#alexusonfire

“a thought blossomed in your mind; be a brat. put on a fucking show for her.”

this one is a lil further down the line (think chapter 10 or so) of a WIP.

Don't fucking do this to me. Don't fucking do this to me. Don't. Fucking. Do this to me I'm already so gay for Marith

I’m sticking my gay little hands in this and twisting it around because that is what I do

Nasty!domme Mary? It’s always the quiet ones.

Zelda remained silent, unconvincingly stone-faced, as Hilda lowered the letter, its orange and cream notepaper still fresh after nearly a century. 

Hilda blinked the gathering sheen away from her eyes. “That’s the last one. It’s... strange that I never threw them away, innit? Not like I haven’t figured out, you know, a lot of the answers myself, I just, well, before I leave I thought maybe you should know.”

Zelda’s voice was no rougher than usual, at least to the untrained ear, but Hilda’s were far from untrained. “You never sent me a single one. Why, sister? You knew where I was every step of the way.”

Hilda tilted her head, gave Zelda an affectionate look grown out of her own private pain. “I didn’t really, though, did I? Anyway...” She shut the tin box, fastened the flimsy clasp, and stood. “You can do what you want with them, really. And the poppets. I just don’t want to take things like that with me now. Moving in with Richard, I... I just want to start fresh. I don’t want to be afraid of saying or doing the wrong thing anymore. And I don’t want to accidentally react to something he says--”

“As if he were me,” came the thin croak, quickly subsumed by a drag on her cigarette.

Hilda’s answer was quiet, but resolute. “Yes. Zelda, I, I really love him.” A smile of guileless glee was there suddenly, and a light in her eyes. “I want to be able to love someone without fearing them. You understand. I know you do.”

Eyes averted, Zelda only nodded.

“I’m sorry, Zelds. I hope you’ll find it again, I really do. But I’m... I’m not going to risk missing this chance. I don’t know how long we have together, but I’m going to enjoy it as much as I can.”

Zelda cleared her throat then, a guttural sound full of regret. “I hope that you do, Hilda. I pray to Hecate and our ancestors that you do. And I hope that... the things I’ve done...” the quiver in her lip quickly vanished into the cigarette, and within moments she had recovered, “that they don’t hold you back. I hope you know that I, I’ve always...”

Hilda leaned down and patted her sister’s knee, where it sat tightly crossed, just like her spirit clearly was. “I know, Zelds. But... it doesn’t really change anything. Does it?”

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𝘓𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘢 𝘧𝘪𝘤 𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘢𝘴𝘬 𝘣𝘰𝘹 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘐 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘹𝘵 𝘧𝘪𝘷𝘦

(or whatever happens apparently...)

( the meme said five lines... i clearly broke the rules. )

It was a sweet scene, and certainly a way to diffuse the growing tension in the small, dimly lit room... Mary only wished she knew how to react in this moment. Usually, it was Sabrina’s Aunt Hilda who came to these conferences. Friendly and cheerful and trying to help... sometimes she might even drop a secret to baking if she felt inclined. Mary enjoyed Hilda Spellman’s chatter... it was often very familiar. 

Not today. 

“Ah, right, so as I was saying...” Mary begins again, Sabrina’s coursework--a muddled display of gradually lowering marks--in her hands, “Miss Spellman’s grades--Sabrina’s grades, sorry--have only seemed to slip over time, and I worry that--”

“You really shouldn’t be worrying about anything, Miss Wardwell,” Zelda snaps quickly, irritation plastering right back on her face. “Aside from the rather abysmal curriculum of your English class. Honestly, your focus on epic poetry and rather ‘safe’ literary options... why, when I was in school, we were talking about revolutionary writers and not the short, tawdy works about guilt-ridden murderers written by the drunks of Baltimore as you seem so obviously drawn t--!”

“Ah, Zelda!”

The calm again. Or, at least the quiet. Mary was sitting a bit farther back in her chair as Marie LaFleur lay a hand on Zelda’s wrist. Soft. Kind. The room felt still again. The echo of a book that had shifted off Ms Wardwell’s wooden desk still lingered in the air.

Mary wasn’t entirely sure why Marie had come with Zelda this day. But in a way--in many ways--Mary was glad. Marie was all the more grounding. And certainly a calming influence to Miss Spellman as far as anyone seemed concerned.

It might have seemed hopeless for Mary to continue, but Marie nodded politely to her, the end of the hour approaching, and held out a hand, indicating to the papers. Mary handled them over softly, avoiding eye contact with Zelda.

The silence was no more welcoming, and while Mary felt inclined to stay, the truth of the matter was that Zelda Spellman seemed in no mood to be entertained by her. 

With another small inclination of the head, Mary offered Marie, who was not Sabrina’s aunt but seemed to be the more receptive of the two during this meeting, a small smile and excused herself, allowing the two alone in her office for a moment as Zelda regathered herself.

Marie stroked lightly against Zelda’s wrist, while Zelda exhaled. She may still be greatly annoyed, but there was no risk now to Mary’s many paperweights and desk ornaments being launched across the courtyard outside her window.

“I’ll steal one of her paperweights,” Zelda declared after a moment. A joke, but still... “It’s only fair.”

“No, Zelda,” Marie chides, gathering up her things to go.

“No, you’re right. She should have left her shoes. I’d hex one of them,” Zelda says after a moment, a smile on her lips. 

Marie shakes her head, as if the idea were ridiculous. “No, Zelda,” she repeats. “Now, we can go home and have a drink. And you can stop worrying about this meeting.” A hand is offered.