“I see morning sickness has set in. It’s a little early and I had hoped you’d be able to avoid it, but alas, that’s not the case.”

My head swam suddenly, confusion mutilating all thought. I backed away from him.

“Morning what? What are you talking about?”

August took a step toward me, placing a hand on my belly and lacing his fingers in the hair at my nape.

“Women always taste better after they’ve conceived. And I can keep them longer; they make much more blood when they’re host to a fetus.”

I pushed against him, turning away and vainly attempting to process his words. Pregnant? Taste better? Blood? My eyes focused on a card I hadn’t noticed earlier in the shadow box, a single word printed on it.

Bridgette

“Isn’t it ironic,” August mused, tracing my collarbone with a thick finger, “That five weeks ago, you had a chance encounter with the very thing you’ve been studying for months, and now you carry his child.”

The room spun. I couldn’t think; my brain refused to process the nonsense he spoke.

“Five—five weeks?! No that’s not possible, our date was last night!”

“It’s more than possible, sweet morsel. Think about it.”

Bile rose thick and acrid in my throat then, threatening to spill. Memories and time started filtering into my mind, replacing the fog with everything I’d lost. The last puzzle piece clicked into place, confusion all but disappeared and I was left with nothing but the cold, terrifying truth. Pijavica. Vampire. Monster.

I’d fallen into the clutches of a monster.

I did the only thing I could think of; I slapped him as hard as I could and took off through the house, ignoring the sharp pain of a chunk of hair remaining in his hand. My heart pounded in my chest, desperate to be free of this sudden nightmare. I slammed into the front door and grabbed the handle, a strangled sob catching in my throat when it wouldn’t open.

I rattled the door knob, panic consuming every fiber of my being. Suddenly, it wasn’t just my life I was fighting for; apparently there was a life inside of me that needed protecting. The child of a Pijavica that was depending on me to escape, so that he could come back and kill his father. I have to get out. I gave up on the door in anger, spinning around and looking for another way.

“Do you know why I chose you?”

I heard August’s voice again, but he was nowhere to be seen. His voice came louder, penetrating my mind. I have to keep moving.

“It was because of your name; they match your eyes.”

I whimpered at his words, sneaking my head around a corner to survey the living space for some form of an exit.

“Amber has a historical application, you see,” he went on, louder. I dashed over the floor, desperate to be gone from him. Door after door remained locked, and my terror grew with each attempt. Every now and then I could hear August, whether it be a rustle of fabric or the knock of his foot on the wooden floor. The scholar in me knew that it was on purpose, that he was luring his prey, giving chase to his food, and yet my rational mind refused to take charge. I was being led by my flight response, and his jarring monologue wasn’t helping.

“Throughout history, whenever a goddess cried it was typically tears of amber, save for the goddess Freya, who cried gold. You met her in the bedroom.”

His laughter echoed through the dark walls of his lair, and chilled me to my core. It was no longer a beautiful sound, but grating and horrible. I was nothing but a petty human to play with, some toy that he could eat when he tired of me. Tears streamed down my cheeks as I came to the last door. Dear God, please let this one open. To my utter relief, the door swung wide and I was met with stairs. Stairs went down, and we were on a cliff. Down was good. Down meant freedom.

I clambered down the steps and flung open the door at the bottom, stumbling into the room and falling to the floor in horror and fear. There in front of me, was nothing but mirrors. A maze of mirrors, each one showing me my trembling features, mocking me, letting me know just how fucked I was. I turned back, intending to go back up the stairs and try another way, but August’s silhouette stood at the top, preventing me from going back into the house. I heard a scream and realized it was my own.

Scrambling off the floor, I took off into the maze, blinded by my tears.

“Each of those girls made it this far you know,” August taunted. I heard the slam of the door and nearly choked as I ran. “You’ll die in this room, just like they did.”

His nonchalance, his continual unconcern about chasing me, his arrogance that he would no doubt catch me made me so angry. I raced from path to path, growing ever more frantic every time I reached a dead end. I didn’t even know if this room had an exit, I just knew I had to keep moving. I tripped over something as I rounded a corner, screaming when I saw what it was.

“I see you found Bridgette,” August chuckled, and I looked up from the skeleton to see his hideous face marred with a sinful sneer. I gasped and took off again, turning this way and that. Hitting another dead end, I doubled back and ran smack into August’s broad torso. He caught me and held me close as I screamed, ripping his shirt from my body. He spun me around, pinning my wrists between my back and his belly, trailing his fingers languidly over my naked frame in an inspection of his handiwork. My jaw was gripped in an iron vice and August forced my gaze to the mirror.

“Do you see what I see?” he mocked. I could only stare in horror, for nothing but my own terrified expression stared back at me.

August had no reflection.

“Out of all the patterns in the world, do you know which tears are my favorite?” August continued to torment. He inhaled my hair deeply, snaking his tongue along the length of my cheek, tasting the stains my tears had left in their wake.

“Fear.”

I heard August growl as I fought against him, his iron grasp caging me against his cool skin, more of the cursed moisture pooling in my eyes. Glassy drops fell, retracing a new path toward my chin but August just kissed them away, shoving me to the floor when my knees buckled of their own accord. He let go of my hands to fidget with his slacks, pulling me back toward him every time I tried to crawl away as a parent would to a petulant child. On the third attempt he snapped my knee, a scream tearing from my throat in my woeful submission to his desire.

Finally free of his clothes, August lifted my hips, lining his rigid cock up against my sweat-soaked folds. He dove into my treasure without care, forcing his way into the depths of my belly, stretching and tearing my walls until he was fully sheathed. Strong arms wrapped around me again, and I felt two sharp points prick the junction of my neck and shoulder. I cried out and thrashed in fierce protest, knowing that small pinch was just a warning of oncoming pain.

August’s teeth punctured my skin easily, shredding muscle and sinew until they hit bone. I howled in pain as I watched blood drip from the wound, a familiar crescent shape joining its brothers on my body. Searing heat shot through my neck with his first draw of thick plasma; the violent removal of blood causing an intense burn that I felt all the way down to my injured leg. August released my neck and I clapped a hand over the fresh wound.

I looked over my shoulder at him; his head was tilted down, mouth still full of my blood; the lack of a reflection behind him unsettling to my senses. August opened his wicked maw slowly, dark scarlet trickling from his lips onto the junction where my hips met his, run through by his sword. He looked up at me with a nasty grin, bloodstained fangs curdling my stomach. I closed my eyes and turned away as he swiped a hand through the mess. His fingers penetrated my core alongside his cock, deaf to my sobbing objections.

“You’d better open your eyes, pet… This needy little cunt is dripping, I’d hate for you to miss it.”

August emphasized his sick joke by grasping my hair, shoving my head to the floor, forcing me to look once more into the polished glass. My desperate wails for mercy were all that kept me grounded as I watched him thrust, my battered hole be stretched beyond capacity. Nothing but empty space plundered my core, crimson air bruising the very place within me that only just last night had been treated with such tenderness and care. Not last night. His slick fingers found my mouth and violated it effortlessly; no amount of pressure I could apply would break through his tough skin.

“God, you look so beautiful.”

August pulled me up and took to my neck with fervor, latching onto the broken sliver of skin like a leech. The more he drank, the weaker I became, until there was no resistance left within me. I could see the color drain from my bloody face, I could see black slowly creep into my vision, but I was powerless to stop it. August was in charge, he held my entire existence in his hands, and he intended to extinguish it. I closed my eyes again, accepting my fate.

I was going to die.

One of my favorite places to visit is a small outdoor cafe, very near the coffee shop where I met Amber. Mmmm. Amber. Not a day goes by that I don’t think of that tantalizing woman.

She lasted so much longer than all the others, you know. I was able to feed off of her nearly three full months as she hung there in my basement, until the last drop of her tantalizing nectar was finally extracted. She smelled of carraway and saffron, tasted of sweet mulled wine, and with the rich, heady, piquancy of her fertile womb seasoning each sinew, every inch of her opulent flesh begged to be consumed. I must admit, I should have dispatched of her sooner, but fascination overtook my curious mind as her own was consumed by insanity.

First it was freedom she asked for, and then death. Sometimes she would beg to speak to her mother one last time. But by the end, she only asked for one thing.

“Please,” she would whisper, “Please… Cover the mirrors. Just cover the mirrors.”

She asked so nicely, but how on earth could I hide such beauty? Her tears were just as rare, you see. They hold a beauty unmatched by any of the others that hang on my walls. I’ve never seen such a fear pattern like hers; it is more exquisite than the dawn of a misty spring day in the countryside, more beautiful than a woman at the height of euphoria. And they way they sparkled against her skin, lustrous tracks that wound down her temples and through her hair, glinting in the mirrors with each slow rotation of her inverted body... well, it was as if I was living among the stars. Adding her ashes to my garden was such a shame.

I sat at that little cafe, eyes closed, viewing the world through my enhanced scent. Each drop of bitter coffee, the pollen of a nearby bee, the oil in the bike chains of two clumsy humans as they rolled past; each note and fragrance alerting me to its owner. A familiar scent reached my nose and I turned my head sharply, focusing on it.

Carraway… Saffron.

I smiled softly, opening my eyes to greet the woman that now sat at my table. The honey irises that had intrigued me all those months ago met mine and I chuckled low.

“Amber.”

Read on AO3.

[georgemackayhey]

Rules For Falling In Love: #1

summary: In which George wants to get married. But... you're not dating. Why should you say yes?

a/n: Here it is I'm obsessed with this concept my dear friend thought up, so much so that I was inspired to write this multichapter fic about it all. Please let me know if I forgot to tag anyone, or if you'd like to be added to the list! And as always... feedback of any and all kinds are greatly appreciated!

w/c: 2k

Part 2 >

───※ ·❆· ※───

"Don't be a third wheel, come on now!" Dean's publicist shooed him away from where you stood next to George, counting down the seconds till the red carpet came to an end. You gave the guy a quick, twisted frown, as George's publicist pulled him further down the carpet, his hand holding on to yours, silently bringing you along.

This was just another normal Friday evening.

When the time came to flood into the award ceremony, you sighed in relief and reached for a drink from the tray of a despondent boy meant to stand right where he was for most the night.

"Don't you have any place better to be?" Dean laughed your way, thanking the waiter for the drink he swiped.

"We were going to go bowling." You shot George a look. You'd only made the plans as a joke, wondering how much shit either of you would get for ditching this stupid ceremony to go have a bit of real fun. But you'd made a promise to George long ago, to attend all these silly little Hollywood shindigs with him.

"And we will go bowling if we make it out of here alive" George declared with a nod, leading you toward the row of seats with your names on them. He hated these events almost more than you did. He insisted your presence aided to quell his anxieties these circumstances stirred up. And you couldn't tell George no, very often.

"If one of you ever did one thing without each other, I think hell would freeze over." Dean chuckled as you all settled into your seats. You looked to George again, and he looked to you and you both laughed, but Dean was probably right.

After the awards had been given out between long, sometimes painful speeches, the boy's publicists insisted they linger around the after-party for as long as they could manage. You kept your usual pace in between them, cackling over stupid old jokes and offering forced toothy grins to celebrities who asked if they could steal George away for photos and chats about the magic of acting- or whatever.

"You know, no one has even ever asked about us." You pointed out to Dean, sharing a piece of cake in the quietest corner of the party. "Showbiz people I mean. They just assumed right away. Even the times we've insisted we're only friends, they insist we're joking." You huffed a laugh.

"That's Hollywood for you, I suppose. But you've gotta admit... you and George-"

"Are just friends." You finished. Dean halted, smiling in agreeance to drop the subject, but clearly held back from stating his other points, whether they were valid or not.

After one too many sweets and drinks, George found you and informed his sister was on her way to give the two of you a lift home. You traded a few hugs with Dean, making rough plans to meet up again very soon, without all the cameras and microphones in the way.

///

"How was your date, then?" George's sister wondered as you clamored into the back of her car. George followed behind with an answer.

"It wasn't a date, it was work thinly veiled as fun."

"But you went together, which makes it a date."

"Nice try," You rose a finger, buckling in as the girl sped off toward the city streets. She'd always found sly ways to get you and George to admit there was something deeper to your connection. She'd introduce you to her friends as her brother's girlfriend. She'd address Christmas presents to the both of you, handing them out with a wink.

"I don't understand you two." She dramatically croaked now, as if your denial was her personal defeat. "You're catfishing the world!"

"We're not pretending to date." George reminded his sister, "And we're also not pretending we don't live together."

"Yeah so why aren't you dating? You do everything else together."

"We live to torment you. It's all to drive you mad" George falsely confessed.

"I wouldn't put it past you." His sibling let out a whine.

You and George shared a roll of your eyes, dulling snickers and exhausting explanations that weren't worth wading through. The midnight ride to your flat fell silent then. The night had been long, but it was a seemingly usual evening, these days.

By the time you and George shuffled up the drive, waved his sister goodnight, you were ready to forgo your usual routine and drop face-first into bed.

"I think my sister has a point," George mumbled, shutting and locking the front door.

"Hmm?" You encouraged George to go on, halfway in tune to listen, more so gearing up to head to bed after such a long evening out. George remained silent as you kicked your shoes off, and didn't speak again until he had your undivided attention.

"Let's get married," George said.

You tossed your head back in a laugh as you floated further into your shared home.

"I'm serious, y/n." George hurried along, moving to stop you from walking away, boring his sleepy eyes into yours.

"What?" You chuckled again, shaking your head, trying to keep up.

"We already live here. We've been talking about sharing a bank account. And it'll be so much easier to introduce as my wife than as 'my best friend who I live with but am not dating but go everywhere with.'"

"But that's the truth!"

"Marriage could be true! Think of how much easier life would be."

"George, how much have you had to drink?" You cackled as you pushed past him, into the kitchen for a glass of water. You clattered about the cupboards as he followed you, rambling still.

"I'm serious! We've planned out our lives together already. Future vacations, birthday parties, career deadlines, all accounted for with each other in mind. We should just get married."

"George! I will not let you lie at the altar. A wedding is for two people who want to commit every bit of their lives together for the rest of the foreseeable future."

"My plans for the weekend are always to ask you what you want to do the next. I'm your only emergency contact." George listed off these points as if they were dead giveaways.

"Okay, let's say we get married." You entertained, standing in front of George as he noshed on some deserts he'd brought home from the after-party. He raised a pretty brow, waiting for you to go on.

"Sure nothing changes at first, not really. You're already my ride to work, and I already promised to go to all those silly Hollywood parties with you. But what happens in five years when I want to move to France and you want to stay here? What happens in six months if some super hot mailman comes and sweeps me off my feet? What happens when you fall in love with some leading lady, George?"

"People get divorced all the time." He shrugged.

"That's a lot of money to blow. And for what? For a lousy label and some ugly rings?"

"So we pick out some bloody cool rings and promise to only get divorced if shit hits the fan. Neither of us can stay mad for long. Remember when I spilled wine on your great grandma's old lounge chair? I was fully prepared to be excommunicated. But you just hugged me while you cried." George chuckled, keeping his desserts close.

"Do you really wanna kiss me in front of your mother and the world and pretend that this is normal?" You tried to ask with a serious glare, but it was just too funny. You couldn't help but let out a little giggle of disbelief that this was the conversation you were having on an otherwise normal weekday evening.

"Y/n, we're practically already married."

"George I love you, but this is a stupid idea."

"I don't think it is, but I love you too. I'm taking this box of macaroons to bed, now."

"Okay goodnight you two." You laughed, pulling at the sleeves of your too-tight dress on your trek down the hall.

"Wait!" You called out, a few steps from your room. "Can you unzip this, please?" You took a few backward steps to meet where George had stalled in the hall, macaroon halfway in and out of his mouth, he balanced one hand on your shoulder and used the other to undo the zipper that hugged your spine.

"G'night!" You heard him mumble past his dessert as you gave him a wave of thanks and practically threw yourself into your nice warm bed.

///

You met George when you were kids. You grew up attending the same local festivals and schools. His acquaintance turned more familiar with each passing summer until you'd become rather inseparable. It was that fact that kept his number in your contacts when you moved to the city, and he went away to film more often.

You'd kept up lunch dates when he came back home, and celebrated holidays with his family every time they invited you to come round like they'd been doing for years. You'd even attended a few birthdays and dinner parties with his family when George was out of town, when you hadn't spoken with him in months.

You moved in with George some odd years ago, when the flat you rented threw one too many unfixable issues your way. His home was the closest to your work, and he was one of the only friends you trusted enough to reach out to for help. After occupying his guest room for a few months, George insisted you move your things into the place you'd already practically been living in.

His home was big enough, tucked away just outside of the city. It's high ceilings, warm decor and a manageable rent were easily and comfortably split between the two of you. It made sense. You'd been sharing most of your free time together for years, anyway.

You shuffled through the bright halls, past framed photos of George's family. Of you and George. There was no difference, you'd been close for so many years, your lives were complexly intertwined whether you liked it or not. Luckily, you did.

George was already in the sun-drenched kitchen when you entered, stretching into the new day.

After trading usual morning greetings you could practically hear George's silent, burning thoughts. He poured you each a cup of coffee and shot you a look you knew was meant to say much more than words could.

"Okay, what?" You asked in a warning tone, accepting the drink he placed before you at the table, before sitting in the chair at your side. You knew George had something to say, and he'd say it whether you asked him about it or not.

"My mum thinks we've been dating since Uni. You know we can't talk her out of it. If anything she'd be relieved."

Oh, he was really still hung up on this huh?

"So you wanna do this because of your mother?" You asked, watching the steam curl up from the drink between your hands.

"No. I wanna do this because being together officially would make all our being together anyway, so much easier. Bills, plans, excuses, rainy days."

You looked at George, his start blue eyes, his unkempt hair, that stupid withheld smile he got when he was focused on something. You loved him for longer than you had the patients to do the math for. You planned on loving him for a while, even when he pissed you off, you couldn't imagine struggling alongside anyone else...

"Earth to y/n."

"I'm not responding because you're starting to make sense and I don't like it." You pretended to pout. Then George went silent for a beat, his brilliant eyes searching your face.

"Do you still want to go bowling?" He pipped up as if he'd just remembered you'd said something about it a day earlier.

"Sounds fun, doesn't it?" You asked, hoping he'd join you in wasting a day having childlike fun. George bit back a grin, leaned in close to catch your eye, and said,

"If I win... we'll get married."

You wanted to curse his name through a laugh, but you very rarely could tell the man no. And you hated to admit it even to yourself, but the more you thought about it... the more you liked the idea.

"And if you win?" George mused, egging you on. But you didn't need to place bets to play.

"Let's go bowling, Mackay."

///

As you took turns knocking pins down, George brought up several valid points.

How his family adored you. How he'd drop anything to be there for you when you needed him. How you'd always talked about how scary the future seemed, but agreed it was better to face together, like always.

And you argued for a moment that maybe neither of you knew any better, how you were all each other knew since growing up.

But George pointed out that simply wasn't true. He'd traveled. Met girls, none of whom were around at all anymore. You'd dated and failed to find anyone worth keeping around. It was as if you and George were the survivors of some twisted game of life, having only managed this far because of how you relied on each other.

But you weren't on the same bowling team.

You were scoring strikes left and right a few solid points ahead in the game.

But George was close to beating you, one good turn and he'd wind up the winner.

All the while, George only stalled his passionate speeches to listen and laugh over yours. And as you considered how familiar his presence was, and the way you couldn't imagine living life any further apart, you'd made up your mind.

But every time you thought of voicing your decision, something stopped you. You bit your tongue and decided that you'd wait to see if your feelings changed soon. And after some serious thought, you could either tell George that you'd hate to let him down, but plan a movie night alongside his favorite dinner, to make up for your decline. Or you'd tell him yes, and agree to his stupidly sweet idea to get hitched. Because you couldn't tell him no.

He won the game.

But of course, George wasn't living and dying by the bet he made that coaxed you to play. And you never really agreed to it anyway. The two of you simply went on arguing on the way home, more or less about how you were on the same page, and just what to do next.

And while you made dinner together, your conversation stopped when you sucked in a big breath and spun on your heels across the room. You'd heard enough.

George raised a pale brow, sitting patiently at the table as the oven did its thing. Then he watched as you settled back to the seat across from him, placing a pad of paper and a pen down.

"If...we do this, I'm writing down rules."

George watched on, sipping tea as you scribbled away. Once you felt comfortable with the list of regulations you'd penned, you read from the marked-up note pad, one at a time.

"Okay, listen up..."

MARRIAGE RULES

one. No lying to family and friends. They get to know that this isn't conventional.

two. No lying to each other. We're only doing this to make things easier. We must remain every bit a team.

three. We must celebrate our anniversary because there's no point in not milking the chance to go on holiday.

"Now," You flipped the page to a new set of rules before George could go on smooth-talking.

DIVORCE RULES

"We can only get a divorce under dire circumstances. Which include the following..."

one. If we betray each other's morals or trust in a way that cannot be fixed or forgiven after a year's time.

two. If one of us is dying. Actively dying.

three. If one of us finds and falls in love.

"We've managed to work out all the bad shit together so far and I'm sure we can keep that up. A divorce is too much money to waste over one fight we end up resolving and remain otherwise together."

"So you'll do it?" George grinned, setting his drink to the side.

"Is this you asking me to marry you? It's very unromantic. Negative three out of ten." You laughed, George did too. But you needed to make yourself very clear.

"I'll think about it." You clarified. "You should too."

You’d tell him yes later. Because as much as it scared you... you'd already made up your mind.

───※ ·❆· ※───

taglist: @whenthe-smokeisinyoureyes @andux @imaginationandlove @velvetgoldsilver @queen-bunnyears @maria-josefin @dearevansamham @belledamsceno @nilletellsstories @haileymorelikestupid @loulouloueh​ @visionsofmelodrama

[frizz22]

Could you write 5 times where Madam Spellman get interrupted (trying to get it on presumably) + 1 time they don’t? :)

Note: This turned out to be a bit of Mary/Zelda too, though it’s still Lilith… if that makes sense. Anyway, hope you enjoy. Read on ao3

1

Zelda should be pissed at the woman. She’d burst in, claiming outrageous things about being a secret guardian for Sabrina on Edward’s behalf, ferried Sabrina and Hilda off to conduct an illegal exorcism, and then failed to complete it without Zelda’s help.  

So, yes, she should be furious. At how the woman lied about her past, how she endangered Zelda’s family and then was incompetent.  

But... but Zelda was still riding the high from conducting the first ever witching exorcism. Magic crackled through her, lighting her up and making it difficult to concentrate on anything. And, as she’d learned at an early age, her lust often spiked when her magic felt like this.  

She should have just hidden in the extra bedroom, pleasured herself and been done with it. But Mary Wardwell’s face floated in her mind as she dug through her box of toys and Zelda realized that, tonight at least, a toy wouldn’t give her the satisfaction she wanted.  

And it wasn’t as though she’d missed how the witch looked at her afterwards. The stunned disbelief, the awe, how her eyes roved over Zelda after they dumped the demon down the well. Wardwell was interested.  

Shrugging to herself, Zelda put aside her irritation for the witch and teleported to her cottage. Certain urges took precedent over grudges.  

Zelda straightened her dress and knocked on the door.  

Robe clutched shut at the throat, Mary cracked the door open. “Ms. Spellman?” She squeaked, eyes wide, but the innocent façade had already been broken earlier that evening and Zelda merely arched a brow. Clearing her throat, Mary opened the door a bit more. “I know what I helped Sabrina do earlier was dangerous. I thought Hilda and I would be able to keep it well in hand—"

Stepping closer, Zelda smirked. “I’m not here to scold you, Ms. Wardwell. Though I should be. No,” she inched even closer and Mary opened the door wider automatically, her hand dropping unconsciously to her side and letting her robe fall open slightly at the top. “I’m here for something else. And I think you know what it is, and I believe you want it too.”  

Wetting her lips, Mary nodded, her voice losing its breathy tones. “I believe we are on the same page, Ms. Spellman, do come in.” She stepped aside and Zelda moved inside, purposely brushing against the woman as she did.  

Not one to waste time, Zelda divested herself of her fur coat and settled on the couch without an invitation.  

A smirk touched Mary’s lips, shutting the door she came and sat on the couch next to Zelda. “Hmm, no foreplay?” She murmured leaning closer and her robe dropping open a bit more to reveal the creamy skin underneath.  

“We’re both busy witches, Ms. Wardwell, why pretend?” Zelda remarked, boldly placing her hand on the woman’s knee and sliding it a bit higher; the tips of her fingers slipping under the fold of fabric just a little.  

Eyes sparking, Mary cocked her head. “Why indeed, Ms. Spellman,” she replied, closing the distance between them at last and sealing her mouth over Zelda’s.  

It was gentler than Zelda expected. Mary’s lips, warm and soft, moved teasingly, as if saying Zelda would have to make the next move.  

Only more than happy to do just that, Zelda reached over and pulled Mary into her lap. She gasped against Zelda’s mouth, but quickly settled, straddling one of her legs, hands sliding up from Zelda’s shoulders where they’d landed for balance and up to cup Zelda’s face and into her hair.  

Humming her approval, Zelda tilted her head and deepened the kiss, sucking Mary’s lower lip into her mouth for a moment before swiping her tongue across it; requesting permission. Mary’s mouth opened to her and the witch pressed harder against Zelda, her hips starting to grind against Zelda’s leg almost of their own accord.  

Tongues tangling, Zelda wrapped an arm around Mary’s waist and pulled her in even tighter, pressing her leg up and against the witch’s core to provide her better friction.  

A small moan emanated from Mary’s throat and she broke the kiss, a bit breathless. “So forward, Ms. Spellman.” She intoned, grinding even harder on Zelda’s leg as one of her hands drifted down to Zelda’s chest.  

Zelda smirked and slid a hand up Mary’s thigh, letting it dip under the robe and the woman’s nightgown. “As if you aren’t.” She quipped, bending and biting at Mary’s clavicle which was now exposed; her robe having slipped off her shoulder.  

Chuckling darkly, Mary shifted so her leg spread Zelda’s a bit more, applying pressure right where she needed it. “I didn’t say I minded, Spellman.” She groaned as Zelda started to lap at the mark she’d left on Mary’s chest.  

A slightly rough tug on her hair had Zelda redirecting her attention from Mary’s clavicle to her eyes. “Yes, Wardwell?”  

Eye glittering with lust and amusement, Mary crashed her mouth back to Zelda’s. Happy to lose herself in the kiss once more, Zelda made to untie Mary’s robe and push it off when something tingled up her spine.  

She pulled back. “Did you—?” She began, when the tingle become stronger, and Zelda growled when she realized what it was. “My sister is summoning me home.” She muttered; Mary’s drawn brow didn’t smooth out at the explanation. “I have to go,” Zelda added, the tingle shooting up her spine this time, more insistent. “It’s possible Sabrina decided to do something foolish on her own... again.”  

Mary frowned but leveraged herself off Zelda, sweeping her hair over her shoulder. “You’d think an exorcism would be enough for one night.” She remarked flippantly.  

Throwing her a glare in warning, Zelda stood and adjusted her dress, turning to check her hair and lipstick in a mirror hanging on the wall. “Careful, Ms. Wardwell, just because I didn’t seek retribution for your role doesn’t mean you’re forgiven.” She arched a brow at the women in the mirror and finished righting her appearance. “But yes, normally even Sabrina has a bit more of a cooling off period.”  

Standing to join her, Mary tucked a strand of hair behind Zelda’s ear. “Well, in any case,” she pressed Zelda back against the wall, melding their bodies together and it certainly made it easier to ignore her sister’s summon. “I hope we can continue this at a later date.” She captured Zelda’s lips in a brief kiss and then backed away, settling onto the couch and picking up a book as though her evening had never been disturbed.  

A partially amused, partially irritated huff escaped Zelda, but she grabbed her coat and teleported away without another word.  

When she arrived home, Zelda shed her coat and made for the kitchen; Hilda was sitting there, picking at her hands anxiously. “What is it now, sister? I’ve already dealt with an exorcism almost gone wrong and handled the high priest and his threat for excommunication. What more could possibly be needed from me?”  

It wasn’t quite fair, taking her pent-up frustration out on her sister, but Zelda had only gotten worked up further during her time with Wardwell and now she’d have to resort to toys after all.  

“I was worried, Zelds. With so much going on, and then you disappeared, left your phone and witching board here, ignored my initial summons. I thought something happened.”  

And though she was unsatisfied and irritated, Zelda couldn’t help but smile at Hilda. “Thank you for your concern. I was fine, just walking off some residual energy from this evening.”  

Relief flooded Hilda’s face and she slumped a bit in her seat. “Oh, okay. Well, praise Satan. Sorry for interrupting then, I just had to be sure. I’m off to bed, you coming?”  

“Not yet, I’ll be quiet when I do though. Damned dreams, sister.”  

Nodding Hilda stood and headed upstairs. With a sigh, Zelda followed several minutes later and slipped into the spare room.  

~~~

2

The next time she saw Mary Wardwell, Zelda was practically seeing red.  

Bursting into the witch’s cottage, Zelda gripped Mary by her throat and slammed her against the nearest wall.  

“Sabrina and Hilda just informed me you took my niece out of the protection of Baxter High. That you took her into the woods where any one of the Greendale Thirteen or the Red Angel could have killed her. Care to explain why you put my girl in danger again.” She snarled, face inches from Mary’s.  

Mary sputtered, eyes wide. She grasped at Zelda’s hand and struggled for a moment before relenting. “It was the only way, she had to summon Hellfire to burn the Thirteen. Sabrina’s vision from when she ate the malum malas, I was helping her fulfill it.” She rasped, holding onto Zelda’s wrist.  

She shook her head. “Try again, not all visions come true. You know that as well as I. And if Hellfire was needed, why not do it yourself? Or ask any other witch, one who’d already signed, had experience and more power. Hilda was at the school, why not ask her? She’s a grown witch, name in the book, powerful, and not a first born.”  

Neck straining, Mary tried to swallow. “I’m not part of a coven, I hardly have access to many witches; besides, they were all at the academy protecting our own. And your sister was holding back the Thirteen and the Red Angel at the mortal school. Sabrina wouldn’t have been capable of that alone. Especially without having signed the book. It was either let all the mortals, my students, get slaughtered, or take Sabrina to sign her name and fulfill her vision.” When Zelda looked ready to argue again, Mary added. “I’d have preferred an adult. Someone I knew could handle the situation; someone I could trust. But you weren’t there by the time I found your family.”  

Stunned, Zelda released Mary and put a tiny bit of space between them. “Me?”  

“Yes, you, Zelda.” And it was the first time they’d used one another’s first name; it sent shivers up her spine. Mary’s voice recaptured her attention. “You tipped the scales at the exorcism, not Hilda, not Sabrina. You. I did what I could with what I had.”  

Slightly mollified, Zelda arched a brow. “Why not do it yourself?” Mary just hummed one what seemed to be confusion. “You answered part of my question, but not all. Why not summon the Hellfire yourself?”  

Ducking her head, Mary smiled in a self-deprecating manner. “Zelda, if I could, I would have.”  

Zelda frowned. “You’re more powerful than my niece, even with her newly enhanced powers. Mary,” the witch’s head snapped up at her name and she held Zelda’s gaze, “why doubt yourself?”  

Biting her lip, Mary shook her head. “Perhaps I was told long enough, by someone cruel enough, to believe I wasn’t.” She murmured, voice barely audible.  

Softening, Zelda took a tentative step closer and when Mary didn’t flinch or back away, she took another. “I’m so sorry to hear that. No witch should be told such things. I,” she looked down at her hands and shame swept through her. “I apologize for my treatment of you. I—"

Mary brought up a finger and placed it gently against Zelda’s lips, silencing her. “You were worried about your niece. You were protecting family. I understand. And you are nothing like the cruel person who made me doubt.” She uncurled her hand and cupped Zelda’s cheek. “Far, far from him.”  

Smiling softly, Zelda caught Mary’s hand as she pulled away and kissed her palm, then her wrist. “That’s good to hear.” And how was it that she went from furious at this woman to drawn in again? Brushing the thought aside, Zelda released Mary’s hand. “I should go. I’ve intruded—"

Hands were suddenly on her hips and Zelda looked at Mary in surprise. After their altercation and Mary’s admission, she’d have thought such things were far from the woman’s mind. “Stay. Please?”  

Mary pulled Zelda in slowly, giving her ample time to break away. When she didn’t, Mary moved backwards until her back hit the wall, bringing Zelda with her.  

Their bodies pressed together, Mary kissed Zelda tenderly, slowly, one of her hands sliding up her back, the other still resting on her hip.  

Breaking the kiss, Zelda touched her cheek. “Mary, are you sure?”  

A small smile tinged with something Zelda couldn’t name met her question and Mary nodded. “Yes, Zelda, I am. Now, please shut up and kiss me. That righteous anger from before was quite a turn on.”  

Eyebrows flying up, Zelda smirked and recaptured Mary’s lips, her hand sliding from the witch’s cheek into those thick dark locks she’d been dying to touch since their last encounter.  

Just as their kiss was intensifying, an alarm spell sounded.  

Confused, Mary arched a brow at Zelda. “Being summoned again? Or are you just a tease?”  

Shaking her head, Zelda ran a hand through her slightly mussed hair. “I am a tease,” she noted with a wink, “but I have to go. There is some aftermath to deal with when you enchant an entire population of mortals. I’m sorry.”  

She debated with herself for a moment and then kissed Mary one more time and then teleported home; once more leaving the delicious witch at her cottage.  

When she arrived, Zelda couldn’t help but smile. Leticia had woken up, which initiated her alarm spell, the girl gurgling in her wrap. Though she felt a tiny bit bad for lying to Mary about why she left, Leticia was too important a secret to divulge to some witch she hardly knew... even if she did want to get to know her better.  

Refocusing, Zelda scooped Leticia up, cradling her close. “Is someone awake and hungry again already?” Zelda cooed, pushing Mary from her mind and carrying Letty down to the kitchen. 

~~~

3

Lilith traced the rim of her half-finished glass of wine as she stared into the fire in front of her. She didn’t really need the fire at Solstice; not like other witches. No spirit, malevolent or otherwise, would dare to cross the Mother of Demons’ threshold, even in her current body.  

But the warmth was welcome.  

She’d never spent a Solstice away from Hell before. Lilith always had her demons around her, at least, sometimes the Dark Lord himself. Though Stolas squawked at her to not be moody, Lilith waved a hand, pushing her familiar out the window and latching it shut.  

Her eyes flicked over to the gingerbread house where it was partially hidden from her view in the kitchen. Lilith felt mildly guilty about the water she’d just poured down the chimney of the replica mortuary; Zelda didn’t need or deserve the stress that was likely coming her way.  

But Sabrina needed to be stopped, her mother’s spirit might just let things slip that Sabrina couldn’t know; or so the Dark Lord claimed.  

Taking another sip of wine, Lilith started when a knock sounded on the door. She set her glass aside and wrapped her robe around her. “One moment,” she called out, making sure she adopted Mary Wardwell’s voice in case it was some Greendale resident doing carols or other such false god nonsense.  

When she opened the door though, Zelda stood there, smiling widely, snow speckling her hair and the cold making her cheeks rosy; utterly beautiful.  

A moment passed, and Zelda lifted a brow. “Are you going to let me in?”

Blinking, Lilith opened the door wider and admitted the witch. She hid a smile as Zelda breezed past, setting down a platter of cookies and removing her coat. While Lilith wasn’t sure if Zelda kept coming back because she was drawn in by her succubus abilities or because she wanted too, she wasn’t going to probe too deeply to find out. She rather liked the witch’s company.  

“Not that I’m not happy to see you, Zelda,” Lilith stated, shutting the door against the cold, “but what brings you here?”  

Brow furrowing, Zelda shook her head and moved to stand in front of the fire to warm up. “No witch should be alone during Solstice.” She explained, rubbing her hands together. “And Hilda made far too many cookies for even the four of us to eat, so I brought you some.” Zelda kept her eyes on the fire when she said this, as if unwilling to acknowledge the gesture with eye contact.  

Heart thumping with an unknown feeling, Lilith ignored it and came up behind Zelda to smooth her hair over one shoulder. “Well, in that case,” she lazily kissed Zelda’s neck, “the least I can do is thank you by warming you up.”  

Zelda pivoted to face her, eyes dilating and smile turning wicked. “Oh, the very least,” she agreed, licking her lips.  

Never one to deny herself, especially when such a lovely witch had come to her, Lilith slipped a hand around Zelda’s neck and pulled her in for a kiss.  

An arm wrapped around Lilith’s waist, bringing her closer as if Zelda couldn’t get enough. The gesture had an embarrassing sigh escaping Lilith, but she hadn’t been held, hadn’t been wanted, truly wanted—not like that pig Hawthorne—in ages.  

So, she ignored the flash of need to break away and send Zelda packing for daring to come over here; for daring to kiss her, for daring to be gentle but demanding at the same time, for making Lilith want.  

Instead, Lilith guided them to the floor, allowing Zelda to hover over her, a hand slipping inside her robe and finding its way to her chest to stroke, tug, roll and pinch while the other hand gripped under Lilith’s thigh to hook it around her waist. She arched into the touch, and Zelda smiled against her lips before leaving a trail of kisses along Lilith’s jaw and down to her neck; nipping and sucking as she went.  

When Lilith was all but panting from these minor ministrations, Zelda brought her mouth to Lilith’s ear. “I intend to make good on our intentions from a month ago, Ms. Wardwell, is that alright with you?” She nibbled on Lilith’s ear as the hand on her leg moved towards her core.  

Desperate for the contact, the intimacy, Lilith nodded eagerly, her hands going to the back of Zelda’s dress in search of a zipper. She only wished Zelda would call her by her true name. But that was impossible, so Lilith would take what she could, and she’d focus on the glorious witch above her.  

Grinning, Zelda kissed her hotly once more before starting to inch her way down Lilith’s body as her hands bunched her nightgown up. She’d almost reached Lilith’s hips when she sat up suddenly, as if struck, horror marring her features.  

Alarmed, Lilith reached up to touch her cheek. “Zelda?”  

“The Yule log,” she gasped, blinking out of sight before Lilith could say anything else.  

Of course. Of course, a witch like Zelda would have taken extra precautions during this time of year. While she hadn’t noticed the log going out, clearly, she had spells to warn her if anything came through.  

And, just as Lilith planned, something had come through, something to distract and deter Sabrina. An unfortunate side effect of her plan just happened to be that it distracted Zelda as well.  

Scowling, Lilith pushed herself up off the floor and grabbed her wine once more. Downing the contents, Lilith refilled it and made for the bedroom. She wanted to finish what they’d started while the feel of Zelda was still on her skin.  

~~~

4

Lilith sighed and played with the pen on her desk. Being principal wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. While she didn’t have to deal with the students nearly as much, she’d still rather be in Hell.  

And, well, the tedium of the tasks let her mind wander. And, more often than not, her mind had been wandering to Zelda Spellman.  

She hadn’t seen the witch since Solstice. While she knew she’d caused a little bit of chaos by putting out their Yule log, Lilith suspected something even bigger happened that night; why else would Zelda stay away?  

A nasty voice in the back of her head, one that sounded like Lucifer, said it was because she’d grown bored with Lilith just as he had.  

Banishing the thought, Lilith decided she’d go to Zelda, this time. Two of their three almosts had resulted because the redhead took initiative; the third merely a fluke of proximity and Zelda’s protectiveness and anger.  

Yes, Lilith would go to Zelda. Smiling, she turned back to her job with a bit more enthusiasm.  

She wasn’t sure what to expect when she knocked on the Spellman door later that night, but Zelda answering it herself wasn’t it. Lilith had anticipated the sister, had an entire excuse worked out for why she was there, but Zelda remarked that she was at work, while Ambrose and Sabrina were at some academy party. Ramping up for Lupercalia.  

Lilith stumbled a little then, having completely forgotten the holiday; she hadn’t celebrated it in centuries. But when Zelda looked at her coyly over her shoulder as she led the way to the parlor, Lilith couldn’t help but be thankful for the tradition.  

“Drink?” Zelda asked, already pouring one for herself.  

But Lilith didn’t want a drink, didn’t want anything to come between them this time.  

Striding over purposely, she took the glass from Zelda’s hand and set it down. Zelda looked at her, eyebrows flying up, but her mouth curling into a smile.  

“Is that a no, Ms. Wardwell?” She drawled, looking over Lilith hungrily.  

Biting her lip, Lilith grabbed Zelda’s hips and maneuvered her over to the couch. “I have a thirst for something different tonight, Ms. Spellman.” She informed her, guiding Zelda to lay down on the cushions and rucking the witch’s dress up so she could settle between her legs.  

Zelda hummed and propped herself up to kiss Lilith hotly, a hand tangling in Lilith’s hair to gently drag her down so she was laying mostly on top of Zelda. “I think,” Zelda murmured between kisses, “that I can oblige you.”  

Grinning widely, Lilith pulled back slightly to push Zelda’s dress up even further. She couldn’t help but stare when her efforts revealed stockings, a garter and a little above that black lace underwear.  

Hands skating along Zelda’s thighs, snapping the garter playfully, Lilith came to a stop when she reached the apex of Zelda’s thighs cupping the mound of flesh; both of them moaning at the contact.  

She rubbed Zelda teasingly through the fabric, delighting in the wetness gathering there. Leaning back in for a kiss, Lilith gasped when Zelda nipped at her lip and grasped her wrist to guide her in a slightly faster pattern.  

“Impatient?” She breathed, pressing harder against Zelda, making the hips of the witch under her buck up to meet her.  

With a haughtiness that impressed Lilith, Zelda smirked. “You’re one to talk, bursting in here and practically throwing me on the couch.”  

Lilith had every intention of wiping that smirk off her face, hand moving to slip under the band of Zelda’s underwear, when an alarm clanged in her head.  

No. It couldn’t be. Someone, someone was at the cottage? Lilith ignored it, she’d gotten random visitors since she’d stolen Mary’s life, this was just another one of those.  

A breathy, “Mary?” Brought Lilith’s attention back to where it needed to be. And how she wanted to ask Zelda to call her Lilith, wanted her name to be the one Zelda shouted when she came... and she was tempted to tell her the truth. Sabrina had signed, no need for further pretense….

Before she could decide though, her alarm spells sounded again, louder than before. Someone was in her cottage.  

Eyes widening, Lilith scrambled off the couch. If it was a mortal burglar, they could find any number of damning things and if it were the Dark Lord, calling on her and she wasn’t there....  

Zelda sat up, touching Lilith’s arm, concerned. “Mary, is something wrong?”  

Feeling sick, Lilith shook her head. “I have to go. Now.” She flicked a wrist to fix her appearance and stepped out of Zelda’s reach when the witch moved to catch her arm.  

“Mary, I don’t—" but Lilith couldn’t risk listening to more, she teleported away, arriving behind a tree at the end of her driveway.  

Almost running up the drive, Lilith tried to forget the hurt look on Zelda’s face. Of course, they’d been interrupted a number of times now. But Zelda had always given a reason; summoned—twice—and then Yule log.

Frowning, Lilith pushed inside her cottage, half expecting the Dark Lord to be sitting in one of her armchairs and demanding obedience.  

Instead... the room was lit with countless candles, roses perched on various surfaces. Confused, Lilith prepared a spell. “Hello?”  

A tall, dark haired man emerged from the kitchen. “Mary!” He exclaimed, rushing around the couch and hugging her. “I promised I’d be back in time for Valentine’s.”  

Racking her Mary Wardwell memories, a foggy one from years before floated to the surface. “Adam?” The fiancé who’d gone off years before to work and hadn’t returned since.  

The man, Adam, smiled widely and pecked her in the cheek. “I know, I know, you’d have liked a call. But I wanted to surprise you. Dinner’s almost ready.” He kissed her cheek again before walking back to the kitchen, humming to himself.  

Stunned, Lilith went to the bedroom to change. She knew she’d only gone back far enough to get Wardwell��s memories of Sabrina and then just general knowledge of her life to ensure no mix ups occurred. But how the Heaven hadn’t this man, this fiancé showed up then!? If she hadn’t already done so, Lilith would’ve damned Mary to Hell.  

Collecting herself, Lilith exited the bedroom, fully intending to kill this mortal and be done with it, only to find him kneeling next to a suitcase in the living room.  

“I got you something,” he informed her excitedly, producing a disturbing looking figurine from the bag. “It’s a fetish doll.” Adam explained handing it to her.

Something welled up inside Lilith, overwhelming her for a moment. An offering? She knew that wasn’t what Adam intended, he thought he was giving a gift to his fiancée, not a token to an ancient being; but apparently it still counted.  

A rush of gratitude and affection washed through Lilith, she couldn’t remember the last time anyone had prayed to her, made her an offering. The gesture warmed her to this silly mortal man who only a moment ago seemed an irritating, unnecessary aspect of Mary’s life.  

Licking her lips, Lilith cleared her throat. “I must admit, I love it…”

Maybe, maybe down the road she’d blame Zelda Spellman for making her vulnerable to such advances, open to such kindness. But right now, Lilith forgot about her plans for violence and joined Adam in the kitchen for dinner. 

~~~

5

Two months passed quickly, and Lilith hadn’t heard from Zelda. Though she’d been rather caught up in Adam and she’d heard Sabrina complaining in passing about her aunt marrying Blackwood.  

A strange turn in events certainly, given how drawn to each other they’d been. Lilith hadn’t anticipated this path for either of them, but she didn’t mind losing the ‘what might have been’ fling with the witch. Adam was delightful, and though she wouldn’t admit it to anyone but herself, she’d fallen for the man.  

She should have known the happiness wouldn’t last, that the Dark Lord wouldn’t let it last. Adam gone and her chance of being Queen with it, Lilith swallowed part of her pride and approached the Spellmans for help; forced into joining sides with the teen who’d been a thorn in her side for months now.  

To her immense surprise, Zelda was there, standing strong and proud before her niece, a shielding spell blocking Lilith from coming closer.  

And though her heart ached for Adam, Lilith couldn’t help how it lifted a bit at the sight of Zelda.  

Her revelation of her true identity went about as well as expected... Zelda only looked moderately betrayed, though from the look of resignation in her eyes it was a feeling she was all too familiar of late.  

Pushing aside personal feelings and the desire to know what betrayals Zelda had recently experienced, Lilith sat down with the Spellman family and developed plans to defeat the Dark Lord.  

~~~

By some unholy miracle they won. Not the first time, no that’d almost killed the Spellmans, but the second.  

Lilith was still getting used to the weight of the crown, of having everyone jump to fulfill her orders with an eagerness they never displayed when she only the Dark Lord’s left hand, when a summoning spell tingled up her spine.  

Stunned by the witch’s audacity, Lilith set her crown aside and teleported to the upper realm; appearing in Zelda’s bedroom where the witch was waiting.  

“You rang?” Lilith drawled with only a hint of irritation in her voice, this woman had helped her ascend to the throne, after all.  

Pacing the room, Zelda looked fit to attack. “So, you’re Lilith. Would you ever have told me you were impersonating Mary? Granted I knew your story was full of holes, but all witches have secrets, I saw no need to probe yours at the time. But, honestly, Lilith, Mother of Demons?!” She stopped and glared at her; arms crossed.  

Oh, so, Lilith blinked, this wasn’t about what she’d thought it might be. Smoothing her dress, Lilith lifted one shoulder. “I couldn’t tell you who I was, Lucifer was adamant my role be unknown unless absolutely necessary.” And it surprised Lilith that the disappointment flashing across Zelda’s face upset her. Moving closer carefully, Lilith tried to catch Zelda’s eye. “I wanted to tell you. Wanted to hear my name from your lips, wanted to have you truly know me... I couldn’t, Zelda.”  

“I don’t know why I’m acting like this,” Zelda half muttered to herself, “seems I don’t truly know anyone these days. Their motivations, their goals, what they’ll do to achieve them.” Her eyes lifted to meet Lilith’s and there was something hard and unreadable there.  

Baffled, but wanting to prove to Zelda that it hadn’t meant nothing, Lilith inched forward. “I never intended to hurt you or your family. I—"

“You were doing you duty until you realized those duties interfered with what you wanted. Being Queen.” Zelda cut in harshly, though her eyes were slightly glazed.  

Anger welled inside Lilith and she shook her head. “Just because I wanted to be Queen doesn’t mean I didn’t do right by your family in the end.” And before Zelda could interrupt her again, Lilith continued. “In any case, I don’t think this is about what I did or didn’t do to Sabrina. You can see my logic there, why I did what I did. Why I had to do what I did. You’re upset because it became personal between us and you’re the one who started that.”  

Running her tongue over her teeth, Zelda glared at her but said nothing, unable to deny Lilith’s observation.  

She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “We’re going to be working together quite often, now, High Priestess, while we could do this and despise one another, I’d prefer not to rule as Lucifer did. With his subjects fearing and hating him. What kind of compromise can we make to move forward civilly?” While she didn’t want to take such a professional path with Zelda, wanted more, she wasn’t going to force something that was no longer there; wasn’t going to push when she’d destroyed their chance.  

Chin tipping up in challenge, Zelda arched a brow. “Don’t lie to me ever again. About my family, their role in anything from prophecies to school plays in your honor. Don’t lie about who you are, your motives, your end goals. Don’t lie to me and don’t try to control me.”  

The last addition had Lilith blinking. While she couldn’t say what brought about the sudden annulment of the Spellman-Blackwood marriage, Lilith believed she’d just gotten a glimpse into one of the reasons. “I’ve never tried to control you, Zelda, and never will.” She stated honestly. “And I will do my best not to lie, that title was for Lucifer. While I cannot tell you everything, I will try to be honest about why I cannot tell you things.”  

Seemingly pacified, Zelda nodded curtly.  

Lifting her brows, Lilith spread out her hands. “Is that all?” She dearly hoped it wasn’t, that she hadn’t lost Zelda in her pursuit of the crown.  

Zelda watched her for a moment, and Lilith could practically hear her thinking. “Almost.” She murmured, striding across the floor and crashing her lips to Lilith’s.  

Stunned Lilith pulled back. “What? Not that I’m complaining, Zelda, but I don’t understand.”  

“Do you still want me? Me. As I am and not some weird shell of me?” Zelda asked, voice hoarse and eyes a little wild.  

Nodding, Lilith cupped Zelda’s jaw. “A shell?” She repeated softly, horrified as another layer peeled back a little to reveal just the tip of what Blackwood had done. She almost pressed for more details, but when Zelda looked at her earnestly, Lilith realized that wasn’t what the witch needed, not right now. So, she stroked her thumb along Zelda’s skin. “Of course, I want you. This you, the one who tipped the scales during an exorcism, the one who burst into my house and pushed me up against a wall, the one who showed up at my door with snow in her hair and cookies so I wouldn’t be alone during the holidays. The one standing in front of me. I want you, Zelda Spellman.” Lilith murmured, closing the distance between them until her lips brushed Zelda’s as she spoke her final words. “Do you want me? This me, Lilith, Bringer of Doom?” The question came out sounding much more vulnerable than Lilith intended, but it was suddenly vitally important that Zelda accepted her as well.  

In response, Zelda sealed her mouth over Lilith’s, her hands clutching at her desperately. Returning the gestures in kind, Lilith pressed Zelda back towards the bed. Before they reached it, Zelda spun them and Lilith flopped back onto the mattress, not having expected the backs of her knees to hit the thing.  

At her startled expression, Zelda hitched her dress up and straddled Lilith’s lap. “I’m on top,” she murmured, sweeping her hair over one shoulder before her mouth descended on Lilith’s once more. The ferocity of the kiss pressed Lilith back onto the bed and she groaned at the raw carnality of it all. She’d loved Adam, but he just hadn’t understood exactly what she needed… Zelda did.  

A whispered spell had Zelda naked except for her lingerie above her and the witch laughed and repeated the spell, so Lilith was in the same state.  

Dipping her head, Zelda kissed and nipped along Lilith’s chest, and when she reached her breasts, she sucked one of her nipples through the fabric of her bra. The friction was glorious, and Lilith arched into Zelda, her body silently begging for more.  

Just as Lilith reached around the witch, hooking her fingers on the clasps of her bra, more than ready to feast on the beauty that was Zelda with less clothing, a crash reverberated through the house from below.  

A scream followed, and then a loud, “Professor Spellman!”  

An animalistic snarl sounded against Lilith’s chest and Zelda swung off her. “Hell knows what they’ve done now,” she snapped, waving a hand and restoring her clothes. “Mar—, Lilith,” she corrected, glancing back to where Lilith was still sprawled on the bed in her underwear, having not yet processed this new interruption. “Perhaps another time.” She smiled apologetically then hurried out the door, swinging it shut behind her.  

Again?! Again! Lilith sat up and fumed for a moment before getting dressed herself. They’d gotten so close this time. Muttering to herself, Lilith teleported back to Hell just as sounds of many voices trying to be heard and explain their side echoed up the stairs.  

~~~

+1

Despite their quick reconciliation immediately after Lucifer fell, things were still rocky as they moved forward in reforming the Church and Hell.  

They fought, bickered and both refused to make the next move towards something physical; wanting the other to be the first to bend.  

This continued for months; and while their tempers leveled off and they began to smile, laugh and chat amicably with one another as they rebuilt everything Blackwood and Lucifer had torn down, Lilith couldn’t help but wish for more—especially now that she knew the witch better.  

It wasn’t until half a year later, when they were sequestered in Zelda’s office, working on even more reforms, that Lilith decided she’d had enough.  

The fact that Zelda had shed her coat and unbuttoned her shirt a bit because of the heat had no bearing on the matter. Absolutely none.  

Setting her notes aside, Lilith twiddled her fingers and locked the office door, adding a silencing spell in place as well so no one could hear them, and they could hear no one else.  

If something somehow interrupted them, Lilith would damn them to the burning pits of Hell.  

“Zelda,” she murmured, shifting to face the witch sitting next to her. Zelda hummed in reply, eyes still on the documents in her hands. “Zelda,” she tried again, this time leaning in and licking a stripe up Zelda’s neck, faintly tasting the salt of her sweat.  

That elicited the kind of response she was looking for.  

Dropping her things in surprise, Zelda turned to her. “Lilith...” she replied, eyes already darkening with lust.  

It was the only invitation Lilith needed. She swept the rest of the papers onto the floor and pressed Zelda back onto the cushions, kissing her thoroughly and hands roaming the curves they’d been denied for so long.  

A low moan emanated from Zelda’s throat and she pulled Lilith more firmly on top of her; her hands caressing as well.  

She broke away, eyes snapping open. “The door—" she moved to get up, but Lilith turned her attention to Zelda’s neck and the ministrations had Zelda dropping back to the couch and turning her head to provide better access.  

“I’ve already locked it, Zee,” Lilith purred into Zelda’s ear, nipping the lobe and then lowering her mouth back to a spot on the redhead’s neck that had her panting a moment before. “And cast some silencing spells. We won’t be interrupted this time.”  

Zelda gasped as Lilith continued her assault on her neck and held her closer. “Good. Otherwise we’d be putting someone in the Cain pit.” Her hands reached for Lilith’s zipper and dragged it down, her hands hungrily slipping under the fabric to seek skin.  

Pushing herself up, Lilith slid her arms out of the sleeves and shimmied to get the dress the rest of the way down, kicking it off when she finished.  

“All hail Lilith,” Zelda murmured, with only a half teasing tone, her hands landing on Lilith’s ribs and stroking reverently.  

Arching into the touch, Lilith bit her lip. “Someone is severely overdressed,” she observed teasingly, snipping her fingers and divesting Zelda of her dress as well, leaving her in lingerie, a garter and stockings. An appreciative groan escaped Lilith and she hurriedly closed the distance between them, recapturing Zelda’s lips once more.  

She wasn’t the only one in a rush, Zelda’s clever fingers deftly undid the clasp of Lilith’s bra and yanked the offending item away. Once free, Zelda broke the kiss and scooted a little lower on the couch to pull one of Lilith’s nipples between her lips and oh, this was so much better without the interfering fabric.  

Unable, and unwilling, to restrain herself, Lilith adjusted her stance, so she straddled one of Zelda’s legs and began to rut as Zelda lavished her chest. Hands found her hips and encouraged her on, pulling her down even as Zelda’s leg pressed up. It was a heady combination and Zelda switching her attention to Lilith’s other breast had a mewl escaping her mouth.  

It was then Lilith realized Zelda was doing all the work and getting none of the pleasure. Gently disengaging, Lilith delighted in Zelda’s sound of displeasure. “Oh, darling,” she admonished teasingly, moving lower until she was able to remove Zelda’s underwear. “You’ll be making much different noises when I’m done with you.”  

With one last sinful smile at the incredible witch underneath her, Lilith did what she’d wanted to do for almost a year now. She buried her head between Zelda’s thighs and grinned when Zelda gasped her name and gripped her hair to hold her close.  

While the anticipation, the waiting, certainly heightened the experience, Lilith thanked whatever power might be above her that they were finally not being interrupted.

[argyrocratie]

The casino-capitalist simulation of labour society

The predominant social awareness deceives itself systematically about the actual state of the labour society: Collapsing regions are excommunicated ideologically, labour market statistics are distorted unscrupulously, and forms of impoverishment are simulated away by the media. Simulation is the central feature of crisis capitalism anyway. This is also true for the economy itself.

If – at least in the countries at the heart of the Western world – it seems that capital accumulation is possible without labour employed and that money as a pure form is able to guarantee the further valorisation of value out of itself, such appearance is owing to the simulation process going on at financial markets. As a mirror image of labour simulation by means of coercive measures imposed by the labour administration authorities, a simulation of capital valorisation developed from the speculative uncoupling of the credit system and equity market from the actual economy.

Present-time labour employed is replaced by the tapping of future-time labour that will never be employed in reality – capital accumulation taking place in some fictitious future so to speak. Monetary capital that no longer can profitably be reinvested in active assets, and is therefore unable to consume labour, has increasingly to resort to financial markets.

Even the Fordistic boom of capital valorisation in the heydays of the so-called “economic miracle” after World War II was not entirely self-sustaining. As it was impossible to finance the basic preconditions of labour society otherwise, the state turned to deficit spending to an unprecedented extent. The credit volume raised exceeded revenue from taxation by far. This means that the state pledged its future actual revenue as a collateral security. On the one hand, this way an investment opportunity for “superfluous” moneyed capital was created; it was lent to the state on interest. The state settled interest payment by raising fresh credit, thereby funnelling back the borrowed money into economic circulation.

On the other hand, this implies that social security expenditure and public spending on infrastructure was financed by way of credit. Hence, in terms of capitalist logic, an “artificial” demand was created which was not covered by productive labour power expenditure. By tapping its own future, the labour society prolonged the lifetime of the Fordistic boom beyond its actual span.

This simulative element, being in operation even in times of a seemingly intact valorisation process, came up against limiting factors in line with the amount of indebtedness of the state. “Public debt crisis” in the capitalist centres as well as in Third World countries put an end to the stimulation of economic growth by means of deficit spending and laid the foundation for the triumphant advance of neo-liberal deregulation policies. According to the liberal ideology, deregulation can only be effected in line with a sweeping reduction of the public-sector share in national product. In reality costs and expenses arising from crisis management, whether it is government spending on the repression apparatus or national expenditure for the maintenance of the simulation machinery, do compensate cost saving from deregulation and the reduction of state functions. In many states, the public-sector share even expanded as a result.

However, it was not possible to simulate the further accumulation of capital by means of deficit spending any longer. Consequently, in the eighties of last century, the additional creation of fictitious capital shifted to the equity market. No longer dividend, the share in real profit, is a matter of concern; rather it is stock price gains, the speculative increase in value of the legal title up to an astronomical magnitude, which counts. The ratio of real economy to speculative price movements turned upside down. The speculative price advance no longer anticipates real economic expansion but conversely, the bull market of fictitious net profit generation simulates a real accumulation that no longer exists.

Clinically dead, the labour idol is kept breathing artificially by means of a seemingly self-induced expansion of financial markets. Industrial corporations show profits that don’t come from operating income, i.e. the production and sale of goods – a loss-making branch of business for a long time – but from the “clever” speculation of their financial departments in stocks and currency. The revenue items shown in the budgets of public authorities are not yielded by taxation or public borrowing, but by the keen participation of fiscal administrations in the financial gambling markets. Families and one-person households whose real income from wages or salaries is dropping dramatically, keep to their spending spree habit by using stocks and prospective price gains as a collateral for consumer credits. Once again, a new form of artificial demand is created resulting in production and revenue “built upon sandy ground”.

The speculative process is a dilatory tactic to defer the global economic crisis. As the fictitious increase in the value of legal titles is only the anticipation of future labour employed (to an astronomical magnitude) that will never be employed, the lid will be taken off the objectified swindle after a certain time of incubation. The breakdown of the “emerging markets” in Asia, Latin America, and Eastern Europe was just a first foretaste. It is only a question of time until the financial markets of the capitalist centres in the US, the EU (European Union) and Japan will collapse.

These interrelations are completely distorted by the fetish-awareness of the labour society, inclusive of traditional left-wing and right-wing “critics of capitalism”. Fixated on the labour phantom, which was ennobled to be the transhistorical and positive precondition of human existence, they systematically confuse cause and effect. The speculative expansion of financial markets, which is the cause for the temporary deferment of crisis, is then just the other way around, detected to be the cause of the crisis. The “evil speculators”, they say more or less panic-stricken, will ruin the absolutely wonderful labour society by gambling away “good” money of which they have more than enough just for kicks, instead of bravely investing it in marvellous “jobs” so that a labour maniac humanity may enjoy “full employment” self-indulgently.

It is beyond them that it is by no means speculation that brought investment in real economy to a standstill, but that such investment became unprofitable as a result of the 3rd industrial revolution. The speculative take off of share prices is just a symptom of the inner dynamics. Even according to capitalist logic, this money, seemingly circulating in ever-increasing loads, is not “good” money any longer but rather “hot air” inflating the speculative bubble. Any attempt to tap this bubble by means of whatsoever tax (Tobin-tax, etc.) to divert money flows to the ostensibly “correct” and real social treadmills will most probably bring about the sudden burst of the bubble.

Instead of realising that we all become inexorably unprofitable and therefore the criterion of profitability itself, together with the immanent foundations of labour society, should be attacked as being obsolete, one indulges in demonising the “speculators”. Right-wing extremists, left-wing “subversive elements”, worthy trade unionists, Keynesian nostalgics, social theologians, TV hosts, and all the other apostles of “honest” labour unanimously cultivate such a cheap concept of an enemy. Very few of them are aware of the fact that it is only a small step from such reasoning to the re-mobilisation of the anti-Semitic paranoia. To invoke the “creative power” of national-blooded non-monetary capital to fight the “money-amassing“”Jewish-international monetary capital threatens to be the ultimate creed of the intellectually dissolute left; as it has always been the creed of the racist, anti-Semitic, and anti-American “job-creation-scheme” right.

— Manifesto against Labour by Krisis-Group (1999)

[qqueenofhades]

(As always feel free to ignore but) If I may suggest a palate cleanser for those of us still living in the land of Judgment and Deep Sighs after the last two TSAS chapters: The Calamity Companions being Good At Things (although possibly still dumb in other ways) during the Crusades (historian's choice as to which)?

Ahahaha. While chapter 20 did offer some amount of redemption for one half of the Brothers Dimm, if only since he literally could not dig any further and had to go the other goddamn direction, that does not mean our judgment is any less real. Also, as I have reminded you, just because they’re good at one very specific thing does not in the least guarantee that they will be good at others. So. You win some you lose some. You have been forewarned.

Zara, Dalmatia

November 1202

The great city walls of Zara, pummeled under the relentless bombardments of Venetian siege machines, lie in piles of broken stone and mortar, gaping like broken teeth and casting uneven shadows in the sunset glimmering over the sea. The crusader fleet lies at anchor in the harbor, crosses flapping over their sails, just as the crosses that the citizens of Zara hung off the walls in a vain attempt to remind their attackers that they too are Christians have now been torn to shreds, trampled under a thousand hobnailed boots. The place is uneasily, unnaturally quiet. Most of the citizens have taken refuge in the homes still standing, or gathered their things and fled inland, toward Nin or Biograd, while the Franks and the Venetians squabble like dogs in the street over their plunder. It tastes sour in Garcia’s throat as he paces along the seaward side, glancing up at the mess. He’s in mail and leather and green-crossed tabard, sword strapped around his waist and his hand on the hilt; he can’t help but expect trouble. The fact that Zara is his ancestral home territory, just over two hundred miles north of Ragusa, sharpens the insult. A city of Christians callously attacked, sacked, and used as collateral on the massive debt of 94,000 marks that the crusaders seem unlikely ever to pay back to the Venetians. As starts to Christendom’s Fourth Crusade go, which has already been hampered by bad recruitment and leadership squabbles, this feels… well, it certainly doesn’t feel good.

Garcia swears under his breath. He didn’t want to be here to start with, having had his fill of crusades after the last one, and wouldn’t be, but Papa insisted that the Knights of Lazarus, who after all were founded as a crusading order, had a responsibility to supervise this one particularly. Asher de Clermont seemed to guess that this was going to go badly from the start, but that is just Papa for you. He knows things no one else does (and, Garcia supposes, almost two and a half thousand years of military experience means absolutely nothing can surprise you). The sack of Zara would have been much worse for the citizens if Garcia and Gabriel hadn’t charged in there and pulled them out, gotten them to safety before the walls broke completely, but it still rankles Garcia immoderately. They don’t have the authority to override the decisions of the crusade’s human commanders, but he can’t help but feel like they should. What are they here for otherwise? Hope they can prevent too much innocent bloodshed while it’s happening, but stand there dumbly while it’s being proposed to start with? To hell with that. Papa’s rules about not interfering with human governance already cost them Richard. He should be here. He was supposed to be here. But instead he died in agony three years ago, and they had to watch it happen.

Garcia’s mouth tightens still further, and his fist clenches in its gauntlet. He’s not feeling charitable toward anyone at the moment, the Venetians especially, but his father isn’t far behind. Did Asher think they were just planning to – what? And it’s not just supernatural authorities who will hate this. The pope is going to have a bloody fit when he hears – Garcia wouldn’t be surprised if Innocent excommunicated the whole army, though it’s no less than what they –

“Good evening, darling,” a voice says behind him. “I must say, with a face like that, you could take down the rest of the walls on your own.”

Garcia jumps, whirls around, and discovers that he has been so absorbed in his angry thoughts as to miss the sauntering advent of his brother. Of course, even in the middle of a sacked city and a semi-active battlefield, Gabriel de Clermont has to saunter. His hair is obnoxiously and perfectly windswept, cloak thrown artfully over his shoulder, a roguish cut on his cheek already beginning to heal, and his teeth flash white in the autumn dusk as he smiles. “Out here brooding by yourself, Garcia? You know there are better places to do it.”

“What, in the city? So we can watch them fight over some parish priest’s altar silver, or some old woman’s copper coins?” Garcia is happy to see Gabriel, he always is, but he does wish that Gabriel would appear to be taking this with even a drop of seriousness. “Doesn’t it bother you? All of this?”

“I prefer not to think too much about why humans do what they do, darling.” Gabriel comes to a halt next to Garcia, nudging his shoulder affectionately, and they stand side by side, staring out to sea, until Gabriel produces a wineskin, takes a deep swig, and tosses it over. “Here. Something for the pain.”

Garcia grunts, debates tossing it back, but then takes a long drink of his own. It won’t get him drunk, of course, but it helps. “What have you been doing? Admiring your reflection?”

“Breaking up some of those particularly unedifying squabbles, in fact.” Gabriel indicates the cut on his cheek. “Showed my fangs to some miserable little shit who was trying to steal a merchant’s takings, so he pissed himself and ran away. Really, almost too easy. Though there were a few who were less pleased at my intervention, so I had to throw them through a window.”

Garcia raises an eyebrow. ‘”I thought you didn’t care what humans did? Besides, what with Papa and his blasted insistence that we don’t interfere, are you allowed to throw looters through windows, or – ?”

“Papa is not here, my love.” Gabriel says this in a tone as if Garcia is very stupid not to have noticed this fact, but he is desperately fond and will enlighten him anyway. “And he never said we couldn’t take a few more hands-on measures, if the opportunity arises, otherwise we might as well not bother being here at all. Besides, I don’t recall we have to listen to everything he says, now do we?”

There’s just enough of an edge in Gabriel’s voice, despite the jocularity, to make Garcia realize that he’s not the only one holding a grudge against their father for Richard’s death. He glances at Gabriel again, but Gabriel carefully looks away, keeping his eyes on the sunset sea. Then he says, “I do recommend it, you know. Throwing the worst offenders through windows, or any other suitable object that presents itself. It is most cathartic.”

Garcia raises the other eyebrow. He can’t deny that the idea does sound good, and really, it is entirely compatible with their mandate to defend the citizens of Zara. The crusaders might bewail and bluster and fulminate about Gabriel and Garcia de Clermont aiding their enemies, but while they don’t know that they’re vampires, they do know instinctively that they are not to be messed with. Everyone has seen the two of them fight. It is… singular.

“Come on,” Gabriel says, jerking his thumb at the sounds of a scuffle behind them. “By the sounds of things, there’s still plenty left for you. Eh?”

To hell with it, Garcia thinks. Papa is not here, he does want to blow off steam, and Gabriel always knows what will make him feel better, whether or not it is, strictly speaking, what he is supposed to do. So he follows his brother into the darkening streets, they spend a very enjoyable hour or so absolutely terrifying anyone who is trying to steal that which does not belong to them (throwing is proceeded to in a few of the more extreme cases), and at the end of it, stand side by side in the square before St Donat’s. Garcia cannot deny that did in fact feel much better than brooding alone, and he wipes the grime off his forehead with his vambrace. “Do you think that will have put a stop to it?”

“Possibly,” Gabriel says. “Though more fun for us if not.”

Garcia looks at him again, sidelong. “Do you want – should we go somewhere? Have a feed? I could use it.”

“Oh, ah.” Gabriel coughs. “Later, dearest, later. I – have a social engagement.”

“Wh – ” Garcia stares at his brother in deep exasperation. “Zara fell a week ago. Don’t tell me you have a lover already.”

“If I saved a lovely young widow from a pack of Venetian condottieres, and she felt inclined to invite me back later to express her gratitude in more intimate ways – ” Gabriel raises one shoulder as if to say that truly, this face cannot be blamed for it. “It would be uncharitable of me to leave her without protection too long in these dangerous times, wouldn’t it? And no, her husband did not die during this attack. I am not that crass. Two years ago, of fever.”

“Jesus.” Garcia raises his face in mute appeal to the darkening heavens. “You are unbelievable.”

Gabriel smiles, but something about it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Just efficient, darling, that’s all. I shall see you later, or perhaps you shall find a fetching widow of your own to nibble on? Or widower, you know I’m not particular. So – ta?”

With that, he sweeps his cloak over to the other shoulder, adjusts his hair to an even more exquisite degree of tousle, and proceeds off down one of the narrow lanes to the presumable dwelling place of his paramour. Garcia stands there, wonders if he can hit Gabriel with a rock from here, and sighs deeply. Then he turns on his heel, decides that if nothing else he can at least go back to the crusader camp and silently judge Boniface of Montferrat and Enrico Dandolo from afar, and, still muttering, departs.

[roirence]

I wonder how Nanjo's parents and Matsuoka will react after they find out abt their son's relationship with Naoya. Yeah, because if Nanjo marries Naoya, he needs to change his name to Kei Toudou(hoo boy) and maybe that'll affect Nanjo group's business. 😂😂

hmm I feel like this can go a few different ways,

this got kind of long so I’ll put it under a read more, also I’ll refer to Nanjo as Kei so it’s less confusing here

1. If Nanjo does change his name his family will be in a fit, from what we can infer they weren’t very present in his life as they were always busy with I’m assuming work.They care a lot about building up their family name and their success so if Kei discards his Nanjo name it probably won’t go well, they’ll force him to leave Naoya or threaten him with excommunication. I’m sure his parents are really prideful though so they wouldn’t want their son to leave the family cuz it would look bad and try to sweep the whole thing under the carpet or keep it hush hush. This is just about him taking the name Toudou too, I don’t think they would approve his same sex relationship either and try to play it off as ‘a phase’, but I think their main concern would be their son dropping the Nanjo name? Maybe..I kind of rambled on here

Matsuoka I think would try at first to persuade Kei to rethink this for his family’s honour and image but eventually he’ll see that Kei’s really happy with Naoya and Naoya’s the only one for him so he will support them for himself and Yamaoka too.

2. I think Kei is too prideful let go of the Nanjo name, so if they do get married he’ll keep Nanjo as his last name, or maybe Naoya and Kei could combine surnames. His parents would still not agree to his marriage with some commoner boy though, but Kei will prove himself to still be a great Nanjo heir and continue his journey to become the number 1 man. Kei and naoya will face a lot of hardships with their choices but they’ll have each other for support so they’ll be okay. I think Naoya will also show his resolve and love for Kei to his parents, in a happy end they’ll eventually come around to seeing Naoya as a capable, hard working young man too. Matsuoka will probably act similarly to how I think he would in scenario 1

3. They elope, and before you say it’s ooc let me explain how it’d go. After breaking the news of his plans to marry Naoya, his parents don’t react favorably, and Kei breaks down. Kei’s done everything his parents wanted his entire life and they won’t let him be selfish this one time? He does a lot of thinking and comes to realize that he had been living for his parents/family and not himself so he asks Naoya to run away with him. Naoya’s hesitant because he’s sure this isn’t what Kei really wants, but he wants to support Kei so he’ll go along with it. But eventually Kei realizes for himself that he still cares a lot about his family and running away ins’t an option and he’s ashamed to have come to this conclusion in the first place, so with Naoya’s help he returns to face his parents and try to explain to them why his love for Naoya isn’t going to ruin the family name in anyway...and then the surname situation can go to either scenario 1 or 2 I think (this situation is more drama filled tho and the least likely to happen imo)

4. Kei registers his marriage with Naoya without consulting his parents and they don’t find out about it until after it’s done and nothing can be done about it now cuz they won’t a null it. And then it can follow scenario 1 or 2 wrt to his surname.

Overall in every instance, his parents won’t initially support his relationship with Naoya...but in my happy end they’ll come around around eventually.

Though out of all of these, I think scenario 2 is the most likely to occur maybe? Or I like that one the most haha

[sadbutfunnyandtrue]

Forgiveness or Stupidity?

I have been alone for quite some time now. Not by choice, but circumstance. Maybe even by fate.

I have never been close to my family. We were doomed from the beginning--

gambling, abusive father, who I wouldn’t speak to on and off for 30 years, until the year he was diagnosed with stage 4 lung cancer; whose love and praise I craved; who was charming and handsome and gifted with music, skill, and craftsmanship; who I hated and loved and forgave and regretted never doing so sooner,

my overworking, bighearted, kind-to-everyone, naive, trying-the-best-that-she-could, the living, breathing emobdiment of “a mother’s love,” martyr mother--whose sole purpose in life was to dedicate herself to her children, but paid the price of being a single, working mom, by leaving us to raise ourselves,

with the help of my old school, immigrant grandmother, a beautiful, fiery soul with a mysterious and resilient past, (who gets her own stories, in later installments),

and my brother, the notorious, pathological liar with some sort of narcissistic personality disorder (or multiple personality, or sociopath... I never knew the difference, but if you met him, then grew to know him, maybe you could tell me) and a violent streak. 

Never have I ever had healthy relationships. And even if they posed the potential to be, I found ways of sabotaging them, because I was (and sometimes still am) insecure and have abandonment issues, feeling undeserving and needy all of the time. That I was the problem and I couldn’t have that. I don’t even know what that looks like.

I felt this way about my father’s love. I felt neglected and abandoned by my graveyard-working, absentee mother, while she enabled my brother to replicate the fear and intimidation that my dad taught us as children. That meant power. That meant respect. That meant I had to get the fuck out of dodge, because there was no way my mom would ever kick him out.

I didn’t have lifelong childhood friends. I can think of one, who is literally one month older than me. There were a group of us, but he and I were soulmates. Not romantically, anymore or if ever, but in a, “you and I were put on this earth together to be there for each other, no matter the distance, you’re never alone,” kind of way. I swear, not romantic. There is an unspoken reverence between us. Our friendship and our connection are sacred. And though we don’t speak or see each other often, our bond is unbreakable.

A bunch of our moms worked at the same place, all got pregnant around the same time, and raised us all together until we went to different high schools. Then drugs (not me, not yet, anyway), then college, then money got in the way. Our parents used to think he and would get married, and I think, secretly, we did too, but the teasing was too much to deal with at 10-years-old. 

But when we used his address so I could go to school, after my mom packed up our lives and ran away from my dad, he was officially dubbed my “cousin,” because brown parents cannot talk about divorce and violence and bring shame to my name. That was a faux pas. We weren’t allowed to explain to anyone where we came from, how we came to a whole new town that I had never heard of, or why I was always around him. (My family and I lived at his house for two months until my mom could find a place for us to refuge). Anyway, while he is still my dearest and truest friend, we grew up and drifted apart. I still, and always will, hold a special place for him in my heart. He is the brother, twin, and protector I always wanted and the man I could have had but couldn’t bring or allow myself to want. His friendship and his heart are more important to me than his romantic love (there is none, trust me). He is, and always will be, the first man to never let me down. And I am eternally grateful for that.

I was always my brother’s little sister. While I can say now that my brother is a total piece of shit, there are some parts of him that are regretfully going to waste. He was smart and artistic. He had the potential to do anything, and I believed he was going to be a historian or a mathematician, or a robotics engineer, computer programmer, anime illustrator... then I don’t know what happened. I think he just got lost in the cool. He turned into a real jerk when we moved, lying on my name to make himself seem bigger and better. I would follow him a grade after, in the shadows of his legacy and the lies he told, all incredibly unbelievable and exaggerated fabrications. And it wasn’t until high school that people caught on. Thank god. I was tired of being abused and picked on by the hands and mouths of other people, because of the lies that someone, that was supposed to love and protect me, started. 

Because we were so close in age, I was expected to follow in his footsteps--do the same things he did, because my mom wanted us to get into good colleges and hang out together, fail out of my academic program because we shared the same last name and I had to be a fuck up, according to my teachers... So I obeyed, and did like any other tiny, angry, Asian woman would do--I obeyed, and vowed to prove all of them wrong.

But then they saw me. I became my own person. And later got crushed under all of the pressure to be better than him and emerge in my own light. But that’s another story...

We hung out in the same circles, and peers and teachers started to see it too. His friends stopped hanging out with him, but still hung out with me... which finally leads me to the fucking point of this entry...

The boys.

These were my friends in high school. We all initially connected because of my brother, but for reasons unknown to me (at least, my role and value in this group, as I would later find out), I stuck around them and they stuck around me. This group of boys, miseducated and raised on hyper-sexual anime, drowned in toxic ideologies of what it means to be a man, and cursed with small town, bro mentalities, stuck to me. And I took it as a feeling of belonging and love, because I had nothing else, and it was already there. That’s not to say we didn’t have good times, we did. But there was always something that made me feel as though I didn’t truly belong. Uneasy.

Needless to say, this became more apparent when I left town to go to college. I got to study new things that interested me, learn about myself and my culture, meet new people from different walks of life, explore in a way that allowed me to grow, have conversations where I was valued and listened to, where I was challenged... and they resented me for it. For making new friends, creating a life outside of them, for being “too good to come visit or hang out,” when I couldn’t afford to skip class just because they were there, or come home for holidays because I was working retail and needed to pay rent. They couldn’t be bothered to hear about how happy and excited I was, or even pretend they were happy that I was happy and growing, because I was doing it without them and they thought I felt above them. I did not. I just wanted to share the newer parts of my life with my homies. My day ones’. Who turned out to be fair weather. A season for a reason. 

Later, I would move back home and the feeling of unease and discomfort grew, when I began hanging out with them again. I felt like they were still the same people they were in high school, just older and more reckless than before. It was fun and exciting but also really stupid of me to slip back into the drama and the routine of bro talk. “Make me a sandwich” jokes. Talking over the girls and repeating exactly what we said a minute before, as though coming up with novel ideas and dismissing us because any input we had was insignificant unless it came from a man’s mouth. Reducing women in moves, in music, and in our circle of friends to their body parts, when we were in their presence. And when only one girl was there, the talk was amplified. It make me feel dirty and disgusted. And small. So insignificant, unimportant, and small.

I made the fatal mistake of hooking up with the worst of the group, a child that epitomized every basic ass fuckboi quality you can think of, a stripped down version of all of their worst parts. When he ended our situationship for the 7th time in 10 months, after cheating on me numerous times, and I came to my senses, I went after the boy that I was, and always was, in love with in our high school years. I would learn that he felt the same way the entire time, but it was again, “what about the group?” 

I was excommunicated for going after one of the homies, joining the weird group of “homie hoppers,” while we literally had one girl sleep with 4 people in the group and no one batted an eye, where partners traded and switched like line dancing... But it didn’t matter, because the bros we’re cool with it. And what about us? The women?

And forget that we were madly in love with each other--permission was to be asked if he could date me. Permission?! From whom?! Last time I checked it was my body and my heart. FuCkBoI didn’t own me! And since when do we announce our love affairs before this jury full of fools?

After a couple of months of blinding, beautiful love, later replaced with tons of mutual toxicity, I was excommunicated again. I could tell you why I made these terribly, illogical decisions, but this entry is already way too long and I can save this for later, deeper content. 

These very well could be in the top 5 worst decisions I ever made. But also the best, because it showed me who my friends were. Literally. I saw them for who they really were. Those that stuck around and hose who said, “fuck that bitch,” and sided with their bros, did. And those that stuck around selectively, in secret, and separate from the rest, might have been the fucking worst.

All this group did was gossip about each other. If one member of the crew was absent, you already knew they were the highlight of that moment. They aired out everyone’s laundry, especially when it wasn’t theirs to air out. The ones who rode the fence would not only share what I shared in confidence, but took it out of context, for it to be misconstrued in the minds of these bros before hoes, and repeated to the general public. 

Now when you’re in relationships, nobody knows it better that the two people in that relationship. And when you’re heartbroken, you’re looking for support and an ear to hear you out, help you wipe your tears, and sweep up the pieces of the life you had before them. It was unfortunate that our relationship formed, observed, and judged by the live audience of this group. But who better to understand you than people that know you both? Those who know the people you are at your cores and who can be unbiased, because they understand that they don’t know who we were behind closed doors.

I sat there and explained myself about the first situation. And then my current (at that time) break up. And I felt judged. And small. And invalidated. Again.

When I found out that my pain was being spread like confetti at a Warrior’s parade, excessively and way way waaaaay out of context, I finally called them out on it, right away. This time, was the last time. This time, I was done.  I couldn’t believe it, but at the same time, what did I expect?

I was done explaining why I felt hurt, why what they did was wrong. I was done trying to tell my friends this is not how friends behave. I was done having my feelings invalidated by people who failed to listen and hear me and show up for me in a way that they did for their fellow dicks.

 And I cut off all contact and have lived a much happier, drama-freeish, life. For the most part. But also, a lonelier, more selective, more private, and protected life. All in all, a better one, poised for the kind of growth and life that I want.

One of these friends texted me today, two years later, to the day, that we last spoke:

“Hey. I went to this therapy forum. I want you to know that I still value you as a friend and I’m sorry for what wrongs I caused you. I take ownership over the falling out we had and I ope that we can be friends again.”

I read that, and having gone what I have in these last two years, I responded:

“Hey. I really appreciate that. Thanks.”

To be continued...

“

[chimericarchitect]

gallionicTrickster 5

-- gallionicTrickster [GT] began trolling talentedSalad [TS] at 21:47 --

[09:47] GT: nerd

[09:47] TS: Hey dude. You've been offline for a while.

[09:48] GT: oh you know

[09:48] GT: i been busy

[09:48] TS: With what? Your corpse party?

[09:48] GT: yeah pretty much

[09:48] TS: Is that REALLY what you've been doing?

[09:49] GT: did you know that seadwellers REALLY dont take kindly to criticism?

[09:49] TS: Oh no

[09:49] TS: What did you do?

[09:49] GT: same thing as always

[09:50] GT: talk shit from the safety of my hovel

[09:50] GT: #yolo

[09:50] TS: They came after you? #UFuckinIdiot

[09:50] GT: well its fine

[09:51] GT: my lusus was kinda hungry anyways

[09:51] GT: theyve developed a taste for seafood

[09:51] TS: dude

[09:51] TS: So

[09:51] TS: Are you okay?

[09:51] GT: yeah im fine

[09:51] GT: i do this all the time

[09:51] TS: To seadwellers

[09:51] GT: well

[09:52] GT: they tend to last alot longer

[09:52] GT: but since my trap infested hive isnt where im actually hiding im not really in a whole lot of danger

[09:52] TS: Wait

[09:52] TS: You invited me over

[09:52] GT: pffft

[09:52] GT: yeah to my actual hive

[09:53] TS: PleaseExplain.exe

[09:53] GT: well

[09:53] GT: i kind of have a little bunker close to my "legitimate hive"

[09:54] GT: as a cerulean im given quite a bit of freedom in designing my hive

[09:54] GT: i live in a tiny underground box

[09:54] GT: right next to a giant deathtrap

[09:55] GT: im not much of a hunter myself

[09:56] GT: so i figured if i lured enough easily offended assholes to my hive i can just let them die to a bunch of traps

[09:56] GT: and my lusus get fed ma boi

[09:56] TS: Yeah, but... I mean, I'm surprised you'd go to such lengths. 'Specially considering hives are designed by wrigglers. You were a creepy grub.

[09:56] GT: yeah pretty much

[09:57] TS: So, if everything is fine, why've you been hiding out for days on end?

[09:57] TS: you haven't said a word

[09:58] GT: that last violet blood was a bit smarter than i gave him credit for

[09:58] TS: What happened?

[09:58] GT: almost made it out alive

[09:58] GT: gave my lusus a run for his money

[09:59] TS: Is your lusus hurt?

[09:59] GT: not too poorly

[09:59] GT: just a few scratcges here and there

[10:01] TS: Concerned.exe

[10:02] GT: shouldnt be.exe

[10:02] TS: AreYouSureAboutThat.meme

[10:02] GT: dankasfuckbro.mem

[10:02] TS: You ruffian.

[10:02] GT: pretty much

[10:02] TS: Do you know the seadweller's name?

[10:03] TS: Did you get their lusus too?

[10:03] GT: nah

[10:03] GT: unless you count clamSmasher69 as a "name"

[10:04] TS: I don't think so. Do you know the names of ANY of your victims?

[10:04] TS: Or is it just usernames?

[10:04] GT: usually just usernames

[10:04] TS: Does that make it easier?

[10:04] GT: yeah basically

[10:05] GT: i also usually target the upper end of the hemospectrum because the lifestyle of the high and mighty makes it easy to piss them off

[10:05] GT: but stupidity is universal

[10:06] GT: i get the occasional lowblood here and there

[10:06] TS: You've probably made a few enemies

[10:06] TS: to say the least

[10:06] GT: yeah basically

[10:06] GT: i kind of hate our species anyways

[10:07] GT: either i end up dead or i cull so many highbloods that our society changes in some slightly pleasant way

[10:07] GT: either way i kind of win

[10:07] TS: Wow. Bit of a black slut, huh?

[10:08] TS: JK

[10:08] TS: It sucks

[10:08] GT: eh

[10:08] GT: it is what it is

[10:08] GT: its why most of my freinds are lower on the spectrum

[10:10] TS: Nobody's ever figured out your secret technique?\

[10:11] GT: not yet

[10:11] GT: i give out my location so they dont really need to "track me down"

[10:11] GT: avoids them finding my hidey hole

[10:12] GT: i keep a few tricks up my sleeve just in case

[10:12] TS: And no one's been smart enough to think that maybe, JUST MAYBE, the fact that you hand out your coordinates is a touch strange?

[10:12] TS: Bleh

[10:12] GT: its almost like i specifically target trolls that arnt very bright

[10:13] TS: You can't know that as an absolute

[10:13] TS: You barely resaerch your targets at all

[10:13] TS: You don't even know their names

[10:13] GT: no

[10:13] GT: thats true

[10:14] GT: i usually pick people who consistantly act like an ass over trollian

[10:15] TS: Does that mean you'd cull yourself if you met you?

[10:15] GT: yeah basically

[10:15] TS: datk

[10:16] TS: *dark

[10:16] GT: the main difference being that i can laugh at myself and let it go

[10:17] GT: if someones so up their own ass that they need to go hunt someone down for calling them a pussy

[10:17] GT: then they kind of are just asking to get killed

[10:18] TS: *shrugs*

[10:18] TS: I wouldn't know

[10:19] GT: *shrugs*

[10:19] GT: *SHRUGGING INTENSIFIES*

[10:19] TS: *POWERSHRUG ACTIVATE*

[10:19] GT: *ENDLESS SHRUG*

[10:19] TS: *THE SHRUGWAR BEGINS TO DISSOLVE SPACETIME*

[10:20] GT: *shrugmageddon*

[10:20] TS: *the shruggening*

[10:21] GT: so tell me about yourself lowblood

[10:21] GT: your one of like

[10:21] GT: 4 people i cponsider friends?

[10:22] TS: You have four friends? That's pretty wild

[10:22] GT: yeah basically

[10:22] TS: You seem okay, so...

[10:22] TS: What do you wanna know?

[10:22] GT: eh

[10:22] GT: nothing specific

[10:23] GT: so why do you roleplay a lime blood over trollian?

[10:23] TS: Well, I mean...

[10:23] TS: Mystery is cool, right?

[10:23] GT: thats fair

[10:24] TS: I mean, what if you ACTUALLY met a limeblood?

[10:24] GT: well idk

[10:25] GT: i dont really care much

[10:25] GT: i mean sure itd be rare and thats cool

[10:25] GT: but eh

[10:25] GT: blood color only really means how long you live and how beefy your arms are

[10:26] TS: You make an interesting point, Teivel. Why do you think the limebloods were hunted to extinction, then?

[10:26] GT: although i heard limes were crazt strong with psionics

[10:26] TS: Is that why?

[10:26] GT: well i mean

[10:26] GT: probobly

[10:26] GT: either that

[10:27] GT: or some petty grievance betweenthem and the highbloods

[10:27] TS: If THAT was all it took, I don't think limebloods would be the only extinct caste

[10:27] GT: because the highbloods tend to cull anything that displeases their delicate sensibilities

[10:27] TS: to a degree

[10:28] GT: so it was probobly because a caste that was lower on the spectrum had crazy strong powers

[10:28] GT: and the higher bloods wanted to maintain the status quo of "being top dog"

[10:30] TS: Most lowbloods have stronger psychic abilities, and besides. You're a highblood too.

[10:30] GT: blegh

[10:30] GT: dont remind me

[10:30] TS: Haha! Is it really so bad?

[10:31] GT: no not particularly

[10:31] GT: im just kind of a pansy

[10:31] GT: that and well

[10:31] GT: i dont exactly get the highblood treatment anymore

[10:32] TS: Not after killing off so many others, right? Or is it because of something else?

[10:32] GT: well highbloods killing highbloods is basically the morning salute for our people

[10:32] GT: its because of this thing

[10:32] GT: idk

[10:33] TS: What thing? :/

[10:33] GT: blegh

[10:34] GT: a couple sweeps back i developed a weird mutation

[10:35] TS: A couple sweeps ago?? That's unusual. I thought most mutations happened during wrigglerhood

[10:35] TS: WHat is it?

[10:35] GT: well fuck it

[10:35] GT: i have a third horn

[10:36] GT: its small and it grew in much later

[10:36] TS: Huh. That was enough for you to get excommunicated?

[10:36] GT: well

[10:37] GT: its not really commonly known

[10:37] GT: i stopped going outside basically

[10:37] TS: Oh. SO you've only recently become a shut-in? I thought that was just how you'd always lived.

[10:37] GT: well i tend to stay indoors anyways

[10:38] GT: i dont live to close to anyone in particular

[10:38] GT: but still

[10:39] GT: less its known less problems ill have

[10:39] TS: Then how have you lost your highblood status if no one knows?

[10:40] GT: its not like a club or anything

[10:40] GT: we dont have membership cards

[10:40] GT: its just how people talk to you and react to you

[10:41] TS: What's changed?

[10:41] GT: idk actually

[10:42] GT: mostly that ive become scared of going outside and that its inevitable that im going to get culled at some point

[10:43] GT: i never really exerted much of my highblood authority before that anyways

[10:43] TS: Join the club, I guess

[10:43] TS: It's interesting

[10:43] TS: I think

[10:43] TS: Yeah

[10:44] TS: Krolio is the only normal friend I have now

[10:44] GT: krolio rules

[10:44] TS: Tru.net

[10:44] GT: i find that olive bloods tend to be pretty chill

[10:46] GT: not constantly being stepped on by litterally everyone while not exactly being encouraged to treat everyone like shit tends to produce trolls that arnt that awful

[10:46] TS: I'll tell Krolio you think he's cool

[10:46] TS: So like, does it hurt? Your new horn, I mean.

[10:46] GT: oh like a sonuvabitch

[10:46] TS: :(

[10:47] GT: i can feel it growing

[10:47] TS: (lewd.gov)

[10:47] GT: its like if a knife decided to grow out your forehead

[10:47] TS: Oh

[10:47] TS: That's... awful, right?

[10:47] TS: Have you been stabbed before?

[10:47] GT: no

[10:47] GT: but i imagine its pretty awful

[10:48] TS: Not that you have a lot to imagine, I guess

[10:53] TS: Is that it, though? Just a new horn?

-- gallionicTrickster [GT] is now an idle chum! --

[10:58] GT: well

[11:01] GT: i can like

[11:01] GT: move stuff

[11:01] GT: if i think hard

[11:02] TS: Wait, really? I wasn't actually expecting you to get bitchin' powers or anything.

[11:02] TS: You're not pulling my leg, are you?

[11:02] GT: no

[11:02] GT: it makes my head ache a little when i do it

[11:02] GT: but its no so bad with tiny things

[11:03] TS: That's...

[11:03] TS: Really cool!

[11:03] TS: ^_^

[11:03] GT: dfgfcgcgvhbjkjhgfcgvhbjnnhgfg

[11:04] GT: im not used to compliments

[11:04] GT: you dont think im a freak?

[11:04] TS: Well, not really

[11:04] TS: I'm more freaked out by the killing, honestly...

[11:04] TS: I'm a shit troll

[11:05] TS: SHHHHH.exe

[11:05] GT: thats fine

[11:05] GT: you got better stuff to do with your life anyways

[11:05] GT: considering that statistically your like

[11:06] GT: not gonna live as long as others

[11:06] TS: Maybe not.

[11:06] TS: Hm.

[11:07] TS: I don't spend a lot of time thinking about my own mortality

[11:07] GT: well

[11:07] GT: its good to be aware of it

[11:07] GT: most highbloods think theyre gonna live for centuries

[11:08] GT: im sure youve already outlived several of them

[11:08] TS: YIKES.SUPERNOPE

[11:08] GT: yikes.superyes ;D

[11:09] TS: You're a real wild one

[11:09] TS: It's interesting

[11:09] TS: I appreciate you

[11:09] TS: Uh, sorry

[11:09] GT: dfghjnhgfccgvhbjhgvcf

[11:10] GT: thats very nice of you

[11:10] GT: YOU ARE EQUALLY APRECIATED FRIEND

[11:11] TS: WOWZERS/CAPSLOCK.SUPERCOOL@NERDGATHERING.COM

[11:11] GT: #capslockisgangsta

[11:11] TS: #bitchyouknowit

[11:12] GT: so what is your actual blood color?

[11:12] TS: Oh, well...

[11:12] TS: MMMMMMM

[11:12] TS: Okay

[11:12] TS: But stay shushed about it

[11:12] TS: I really am lime

[11:12] GT: wait

[11:13] GT: what

[11:13] GT: fo sho?

[11:13] TS: Yeh, for reals

[11:13] GT: fuck

[11:13] GT: thats awesome

[11:13] GT: i mean im sure its actually kind of terrible cause like

[11:14] GT: most trolls would kill you on sight

[11:14] GT: but still thats super cool

[11:14] GT: congrats

[11:14] GT: but also my condolenses

[11:14] TS: Dude

[11:14] TS: Nice

[11:14] GT: so like

[11:15] GT: can you shoot lasers?

[11:15] GT: ive heard you guys shopot lasers

[11:15] TS: I... Lasers? I'm surprised you believe me. Unless you're just being an ass.

[11:15] TS: Are you being an ass?

[11:16] GT: well idk

[11:16] GT: i was just trying to be polite

[11:16] GT: i figured you were telling the truth

[11:16] TS: Well, I AM, but...

[11:16] TS: You don't need proof? You just... trust me?

[11:17] GT: well sure i guess

[11:17] GT: i trusted you enough to mention my freakazoid horn

[11:18] TS: Huh. Well, I mean, it's not like I can hurt you for having a mutation

[11:18] TS: Not from here

[11:19] GT: then maby you should come to my hole in the ground and hang out

[11:19] GT: by hanging me

[11:19] GT: or something

[11:23] TS: You and your sinister overtones of drama and despair

[11:24] TS: Classic Teivel

[11:24] GT: yeah basically

[11:25] TS: That's swiftly becoming your catchphrase, you know

[11:25] GT: yeah

[11:25] GT: BASICALLY

[11:26] TS: exhasperated.autorun

[11:27] GT: so are we like moirails?

[11:27] GT: or just shitheads?

[11:27] TS: Shitheads

[11:27] TS: definitely

[11:27] GT: ok cool

[11:27] GT: shitheads fo life

[11:28] TS: shithead_fistbump/DOIT.edu

[11:28] GT: fuck

[11:29] GT: dank

[11:29] TS: SERIOUS STUFF!!

[11:29] TS: Is your lusus actually okay?

[11:29] GT: yeah they fine

[11:29] GT: they a big tough lizard

[11:29] TS: Lizards are the master race confirmed

[11:30] TS: stay tuned for more useful facts

[11:30] GT: YO

[11:30] TS: So, how big is that new horn? Does it match your others?

[11:30] GT: thats lewd

[11:30] GT: its tiny

[11:30] TS: dude

[11:31] GT: but its vlike

[11:31] GT: still growing

[11:31] TS: It's been growing for, uh... two sweeps, you said? And it's still tiny

[11:32] GT: compared to my normal horns yeah

[11:32] TS: Huh

[11:32] TS: So wait

[11:32] TS: how tall are you?

[11:35] GT: 6'4''

[11:36] TS: Huh

[11:36] TS: Still tall, but not as dramatic as I though

[11:36] TS: Aren't highbloods supposed to be massive?

[11:36] GT: eh

[11:36] GT: thats rascist

[11:37] TS: Nice

[11:37] GT: ye

[11:37] TS: SO are you a shrimp or not?

[11:39] GT: not particularly

[11:40] TS: Okay, that's a relief

[11:40] TS: I've never seen anything other than the Jade bloods

[11:40] TS: so I wouldn't know

[11:40] TS: Ignorant racism, I guess

[11:40] TS: caste-ism?

[11:41] GT: its fine

[11:41] GT: friendly cast-ism is a-ok in my book

[11:41] GT: be careful tho

[11:41] GT: might mistake it for a black-rom flirting

[11:42] TS: That's just because you're an idiot

[11:42] TS: and everything has to do with romance

[11:42] TS: Hey, dude?

[11:42] TS: I gotta go

[11:42] TS: prior arrangements

[11:43] GT: okey dokey

[11:43] GT: ima go sleep in my cacoon

[11:43] TS: You do that

[11:43] TS: Catch you later

[11:43] GT: cya later limey ;)

-- gallionicTrickster [GT] gave up trolling talentedSalad [TS] at 23:44 --

@gallionictrickster

[frizz22]

prompt! what if mildred had refused to be queen of the feast or zelda hadn’t thought to ask her and zelda was the one to sacrifice herself?? how would blackwood and the spellmans react and deal with that??

Thanks, hope you enjoy! Read on ao3

Note: Okay, so, since this is kind of a canon divergence from a chapter I already wrote (ch. 52) the beginning is the same and then changes based on the prompt.

The paper burned white.

No. No, no, no, no, that couldn’t be. There’d only been a 7% chance. That was the only reason she’d allowed Sabrina to take her place; because the chance had been so small. Her girl couldn’t be Queen of the Feast; but that was exactly what Faustus was proclaiming, drawing Sabrina out from behind the table and presenting her to the coven.

The world went out of focus as Zelda fell to her knees with the rest of the coven, her heart pounding loudly in her ears. Sabrina’s eyes locked onto her, barely concealed terror flitting across her features as she stood trembling as everyone hailed her as the chosen one.  

And though Zelda wanted nothing more than to snatch her niece and whisk her away, take her to another country, she forced herself to remain until the rest of the coven filtered out. Finally standing, legs shaking, Zelda pressed a shocked Sabrina into one of the pews and pulled Faustus aside.  

“I’ll take her place.” The words are out of her mouth before they’re fully out of earshot, but Sabrina was apparently too stunned her actions had consequences, deadly ones at that, to notice.  

Faustus sighed and ran a hand over his face, “you know I can’t let you switch, Zelda.” He shrugged apologetically, “it’d go against all the coven and tradition rules. The Dark Lord picked Sabrina, if I allow you to volunteer it undermines the entire system. There is nothing I can do.” Faustus gave her a pointed look and lifted a brow, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze.  

Taking the hint, Zelda nodded and was about to thank him when he cut her off.  

Clearing his throat, Faustus straightened his robe, “congratulations, Sister Zelda, the Dark Lord has seen fit to honor the Spellmans at last. You must be proud.”  

She blinked and turned to find one of the acolytes hovering in the background, waiting to sweep the church. “Very proud,” Zelda mustered, voice hoarse. “Thank you, Father Blackwood, we will see you tomorrow at the Feast.”  

Hurrying to where Sabrina was still slumped on the bench, Zelda gathered her niece in her arms and teleported home. Once home, Zelda ordered the girl to bed, and for the first time in ages Sabrina didn’t argue with her, just stumbled up the stairs in a trance.  

Hilda and Ambrose had yet to appear, just as well, Zelda was still hoping to change the circumstances before having to reveal to them what she’d let happen. Moving to the parlor, she lit the fire and several candles, arranging the smaller flames out in a pentagram; kneeling in the middle Zelda began to chant. 

Summoning the Dark Lord was a dance with death on any occasion, but to do so in order to ask him to change his will, to accept her in Sabrina’s place at the Feast… Zelda wasn’t sure she wouldn’t just end up struck dead in the parlor and Sabrina eaten the next night anyway. But she had to try.  

The magic crackled around her, building in the air until it was so thick she could see it shimmer. It was time, either the Dark Lord would appear or something else would come in his place to kill her for her audacity to summon him.  

Suddenly, the fire surged, licking the sides of the fireplace and threatening to consume the rest of the room. Zelda fell back, a cry on her lips and a hand held up to block her face. Before she could process what was happening, a deep, grating voice echoed in her head; her hands coming to clamp over her ears automatically, even if the gesture was useless.  

“Zelda Fiona Spellman,” the voice boomed, bringing tears to her eyes. “My will has been done. It will not be undone with a deal from me.”  

And just as suddenly as the fire roared up, it was extinguished, leaving Zelda in the dark. Panting, Zelda scrambled out of the candle pentagram, knocking several of the candles aside for good measure.  

She’d failed.  

There would be no deal made, no mistakes undone. Sabrina would be killed and devoured because Zelda had taken a risk, thinking to teach the defiant girl a lesson only to learn one herself. A hollow sensation spread through her, infecting every cell. Unsure what else could be done, Zelda made for the kitchen, assuming she’d find the rest of her family there. She was right. Her expression must have said it all because the smile slid off Ambrose’s face and Hilda collapsed into the nearest chair.  

“You were picked,” her sister whispered in dread, tears already pricking her eyes.  

Swallowing around the massive lump in her throat, Zelda clutched the counter, no longer trusting her body to remain upright on its own accord. “Worse.” She breathed, forcing herself to meet Hilda’s eyes. “Sabrina—”  

Shaking her head viciously, Hilda shot out of her seat. “No. No…. how? How could you—”

“She came bursting into the church, declaring that she would draw for the Spellman family. Unless I had a reason to deny her that right, unless I wanted to denounce the Feast.” Zelda tried to explain, though her reasoning now seemed weak. “I thought, her chances were so small…. Had I denounced the Feast, there was no knowing what would happen… the last witch who did….” She trailed off wretchedly, self-hate roiling through her; nausea joining it.  

Hilda picked up her teacup and threw it across the room in a fit of anger so unlike her that both Ambrose and Zelda stepped away. “You still had a choice, you should have drawn.”  

Tears spilled down Zelda’s cheeks now, emotions swelling and cresting inside her. “You think I don’t know that?! That I don’t know I should be the one slated for death?” Her voice cracked as her hysteria grew. “You think I didn’t try to switch with her already? That I didn’t just attempt to summon the Dark Lord himself to make a deal, to save Sabrina?” Zelda pointed towards the parlor where the logs in the fireplace still smoked from recent use. “I know, Hildie. I know I should be the dead one. But I’m not, and I can’t fix it on my own.”  

Crying as well, Hilda took several deep breaths and turned to Ambrose. “Get your books, see if you can find a loophole. I’ll whip up a batch of my sour stomachs potion, perhaps we can poison the coven with the stomach flu and we’ll miss the Feast entirely. Can’t sacrifice someone on the wrong day, can we?”  

Zelda leaned heavily against the counter and buried her head in her hands, sobs wracking her body for a minute before she collected herself. “I’ll go talk to Sabrina. Perhaps I can convince her to run if this doesn’t work.”  

Nodding, Hilda hummed her support and continued to pull ingredients out from various cabinets and drawers.  

Making her way upstairs, Zelda cast a quick glamor spell to hide her distress and knocked on Sabrina’s door. Her niece answered quick enough; likely too distraught to sleep. Walking in and sitting on Sabrina’s bed, Zelda waited for Sabrina to join her; the girl, surprisingly, curling into her side.  

“We can run.” Zelda breathed, wrapping an arm around Sabrina. “Pack up and leave tonight. They’d never catch us. We wouldn’t even be the first to run from this fate.”

Sabrina pulled back and wiped her nose, “there has to be another way.” She whispered, face pale and eyes red.  

Lips pressing into a thin line, Zelda tucked Sabrina’s hair back and shook her head. “No. Ambrose is searching his books for loopholes, but if there ever was one it’s already been exploited and then fixed. And your Aunt Hilda, well, she’s making her sour stomachs potion, but it won’t work. No one will be eating, wanting to save space for, for the Feast.” Her stomach turned at the idea and she curled her toes in her shoes to hide from Sabrina how anxious she was. “And if no one is eating, well, there’s no way to dose them and make them too sick to go to the Feast.” Tipping her niece’s chin up so their eyes met, Zelda looked at her pleadingly. “We have to run, darling. I’m sorry I put you in this situation. If I’d drawn the paper instead this wouldn’t even be an issue.”  

Shaking her head, Sabrina lurched forward and hugged her. “No, I’m sorry. I pushed it, forced your hand. And we can’t run… what about Ambrose? He can’t leave.”  

Zelda sighed and held her girl closer to her, having already figured this out on her way up the stairs. “Ambrose will be fine. I’ll be here with him, just in case the church tries to come and exact some kind of punishment. It would be mine to bear, as it should be, not his.”

“Wait, what? You’d stay here? Then how—”

A small smile twitched Zelda’s lips, just for a moment at Sabrina’s concern. “Hilda would go with you. Two excommunicated witches on the run, quite a story to tell. I think you’d likely go to London; it was always Hilda’s favorite place.”  

Chin wobbling, Sabrina shook her head once more. “I’m not leaving you and Ambrose here. This is my fault, but we can figure out how to fix it. We can.” And her niece looked so sincere, so earnest that for a second Zelda believed her.  

“Get some sleep, sweetheart.” Zelda murmured, kissing Sabrina’s forehead gently. “We’ll see what we can figure out tonight.”  

~~~~~~~~~~

Only they hadn’t figured anything out.  

After bidding Sabrina goodnight, Zelda slipped back down to the kitchen to help Ambrose search his books for any means of saving Sabrina that didn’t involve banishment or running. There was nothing, just as she’d told Sabrina. Despite that, they all worked until dawn, hoping something would turn up.

When Sabrina came down at 6am with bloodshot eyes and purple half-moons accenting them, the family knew there was no escaping this. They all sat at the table, letting this sink in.  

Hilda rubbed her temples tiredly and turned to Sabrina. “We can still run, love.” She offered, eyes shining though no tears fell, not yet. “Just for now, we could come back in maybe 50 years or so. And Auntie Zee can always come visit us, and Ambrose when his sentence is up. There’s always the phone, mirrors and witching board too.”  

And it was a testament to how scared Sabrina was, how hopeless she felt, that she nodded. Zelda exhaled slowly in relief. Though she hated the idea of being separated from Sabrina and Hilda, it was what would keep everyone safe.  

An hour later, having used magic to pack the essentials, Zelda promising to send more along later, they stood hugging one another in the foyer.  

“We’ll call tomorrow,” Zelda promised, resting her chin on top of Sabrina’s head as she held her tight. “To make sure you’re safe and to let you know how everything turned out.” She pulled back and framed her niece’s face, swiping away the girl’s tears gently with her thumbs as she did.  

Sabrina nodded solemnly and hugged her once more before stepping back to take Hilda’s hand. They were to teleport to Maine first, then Denmark, Iceland and ultimately London. It would be a long journey, exhausting for Hilda to make so many long distance jumps at once with a passenger; but it was necessary. Exhaling loudly, Hilda gave them a wavering smiled and disappeared.  

Only Sabrina didn’t disappear with her.  

They all stood there, dumbfounded, Sabrina staring at her now empty hand before raising her eyes and blinking at Zelda and Ambrose. “What?”

Then something dawned on Zelda, she hurriedly cast several scanning spells and found what she should have been looking for from the beginning; a tethering spell. The discovery had a sob escaping her throat and she quickly covered her mouth to smother the sound.  

Before she could explain her reaction to the kids, Hilda reappeared, frantic and breathing heavily. “Oh, praise Satan, I thought you got lost in the void for a moment.” Hilda hugged Sabrina hard and then realized Zelda was barely holding back tears. “There’s a reason for this, isn’t there?” She murmured, closing her eyes, “I thought so, though I hoped it was just me being out of practice with long distance teleporting.”  

Taking a shuddering breath, Zelda nodded. “Sabrina has been tethered to Greendale. She cannot leave it’s limits.” She informed them, sitting down on the steps with little grace. “I should have known. Ever since Desmelda ran all those years ago churches have been more careful with their queens. There must have been a spell on the paper itself, so when it burned the magic attached itself to the person holding it.”  

Ambrose settled on the steps next to her and took her hand comfortingly, though she certainly didn’t deserve it. “Now what? Sabrina can’t run, we can’t poison the coven, there’s no loophole imaginable…”  

An idea dawned on her. One Zelda knew her family wouldn’t like, but it was truly their only option now. Swallowing, Zelda squeezed Ambrose’s hand in thanks and stood. “There, there might be one last thing to try,” she mumbled, walking towards the door.  

“What?” Sabrina asked eagerly, catching her hand to prevent her from leaving.

Shaking her head, Zelda extracted her hand from Sabrina’s and collected her coat. “I’ll be back later. Until then, call Prudence, as your handmaid she really should have been over here last night; it’s suspicious we didn’t invite her over before now. Prepare for the Feast as though all is normal… I’ll, I’ll be back.” With that, Zelda teleported away before her family could question her further.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She only needed a few ingredients. The effects of the potion didn’t need to last long; just until the Feast ended.  

Teleporting to the academy, Zelda began to prepare the potion; she couldn’t very well risk Hilda or Ambrose seeing what she was doing. They would try and stop her. Sabrina, well, Zelda chuckled a little as she crushed up the beetles in her mortar, her girl wouldn’t know what Zelda was preparing even if one of the beetles in front of her suddenly sprang to life and bit the girl. Her niece still had so much to learn, so much to experience and live… this was the only way to ensure Sabrina got to do just that.  

When Zelda finished, she carefully packed up the slightly steaming potion and teleported home. Arriving in the kitchen, Zelda quickly prepared a round of drinks for everyone, tipping a bit of potion into all but two and then called everyone to the kitchen.  

Her family barreled in, staring at her with wide eyes and poorly concealed curiosity as she handed them drinks. But she said nothing, not only because Prudence had waltzed into the kitchen just then, but also because Zelda had to follow through with her plan without their interference.  

They drank and toasted the Queen, strained expressions on everyone’s face as they joined in and drank deeply, each of them needing the fortification. Once the glasses were empty, Zelda turned to Prudence and dismissed her, telling the girl to meet them at the church, that she and Hilda would help Sabrina get ready for the Feast.  

Shrugging, Prudence teleported away.  

The moment Prudence was gone, everyone rounded on her, questions falling from their lips in rapid succession and overlapping one another. Holding up a hand to silence them, Zelda finished her own drink. “I, I want to apologize.” She managed, throat tight, when all three of them made to cut in, Zelda held up a hand again. “Let me say this.” Her tone had the rest of her family quieting. “This is my fault. I never should have let Sabrina choose. I am very, truly and deeply sorry. I love you all more than anything in the realms. I love you.” She made eye contact with each of them, “which,” she exhaled slowly, “which is why I—"  

Before she could finish each one of them slumped over in their seats. Ambrose being unlucky enough to fall forward, his head landed with a dull thunk on the table.  

“Praise Satan.” Zelda breathed, unsure how she’d have explained that she’d spiked their drinks. Standing, Zelda teleported each of them to bed and then magically tethered them to the house just in case she’d gotten the dosing wrong. She couldn’t let them interfere.  

This was her price to pay.  

Tucking each one into bed with a whispered protection spell and a kiss on the forehead, Zelda made for Sabrina’s room last. Smoothing her girl’s hair back, Zelda’s chin trembled as she bent and placed a kiss on Sabrina’s forehead. “I’m sorry,” she whispered again, pressing her lips together as she rushed out the of the room and went to the room she shared with Hilda to get ready.  

Once satisfied with her appearance, Zelda went out into the hall and called for Salem. The dark little familiar came quick enough, padding softly from Sabrina’s room, he froze when he saw her. He glanced back into Sabrina’s room then at her, before backing away from her; hissing with his hair on end and back arching.  

“Hush,” she admonished, glancing around though a much louder noise and some magic would be needed to wake her family. Momentarily lifting the spell, Zelda revealed herself to Salem. “It’s me.” She let the spell resume and she once more took on the appearance of her niece. “It’s the only way to protect her and I need your help as well.”  

Salem trotted forward and wound around her ankles, mewing and rubbing his head against her calves in thanks. Sighing, Zelda bent and picked up the little goblin, carrying him downstairs, she explained to him what she needed him to do.  

~~~~~~~~~~~

She never imagined that walking into the Church of Night would be so difficult, her feet fighting her at each step. It seemed her survival instincts were still intact. They weren’t nearly as strong as her need to protect Sabrina, though, so Zelda managed the walk down the aisle with her head held high.  

Her eyes landed on Faustus almost immediately, he was at the front of the church, talking to one of his acolytes about where to place a few more of the candles while the rest of the coven settled into the pews and eyed her with literal hunger.  

Wishing she could pull him aside to explain, for one last kiss, Zelda restrained herself and merely continued her march to the front with as stoic a face as possible. She couldn’t say goodbye; it would ruin the whole thing. Besides, she looked like her niece and being friendly with the high priest was certainly something Sabrina would never do.  

When she made it to the front, Faustus turned to her, surprised at first and then his mouth pulled into a frown. “Where is Zelda?” He asked, peering behind her, clearly not having expected Sabrina to come alone.  

Thankfully, Zelda had thought of that. Before she could reply, Salem, wearing her image in a glamor, strode through the door and took a seat, not looking at anyone. Faustus made to approach what appeared to be her body at once, but Zelda’s hand shot out to stop him. While she could take on Sabrina’s voice, Salem would not be able to mimic human speech.  

Eyebrows raised, Faustus looked down at where her hand was clutching his forearm. “Ms. Spellman?”  

Swallowing hard, Zelda released him, much as she didn’t want to. “My aunt, she’s deeply troubled by this. I—, I think it’d be better if you waited to talk to her after. Make sure she, she gets home.”  

Frown deepening, Faustus shifted to face Zelda completely and gave her an assessing look. Was it possible he recognized her despite the spell? Zelda almost wished he did, so she could at least say a formal goodbye.  

Fortunately, or unfortunately, an acolyte approached them then and guided Zelda, still in Sabrina’s form, to the skull throne in the front of the room. This was also a signal for Faustus to start the ceremony, so with a final glance at the fake Zelda sitting in the pew, he made his way to the front of the church.  

She didn’t hear any of it; the ceremony. Her ears were ringing, palms sweating where they gripped the armrests so tightly her knuckles were white; afraid she’d be caught. Afraid she’d be spellbound to the church while the coven went and retrieved, a now drugged, Sabrina and consume her in front of Zelda as punishment for her meddling.  

But no one suspected, at least outwardly. Perhaps Faustus was unsure, unsure why she would let Sabrina go through with the ceremony after begging him for any other outcome. Nothing seemed out of place, though, so he continued.  

And when the time came, Zelda rose gracefully from the throne, took the knife Faustus offered with steady hands and swallowed. “Like my Sister Freya before me, I offer myself to the coven so that it may prosper.” She exclaimed, Sabrina’s voice still ringing false in her ears, but she alone heard the deception. With a final glance at Faustus, Zelda took the knife to her throat and cut deep and true—she didn’t want to feel anything the coven was about to do to her.  

The child’s body slumped to the ground and the entire coven rose as one and converged on the body to feast. Faustus held back, though he normally participated to some extent each year, he couldn’t participate in this one. Not when it was only too easy to imagine it was Zelda in the girl’s place—had she not stepped down the Dark Lord very easily could have taken Zelda instead.

Glancing over to the pew, though, Faustus realized Zelda was gone. Perhaps she hadn’t wanted to see her niece torn apart, understandable, but odd that wouldn’t have stayed to take the girl’s body back with her once the Feast was done.  

It was then that Faustus turned back to where the coven was still in a frenzied eating session, bent over the body. Only, only there were now familiar long, red waves of hair spread out on the ground where short blonde ones had been before. Horrified, Faustus’ head snapped back to where Zelda had stood a moment before, it was then he noticed the black cat, Sabrina’s familiar, occupying the spot on the bench where Zelda had been.  

Realization dawned on him and Faustus lunged forward to shove the others off the now lifeless body of Zelda Fiona Spellman. A few resisted him, not even looking at him and simply assuming he was an overeager member of the coven. So, Faustus bellowed at them to stop as he fell to his knees beside Zelda; her beautiful eyes now vacant, empty of the spark and intelligence usually filling them.  

It was only then that the rest of them realized what happened. Murmurs broke out among the coven; whispers of blasphemy, a second feast with the girl. He couldn’t let that happen though, Zelda had sacrificed herself, he refused to let it be in vain.  

Composing himself with the greatest effort, Faustus looked up at the rest of the coven. “This trickery would never have been possible without the Dark Lord’s blessing. Sister Zelda must have acquired His permission for this. Praise Zelda, Queen of the Feast.” His voice cracked a little at the end, but no one seemed to notice, and they merely echoed his statement.  

Constance stepped forward then, a smug smile on her lips. “Praise Sister Zelda indeed. Now that the confusion has been cleared, shall we continue—” She indicated for them to resume the Feast.  

“No!” Faustus stood and quickly put himself between what was left of Zelda and the rest of the coven. “This year’s Feast is concluded. Go back to your homes.” Several brows furrowed, but they had had their fill and were content to leave without a word.  

Constance, however, remained.  

Her eyes boring into him as he knelt beside Zelda once more, carefully brushing her hair back from her face. She seemed so much smaller in death—her personality often making her larger than life itself. Without it ... the body in front of him was no longer the woman he lov—  

A throat being pointedly cleared behind him cut into Faustus’ thoughts.  

“So, the witch managed it after all.” Constance observed unnecessarily, rounding Zelda’s body so she stood in his line of sight. “Kept her niece safe. I must admit, I’m impressed, if a bit irritated. I’ll have to find a new midwife now.”  

Faustus stood so quickly then that Constance stumbled back in surprise. “You are not worthy to speak of her. Leave. Now.” He snarled, and Constance complied without hesitation.  

Left alone, Faustus knelt once more, conjuring a wet cloth, he cleaned the flecks and smears of blood from Zelda’s face and arms which had been left untouched; the coven going for the meatier parts of the body first. That done, Faustus clumsily healed the jagged gash which had exposed Zelda’s organs to the hungry coven. Tears poured down his face as he worked, repairing her dress next and when he finished, she could have been sleeping except for the unnatural dip of the dress where it was far more hollow underneath than it had before.  

Scrubbing at his face, Faustus tenderly scooped Zelda into his arms, holding her close to his chest before turning on his heel and teleporting to the only place that may be able to fix this; the Spellman mortuary.  

~~~~

Hilda woke with cotton mouth and itchy eyelids. Nose scrunching, she sat up and rubbed a hand over her face. It was then she realized she was in bed, and she certainly didn’t remember getting there.  

Glancing at the clock next to her bed, a horrifying chill shot through her. The Feast. The Feast would be in full swing by now.  

Footsteps thundered above her and then on the stairs. Hilda leapt out of bed and flung open the door in time to see Ambrose jumping down the last few steps. “What happened?!” He asked, checking her over for injuries as she did the same to him.  

Shaking her head, Hilda sped down the hallway and threw Sabrina’s door open. Her niece sat up groggily blinking at them. “What?” She muttered, already rolling over and laying back down. Hilda crossed the span of the room in only a few steps and snatched the blanket off the girl. Now Sabrina sat up again, much more awake. “Wha—" her eyes went wide. Turning over on her bed, Sabrina grabbed the digital clock next to her bed and gasped. “How?”  

Unsure, Hilda dropped the comforter onto the floor and spun on her heel. “Zelda?” She called out, picking up her pace when there wasn’t immediately an answer. “Zelds!” She shouted, racing to each of the rooms on the second floor. “Zelda?! Sister?” Panic crept into her voice and Hilda heard Ambrose and Sabrina scrambling down the stairs to check the lower levels.  

Sabrina’s voice called out to her. “Aunt Hilda...” it was tentative, scared, and Hilda rushed down the stairs and found Sabrina in the kitchen. Ambrose joined them seconds later, emerging from the basement shaking his head that Zelda wasn’t there.  

It was then Sabrina pointed to a letter propped up against a kettle of tea, a tin of broken heart balm and a decanter of whisky.  

Brow furrowing, Hilda picked up the letter and unfolded the pages only to drop them a second later. “She’s gone.”  

“What?” Sabrina stepped forward to pick up the letter, carefully smoothing the pages as Hilda sank into one of the chairs and pulled the whiskey towards her. Ambrose eyed her with concern but moved next to Sabrina to read the letter explaining what Hilda was already certain of.  

Zelda had sacrificed herself in place of their niece.  

My dear, wonderful, amazing family,  

I’m sorry.  

But I knew you would not stop fighting. I knew you would not accept the solution I had found, would keep trying to find another way until it was too late. And then it would be Sabrina on that gaudy skull throne.  

I couldn’t, wouldn’t, let it get that far. The only solution, the only way to ensure Sabrina’s life and safety was to offer myself in her place.  

Though Faustus said I could not switch places with her, I discovered that loophole we were all so desperate to find. He said if we switched places it would undermine the entire system. Well, that just meant no one could know I’d pulled the switch until it was too late. And anyway, once they had their fill of meat, no one from the coven would care which Spellman was consumed.  

Some sleeping potion and a few glamors was all it took. Or so I’m assuming. If you’re reading this letter it must mean I was successful in my deceit. For which I can only be immensely grateful.  

Sabrina, darling, it was never an option for you to be the Queen of the Feast. Had I thought your selection possible I wouldn’t have let you draw in the first place.  

It was my arrogance that put us in this situation, and so it was my price to pay. I have no regrets. I died protecting you. And I would die a thousand more times to protect all of you. That being said, no more crazy stunts. I won’t be around to save the day from out of control exorcisms and Feasts gone wrong anymore. Be safe. I love you, my passionate, brave, wonderful girl.  

Ambrose, my dear felon, stay out of trouble. You have immense potential, don’t squander it once you’re free of the house completely. If you do, I will find a way to come back and haunt you. And you don’t need, or want, your old, bitter auntie cramping your style. I love you, my sweet, charming, smart boy.  

Hildie, sweet sister, take care. Of the kids, of yourself, of that mortal I know you’re sweet on but are refusing to acknowledge for fear of my disapproval. Take care. You were always so much better at it than I was, I have no doubt you, and the kids under your guidance, will achieve greatness. Don’t let me hold you back any longer. Any of you. I’m so proud of you, Hildie. I never said it, and I should have, so many times. I love you, dear sister. I wish I wasn’t leaving you to be the last of the Spellman siblings, but you always were the best of us.  

Take care of each other,  

With all my love, Zelda.

Tears streamed down each of their faces and Sabrina had one hand pressed hard to her mouth to stifle sobs. Ambrose stumbled over to the counter and braced himself against it, breathing heavily. And Hilda knew she should comfort them, should spout off the expected niceties, should hug and hold the kids, but she couldn’t. Not when all she felt was numb. Staying in her spot, Hilda woodenly took another drink of whiskey.

A knock on the door interrupted their grief. Hilda considered ignoring it, knowing it’d be some coven member or another sticking their nose where it didn’t belong. When the knock became a bang, however, Hilda shoved away from the table and strode to the door, fully intending on cursing whoever stood on the other side.  

When she flung the door open, though, Father Blackwood was there, Zelda cradled in his arms; her dress immaculate, her face hidden against his chest, her hair hanging in front of it. Salem wound around the warlock’s ankles a bit before running into the house.  

“Auntie Zee!” Sabrina exclaimed, rushing forward.  

Faustus took a step back, before Sabrina could get too close. “Your Cain pit.” He murmured, eyes glistening and voice hoarse.  

It was then Hilda knew what they’d see if Zelda’s dress were open. A ravaged body, torn open and consumed. What Blackwood held was a husk of what had been her sister. Nausea swept through her and Hilda forced it back down. “Won’t work. She wasn’t murdered.” Hilda snapped, voice hard despite her wet eyes. Where before she’d been numb, now she was brimming with anger.  

Anger at the church for this stupid tradition. Anger at Sabrina for the stunt she’d pulled. Anger at Zelda for permitting the stunt and then taking it upon herself to fix it. Anger at herself for not seeing this coming. Just anger.  

And Father Blackwood was a convenient target for this anger.  

“You ate her! She allowed herself to be eaten! So not murder.” Hilda’s eyes flashed as she ranted at the high priest. “The Cain pit will not resurrect her.”  

Tears trekked down Blackwood’s face and he stepped inside, still clutching Zelda tightly to his body. “I didn’t eat her!” He snarled, “I’d never, could never. I stayed back, out of respect for Zelda, I wouldn’t eat her niece. It was only once the coven had made headway, once Zelda died completely and her magic wore off that I realized what she’d done. The glamor she’d used to trick us all. The others didn’t care. They got their Feast.” He spat the word, disgusted. “And I claimed Zelda wouldn’t have been able to accomplish the switch had the Dark Lord not approved. So, no one will be coming for Sabrina.”  

It was then Hilda realized that while Zelda had sacrificed herself to save Sabrina, Blackwood had done his part in protecting her family as well. Sniffing, Hilda jerked her chin in acknowledgment. “Thank you.”  

“So, the pit?” He tried again, clearly desperate to reverse what had been done.  

Ambrose stepped forward and brushed his hand along Zelda’s arm. “It couldn’t hurt to try.” He stated thickly and Hilda wanted to stop them, knowing it’d only cause further pain when it didn’t work. That they’d just have to dig Zelda up only to bury her again. But she also knew if they didn’t try, they would always wonder, always regret.  

Sighing, Hilda led the way through the house and out into the garden.  

~~~~~~~

They waited.  

The sun rose and continued to climb, and Hilda wanted to curse the thing for daring to shine when Zelda was gone and they were sitting there as if there were truly hope that she’d return.  

When it hit noon and nothing happened Hilda stood up and went inside, unable to continue watching the others stare at the mound of dirt in front of them with unwavering belief. Belief that if anyone could pull this off, it’d be Zelda.  

Instead, she busied herself. Hilda made lunch and carried it outside, before going back inside to furiously scrub the dishes, muttering to herself as she sloshed things around in the sink.  

“I’m sorry.” A voice sounded behind her and Hilda dropped the pan she was scouring with such ferocity that it likely was missing a few layers and spun around.  

Tears already falling from her eyes, Hilda rushed forward to embrace her sister and then stopped and looked out the window. The kids and Blackwood were still positioned dutifully around the Cain pit. “I knew it.” She whimpered, throwing down the towel she’d hanging over her shoulder as she cleaned. “I knew it. I told them....” a large lump in her throat kept her from continuing.  

Zelda’s specter approached her, a soft, sad look on her face. “You did, my brilliant sister.” She lifted her hands as if to wipe Hilda’s tears away but pulled back, remembering they couldn’t touch. “I don’t have much time, but I had to be sure.” Her sister drifted over to the window and peered out into the garden. When she saw Sabrina, Zelda slumped in relief. “Praise Satan, I wasn’t sure it would be enough. My sacrifice. Or if the coven would still try to come after her….”

Finding her voice again, Hilda steadied herself on the counter. “We have Blackwood to thank for that. Told the coven you wouldn’t have been able to trick them all without the Dark Lord’s approval. He, he brought you home to us, practically begging to stick you in the pit.”  

“Foolish man,” Zelda murmured affectionately. “I wasn’t murdered.”  

Coming closer and reaching out to touch Zelda despite herself, Hilda huffed. “So I told them.” Her hand passed through her sister’s shoulder.  

Shivering at the attempted contact, Zelda turned. “I know,” she acknowledged the need for physical touch, “me too. I need to say goodbye to them one more time, for real. But I had to see my sister first. Make sure it worked. I love you, so much, Hildie.”  

Hilda forced back more tears and gulped. “Love you too, Zelds. So much.” She managed.  

“Think you can every forgive me?” Zelda smiled tentatively and lifted a hopeful brow.  

A watery chuckle escaped Hilda and she pressed her thumbs to the inner corners of her eyes. “No.” She said, petulantly, and Zelda smiled wider. “I can’t forgive you for leaving me. But I can’t be mad at you either. Not after you saved Sabrina. I can’t ever repay you for that.”  

Tears in her eyes as well, Zelda cleared her throat. “You take care of Ambrose and Sabrina, love them, as you always have. That’s payment enough. I had the easy job; you have the hard one.” Before Hilda could argue, Zelda’s form faded for a moment and then returned, weaker. Alarmed, Zelda backed towards the garden. “I need to say goodbye to them before it’s too late. Have a seance once a year, will you? Or pull out the Ouija board every now and then, so I can check in...”  

Nodding, Hilda stayed behind as her sister’s ghost floated through the back door and called out to the others.  

Ambrose and Sabrina barreled towards her, faces lit up, not yet having made the connection. But Blackwood, who’d stood and spun so eagerly at the sound of Zelda’s voice, crumpled to the ground; heels of his hands pressed hard to his eyes. He knew exactly what this meant.  

Unable to watch any more, Hilda turned away and stuffed a dish towel in her mouth to muffle her sobs.

[frizz22]

Prompt!! What if Sabrina was picked as queen of the Feast of Feasts? What would her family do to stop it? Thanks!!

Thanks for the prompt! Hope you enjoy, read on ao3

The paper burned white.

No. No, no, no, no, that couldn’t be. There’d only been a 7% chance. That was the only reason she’d allowed Sabrina to take her place; because the chance had been so small. Her girl couldn’t be Queen of the Feast; but that was exactly what Faustus was proclaiming, drawing Sabrina out from behind the table and presenting her to the coven.

The world went out of focus as Zelda fell to her knees with the rest of the coven, her heart pounding loudly in her ears. Sabrina’s eyes locked onto her, barely concealed terror flitting across her features as she stood trembling as everyone hailed her as the chosen one.

And though Zelda wanted nothing more than to snatch her niece and whisk her away, take her to another country, she forced herself to remain until the rest of the coven filtered out. Finally standing, legs shaking, Zelda pressed a shocked Sabrina into one of the pews and pulled Faustus aside. 

“I’ll take her place.” The words are out of her mouth before they’re fully out of earshot, but Sabrina was apparently too stunned her actions had consequences, deadly ones at that, to notice.

Faustus sighed and ran a hand over his face, “you know I can’t let you switch, Zelda.” He shrugged apologetically, “it’d go against all the coven and tradition rules. The Dark Lord picked Sabrina, if I allow you to volunteer it undermines the entire system. There is nothing I can do.” Faustus gave her a pointed look and lifted a brow, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze.

Taking the hint, Zelda nodded and was about to thank him when he cut her off.

Clearing his throat, Faustus straightened his robe, “congratulations, Sister Zelda, the Dark Lord has seen fit to honor the Spellmans at last. You must be proud.”

She blinked and turned to find one of the acolytes hovering in the background, waiting to sweep the church. “Very proud,” Zelda mustered, voice hoarse. “Thank you, Father Blackwood, we will see you tomorrow at the Feast.”

Hurrying to where Sabrina was still slumped on the bench, Zelda gathered her niece in her arms and teleported home. Once home, Zelda ordered the girl to bed, and for the first time in ages Sabrina didn’t argue with her, just stumbled up the stairs in a trance.

Hilda and Ambrose had yet to appear, just as well, Zelda was still hoping to change the circumstances before having to reveal to them what she’d let happen. Moving to the parlor, she lit the fire and several candles, arranging the smaller flames out in a pentagram; kneeling in the middle Zelda began to chant.

Summoning the Dark Lord was a dance with death on any occasion, but to do so in order to ask him to change his will, to accept her in Sabrina’s place at the Feast… Zelda wasn’t sure she wouldn’t just end up struck dead in the parlor and Sabrina eaten the next night anyway. But she had to try.

The magic crackled around her, building in the air until it was so thick she could see it shimmer. It was time, either the Dark Lord would appear or something else would come in his place to kill her for her audacity to summon him.

Suddenly, the fire surged, licking the sides of the fireplace and threatening to consume the rest of the room. Zelda fell back, a cry on her lips and a hand held up to block her face. Before she could process what was happening, a deep, grating voice echoed in her head; her hands coming to clamp over her ears automatically, even if the gesture was useless.

“Zelda Fiona Spellman,” the voice boomed, bringing tears to her eyes. “My will has been done. It will not be undone with a deal from me.”

And just as suddenly as the fire roared up, it was extinguished, leaving Zelda in the dark. Panting, Zelda scrambled out of the candle pentagram, knocking several of the candles aside for good measure.

She’d failed.

There would be no deal made, no mistakes undone. Sabrina would be killed and devoured because Zelda had taken a risk, thinking to teach the defiant girl a lesson only to learn one herself. A hollow sensation spread through her, infecting every cell. Unsure what else could be done, Zelda made for the kitchen, assuming she’d find the rest of her family there. She was right. Her expression must have said it all because the smile slid off Ambrose’s face and Hilda collapsed into the nearest chair.

“You were picked,” her sister whispered in dread, tears already pricking her eyes.

Swallowing around the massive lump in her throat, Zelda clutched the counter, no longer trusting her body to remain upright on its own accord. “Worse.” She breathed, forcing herself to meet Hilda’s eyes. “Sabrina—”

Shaking her head viciously, Hilda shot out of her seat. “No. No…. how? How could you—”

“She came bursting into the church, declaring that she would draw for the Spellman family. Unless I had a reason to deny her that right, unless I wanted to denounce the Feast.” Zelda tried to explain, though her reasoning now seemed weak. “I thought, her chances were so small…. Had I denounced the Feast, there was no knowing what would happen… the last witch who did….” She trailed off wretchedly, self-hate roiling through her; nausea joining it.

Hilda picked up her teacup and threw it across the room in a fit of anger so unlike her that both Ambrose and Zelda stepped away. “You still had a choice, you should have drawn.”

Tears spilled down Zelda’s cheeks now, emotions swelling and cresting inside her. “You think I don’t know that?! That I don’t know I should be the one slated for death?” Her voice cracked as her hysteria grew. “You think I didn’t try to switch with her already? That I didn’t just attempt to summon the Dark Lord himself to make a deal, to save Sabrina?” Zelda pointed towards the parlor where the logs in the fireplace still smoked from recent use. “I know, Hildie. I know I should be the dead one. But I’m not, and I can’t fix it on my own.”

Crying as well, Hilda took several deep breaths and turned to Ambrose. “Get your books, see if you can find a loophole. I’ll whip up a batch of my sour stomachs potion, perhaps we can poison the coven with the stomach flu and we’ll miss the Feast entirely. Can’t sacrifice someone on the wrong day, can we?”

Zelda leaned heavily against the counter and buried her head in her hands, sobs wracking her body for a minute before she collected herself. “I’ll go talk to Sabrina. Perhaps I can convince her to run if this doesn’t work.”

Nodding, Hilda hummed her support and continued to pull ingredients out from various cabinets and drawers.

Making her way upstairs, Zelda cast a quick glamor spell to hide her distress and knocked on Sabrina’s door. Her niece answered quick enough; likely too distraught to sleep. Walking in and sitting on Sabrina’s bed, Zelda waited for Sabrina to join her; the girl, surprisingly, curling into her side.

“We can run.” Zelda breathed, wrapping an arm around Sabrina. “Pack up and leave tonight. They’d never catch us. We wouldn’t even be the first to run from this fate.”

Sabrina pulled back and wiped her nose, “there has to be another way.” She whispered, face pale and eyes red.

Lips pressing into a thin line, Zelda tucked Sabrina’s hair back and shook her head. “No. Ambrose is searching his books for loopholes, but if there ever was one it’s already been exploited and then fixed. And your Aunt Hilda, well, she’s making her sour stomachs potion, but it won’t work. No one will be eating, wanting to save space for, for the Feast.” Her stomach turned at the idea and she curled her toes in her shoes to hide from Sabrina how anxious she was. “And if no one is eating, well, there’s no way to dose them and make them too sick to go to the Feast.” Tipping her niece’s chin up so their eyes met, Zelda looked at her pleadingly. “We have to run, darling. I’m sorry I put you in this situation. If I’d drawn the paper instead this wouldn’t even be an issue.”

Shaking her head, Sabrina lurched forward and hugged her. “No, I’m sorry. I pushed it, forced your hand. And we can’t run… what about Ambrose? He can’t leave.”

Zelda sighed and held her girl closer to her, having already figured this out on her way up the stairs. “Ambrose will be fine. I’ll be here with him, just in case the church tries to come and exact some kind of punishment. It would be mine to bear, as it should be, not his.”

“Wait, what? You’d stay here? Then how—”

A small smile twitched Zelda’s lips, just for a moment at Sabrina’s concern. “Hilda would go with you. Two excommunicated witches on the run, quite a story to tell. I think you’d likely go to London; it was always Hilda’s favorite place.”

Chin wobbling, Sabrina shook her head once more. “I’m not leaving you and Ambrose here. This is my fault, but we can figure out how to fix it. We can.” And her niece looked so sincere, so earnest that for a second Zelda believed her.

“Get some sleep, sweetheart.” Zelda murmured, kissing Sabrina’s forehead gently. “We’ll see what we can figure out tonight.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Only they hadn’t figured anything out.

After bidding Sabrina goodnight, Zelda slipped back down to the kitchen to help Ambrose search his books for any means of saving Sabrina that didn’t involve banishment or running. There was nothing, just as she’d told Sabrina. Despite that, they all worked until dawn, hoping something would turn up.

When Sabrina came down at 6am with bloodshot eyes and purple half-moons accenting them, the family knew there was no escaping this. They all sat at the table, letting this sink in.

Hilda rubbed her temples tiredly and turned to Sabrina. “We can still run, love.” She offered, eyes shining though no tears fell, not yet. “Just for now, we could come back in maybe 50 years or so. And Auntie Zee can always come visit us, and Ambrose when his sentence is up. There’s always the phone, mirrors and witching board too.”

And it was a testament to how scared Sabrina was, how hopeless she felt, that she nodded. Zelda exhaled slowly in relief. Though she hated the idea of being separated from Sabrina and Hilda, it was what would keep everyone safe.

An hour later, having used magic to pack the essentials, Zelda promising to send more along later, they stood hugging one another in the foyer.

“We’ll call tomorrow,” Zelda promised, resting her chin on top of Sabrina’s head as she held her tight. “To make sure you’re safe and to let you know how everything turned out.” She pulled back and framed her niece’s face, swiping away the girl’s tears gently with her thumbs as she did.

Sabrina nodded solemnly and hugged her once more before stepping back to take Hilda’s hand. They were to teleport to Maine first, then Denmark, Iceland and ultimately London. It would be a long journey, exhausting for Hilda to make so many long distance jumps at once with a passenger; but it was necessary. Exhaling loudly, Hilda gave them a wavering smiled and disappeared.

Only Sabrina didn’t disappear with her.

They all stood there, dumbfounded, Sabrina staring at her now empty hand before raising her eyes and blinking at Zelda and Ambrose. “What?”

Then something dawned on Zelda, she hurriedly cast several scanning spells and found what she should have been looking for from the beginning; a tethering spell. The discovery had a sob escaping her throat and she quickly covered her mouth to smother the sound.

Before she could explain her reaction to the kids, Hilda reappeared, frantic and breathing heavily. “Oh, praise Satan, I thought you got lost in the void for a moment.” Hilda hugged Sabrina hard and then realized Zelda was barely holding back tears. “There’s a reason for this, isn’t there?” She murmured, closing her eyes, “I thought so, though I hoped it was just me being out of practice with long distance teleporting.”

Taking a shuddering breath, Zelda nodded. “Sabrina has been tethered to Greendale. She cannot leave it’s limits.” She informed them, sitting down on the steps with little grace. “I should have known. Ever since Desmelda ran all those years ago churches have been more careful with their queens. There must have been a spell on the paper itself, so when it burned the magic attached itself to the person holding it.”

Ambrose settled on the steps next to her and took her hand comfortingly, though she certainly didn’t deserve it. “Now what? Sabrina can’t run, we can’t poison the coven, there’s no loophole imaginable…”

An idea dawned on her. A horrible one. One Zelda knew her family wouldn’t like, but it was truly their only option now. Swallowing, Zelda squeezed Ambrose’s hand in thanks and stood. “There, there might be one last thing to try,” she mumbled, walking towards the door.

“What?” Sabrina asked eagerly, catching her hand to prevent her from leaving.

Shaking her head, Zelda extracted her hand from Sabrina’s and collected her coat. “I’ll be back later. Until then, call Prudence, as your handmaid she really should have been over here last night; it’s suspicious we didn’t invite her over before now. Prepare for the Feast as though all is normal… I’ll, I’ll be back.” With that, Zelda teleported away before her family could question her further.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Zelda hesitated. Her hand raised to knock on the door and yet she couldn’t bring herself to do it. This was wrong, it was cruel, it was manipulative…. And yet it was what needed to be done to save her girl. Fortifying herself, Zelda knocked loudly on the door, straightened her shoulders and waited.

“Sister Zelda!” The witch exclaimed in surprise when she answered. “What can I do for you?”

Inclining her head in greeting, Zelda clasped her hands in front of her. “Sister Mildred,” she forced a smile onto her face, “there is a matter of great importance I must speak with you about.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Thirty minutes before the Feast, Zelda left Mildred’s house and returned home to get ready herself. Purposefully teleporting into her bedroom, Zelda used magic to change, freshen up and to style her hair. Only then did she sit at her vanity to touch up her makeup, doing her best to hide the bags under her eyes.

Once ready, Zelda descended the stairs and found her family waiting restlessly in the foyer, Sabrina looking lovely and Prudence looking annoyed. But Zelda was grateful for Prudence’s presence, it meant no one could interrogate her about her whereabouts; though Hilda was doing her best to burn a hole into Zelda’s skull with her glare.

“Zelds,” Hilda gritted out through a clenched smiled, “we didn’t realize you were home.” Her tone had some bite to it, and Prudence eyed her sister oddly.

Shrugging as nonchalantly as she could, Zelda adjusted her jacket and placed a hand on Sabrina’s shoulder. “Only just got in, last minute preparations at the church. I couldn’t have anything messing up Sabrina’s moment.” She did her best to sound proud, haughty, and if nothing else Prudence seemed appeased by her performance. “Come now, ladies, the Queen cannot be late to her own Feast.” With that she teleported the three of them away.

They’d gotten there early, praise Satan, and Zelda ushered the girls to their spots and then went to find Faustus, under the pretense of finalizing details.

When he saw her, his eyebrows flew up. “I wasn’t sure you’d come. I half thought you’d broken the tethering spell and spirited your niece away.”

She scoffed, “nonsense, this is a moment of honor for the Spellman family.” And despite her confident and righteous tone, she knew Faustus didn’t believe her. It didn’t matter, all that mattered was that he let what was about to happen play out. “There may be a slight disturbance during the ceremony. If you could do me the favor of letting it play out, I would be indebted to you.”

Eyes narrowing in suspicion, Faustus examined her. “I make no promises, Zelda. But I will see what I can do.”

Tilting her head in gratitude, Zelda went and bent over Sabrina where she was sitting stiffly on the throne of skulls. “Darling, all you have to do is sit here, alright?” She murmured, voice barely audible even in her niece’s ear.

Sabrina nodded, and turned to catch her eye. “I’m sorry, auntie.”

“Yes, well, lets just get through this, hmm?” Her girl nodded again and Zelda quickly placed a kiss on her forehead and went to find her seat, Prudence on one side of her and Mildred, who’d come in as Zelda was speaking to Faustus, on the other.  

The ceremony began and proceeded as normal, though Sabrina certainly made the most reluctant Queen to ever sit the throne. As the time for the sacrifice neared, Mildred stirred next to Zelda excited, and she saw a flash of silver in the woman’s palm.

A blade.

If anyone else saw it, they’d merely think Mildred had brought her own utensils for the Feast—it wasn’t uncommon; but Zelda knew better and exhaled shakily.

Just as Faustus moved towards Sabrina for the final act, Mildred shot up from her seat, proclaimed her worthiness, her true place as Queen and though Zelda wanted to look away, she forced herself to witness Mildred slitting her own throat. The witch deserved at least that from her.

The room fell silent, shocked at Mildred’s actions, when Zelda dared to meet Faustus’ eyes, he was staring at her, stunned. But he recovered remarkably fast and addressed the rest of the room.

“Hail Mildred, true Queen of the Feast!”  

Everyone echoed back the cry and surged forward, eager to partake in the celebration. Zelda remained frozen in her seat, chest heaving and adrenaline pulsing through her as she watched Mildred get torn open, a ghost of a smile still etched onto the dead witch’s lips.

Shaking herself, Zelda slipped from her spot, grabbed Sabrina’s arm and teleported them home before her niece could see too much of the coven ripping a woman open to consume her.

No one noticed their departure; all to fixated on Mildred.

Hilda and Ambrose were waiting for them on the front porch. When Hilda caught sight of them a sob escaped her, and she flew down the steps and pulled Sabrina into a hard hug. “Praise Satan,” she cried, breaking the hug to give their niece a once over for any damage and then embracing her once more.

Coming down the steps a little slower, Ambrose looked at her with awe. “How did you manage it?” He asked, hugging his cousin briefly and then turning his full attention onto Zelda.

Ignoring them, Zelda pushed past them and hurried up into the house. She was part way up the stairs when Sabrina’s voice stopped her.

“You didn’t seem as surprised by Mildred’s sacrifice as the rest of us.” Sabrina called after her, and Zelda turned to find the three of them huddled at the bottom of the stairs.

Sniffing, Zelda attempted to shrug, though it likely appeared as more as a spasm. “No, I wasn’t surprised.” They’d figure it out soon enough, better they hear it from her, know her reasoning.

Sabrina blanched a little, “why not?”

Anxiously spinning the rings on one hand while the other gripped the railing tightly for support, Zelda licked her lips. “Because I convinced Mildred to do it.” And the admission had Zelda’s thoughts suddenly back to the events that had occurred that morning.

Mildred frowned, but stepped aside and ushered Zelda into her home. “What ever could be the problem, Sister? Is this about the Feast?”

“Indeed it is, Sister,” Zelda replied demurely, taking off her coat and hanging it. “To my deep regret, there has been a mistake.” She murmured, doing her best to look disappointed.

Taken aback, Mildred placed her hand over her heart, “a mistake?” She repeated, leading Zelda further into her home and into the sitting room. “Whatever do you mean?”

Zelda took a seat and twisted her hands in her lap, the perfect picture of distress, though not for the reason Mildred would soon believe. “The, the Dark Lord came to me, in a dream, last night. He, he said,” she made a show of averting her eyes and dabbing away some tears. “He said that there’d been a mistake at the drawing.”  

At this the witch in front of her sat up straighter and leaned forward in her seat. “How so?” Mildred demanded, eyes wide.

“It appears my family was not supposed to be the one honored. A Spellman wasn’t supposed to be selected as Queen of the Feast….” Clearing her throat, Zelda turned back to the woman in front of her and threw her last, desperate pass. “It was meant to be you, Mildred. The Dark Lord was saving you all this time, but it is finally your turn.”

Tears of joy slid down Mildred’s face, a wide smile stretching her lips. “Is this truly so, Zelda?” She asked eagerly, reaching across the gap between them and clasping Zelda’s hands.

Nodding solemnly, Zelda swallowed past the rock in her throat. “Yes, Mildred. But the Dark Lord does not admit mistakes often, which is why he bid me to come to you directly. The rest of the coven cannot know he chose wrong.” She gripped Mildred’s hands tightly, hating herself but knowing this must be done for Sabrina’s sake. “It would discredit our Dark Lord, the flawless system he has in place for the lottery. You must help him rectify this error.”

“Me.” Mildred breathed happily, eyes drifting away from Zelda and focusing on something she couldn’t see; likely her death via cannibalism. “Why not come to me himself?” She turned her attention back to Zelda.

She gave the witch a simpering smile, “our Dark Lord was ashamed, he could not admit fault in person. He wronged you, and though he wants to right it, he could not come to you, Sister.”

Mildred stood, nodding furiously and crossing her arms over her chest. “No, of course, how silly of me to assume…” She stopped her pacing and pivoted back to Zelda. “If we cannot let the rest of the coven know our Dark Lord blundered, how am I to claim my rightful place as Queen?”

Standing as well, Zelda came to a stop in front of Mildred and placed her hands on the witch’s shoulders. “It will be as it was in the beginning,” she told her, locking eyes with the woman as she lied. “When the strongest volunteered, made the decision and sacrificed herself. There was none of this selection nonsense, where there was room for mistakes. You, dear Sister, will be the Queen most like Freya, taking the burden upon yourself for the good of the coven… for the good of our Dark Lord. In order to, to convince the coven of this, you must tell no one of your true status as Queen. And when the time comes for my unworthy niece to be sacrificed, you must stand in front of the coven, declare your right and, and slit your throat. A sacrifice fitting of a Queen.”

A wild gleam entered Mildred’s eye as she soaked up all Zelda told her, more than willing to believe that this ‘honor’ had been meant for her all along.

“I—” Zelda faltered, but forced herself to continue. “I am to act as your handmaiden for the rest of the day. I am to bring you the sweetest of foods and bathe you in sweet milk to prepare you for the Feast. I will help you with your dress as well, Queen Mildred.” Though she hated the idea of spending the entire day with Mildred, it was the least Zelda could do for the trick she was playing; giving this woman the pampering she deserved.

Beaming, Mildred hugged her tightly, happy tears still leaking down her cheeks. “Oh, Zelda,” she murmured, “thank you. Thank you for delivering this glorious, glorious news.” Pulling away, Mildred settled back onto the couch and sighed contently. “Handmaiden,” she giggled, “please bring me lemon tea and sweet fruits. I must prepare for tonight.”

Zelda bowed her head and made for the kitchen, sickened with herself. While Mildred may be more than willing to play the part, had likely prayed for and dreamed of just this for decades, Zelda knew she’d just murdered this witch.  

When she reached the kitchen, Zelda set the kettle on and then pulled out her witching board to contact Hilda; letting her sister know that she’d found a solution and to make sure Sabrina was ready for the Feast.

Though Hilda bombarded her with messages back, Zelda ignored them and prepared everything else for Mildred.

Sabrina’s voice broke into Zelda’s thoughts. “You what?!” The tone was a bit shrill for Zelda’s taste and she could have done without the judgmental stares. She already knew she was horrible; she didn’t need them confirming her feelings.

The seemingly ungrateful responses lit a bit of fire inside her, something Zelda needed, something other than guilt and queasiness. “It was either her or me.” She noted, turning to go back up the stairs.

Blinking, Sabrina took a step forward, now partially on the stairs. “You?” She repeated softly, confused.

“Well, you certainly weren’t an option.” Zelda retorted, spinning back around and throwing one hand in the air. “So, though I didn’t like the idea… Mildred was ecstatic when I told her the Dark Lord came to me saying he’d been mistaken, and she should have been Queen instead. That in order to right that wrong, she needed to pull the stunt you and the rest of the coven just witnessed.” Zelda trailed off, unable to continue, Mildred’s dead smile flashing through her mind and she had to swallow the bile burning up the back of her throat.

Ambrose came closer now, fear evident in the lines of his face. “You’d have sacrificed yourself, Auntie Zee?” He whispered the question, though Zelda could tell from the way he was looking at her that he didn’t doubt she would have done just that.

Straightening her jacket, Zelda nodded. “Of course, if it came to it. If Mildred changed her mind, had Faustus really gone to slaughter Sabrina…” She produced a wicked knife from her sleeve and held it in her hands. “I was Plan B,” she admitted softly, turning the blade over in her hands, careful of the edge. “I could hardly let Sabrina die, not when it was my fault she drew in the first place.” When she brought her eyes up again, there were tears streaming from Sabrina and Hilda’s eyes while Ambrose dabbed at his. Clearing her throat, Zelda vanished the knife with a flick of her wrist. “But it didn’t come to that, so it doesn’t matter. It was a happy ending for everyone after all, Mildred was finally Queen, as she’d always desired and Sabrina is still alive.”

With a curt nod, Zelda marched upstairs, needing to be alone, needing a drink, needing foxglove and a dreamless sleep. But of course, her family couldn’t give that to her, they charged up the stairs after her and engulfed her in the middle of a group hug. Murmuring apologies, gratitude and love.

Closing her eyes, Zelda allowed herself to absorb as much of this as she could for several minutes (far longer than she normally would have) and then she broke away. Yes, everything had turned out well, Mildred was happy, if dead, and Sabrina was alive and unharmed; but this was no guarantee the Dark Lord wouldn’t truly come for her in her sleep tonight. He’d be enraged she’d meddled with the Feast, denied him his chosen Queen and falsely represented his will for her own gain.

Zelda pulled each family member into an individual hug, kissed their cheeks and expressed her love before retreating to her room. Fully expecting that, come morning, she’d have joined Mildred in Hell. The price for the blasphemy she'd committed