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amillionmillionvoices · 6 years

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this may or may not help you since it's more pippa-pov but I'm v "third eye" by florence + the machine for hicsqueak/hecate. "Hey, look up! / You don't have to be a ghost / here amongst the living. / You are flesh and blood! / And you deserve to be loved and you deserve what you are given / And oh, how much!" but later there's also: "But your pain is a tribute / The only thing you let hold you / Wear it now like a mantle / Always there to remind you"

Thank you so so much for this! It helped immensely. This got pretty angsty, but it’s also a giant fluff ball? IDK. I’ve been attempting fic for days but this is the first thing that feels finished, so thank you so much! I hope you like it. :S

tw: mentions of child abuse. nothing graphic.

–

Pippa doesn’t like to think about how Hecate got her scars.

There are two of them, one on the inside of each arm from wrist to elbow, both deep and white.

She only saw them once when she was in school, when she’d barged into Hecate’s room without knocking, and Hecate had only been partially clothed, in tights and her bra, dress halfway over her head.

She hadn’t paid much attention then, too distracted by so much pale skin, the slight curve of Hecate’s waist and the way one black bra strap was falling off her shoulder.

It was only a moment, a glance she barely had time to take before Hecate spun around, quickly shielding herself, and Pippa had looked away.

She hadn’t asked then, and Hecate never offered to tell her. She’d thought then, maybe with time—

But time had been too short, and Hecate pulled away, and then twenty years sat between them, strained and bitter and at times hostile.

So much different from now, she thinks, pressing her lips again to Hecate’s shoulder, smiling against her skin when she shudders.

It’s been six months since the Spelling Bee, six months of dancing around one another in mirror chats and over tea, six months of barely there touches and long looks and so much wanting Pippa had felt fit to burst from it.

But they’re here now, Pippa curled into Hecate’s side, skin to skin, Hecate’s hand on her waist, so soft, Hecate’s stuttered breathing in Pippa’s ear as she kisses the line of her jaw, her cheek, her lips.

Their kisses are unhurried, gentle and drawn out and Pippa can’t say she minds, being the sole focus of Hecate’s attention, even after the rush has faded and the sweat on their skin has dried. Even though she’s given as much and taken the same, a calm stealing over her she hasn’t felt in ages.

And yet Hecate’s still hesitant, her eyes still questioning, as if she’s waiting for the moment Pippa will pull away, will say it’s a mistake, or a one off, or a laugh.

Pippa hasn’t quite found the words to tell her otherwise, so she keeps kissing her, keeps her body curled into Hecate’s and tries to tell her with soft murmurs and her hands on Hecate’s cheeks that she isn’t going anywhere.

That she won’t leave.

She thinks sometimes it should be the other way around, that she’s the one who should be fearful, but she isn’t. Not anymore. Not after they spoke, finally, not after Hecate admitted, her voice so low and resigned, that she’d only done what she did because she was afraid. Afraid of falling harder, falling faster, of losing herself in someone who could never love her back. Not in the same way.

Pippa had stared, voiceless, too struck by the admission to do anything for a long moment. And Hecate, of course, had panicked, tried to flee, and it was only Pippa’s hand around her wrist, Pippa’s startling kiss that kept her in place.

The look on her face had almost been comical, her eyes wide and jaw slack, but Pippa hadn’t laughed. She couldn’t, not with her heart in her throat, everything she’d ever wanted not a foot away, staring at her like she couldn’t believe.

And that’s the problem, Pippa thinks sadly, that Hecate never believes. That she’s good enough. That she’s wanted enough. That she’s loved enough.

Even now, with Pippa’s soft touches and warmth and steadiness, Pippa can feel the tension in her frame, the fight or flight of her magic humming beneath her skin. Can hear it in Hecate’s voice, the tremble of it, when she asks Pippa if this is truly what she wants.

“More than anything,” she says, and holds Hecate’s gaze, a palm on her cheek and the other flat against Hecate’s stomach, almost possessive.

Hecate nods, but her eyes are unsure, her hands still tentative at Pippa’s sides.

“But is it—” she starts, stops, fingers twitching as she resists the urge to curl them into fists.

Pippa leans back and takes her hands, pressing a kiss to Hecate’s knuckles before pulling them close to her chest, over her heart.

“Everything,” she says, and it’s enough somehow, the right word at the right time because Hecate surges forward, capturing her mouth with hers, her hands freeing themselves to tangle in Pippa’s hair.

Pippa gasps, and feels the edges of a smile against her own.

She knows, without words, that Hecate feels the same. It’s written all over her face, in her touch, in the way she holds Pippa so reverently, like she’s precious.

Pippa’s had her share of girlfriends, and boyfriends, but none that have meant as much to her as this, and she knows she’s never meant as much to anyone as she does to the woman lying next to her, and it feels her with so much warmth and light and giddiness she can hardly stand it.

But Hecate keeps her grounded, as she’s always done. When they were in school, it was always Hecate with her feet planted firmly on the ground, Pippa with her head in the clouds, Hecate who always pulled her down before she flew too close to the sun.

She does the same now, her hands still cool, almost cold, sweeping up and down her spine like she simply can’t bear to stop touching her.

Pippa knows the feeling. Her own hands can’t quite settle, keep tangling in Hecate’s hair or smoothing down her side, her stomach, her arms.

She doesn’t quite realize what she’s done until Hecate flinches, drawing away, turning her elbow so Pippa can’t see the scars.

“It’s okay,” Pippa says softly, catching her wrist lightly. “I don’t care.”

It isn’t quite what she means—she does care, she cares so much, and she wants to know but she doesn’t want to press; wants to rid Hecate of the suddenly haunted look in her eyes in any way she can.

Hecate nods, settling back, allowing Pippa to take her elbow and turn her arm so her palm is up, the scar on the surface between them.

She doesn’t touch, though she wants to. Instead, she draws her thumb over the pulse in Hecate’s wrist and settles her head in her shoulder, giving her space.

“Will you tell me what happened?” she asks, careful to keep her voice calm and gentle.

Hecate stiffens, as she’d expected, but doesn’t pull away. She continues to trace her fingers along Pippa’s spine, but she says nothing, and Pippa accepts that.

Accepts that things take time. Accepts that maybe, there are some things about Hecate she’ll never learn. Some things she keeps too well and truly guarded.

And then Hecate shifts, and she feels a soft exhale against her hair before the words, so quiet, “My father.”

It hurts, more than Pippa had been expecting, and the rush of air from her lungs is entirely involuntary.

She knows little about Hecate’s home life, other than that it was dreadfully unhappy. Her mother died at a young age, Pippa knew, and her father was a man steeped in tradition and rules and discipline.

She wants to ask, wants the story but the air around them is too fragile. She knows, if she pushed, Hecate would tell her. Would tell her now and regret it later and she wants everything Hecate wants to give her, but only on her terms.

“I’m sorry,” she says, because she knows, can tell by the way Hecate’s breathing has quickened, her muscles tense, that it wasn’t an accident. That whatever happened was intentional.

Because they’re still there.

Like most things in magic, scars can be healed. Put right. But only by the caster, and the thought makes Pippa feel sick, feels her eyes sting and rage coil in her stomach, a writhing thing.

She wants to scream. Wants to demand Hecate look at her, to beg her to tell her she knows she didn’t deserve it. Whatever it was. However bad it got. That it wasn’t her fault.

She doesn’t. She takes a deep, shaky breath, and gently, so gently, takes Hecate’s arm and leans down, pressing a kiss to the center of the long, jagged mark.

Hecate stills, doesn’t appear to be breathing when Pippa meets her gaze, and she forces herself to smile. To tuck a strand of hair behind Hecate’s ear and kiss her temple, her cheek, her nose.

“You’re beautiful,” she says, and Hecate slams her eyes shut, her whole body trembling, and Pippa worries maybe it was too much. Too much too fast and too many emotions for Hecate to process. She watches her face closely, and it’s only because she does she sees a few errant tears streak along her temple, disappearing into her hair.

“Hiccup—”

Hecate shakes her head, and after a moment, turns her body and curls into Pippa, their places reversed, Pippa on her back and Hecate wrapped around her like a summer vine. Her hair is everywhere, half covering them both, and Pippa runs her fingers through the strands, careful not to catch any tangles.

It isn’t until she starts to hum, an old song she remembers Hecate singing once, just once, in a voice that at the time had seemed far too sweet, on a night so similar and so unlike this one, when Pippa had been so sad. She doesn’t remember why now—maybe a teacher yelled at her, or her sister said something insensitive. Maybe she failed an exam, or had a fight with a friend. It doesn’t matter, only that Hecate had been there, her arm loose around Pippa’s shoulder and she cried into her hair, the same song settling the air around them.

“You remember?” Hecate says, awe in her voice, and Pippa smiles.

“Of course I do.”

Hecate raises her head, the smile on her face so bright, so warm, Pippa thinks maybe she never saved her from the sun after all. Maybe it’s Hecate she’d been flying toward all along.

#hecate hardbroom #hicsqueak #troiing #catherine writes fic #the worst witch #OOPS I HAD FEELINGS #thank you again so so much!#i hope this is okay #i just needed to write SOMETHING about them before i exploded #hecate you wonderful useless lesbian

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