#and maybe the book will explain where the hell the Jailer came in to all of this | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lynelovespopculture · 4 years

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CHAPTER 12-FRIENDS AND FOES-PLEASE COMMENT AND REBLOG

WITH PROBLEMS UPON PROBLEMS TO FIX, THE SPELLMANS MUST HURRY TO DISCOVER WHO IS AN ALLY AND WHO IS NOT.

There was a rather large mud puddle just inside the mine’s main entrance. Large enough to cause ripples when it came into contact with Zelda Spellman’s high heeled shoe. Zelda herself paid no mind to the puddle, nor to the dampness that set in just above her ankle. All she could focus on was finding lot 13. For hidden deep within lot 13 was, (what else?) the gates of hell. Not even an hour before, the Spellmans seemed on the verge of getting rid of 2 enemies with 1 stone. The trouble all started 2 days ago, when Zelda had foolishly agreed to smuggle Lilith and her newborn child out of hell. It was foolish because when Lucifer showed up looking for his servant and their child, Lilith had flown the coop leaving the Spellmens to deal with Lucifer on their own. Due to a miracle, courtesy of baby Cordelia, they managed to get the upper hand on Lucifer. Getting him safely chained up and down to the academy’s dungeon. However, everyone knew that the dark lord could only be held by a prison of flesh and blood. Using Blackwood, Faustus’s curse was Ambrose’s idea but it was Letitia who knew where to find him. All seemed to be going well when the family performed the soul transfer and sent both Blackwood and Lucifer to hell. Until Zelda found a letter from Faustus in the baby’s crib. He confessed that he couldn’t find Blackwood, so he switched places using a cloning spell, meaning that Zelda’s beloved husband was not only Lucifer’s jailer but was in hell as well! The letter explained that he was doing this to protect their family, not only Zelda and his children, but also Sabrina, Ambrose, Hilda, and Dr. C, all the people Faustus considered his family. Plus, they never spoke about it anymore, but Zelda knew that Faustus still felt immense guilt for the curse’s actions. Once the shock of the letter wore off, nothing could stop Zelda from reaching the gates of hell. Not even when Elizabeth Tudor, their old ally showed up on their doorstep and literally fainted into Zelda’s arms. She just passed her to Hilda and continued on her way. Now, she had arrived at the gates of hell. Zelda immediately went to work, twisting and turning the symbols in the correct order. As Lilith’s midwife, she was given the combination months ago. Only…now it wasn’t working. She tried again, once, twice, 3 times. Still, it didn’t budge.

“Oh no,” Even with no warning, it appeared that Lucifer still had the foresight to change the locks. “Lilith!” Zelda screamed, hoping against hope that the witch was on the other side. “Lucifer?! Faustus?! Minion?”

It soon became clear that no one on the other side of the gate was going to help her or Zelda didn’t know if anyone was even there.

“Faustus, darling? If you can hear me, I love you and I will get you out of there!” Zelda sighed, wondering what her next move should be.

“Let’s put her on the bed, Prudence, love,” Hilda suggested as she turned down the bed in 1 of the academy’s private bedrooms. Tonight had been a very odd night indeed. First, there was the whole Blackwood/Faustus switch thing, (Hilda was certainly not looking forward to telling her husband that his best friend was in hell,) then Zelda insisted on going to the gates without backup or a plan. On top of all that, Elizabeth had shown up at the door, just to collapse. Elizabeth Tudor had been a useful ally to the family and proved very helpful in aiding Sabrina with her identity problem. But that whole thing had been months ago, Hilda never expected to see her again.

“What do you suppose happened to her?” Asked Prudence.

Hilda sighed. “I don’t know,” she said truthfully. All she did know was the proud, regally dressed, half-mortal, half-witch immortal 16th-century queen the family met months ago looked next to nothing to the poor, half-dead wretch they were looking at on the bed. Her once bright, curly red hair was now limp and dirty. Her once thin yet healthy fame was now nothing but skin and bones. Elizabeth was always sharply dressed in modern outfits now all she wore was a dirty one-piece prison garb of her own time that was barely better than an old potato sack. Also, the E necklace that could always be found at her throat, was nowhere to be found. Hilda couldn’t help but notice that there were many, many, cuts and wounds on Elizabeth’s bare legs. However, that was nothing compared to what Prudence and Hilda saw once they removed the dress.

“Oh, dear!” Hilda gasped as she placed her hand over her mouth. Elizabeth’s bareback was bruised, covered in welts, and both dried and fresh blood. It was quite clear that she had been whipped several times over.

“What on earth happened here?” Hilda wondered out loud. Not only was Elizabeth a queen of a kingdom of millions of loyal subjects, but she herself was also a known warrior. Who would dare attack her?

“Looks like someone tried to burn off her mark of Cain.” Prudence lifted up Elizabeth’s wrist so the other witch could see the burn marks.

Hilda shook her head and told herself to focus. There was a jar of healing cream on the side table. Hilda gently dipped a tip of each finger into the cream and approached Elizabeth, whose Prudence held to ensure that Elizabeth remained on her side. As soon as Hilda touched her skin, Elizabeth, who had been unconscious ever since she fell into Zelda’s arms, awoke and began to scream bloody murder. When Hilda tried to touch her again, Elizabeth only screamed louder. Hilda spoke some words in Latin and Elizabeth was once again silent and sleeping.

“What happened? Is she dead?” Prudence asked.

Hilda smiled. “No. Just a little trick from my midwife days. Whenever a mother would be in too much pain, I would put her to sleep with a quick spell, and then we would continue our work. Now, let’s tend to her wounds and then maybe a quick sponge bath. Ambrose is downstairs in the library and I promised him I would help him find a spell to get your father out of hell.”

“I’m meeting Sabrina later for the same reason.”

Very, very late that night, a frustrated Zelda let herself into the house. She vowed not to come home without her husband, but what else could she do? It was 3 AM and she was still no closer to opening the gates. Zelda could swear that today she said every spell that ever mentioned the gates of hell. She even recited some spells she only knew by overhearing Sabrina practicing in her room when Nicholas was in hell. Zelda grew still so desperate that she returned to the school, right to the very same dungeon cell they kept Lucifer in, drew a pentagram on the ground, and tried to summon the devil that way. All to no avail. When Zelda entered the house this late, she expected it to be pitch dark and as silent as the grave. While it was quiet, Zelda noticed that there was a light on in the parlor. When she went in there to check it out, no one was in the room, but Zelda noticed that most of the family’s spellbooks were all over the room. I’ll clean this up tomorrow. Zelda thought as she yawned and switched off the light. Zelda went upstairs and was surprised to see that the only light on was coming from her own bedroom. Zelda walked in and her heart melted. Among the mess of books that were everywhere, some were Ambrose’s from the attic, and others that were Faustus’s were on the nearby bookshelf and the 4 girls that Zelda loved the most in the world were all on her bed. Her niece, Sabrina, who was farthest from the door, was lying on her stomach and her head was lying on an open book. Her youngest stepdaughter, Letitia, better known these days as LJ, was next to Sabrina, lying on her side. An open book resting against her hip. Her older sister, Prudence, was on her back, Cordelia on her chest. At first glance, Zelda thought everyone was asleep but when she came closer, she saw Cordelia gurgling, lifting her head, and was about to move. Luckily, Zelda was there in time to catch her daughter.

“Got you, my little wiggle worm!” Zelda smiled and kissed the baby’s cheek but then Zelda smelled something foul. Zelda brought her daughter to the makeshift changing table across the room and got her a fresh diaper. Zelda couldn’t help but stare down at Cordelia. If she hadn’t seen it with her own 2 eyes, Zelda would have never believed that yesterday that her 5 and a half-month-old baby had literally thrown the actual devil out on his ear with just her cry. True, it had been some time since Zelda learned about the mark of the divine and how it meant that Cordelia was destined to be the most powerful witch ever born. Yet reading about a prophecy and seeing it happening right before you are 2 different things. Besides her crescent moon birthmark, before today, they had no proof, it was more like…hearsay. Besides, both as a midwife and Cordelia’s mother, Zelda had been keeping an extra close eye on her daughter ever since learning about the mark of the divine, and Zelda could swear that Cordelia was developing at the same rate at any other normal 5 months old. Cordelia had just recently learned to sit up by herself, her crib mirror could provide hours of entertainment and why, it was only last week, that Zelda had come home to find Faustus, rolling around on the floor like a fool. Cordelia, who laid on her stomach nearby, had no intention of rolling over, but laughed and slapped the floor with glee over her father’s antics. How could someone so small be so powerful? Zelda wondered as she carried her baby back to the bed. In order to make room for them both, Zelda made sure that she herself laid on her side, her back to Prudence, and laid Cordelia down on the mattress, holding by a hand on her babe’s belly. Yet, the baby was still fussy.

“Hush child,” Zelda kissed Cordelia’s brow, “Dream of Hecate. Pray for your daddy’s safe return.”

Despite the fact that she had gone to bed past 3, Zelda was up by 6 AM. She grabbed an apple as she rushed out of the door. Zelda was headed to the academy’s library. Hoping to do more research about opening the gates of hell before morning assembly. Zelda was surprised but happy when within an hour, most of the rest of the family had shown up as well. Apparently, no one wanted to see Faustus in hell. Sabrina, who was the last to arrive, told the others that last night she sent Salem to keep an eye on Blackwood’s hideout all night long. The familiar had reported back this morning, saying that there was no sign of Blackwood or Judas.

The hours flew by and the study succession didn’t really uncover any new or useful information. Before Zelda knew it, it was time for morning assembly. Somehow, she got through it and after dismissing the students, Zelda headed down toward her office. She walked in and saw LJ settling a now sleeping Cordelia into what was her old cradle. It warmed Zelda’s heart until she noticed that LJ was frowning.

“Letitia, err, I mean, LJ, is anything wrong?” Zelda asked.

LJ sighed and flopped down on 1 of the seats before the desk. “I just feel so guilty.”

Zelda sat down next to her. “Oh? Whatever for?”

“I’m the one who told Ambrose and Sabrina I knew where the hideout was. I helped Father with the map.” LJ sighed and hung her head. “It’s my fault that Father is in hell.”

Zelda gave a gentle half-smile, leaned forward and cupped her fingers under LJ’s chin, forcing her stepdaughter to look her in the eye. “No, it’s not. You were just doing what you thought, what we all thought, was the right thing to do and that’s never wrong. I also want you to know that your father and I made a vow. We vowed, both of us, that we would never rest until we reunited all our children, and that includes you and your brother.”

LJ made a face. “That’s another thing I’ve been worrying about. I’m truly sorry about all the things I did to you, I can almost promise you, Judas would have been worse. You see, growing up I was the unimportant one. I was just the girl. Judas, however, was the hell sent boy, the beloved male heir who could do very little wrong. As a result, my twin brother grew up to be rather arrogant.”

Zelda nodded understandingly. “Being raised by the curse, I was afraid of that. But we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. Right now, we have to get you ready before my 2nd-period class. Did you bring your assignment from home?”

LJ nodded and Zelda helped her stepdaughter to settle behind her desk. “You know, I keep on forgetting to tell you how impressed I am with your schoolwork. Not only do I think you’ll be able to attend the academy next term, but I believe we might bump you up a year.”

“Thank you. I’ve always loved reading and learning new things. Of course, I had to hide it most of my life because well, Judas never liked school and hell forbid that I should get ahead of him.”

Zelda placed a hand on LJ’s shoulder. “You’ll never have to play dumb or go at anyone’s speed but your own ever again, I promise you.”

Zelda was rewarded with a smile that lit up the room. Zelda patted the girl’s shoulder affectionately before she went to collect her things for her next class. She kissed Cordelia goodbye and headed out. She hadn’t gone far down the hallway when everything around her changed. Zelda was no longer at the academy, she was now on the balcony at Grey’s bar. Confused, Zelda looked down to see that she was no longer wearing the business suit she put on this morning and in its place was a black ball gown with a full skirt, a tight corset, and off the shoulder shelves.

“Praise Hecate, it worked! It actually worked!”

Zelda’s eyes widened. She would know that voice anywhere but it couldn’t be, could it? Zelda turned around and looked down. There he was, on the main floor and in black tie. “Faustus, darling!” Quick as lighting, Zelda ran downstairs and threw herself into her husband’s arms and covered his face with kisses. Then she asked him some of the millions of questions going through her mind. “How did you get away from Lucifer? How did you ever manage to escape hell?”

“I didn’t exactly escape hell, dearest, and Lucifer and I still share 1 body, sort of,” Faustus answered.

“Faustus, are- are you astral projecting from hell?”

Her husband made a face. “Not exactly. You see, I researched some spells just in case this happened-“

“Researched some spells just in case this happened? Who could have foreseen this?” Asked a confused Zelda.

Faustus couldn’t help but chuckle a little. “It dawned on me that I should do my homework right around the time Lilith entered her last trimester. Even if you wouldn’t help Lilith, I knew you could never refuse an innocent newborn so I figured it was better safe than sorry.”

Zelda frowned. “When it comes to Lilith, I am very, very sorry. I helped her and she put the entire family in jeopardy and indirectly put you in hell. I haven’t seen hind or hair of that ungrateful witch since I sent her upstairs to the nursery to better protect her son and watch over our daughter. Have you seen her? In hell, I mean.”

Faustus shook his head. “No.”

“If Lucifer still wants Lilith dead, he just may have to stand in line,” Zelda mumbled.

Faustus felt his wife’s anger so he quickly changed the subject. “So, anyway, this is the 2nd spell I’ve tried since yesterday and I’m pleased to report that they both worked.”

Zelda raised an eyebrow. “What sort of spells?” She wanted to know.

“Well, the first spell was called the 50/50.”

“The 50/50 spell? I’ve never even heard of that.”

“It's a very, very obscure spell. I had to dig for weeks to find it. Anyway, what happens is that I have full control of the body 50% of the time and when Lucifer is in control, I’m actually asleep, which brings me to the 2nd spell, a dream spell.”

“A dream spell? But darling, I’m not even asleep, I’m at work. So how could I’ve pulled you into my dream?”

Faustus laughed. “Oh no, my dearest. You didn’t pull me into your dream. I pulled you into mine. I do confess I don’t know how long this spell hold. But this is not a surprise. Most of my dreams involve us dancing and dressed to the nines.”

Zelda looked down at her dress. “Well, I understand being dressed to the nines, but how are we to dance without music?”

Then the music started.

“A slight delay,” Faustus smiled and took his wife in his arms. “For my next trick, I’m going to need your help.”

Zelda cuddled closer to her husband. “I would die for you.”

“Thankfully, I won’t need anything that dire. Now, all I need you to do is put a pen and a pad of paper on the kitchen table before you go to bed tonight and I’ll do the rest. Now, how are the children?” He asked as they danced.

“They miss you, we all do,” Zelda answered. “Fear not, beloved, we’ll have you out of there before you know it. As soon as we find a way to open the gates of hell and track down Blackwood.”

“Blackwood wouldn’t help you.”

Zelda shrugged. “Not willing, of course, but no matter, I wasn’t thinking of asking permission.”

Despite himself, Faustus laughed. “No, dearest, what I meant was it’s all in the name. Blackwood can’t do a soul transfer because he doesn’t have a soul because”

“He’s a curse” Zelda finished for him. “Damn, you’re right!”

Faustus nodded. “And since there is no one else who deserves this fate, I think it’s best for everyone if I stayed with Lucifer.”

Zelda was shocked. “What? Faustus no! You already promised me that we would raise our family together.”

“Yes, but if we let Lucifer run loose we might not have a family.”

“We won’t let Lucifer run loose, but you can’t give up the rest of your life for him, I won’t let you. We find another way.”

“But what if there is none?”

“There must be!” Zelda stressed and got on her tiptoes to hug Faustus. She gave him an extra squeeze before she saw it, a painting, hanging on a wall behind Faustus’s shoulder. Zelda had no idea why but it felt like the painting was calling her. Zelda slowly smiled as she remembered something Sabrina told her long ago. “That’s it! I know how we’re going to get you out of hell.” Zelda turned her head but both Faustus and Grey’s bar were gone. She was back at the academy.

“Are you alright, Sister Zelda?” A confused Prudence was at the other end of the hallway.

“Come, child. We must tell the others at once!”

Sabrina couldn’t believe it! How could she be so stupid? How could she have forgotten about Dorian’s painting into hell over at Grey’s? True, it had been a while since she and her friends had rescued Nick from hell, but still! Sabrina felt so guilty that she accompanied Ambrose and Prudence to Grey’s bar, only to find it closed. Meanwhile, Zelda was home at that very moment neatly putting a pad of paper and pen on the kitchen table before going upstairs to check on Cordelia. The next morning, the family found notes, all in Faustus’s handwriting, to all the members of the family. Some were short and friendly but 1 was a long, steamy love letter to Zelda. All of the notes said that Faustus was alright but Zelda wasn’t so sure. Grey’s bar remained closed for 3 days and things got even worse on day 4.

Zelda stood up sharply from behind her desk. “Sold it? What do you mean he sold it?”

Ambrose shrugged. “I’m sorry, Auntie, but Dorian told me himself he sold it to the highest bidder.”

“That Dorian Grey always was a vain fool!”

“Now we have no painting and no way to open the gates of hell. So, we’re back to where we started. We are not giving up, are we?” Prudence wanted to know. “I know he writes every night that he’s alright, but still”

“Prudence, we will find a way to get your father out of hell, I swear,” Zelda promised her stepdaughter. Zelda sighed as she got up after kneeling to comfort Prudence. As Zelda got up, she spotted her sister standing in the doorway. 1 look at her sister’s face told her that she heard everything.

“Yes, Hilda? What is it?”

Hilda took a step forward. “I hate to be the bearer of even more bad news but I don’t know what to do with her anymore.”

Zelda was confused. “Her? Her who?”

“Why, Elizabeth, of course.”

“Oh.” Zelda was so worried about Faustus and how to get him out of hell, that she had completely forgotten about their guest.

“It’s been 4 days and not only has Elizabeth not come out of her room, she won’t eat, she won’t do anything but lay in bed and cry. I think she’s depressed.” Hilda told Zelda as the sisters walked down the hallway toward Elizabeth’s room.

Zelda was shocked. “Depressed? Why on earth would Elizabeth Tudor, of all people, have to be depressed about?”

Hilda shrugged. “I don’t know, Zelds, but in the 4 days I’ve been treating her wounds, she hasn’t said a word to me.”

They reached the door to Elizabeth’s room. The room was pitch black inside, despite the fact that it was almost noon. Zelda went straight to the window and drew back the drapes. Bright sunlight flooded in and the figure in the bed groaned and put an arm over her eyes.

“I know I’m immortal but can’t you at least, leave me to pretend I’m dead?”

“What do you want that, my love?” Hilda asked. “What’s wrong?”

“Indeed! You think that a queen would have better things to do than stay in bed all day.” Zelda’s tone was firm.

“But I’m not a queen anymore!” Elizabeth snapped with tears in her eyes.

“No longer queen? But that’s impossible! The Elizabethans-“

“Have chosen a new leader!” Elizabeth finished for Zelda. Giving up on sleep altogether, Elizabeth got up and went to the fireplace, her arms wrapped around herself. “And because I love my people more than my own life, I had to step aside.”

Hilda shook her head. “That makes no sense. You’re a great queen.”

“If I was such a great queen, how could I allow myself to be defeated by nothing but a stupid curse?!” Elizabeth half asked, half sneered.

The Spellman sisters exchanged a glance, surely she couldn’t mean? Meanwhile, Elizabeth, who was now openly sobbing, collapsed on a nearby stool by the fire. “Do you have any idea what it means to believe to the depths of your soul that you’re meant for something, only to find out, 500 years later, that you were wrong all along?”

Zelda stepped forward. “It’s Blackwood, isn’t it? That’s why you’re here, Blackwood made himself king of your people.”

“King? No,” Elizabeth laughed shortly. “King wasn’t good enough for him. So, he made himself emperor, Emperor Blackwood. 1 day he showed up out of nowhere, I still have no idea how he found my dimension, he snapped his finger and all my people rallied around him.”

Zelda made a face. “Elizabeth, this can’t be true. Blackwood must have tricked or spelled them.”

“You don’t think I’ve thought of that?” Elizabeth asked. “The whole reason I allowed myself to be captured and tortured by my own men for over 5 months, looking for any sign, any clue, any crack of a spell that I could break and there was nothing! Just an insanity curse who declared himself emperor of the empire that I built!”

“5 months?” Zelda whispered more to herself than to anyone else. “No wonder we can’t find him. The bastard must have moved right after Cordelia was born, right after he killed me.” In a louder voice, Zelda asked Elizabeth. “What about Judas? Is he still with Blackwood?”

Elizabeth nodded. “Yes, I didn’t get to speak with him, of course, but the boy looked fine.”

Hilda stepped forward and knelt before Elizabeth. “There must be more to the story. We’ll help you.”

“Once we find a way to free Faustus,” Zelda muttered.

For the first time in months, Elizabeth thought of someone other than herself. “What happening with Faustus?”

“Long story short, Faustus allowed a soul transfer with Lucifer in order to save us all and now, he’s stuck in hell and we can’t go get him until we figure out how to open the gates,” Zelda explained.

Elizabeth looked confused. “What about Sabrina? Surely, she would help.”

“What does any of this have to with Sabrina?” Zelda wanted to know.

“You know that the spell I did with her proves Sabrina is a Spellman to her very core, but, and forgive me for even saying so ladies, but Sabrina has the blood of a Morningstar and since hell belongs to the Morningstars, all it would take would be her blood to open the gates.”

“How much blood?” Zelda, ever the overprotective aunt, asked with care.

Elizabeth shrugged. “Just 1 drop. No more, no less.”

“Cool!”

All 3 women looked up to see the teen witch in the doorway.

“Sabrina-“

Sabrina held up her hand. “Now, Aunties, I know you’re probably going to say you’re worried but this is the answer! I can feel it in my bones! Now, come on!”

Zelda and Hilda had no choice but to follow their niece out the door and down the hall. Along their way, the 3 found Prudence and Ambrose, so the Spellmans were all together when they entered the mines. Sabrina marched in first, pausing only long enough to whisper Latin words that allowed her to pluck a needle out of thin air. She pricked her finger with the needle and she saw a small but decent pool of blood on her finger, she placed it on the gate. Sure enough, as soon as it came into contract with Morningstar blood, the huge stone doors began to open.

“Whoa,” Sabrina jumped back. “It actually worked!”

Ambrose was amazed. “After all our research, this is a little anticlimactic Aunties, not going to lie.”

Zelda didn’t care what it was, all she cared about was that the gates of hell were open and she could finally get her husband back. The family went into hell and found Faustus/Lucifer exactly where the previous spell had sent him. Faustus must have been asleep because it was Lucifer’s smirk that greeted them.

“Oh, not here, again,” Lucifer sneered as the witches teleported with him to the dungeon under the school. “I didn’t know you cared so much about Daddy, Sabrina.”

“I don’t,” Sabrina retorted “but my uncle has more than proven that he deserves more out of life than simply being your jailer.”

“And now that we know where Blackwood is, we can free Uncle Faustus all that faster.” Said Ambrose, finishing his cousin’s thoughts.

Lucifer gave the children a gleeful smile before turning to Zelda. “Do you wish to tell them, Lady Blackwood, or should I?”

Zelda sighed deeply and crossed her arms. “Blackwood can’t do a soul transfer because as a curse, he has no soul.”

“Now,” Lucifer continued firmly. “You people have 2 choices here; either accept that you beloved Faustus Spellman is gone for good or separate us and allow me to walk away free.”

Zelda frowned. “Neither of those things are going to happen.”

“Come now, Lady Blackwood, we both know you have no choice. Now that Blackwood is not an option, your husband is lost to you forever unless you let me go.”

“I do it. I’ll be his next prison.” Came a voice in the back. Everyone turned to see Elizabeth.

Zelda went to her. “What are you doing? You’re just as innocent as Faustus. I can’t let you do this.”

“I’m an immortal who lost her kingdom. Though I still don’t know why the spirit of England abandoned me. I’m the only 1 who can do this.”

“No one thinks Blackwood has your people’s loyalty rightly. We find another way.” Zelda announced to the room.

Zelda, in fact, already had an idea. “I’m going to send word to the council to come help,” Zelda announced to the others as they walked in the hallway.

“Do you really think they will come?”

“They have to. As an ordained high priestess, it is my right to call on the council if I feel my coven is in danger, even if it’s from their dark lord.” Zelda said in a tone that was much more certain than she felt.

As soon as classes were done for the day, Zelda went straight to her office and began to compose a letter to the witches’ council. Only Zelda wasn’t happy with her 1st draft, so she rewrote, again and again, and again. Time flew by, and before she knew it, it was very late and Zelda had rewritten the letter 5 times. Zelda had to step away from her desk and she went upstairs to collect LJ who was catching up with Elizabeth. Once they were home, as LJ headed up to bed, Zelda casually walked into the kitchen. Going near the kitchen table, Zelda saw the pen and the pad of paper. Zelda bit her lip. She hadn’t seen Faustus in days, she missed him, and boy, did she have news for him! Zelda had read about how to write him but had no way of knowing if it would work. Zelda sat down, took the page that Faustus wrote his notes on last night, flipped it over, and wrote her own message backward.

Faustus, darling, I need to see you. Please come into my dream tonight- if you can. I love you. Zelda

It had been a long day so after saying her goodnights, Zelda went right to bed. Zelda was jolted out of a deep sleep when someone pulled on her blanket. Yet she didn’t mind, not when she saw who was smiling down at her.

“Faustus! Faustus, darling! You’re here! You must have gotten my note.” She reached up and hugged him.

“Of course, I got the note and when the woman of your dreams asks you to join her in bed, you don’t 2nd guess it.” He said and kissed her.

“Faustus, I have so much to tell you,” Zelda told her husband as they settled back in bed.

“If you want to tell me that you went to hell, I realized that as soon as I woke.”

“Yes, darling, but there’s more. We finally found Blackwood and Judas is still with him.” Zelda went on to explain in greater detail about Elizabeth and how Blackwood took Elizabeth’s kingdom and her men.

“And what’s even sadder is that no one but Elizabeth herself believes that Blackwood won that kingdom honestly.”

“Nor do I. But sweetheart, I told you before the curse can’t take my place because it doesn’t have a soul.”

Zelda nodded. “I know that. That’s why I’ve written to the council for their aid in this matter.”

Faustus made a face. “The council?! Do you really think they’ll help you?”

Zelda both sighed and shrugged. “I don’t know but I have to try. If worse comes to worst, I suppose we could always swap.”

“Swap?”

“Yes. Maybe I’ll take a week or so in Lucifer’s body and then switch back or something.”

“No way, Zelda! I refuse to put you in danger like that!”

“I wasn’t asking permission and I refuse to let you condemn yourself for all time because you still feel guilty over Edward’s damn curse!”

Her dead-on analysis stopped him cold. “How did you know?”

Zelda smiled. “Because I know you.”

“I know me too,” Faustus returned her smile, “But in my few days away, I learned a few things about myself. For example, I’ve always known I loved you and my own children of course, but I’ve also realized that I love Hilda and Dr. C and Ambrose and Hecate, even Sabrina.”

“And they love you, I know it. That’s why we Spellmans do, we love each other.”

“I also want a boring life.” Faustus continued. “Ever since I got free from the curse, all we’ve been doing is dealing with problems after problems. I want the biggest problems with the twins being that they won’t share the remote or that Sabrina needs help with her homework. Not help with being the queen of hell.”

Zelda blinked back tears. “I want that too, darling. More than anything.” She held on tight to Faustus as he kissed her. Zelda was pleased that dream sex was as passionate, pleasurable, and romantic as real lovemaking. Afterward, Zelda tried hard to cover up her yawn, but Faustus saw it regardless.

“Dearest, why don’t you just go to sleep if you’re tired?” Faustus wanted to know.

“I am tired,” Zelda confirmed. “But you told me yourself that you can’t control how long these dreams spells last and I want to spend every moment I can with you.” Poor Zelda really did put up a good fight, but all too soon, her eyelids began to droop against her will. Next thing she knew, Zelda opened her eyes to a bright morning and an empty bed. She ran her hand along Faustus’s side of the bed. “I miss you.”

Zelda could swear that she heard his voice on the wind. “I miss you too.”

The next few days were rough ones. Zelda’s letter to the council got no answer so she sent a 2nd one. When that one got no response as well, she called Rome, only to be put on hold most of the time. The good news was Zelda wasn’t the only Spellman working for the greater good.

It was Friday when Ambrose walked into Prudence’s classroom.

“Hey, sexy!”

Prudence looked up and smiled at her boyfriend.

“You know what I was just thinking?” Ambrose wanted to know. “I was thinking that it has been a while since you and I had been on a proper adventure.”

“I agree, but with all that’s going on here, I don’t think we should leave right now.”

“But what if it was for the greater good?” Ambrose tossed Prudence the spellbook he held in his hand.

Prudence’s eyes lit up as she looked over the dog eared page. “Ambrose, you’re a genius!”

“If this doesn’t cheer Elizabeth up, nothing will. Now let’s go, the sooner we leave, the sooner we’ll get back.” They left that very day.

The next day, Zelda received a telegram. It said the council would be there by Monday, and Zelda knew she could trust the note because it was written by Maxine. Sure enough, on Monday, Zelda found herself welcoming ‘Bother Maxwell’ and 3 other council members. However, getting the council there was only half the battle. Trying to discuss Faustus or Lucifer was like pulling teeth. On Tuesday, Ambrose and Prudence returned from their trip and went straight to Elizabeth.

“Where have you 2 been these past few days?” Asked the queen.

The kids exchanged a look before Ambrose answered. “We went to England.”

“We went to find England’s oldest tree,” Prudence added.

Elizabeth’s eyes widened. She knew exactly what that meant. “You performed that spell that allowed you to speak to the spirit of England, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

Elizabeth moaned and threw up her hands.

“The spirit of England didn’t abandon you,” Ambrose stressed. “When we first got there, he refused to even talk to us because he thought we were working for Blackwood. When we explained that we were there on your behalf, he said he knew that something had disturbed England, but he didn’t know which monarch was robbed. Then he gave us these to give to you.” Ambrose gave Elizabeth a stack of letters. For almost 10 minutes, Elizabeth quickly skimmed all the letters. Her face ranged from surprise to shock to pure rage.

Then she looked up. “Where is your aunt Zelda?”

“In her office,” Ambrose answered.

“But she’s with the council, I think.” Added Prudence.

“Perfect,” Elizabeth muttered.

“Shall we discuss the school’s budget next?”

Zelda felt like screaming. “Gentlemen, as I said before, I didn’t call you to speak of the running of this academy. As I already told you, there is a situation involving my husband and Lucifer.”

“And as we’ve already told you, we cannot go against the dark lord’s will.”

“Isn’t it the council’s duty to help all covens regardless of what church they belong to?”

“You presume to tell us what the council’s duties are?” The council members were laughing at Zelda 1 second and were floating up in the air the next. “Mother Spellman! Put us down this moment!”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“She’s right,” Came Elizabeth’s voice. “I did!” She let her hand fall and the group also fell in a huff.

Zelda couldn’t believe what she was seeing. “Elizabeth? What on earth?”

“Pardon the interruption, Your Excellency, but it appears that we were both betrayed by this so-called witch’s council!” Elizabeth tossed the stack of letters on Zelda’s desk. “This is a series of letters between Blackwood and the council. They have been helping him all along! When he asked to be hidden in April, the council gave him step by step directions on how to get to my dimension and they also gave him a very strong spell to steal my people’s loyalty.”

Maxwell wore a look of confusion. “My lords, no one told me any of this,”

Another council member shrugged. “You simply weren’t around when the first few letters came in and later, well, we all know what a fan of Elizabeth Tudor you are.”

“At least 1 of you has some taste,” Elizabeth crossed her arms. “But why involve me or my kingdom at all?”

“Because he wrote requesting a hideout and power and we thought why not give him the kingdom run by the half-breed woman?”

“This half-breed woman has commanded the armies of men, both mortals, and witch, centuries before you were born! I, who won and kept the goodwill of my people, without any spells, for over 500 years!”

“ENOUGH!” Zelda cried, furious. “These letters go back to February! How can this be? My husband wrote to you about this whole situation in May and we met face to face at the Summit in June. Why the heaven didn’t you say anything?!”

“He asked us not to and we have to protect a powerful, skillful warlock.”

“My husband is a powerful, skillful warlock! All you did was aid a dangerous insanity curse, who still has my stepson! You have 5 minutes to get out of this office and this school!”

Elizabeth looked at Zelda. “High Priestess, I suggest you keep 1 here for…personal reasons.”

Faustus looked up as he heard the dungeon door unlock and open. A man was pushed in before Zelda and Elizabeth came into view. Before Faustus could ask what was going on, Zelda kissed him and explained all about how the council helped Blackwood and Elizabeth’s idea about performing a soul transfer into this council member.

“But won’t the council miss him?” Faustus wanted to know.

Zelda shook her head. “No, Maxine assured us that she could easily make up an excuse to leave him here, and once back in Rome, someone from the Sisterhood will use a glam spell to look like him.”

Once again, the soul transfer was performed and the council member/Lucifer went sent back to hell.

“I can’t believe I have to leave you again so soon.”

It was 3 days later, and Zelda and a newly freed Faustus were saying a quiet goodbye in the woods.

Zelda placed a hand on her husband’s cheek. “It’s time to reclaim your son, once and for all.”

“And figure out how to destroy Blackwood. Then can we have an ordinary, boring life?”

Zelda smiled. “That’s the dream.”

They kissed as Ambrose came out of the bush. “We’re ready.”

After saying a final goodbye to Zelda, Faustus and Ambrose joined Prudence and Elizabeth next to a hole in the air. They went through the hole, from the woods at night to a village at midday.

“Are we here? Elizabeth, is this your world?” Faustus asked.

Elizabeth nodded. “Everything looks familiar. Expect for that” Elizabeth pointed to a tree that had a poster on it praising Emperor Blackwood.

Meanwhile, Ambrose noticed something. “Um, guys, this tavern says it’s close for the royal wedding. What wedding?”

Having lived in castles her entire life, it was quite easy for Elizabeth to sneak the others into the palace. They were already in the balcony when Blackwood and his bride arrived. From where they were standing, they couldn’t see the bride’s face.

“I have a gift for my bride,” Blackwood announced.

“It better not be a damn music box,” Faustus growled.

“No,” Elizabeth answered. “It’s my stolen E necklace.”

The new empress moved and for the 1st time, the gang saw her face, and they were shocked.

It was Lilith.

#chilling adventures of sabrina #save caos #renew caos #caoz #part 4 my way!#fanfic #chapter 12 #spellwood #zelda spellman #faustus blackwood #hilda spellman #sabrina spellman #ambrose spellman #prudence night #LJ spellman #cordelia spellman #elizabeth tudor #please comment #reblog

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apeetamellark · 6 years

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my (what I thought were) long lost drabbles

It’s good to be back on tumblr, friends. When I re-joined, both of my old handles (@c-r-roberts and @hashtagpeeta) were taken, so here I am, still reppin’ THG and the best fictional boyfriend ever. Anyway, when I deleted my old account, I thought my tumblr Everlark drabbles were gone for good, but someone was kind and thoughtful enough to save them! (That someone was definitely not me, I’m not nearly that kind nor thoughtful.) So in response to an @everlarkficquestions ask about the You Don’t Know What You Don’t Know universe, both corresponding drabbles are posted below, in case anyone--@valgrando or @peetaspikelets ?-- still wanted to read them.

(1) In the Beginning...

Sometimes, instead of going home after school, I go to meadowland park. It’s been abandoned for years now, but there’s this big old oak tree there that makes for a decent enough backrest, and if I sit facing the right direction, I can watch the sun begin to set over a grouping of trees instead of staring at a half-torn down, rusting playground and a crumbling parking lot. So today, I go there to work on a U.S. Government assignment for Ms. Trinket and read about John F. Kennedy and his��New Frontier as I rest against the scratchy bark of the tree, using my jacket as a blanket. It’s a warm—and dry—day in late April, and I’d craved the fresh air and the sunshine streaming through the neon green of the trees’ freshly sprouted leaves. It’s quiet too—because I’m pretty sure the park’s supposed to be closed, and I’m actually probably trespassing, but no one’s bothered me yet.

Yet being the operative word.

Because instead of the hour of peace and quiet I was expecting while I finished my homework, I’m interrupted after ten minutes of it by none other than the biggest asshole Panem High has to offer.

“What’s up, Everdeen?”

Just his voice makes the short hairs at the back of my neck rise. And I startle, although I’m more confused than anything else. I’m confused because I have no idea why Peeta Mellark is standing in front of me. And I don’t know where he came from. I didn’t even hear him coming.

And I sure as hell don’t know what makes him think he can sit down next to me.

But most of all, I’m confused because he doesn’t call me the convict’s daughter, or stare at me that way he does in school sometimes that unnerves me so much that I don’t know whether I want to punch him or if I should blush. No, he just scoots himself down next to me, rolling his head back against the tree, looking down at the book in my lap before turning to me with a lopsided smile.

“Conformity is the jailer of freedom and the enemy of growth.”

I narrow my eyes at him, annoyed, although admittedly, somewhat curious. Because did he seriously just quote JFK to me? He’s usually only good for cracking a wise ass remark in Ms. Trinket’s class.

“What?” Peeta grins. “I can get behind good looking guys who become president and bang Marilyn Monroe.”

And there’s the wisecrack.

I scowl.

He laughs, easily, as if we’re old friends or something. “Besides, that line spoke to me for some reason when I read it.”

I’m still scowling, though of course it doesn’t deter him from continuing to talk to me. Seriously, why is he talking to me?

“You didn’t go to Prom, huh?”

He’s right, I didn’t go to Prom, which happened this past weekend. For some reason, I hadn’t wanted to spend hundreds of dollars on a dress and tickets just to watch the popular jerks like him act like the event was invented just for them. Although in reality, it kind of was.

But that doesn’t mean I’m open to him ridiculing me for it.

I sigh, annoyed, and reach for my bag, deciding I’ve had enough jackass with my fresh air for the night, but Peeta reaches out his hand to stop me. And when his fingers wrap around my wrist, I feel it. The spark. Peeta must feel it too, because both of us jolt away from the other momentarily, and he drops my wrist like he just touched a hot stove.

But he’s still staring at me, and when I don’t look away, he swallows.

“Sorry. Just, I, had been hoping I’d see you there.”

Am I supposed to be able to explain the unexpected warmth that rushes over me? Because it certainly doesn’t make any sense—not his words, and certainly not my reaction to them. I watch his fingers tap absently—nervously, even—against the ground and the soft fabric of my jacket, before he explains.

“I mean, I know I technically had a date.” Right, Glimmer fucking Rogers. “And that I technically went with all of my friends. But half way through the night, I thought to myself, wow, I won’t miss any of them next year. And that they’re pretty fucking terrible people, actually.”

I bite my tongue, keeping in the quip that he fits right in then, and instead find myself holding my breath.

“And then I started thinking about who I actually would miss.”

Peeta Mellark has stunningly blue eyes. I’ve always known they were blue. But I’ve never been this close to them before. They’re…powerful. And I’m unable to react like a normal human being and tell him to fuck off like I should because the way he has them trained on me has me frozen.

My inability to respond lets him ask the question that ultimately leads to my downfall.

“What are you doing tomorrow?”

I change my gaze to look out on the slightly overgrown landscape, and pretend like his question is ridiculous. And like my heart doesn’t feel as if it might actually beat right out of my chest. And I manage to scoff.

“What the hell is up with you tonight?” I don’t dare look back at him. But I hear him laugh.

“C’mon, Katniss. We could be friends.”

In what world does Peeta Mellark think that we could be friends?

He laughs again when he sees my reaction, and I give in and turn to face him.

“Are you insane?”

He shakes his head, quirking his lips knowingly.

“Not insane. Just…un-conforming. And I was thinking maybe you could meet me here tomorrow night?”

I’m still in a daze, and surely giving him a what the fuck is going on right now look when he shrugs as he pushes himself up from his spot next to me, hopping to his feet.

“So meet me here or don’t. But I only have so many chances left, and I had to ask.”

***

My mother invites the awful guy she calls her boyfriend over for dinner the next night. And while she tells me that it’s perfectly fine that I stay, and that I can join for them dinner if I want, she says it in the same breath as asking me what happened to my shift at Greasy Sae’s tonight.

Johanna had needed to switch.

So now, with Prim already spending the night with one of her JV cheerleader friends, if I stay, I’m clearly ruining one of my mother’s rare nights off. And even if I don’t agree with how she chooses to spend it, I can’t bring myself to stay there.

So really, that’s why I end up back at meadowland park.

He’s already there when I arrive, the sun having set a little over an hour ago; the park completely dark save for a couple of street lamps that haven’t yet busted in the parking lot. He’s sitting under the same tree, on top of a blanket. I also notice the bottle of beer he’s swigging from lazily as I approach, wondering what the hell I’m getting myself into as I watch him lean back on his elbows when he notices me too.

Peeta grins and holds the bottle out to me. “Want a sip?”

Well, in the name of un-conforming, why the hell not?

I sigh, plopping down next to him and take the bottle from him, taking a long drink of the bitter, carbonated liquid.

“That’s all I brought though,” Peeta informs me as I drink. “Didn’t want to be a cliché and try to get you drunk first.”

I stop and roll my eyes, handing the bottle back to him. And I catch the glint to his eye in the darkness, and try not to smile back when I see the white of his teeth. Then I watch as Peeta dumps the remaining contents out into the grass, tossing the empty bottle a few feet away from us.

“So, what made you come?”

I shrug. “Kicked out of the house.”

He laughs, but I can see a flicker of disappointment in his eyes. It throws me. I’m not expecting any vulnerability coming from Peeta.

I sigh. “Look, I’m not very good at being friends,” I warn him.

Peeta smirks.

“Good.”

“Good?” I ask incredulously.

He leans into me, and his arm brushes against mine. And I feel that thing again as he dips his chin so his face is inches from mine.

“Yeah,” he confirms, his voice low, husky. “I don’t really want to be friends, Katniss.”

Peeta’s lips feel warm when they land on mine. He tastes faintly like beer. And he smells like clean cotton and fresh air and boy, and his hand reaches up to my face, cupping my cheek when I begin to kiss him back.

We can’t stop kissing, actually.

And his hands roam to places other than my cheek.

And his broad chest and shoulders feel good under my fingers, and oh god, I’m making out with Peeta Mellark. It’s so wrong.

But this feels, he feels…good.

Really good.

Both of us get lost in each other, and I’ve just started to stop worrying about what the hell I’m doing when I hear the noise of the car pulling up in the background first.

And I see the blue of Peeta’s eyes when they fly open once he realizes it too. His hands still on my shoulders, his expression turning slightly frantic.

“Go,” he hisses immediately, pushing me gently away from him, startling me.

I hear the car lull to a stop, looking over Peeta’s shoulder to confirm that it’s in fact some of Panem’s Finest that have pulled up next to Peeta’s SUV.

“Go!” he repeats when I still don’t react. “Get out of here, Katniss. You can’t get caught. I’ll…distract them.” He sighs, seeming annoyed that I’m wasting so much time, although we’re both on our feet now. I dart my eyes between his and the parking lot.

“Katniss,” he whispers, the look in his eyes turning from anxious to…sad. “With your dad, if you get in trouble, it’ll make the paper.”

That, on top of the soft scuttle of voices and the beam of a flash light turning on are what send me running. I came on foot; it’s easy enough for me to leave on foot. And although I take off in the opposite direction without looking back, I have a million questions as I do.

What about Peeta? Why doesn’t he seem to care about himself? Why does he seem to care so much about me? And what’s going to happen to him because of this?

I spend the rest of the weekend worrying about him.

I hate that I worry about him.

***

The next Monday at school, after the final bell’s rung and the hallways are sparse, save for the occasional baseball player on his way to practice or the spring musical participant gearing up for rehearsal, I almost drop my books at my locker when I feel his breath hot on my neck telling me to follow him.

I’d spent the entire day avoiding his gaze in class; pretending as if nothing had changed. Watching him laugh with hisfucking terrible group of friends at lunch. But I don’t hesitate to follow him, slipping into the girls’ third floor bathroom down the hall from my locker completely unnoticed. Initially, I’m surprised he’s so bold to enter it—but then I realize that only one of the four toilets work, and that no one ever uses this bathroom anyway.

And I’m surprised again when, as soon as the door closes behind us, Peeta kisses me. And even more surprised when I let him. Eventually, I pull back, concerned.

“What happened to you?”

Peeta just shakes his head, kissing me again. “I didn’t even get in trouble,” he assures me against my lips.

Again, I dislodge myself from him, wanting answers. “What? Why not?” He’d pretty much been caught dead in the water.

Peeta sighs, his blue eyes watching me carefully before raising an eyebrow.

“Katniss, it’s not the first time I’ve had to grease a pig.”

He sighs again when he sees my confused expression, brushing his hands against my shoulders lightly.

“You of all people should know that our police force plays dirty. 50 bucks to Old Cray buys me out of a trespassing ticket. Though I think it takes a little bit more to get yourself out of a government corruption scandal.”

Oh.

Peeta moves back into me, murmuring that I smell good against my skin as he nips my neck. I let him, closing my eyes as I also let his words sink in, wondering just what else Peeta Mellark knows and understands. Wondering if I’ve underestimated, or at least misunderstood, him all this time.

“So,” he says, slipping his hand under the hem of my shirt, letting his palm rest against the bare, smooth skin of my hip as his lips work their way to my ear. “When can I see you again?”

*****************************************************************************************************

(2) DetentionPrompt: “Drabble. Everlark. High school. Detention together.”

(2) Detention

Prompt: “Drabble. Everlark. High school. Detention together.”

I glare at him as I enter the classroom, which is deserted except for us and Mr. Abernathy.

All of this is his fault.

Peeta Mellark is seriously messing up my life these days.

Mr. Abernathy perks up only slightly at my appearance, still slumped over his desk looking half drunk or possibly hung over. Maybe both.

“Oh good, my other detainee is here,” he says dryly, waving an arm lazily around the room, letting me know I have my pick of seats.

I choose one on the opposite side of the room, scowling and shaking my head at Peeta as I sit down, tossing my book bag on the floor with a thud to demonstrate my displeasure.

I purposely sit a few rows in front of him so I can’t look at him, but I feel his eyes on my back before I hear him snort.

“Mr. Abernathy, I don’t know why I��m even here. I didn’t do anything.”

I don’t give Peeta the satisfaction of turning around, instead just shaking my head. Because he knows damn well what he did.

And if anything, I should be the one complaining about being here.

Luckily, Mr. Abernathy isn’t buying it from him.

“Look, Mellark, you clearly did something to piss this one off enough to send you flying into the lockers outside of my classroom. What that was, I don’t care. I trust her judgment enough to know it was something you probably deserved this detention for,” Mr. Abernathy tells him unsympathetically.

“Not like you haven’t had one coming for a while now anyway,” he finishes off under his breath for good measure.

And at that, I turn around and smile smugly at Peeta, who just raises an amused, albeit aggravated, eyebrow in response.

And suddenly, all I can register is how blue his eyes are.

God. Why do they have to be so blue?

Mr. Abernathy pulls my thoughts and my gaze back to him though, when he doesn’t let me off the hook either.

“However, Ms. Everdeen, while I’m sure Mellark had it coming, that does not mean you can go around calling people fucking slime balls.”

I roll my eyes.

Because leaning in my ear as I walk down the hallway unsuspectingly and whispering that he thinks my little sister’s going to grow up to have an ass almost as good as mine as Prim walks ten paces ahead of us is exactly what it should mean I’m allowed to do.

If not worse.

She’s not even fourteen yet.

“But isn’t the absolute truth a good defense?” I retort, enjoying the exasperated breath I can hear Peeta huff behind me.

It just makes Abernathy squint and rub his temples like he’s in pain.

“Enough.”

He splits an even surlier look than usual between us—one he saves for days when our class is particularly unbearable in Calculus.

“You’re both here until four whether you think you deserve it or not. So just…shut up.”

We oblige.

For all of three minutes, until Peeta must be finished stewing behind me and I hear the sound of a zipper and the rustling of papers before he cusses under his breath.

“Mr. Abernathy. I need to go back to my locker. I forgot my Chemistry book.”

Mr. Abernathy startles, looking up from… the nap he might have been trying to take, and frowns but waves Peeta out the door.

“Go ahead. Back in less than 5 minutes.”

And as Peeta saunters by me, in his nicely fitted jeans and a Panem High Wrestling t-shirt that stretches at his biceps, he winks.

I give him my best scowl, but my pulse quickens anyway.

And I wait exactly sixty seconds before I pipe up too.

“Mr. Abernathy, I have to go to the bathroom.”

He doesn’t even open his eyes this time.

“Gotta wait til Mellark gets back.”

Shit.

I let out a pathetic whimper, and it makes Mr. Abernathy actually look at me, although he doesn’t seem pleased.

“I really have to go though.”

I must sound like a whining child.

But it works.

Mr. Abernathy sighs.

“Same rules. Less than 5 minutes, or it’s added on to your detention time.”

I scurry out of the room.

And head up the stairs for the third floor bathroom, even though I don’t really have to go.

When I push the door open to the deserted women’s room, Peeta’s waiting there for me expectantly.

“Took you long enough.”

I narrow my eyes at him.

“I shouldn’t even be talking to you.”

He smirks, and moves toward me, licking his lips.

“You’re right, that’s a waste of time too.”

But when he gets close enough, I shove my hands against his chest, making him take a step back, looking wounded. Unlike earlier today, when I’d done basically the same thing and his eyes had gleamed with what I read to be a mix of amusement, desire, and just a little bit of spite.

His signature, irresistible combination.

“Were you even going to apologize?” I say, the anger in my voice masking any sort of hurt that might be underneath it.

Peeta straightens himself and trains those stupid blue eyes on me, and they slant slightly as he considers me. I fight hard to keep my resolve.

But then his hands are around my waist, and he’s holding me next to him, and even though I struggle against his arms at first, I still when his mouth finds mine.

“God, it’s so easy to get under your skin,” he murmurs proudly against my lips. “I love making you angry.”

And at this I pull back, shaking my head at him.

“Peeta, you can NOT—“

But he cuts me off with a sigh and half an eye roll.

“Katniss, I don’t actually think your little sister is hot. I just said it to bother you. I’m not a sick fuck.”

I give him a pointed look.

And he chuckles, with an almost sheepish smile—an emotion I wasn’t entirely sure was possible on Peeta Mellark’s face.

“Ok,” he relents. “I’m not that sick of a fuck at least.”

But I keep my stern gaze fixed on him, a warning that he still owes me more than that, wondering if he’ll actually follow through.

Then he dances his fingers along the small of my back, those eyes of his showing something that actually resembles remorse—and both actions send a shiver up my spine.

“I’m sorry.”

And I can’t stop myself from kissing him then.

He pins me against the bathroom door, and I let his lips crush mine with fervent, rushed kisses, running my hands up to the nape of his neck, holding him tightly as we make out on already borrowed time.

We’ve been doing this for two weeks now. And each time, I think it will be the last. That I’ll come to my senses and stop wanting to kiss and touch and feel Peeta Mellark.

Except each time, I fail miserably.

And this one is no different.

Because Peeta’s hands quickly travel to the buttons of my jeans, and while I yelp in protest and even quickly dislodge a hand from his hair to stop him, he looks at me with such intensity that I freeze in my place.

“I’ve got three minutes to show you how sorry I am. Just…let me.”

I think I moan against his lips before he even finds the edge of my underwear.

And as my head thumps against the old wooden door of this bathroom at his first touch, I know I should be more ashamed of what we’re doing, and that I should stop it.

But then his finger is inside me, and my toes curl against the bottom of my shoes, and I bite down hard on his bottom lip, which makes him push into me harder.

And I gyrate against his touch helplessly, sighing his name against his mouth, which eventually leaves mine only to trail hot kisses against my neck as he slips a second finger into me.

I instinctively move my hands to his belt buckle, wanting to make him feel as good as I do, pleased when I playfully run my fingers along the bulge of his erection pressing against the denim fabric. And as I hurriedly push aside the elastic waistband of his boxers, unconcerned that his jeans have now fallen around his ankles, Peeta jerks involuntarily when my hand wraps around him and then he’s pumping me hard and quick, murmuring against my neck that I’m so wet and that feels so good. The combination of his touch and his voice, and the sheer urgency of our situation makes me come in his hand.

I concentrate less on him momentarily as I ride the waves of pleasure he’s created, suddenly unconcerned about anything—everything—else.

Because how do we stop doing this?

There’s too much fire, too much heat between us to ignore it. To deny it.

And as much as I hate it, I think I just might be a goner for Peeta Mellark.

So after, as I move my hand up and down him, twisting, rubbing, gasping, and still kissing, and we go well over our allotted 5 minute time frame before he comes too, and he kisses me one last time, hard and good, like the appreciative teenage boy that he is.

“God, I think I love you, Katniss,” he sighs, buckling himself back up, only looking down to catch the right belt notch before catching my gaze with what I want to believe are sincere blue eyes.

But he’s still Peeta, and I can’t actually believe him.

And I’m still Katniss—so for as much as I might like him, I can’t actually say that out loud either.

“I still hate you, Peeta,” I say as I shake my head, aware the flush of my cheeks and the hitch in my voice are probably betraying me. But I purse my lips in a valid attempt anyway.

And of course, he grins.

“I know. It makes me love you more.”

He leans in, kissing me softly, quickly on the forehead.

“Go on. You’ll get in less trouble if you go back first.”

And because this detention is still all his fault anyway, I agree.

And then somehow, we spend the rest of detention, penalty time and an even more annoyed Mr. Abernathy included, not even looking at each other.

Just like nothing ever happened.

—-end—-

#everlark fic questions #well this was a walk down memory lane #c-r-roberts writes #thank you for still being interested!

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elstine-harboson · 7 years

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Full Circle. (PT 1)

(Ambient sound provided in video.)

Minutes, hours, maybe days had passed as you resided in a black slumber, unaware of your surroundings, or even your own life. Something, or someone put you under - far under what is typically imagined as sleep. With your eyes fluttering up with a drained difficulty, you felt stiff and sore like your body had succumbed to a knock-out flu; your body, muscles aching with the slightest of tensing. Your eyes reward you with a sheet of black, ears picking up the distant echo of water dropping into a puddle - it sounded like a cave, or at least something underground. The air was cold, damp but still and stagnant with the tainted smell of mold and decay. As your eyes adjust you can make out the carved stone at your feet and on the walls that made your tiny room, with a gate making up your only way in and out.

Jon's eyes flickered open, then closed. His chest rose and fell as he drew a heavy breath. The lull of sleep tried to seduce him back into her warm arms, leaving his mind blank of thought until a feeling of uncertainty rippled through his senses. Something was off. Where was he? He opened his eyes again. Darkness? His arms moved to his sides so he could extend his hands to feel the under him. Stone? His knees bent, and with the motion his mind registered the soreness of his body. He coughed and tried to move to a sitting position but fell back with a grunt. What the hell was wrong with him? The second time he tried he was able to get on his feet, but it took him longer than it should. He licked his lips and found them dry. Was that dripping the sound of water? He was in a cave? His feet shuffled over to the dripping sound, searching for that water. He stopped as the darkness seemed to solidify before him. He reached out to touch it and was met with a wall. His eyes adjusted further and he glanced around and found the exit, at least he hoped it was the exit. He headed towards it.

Nope, those were ironbars - cells with ironbars tended to not be left unlocked and this was no different. The iron that made up the imprisoning exit had began to rust and corrode, suggesting its age. The air devoured was now discovered to be significantly thin of oxygen, and thick in humidity and an odor of time making it hard to breath, the lack of oxygen giving one a throbbing head ache as the brain lacked in its supply. Peeking through the bars, one could make out more of the carved stone, other assumed cells, and odd shoulder-length sized holes cut into the wall every few feet where bundles of dried flowers and rolled linen protrude outward.

Jon gripped the bars with both hands. He was trapped. That in itself told him vital information. He had not simply fallen into a dark hole. No, someone put him here. Question was though, why? He peered out the bars to see what could be seen. Other cells. A dungeon? Wait, what was those other things... flowers and linen. What the hell. As quietly as he could, he tested the strength of the bars by pushing them pulling upon them.

The bars break apart like sticks of chalk to Jon's superior might - no, wait... No, they don't. Unfortunately, Iron is still strong even when aged and rusted; shame that. As the bars rattled and stressed, echoing through the hearty labyrinth it gave an idea of the size of the place - which was depressingly large, this was not simply one room, but likely a series of tunnels, and rooms made of stone. But, soon the sound faded leaving only that persistent gong of water splashing.

Jon muttered a curse. He had not intended for the sound to be as loud as it was for fear it'd alert the jailer. Oh well. He moved his hands over his pockets and belt. His water skin was gone. What about his armor and weapons?

The warrior would find his weapon confiscated, as would be expected for anyone in a cell. His armor had been replaced with a light, stained tunic of a dark, mustard color with a series of moth holes present; feeling more like a burlap sack than cloth, and a belt made of a course rope. Inside of his cell was little to nothing than a few chunks of rocks that likely fell from the stone ceiling, and a bucket, other than the occasional roach, rat, and long-legged spider.

Jon muttered another curse. Anger within him beginning to grow. Someone took his stuff. Locked him in a fucking cell. He moved back to the gate and shook the bars. "Hey!" He shook them again. "Where the fuck are ya?" He stopped to listen.

The echo ran through the system again before it drained off in volume and settled into the muffled silence, overshadowed by the drip of water. A moment passed, and then a sound was added to the darkness - an odd sound that was akin to sand paper rubbing over a rough stone, a light but solid clap joined in sounding like thin chains swatting at the stone path. The noise grew closer, and closer until a thin figure was present in the darkness, still a few feet back - but there, staring at Jon through the iron bars.

He warrior waited and listened. When he heard the new sounds, he perked up. Silently as he could, he slipped back a few paces into his cell. Within, he quickly selected one of the chunks of rock and hid it behind his back as he moved back to the door. He saw the figure approach and then stop. He studied the man, woman, or whatever it was. With an upward jerk of his chin, he asked simply, "Who are you?"

The figure stepped forward revealing that it was neither man, nor woman - gaunt, dark holes for eyes and the decayed yellow of its teeth showed fairly without the protection of cheek flesh or lips; the noise that followed revealed and explains the noises of dries bones grinding into worn joints, and its light, but solid frame gave the weight of its steps with its toe ligaments practically slapping down against the stone like heavy whips. Its skinless jaw parted and released a guttural, strained, and throaty sounding hiss akin to a hostile clearing of the throat.

When the figure came into view, Jon jumped back and stumbled onto his ass. From there he crab crawled back to the far wall. What the hell, what the hell, what the hell! he thought with wide eyes locked on the figure. A forsaken!

A forsaken, maybe or maybe not - but whatever it was did not have flesh, so that was an issue in of itself. But, the lost soul took a step back, and began shambling back into the darkness, its byzantine noises of movement echoing through the tunnels.

Jon was frozen with terror. He had heard of them, but never seen one. Shit. Shit. Shit. He shook his head and tried to remind himself he was supposed to be a fearless warrior. With a deep breath, he moved back to his feet and approached the bars. Was it still there? "Hello?"

There was a distant slam of a heavy door being shut and sealed, following a long moment of silence; ominously the air of the tunnel chilled. Steps followed the halls, and with the growing sound the temperatures lulled lower and lower until your already thinned, and struggling breath could be seen in a pale mist before you with each strained exhale. Closer the steps emerged into the room and with them came an odd blue-tinted light that was dim, but nevertheless significantly brighter than the penetrating darkness you had been subjected to for who knows how long. The blue tinge reflected off the decayed, marble walls of carved stone and revealed the brownish red decay of rust along the iron, and the green-black molds that desperately tried to survive clinging to the mineral rich walls. It was with the light that you noticed, those shoulder-sized holes were resting places for the dead - decayed, salted feet sticking out of bundles of tightly winded linens that browned as the bodies moisture was soaked into the fibers. The light source moved in front of you, showing its source to come from the sunken holes of a beings skull; half its flesh that made up its face missing revealing the details of what he looked like in the past, the other sunken, yellowed surface of exposed teeth and bone; the thin body adorned in a ragged robe of grays and dark blues.

"Ah, I see that you are awake Jon."

Jon noticed the resting places for the dead and fear seeped courage from him. Was this some forsaken stronghold? Or a lich. The walking dead man appeared and the warrior looked at him with wide eyes. A question rang in the back of his mind. How did he know his name? "Where am I?" He asked, his voice sounding more solid than the felt.

The undead's face, or what was left of it flattened, his partial lips straightening sternly. "Everytime. What is it about cells that make people think they get to ask a question, especially first... Out of all the books I have seen, none have a bylaw of such... Unorthodox ideals." It raised its boney shoulders into a shrug.

"I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that you do not remember, Jon - that is on me, I will give that to you. But, what does knowing where you are do for you? You have already tried leaving, haven't you?"

He gave the undead a thoughtful frown. The creature spoke as if he should know him? Jon hadn't the slightest ideas who he was. "Wouldn't you if you woke to find yourself in some alien place?"

"No." It sad flatly, leaning away from the bars and stepping away before turning and approaching another cell across the room. He'd approach the rusted bars, standing idle for a moment.

"I would ask: 'Why am I here?'"

And with that, a rotting animated corpse sprang from the dark corners of the call, lunging out towards the robed undead; slamming its body into the rough bars to the point you could see, and smell the plastic like flesh melding around the bars, expressing the decayed state. Wild arms clawed at the air just in front of the undead, a soft smile pulling at the single corner of fleshed lips as it turned to look back at Jon.

"So, why are you here?"

He had a guess, back when he noticed the bodies wrapped up. But seeing the other creature appeared through the other cell. Fuck, Jon thought. "You're capturing the living, then turning them into undead." Sounded like something the banshee queen would do.

"That is a good guess, I can not say you were ever to bright... you caused a lot of trouble after all." He held out a thin finger as he paused in silence, letting the creature of more mush-on-bones than a corpse snarl and guttural hiss through its liquid throat and jaw.

"Or perhaps I am taking the dead and making them the undead, an important distinction I think."

Jon leaned against the bars of his cell as he watched. "How do you know me?"

"Oh, Jon... You silly boy, of course I shouldn't expect you to recognize me, let alone remember me - I mean look at me, I'm a down right mess... You see Jon, I--..." He seemed to trail off, head turning towards the haul that he recently came through narrowing his gaze for a moment.

"Well, it seems like our guest has made it... I will go deal with them, and if we're lucky they can join us for dinner. Now, you stay put Jon, don't get any funny ideas - I'd hate for you turn out like this guy." He'd throw a thumb over his shoulder at the still snarling puddle-man; before turning and making his way down the hall, those echoing steps growing dimmer and dimmer as the blue-hued light vanquished and returned the shadows into cell; leaving Jon only with the snarling ghoul across from him and the puddle still dripping.

(Ambient sound.)

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