wow. grandpa zelda just called to me out of nowhere. is anyone still active
YOU ARE THE REASON

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@praiisesatan
wow. grandpa zelda just called to me out of nowhere. is anyone still active
shedevvil:
It’s a cold church. An old, crumbling Catholic church. It reminds her of a whale carcass, high vaulted ceilings with blackened timbres holding out the moonlight. Nothing breathes here. Maybe that’s what Zelda likes about this place - it offers comfort, structure, silence. Lilith never cared what churches offered before. Not truly. If apparitions are miraculous celebrations in Catholic lore, she thinks on what her apparition might be. Melancholic, perhaps. It’s not got the hot, boiling poison of blood and devil spawn that she can usually feel clawing at the inside of her mind. Something about her feels quietened, raw, humble. Something in her feels true. She’s of course dressed for melancholy, the black leather coat swallowing her, offering a minimal heat against this frozen earthly world. Her hair is perfect, her skin is pale, her eyes are sharp. She doesn’t look like the same terrifying deity that reached into the heart of a small girl - one truly so young that it boggled her mind - and set it alight with life and hellfire and power. Zelda is standing at the heart of the church, the blue light streaming down over her hair, dying it Prussian. She looks like she could drown in the stillness of her own mind, the yellow hands of the False God jutting over the dusty marbled floor. When Zelda turns, her high cheekbones create dark pockets underneath, her tired eyes weighted with that shadow and trauma. T H A N K Y O U . F O R S A V I N G H E R . Lilith doesn’t move. She does not so much as blink. It had happened before that she had appeared, and Zelda had snapped - asked where had she been, and why appear now? They are beyond all that, now. Zelda almost lost what she loves most, and she’s here to mourn something, to find a vessel to steady herself inside of, while the world rocks and roils beneath their feet. No one seeks out a Church unless they feel alone. Even Jonah, in the body of a blue whale, was not alone. Still. This church, this glass, all of this. It wasn’t good enough. Her alternative would be better, if she hadn’t skewered that faith with her harsh wars and cold, turned away gaze. What does absolution mean? What does it feel like to be clean? Because she knows what it feels like to be aberrant, she understands the dual sworded nature of being feared, but more recently she has had a lump in her throat that fills with a bulge as real as if it was grave dirt: I’ve disappointed you, haven’t I? Disappointing the Dark Lord could be titillating when he was unable to hurt her for it. Disappointing her church, the girl - it had felt unpleasant even devoid of consequences. Consequences for her anyway. Learning to nurture was heavy work for honest hands, and hers were slick with birthing blood and gore. Vocalising her worries would mean the words died their death in the coffin of her mouth. Enough of this.
❛ You’re welcome. ❜ Her syllables are sharp and slow, like a knife cutting through meat. It is a good start. She takes a step forward, her heels making the only sound in this empty chapel. Zelda is welcome. Welcome to her power and her Church and consideration. ❛ You may not be so quick to thank me once she settles into her newfound power. ❜ A joke, but a probing statement also; tell me indirectly - am I a scourge or a deity to you now? Tell me in half measures so I can preempt you if it hurts. It surprises that stony filter she wears like armour how deep-felt the care goes.
She stops at the very arched tip of the long-cast image of that perverse scene, etched in pretty glass. It reflected none of the flesh, none of the sand, none of the scales of the truth. A quiet and bloodless retelling. ❛ You like it ? ❜ Lilith asked, pale eyes leading to the pallid Eden. A small diversion, but she had a genuine curiosity too. This night felt deeper than any other, starry and long, like the entire sky was made of black glass with the images of Sabrina - her last creation - etched across it. If anyone spoke too loudly, the night itself would shatter. After the screaming, after the shock, after the death - there came shy, whispering life.
Lilith is closer, now. She has drifted from the pillar in barbed flight, her job of guarding the Cathedral abandoned ( was it ever a purpose at all ? ). Approached Zelda in that ghostly manner she so often travels by; a manner that makes Lilith a creature both lost and lethal.
ONCE SHE SETTLES IN
TO HER NEWFOUND POWER.
Settles in. Power. Beautiful. Powerful. It’s a statement raw and blunt and ominous to anyone else, but Zelda fears no such thing. She wants all for Sabrina that she could not achieve. Zelda, thus, does not answer this. The weight of her response lies more familiar within the throat and it will rest there. Power or NOT. Martyr, messiah, child of the one they once called Lucifer. She is still my niece. Instead, her lips tighten; her exhale is louder. She doesn’t have a smoke; she wishes it were so, and that it might veil her eyes, suddenly. Instead, she glances, as if for the first time, at the stained glass window. Her eyes fall upon the serpent, the tree, the dark, cherrywood bark. From her peripheral she notices the hand of God, but only there.
You like it ?
There is something so small, yet so deep, in Lilith’s question. It surprises Zelda; she finds herself momentarily lost in the depth of its implication. Does she know? Does Lilith know what I know? Eyes soft, brow hardened, Zelda folds her arms in front of her chest, fingers gripping each opposing elbow gently. Such a vulnerable moment they have shared, and she is shaken by how much and how suddenly -- does Lilith know -- the vulnerability that runs here, let so violently, like blood from an old, forgotten wound ? Zelda is overcome with a desire to spare her; and thus she does not look her in the eye as she wishes to do. Instead, she tilts her own head, looking more thoroughly at the scene BELLOWING to be HEARD, SEEN, BELIEVED, before the both of them. She is trying to anchor herself, suddenly impregnated with the inescapable epiphany that this Mother of Demons beside her was once, simply, a being of the cosmos. A celestial creation of God, a woman, of no one’s rib but the dust, who lived in the Garden of Eden.
❛ What I’ve always found to be particularly . . . troubling . . . is the depiction of the snake, ❜ Zelda says at last, referring to the obviously sinister nature of the creature stained on the panel. ❛ It simply could not have been so obvious. Not nearly as impeding as you see here . . . as one might have imagined. Lucifer was clever -- surely he wouldn’t have appeared to Eve like that ? As dark and deadly, smothering that forbidden tree, fangs protruding in wait ? ❜ How could the girl have been so foolish, so as to fall prey to that ?
Zelda suddenly is overcome with sorrow; she swallows, instead, and composes herself.
She finally meets Lilith’s eyes, and strangely, she is not afraid, for she finds nothing but lingering sadness there. Her question seems accusatory but the contact they share sings a different song; what were you like -- what have you lost?
❛ The Catholics have such . . . ghastly imaginations. ❜
This is her final, offered judgment. She hopes it will suffice.
Blue and black always make a strange, sinister case for life.
The light that shines through these hues is always murky; always of some underground significance. THE DARK SIDE OF THE MOON. The emotions forbidden. But it’s quiet here, Zelda thinks, as she walks into the centrum, stops before the window. The moon shines through the enormous stained glass before her, the chamber of stone echoing with the faint, harrowing, twinkling reminiscence of total despair & abandonment. There is a scene within the glass -- the naked pale man & woman stand, below a blue sky, in the Garden of Eden. A serpent wrapped around the tree to their left; its words absent but its presence foreboding and climactic. I will show you the truth. And the hand of the false God above, where Zelda’s focus is pulled, granting a faint, yellowed light before them all. Funnily enough, immediately below the all powerful hand is a crack in the glass; small but black, visible only in the contrast of dark blue and black lighting. Quiet, desolate, dark SILENCE -- even if it is in a Catholic cathedral -- is the best Zelda can hope for. She needs it. Desperately.
Sabrina is alive.
Thank the stars and the elements and the balance of the universe, Sabrina is alive.
P R A I S E L I L I T H, Sabrina is alive.
I’m not surprised you’ve come, is Zelda’s immediate thought, even though she is. The cold rush of air slithering over her neck, her arms, her legs is unmistakable; a silent, ethereal, yet feral indication: you are no longer alone. She knows how Lilith’s presence in a room feels. Zelda stiffens at the realization, but relents. She is tired.
Turning around slowly, she meets the eyes of the one who escaped the serpent. The night monster. Zelda softens, her fight has ebbed. And truly, she is nothing at this point but grateful for Lilith; she has no space for anything other than this.
For a long moment, Zelda does nothing but stare. Finally, she speaks, her head low, tilted toward the other.
❛ Thank you. For saving her. ❜ For not abandoning us. Zelda’s breath catches; she would throw everything to the earth for Sabrina and fight her very last fight, even against an entity like this. And yet, Lilith is still someone Zelda knows she should fear. Lilith is still one that makes Zelda inhale. Should you fear the one you respect -- should you fear the one who has saved you? It is all she’s ever known . . . Lilith makes tradition tremble.
imagine being so misogynistic that your show is literally set up for you to be a parallel of actual biblical Christianity + Judaism but with women figures and in hell, and instead u choose to make it about how lilith has sex to make a new satan
every woman character around Sabrina this entire season: I am very powerful and I care about and support you and want you to be your best, but you need to do as we advise and help us as well
the writers: and thus, sabrina thought this sounded FAKE, and cared only abt boys
hello my dears, it’s been forever but I just am popping in to say that I am on ep3 of s3 and directrix Zelda is serving some LOOKS and it’s fueling my nonbinary headcanon so much, i am living
@sucubitch / liked for a starter.
❛ SISTER PRUDENCE. ❜ Zelda holds her head high; neck stiff and as commanding as a cold stone, her face showing no hint of either amicability nor hostility. She is, simply, dutiful. ❛ I must speak with you, immediately. ❜
𝗤𝘂𝗲𝗲𝗻 𝗟𝗶𝗹𝗶𝘁𝗵. †
❛ Zelda. ❜ It’s an irritated snap, a hiss. I AM THE QUEEN OF HELL, AND I COMMAND YOU TO MAKE MINE OWN WILL THINE : DO AS I SAY.
Lilith snatches Zelda’s wrist, puts it over her waist in the ridiculously cold bed, and stares off severely, her eyes rolling into her head. ❛ It’s not hard. ❜
@praiisesatan doesn’t kno how to spoon.
❛ Oh for HELL’S sa -- ❜ Zelda can’t help the immediate defensive she’s found herself on; this is a cry for something she’s HARDLY a comfortable being performing, but she chokes back the remainder almost as quickly as it had come; this is her Queen, after all. For this, she lets her wrist stay placed on the curve of Lilith’s hip, the human form of her so . . . normal. Small, even, for one that is now commander of an entire underworld legion. Lilith is not even sharp, the candlelight protests, as it illuminates in a flickering amber the round curvature Zelda’s wrist is now against. She swallows, frowns. Relaxes herself, almost anxious in this, she slides forward to press her body against the cold, naked form of the other. Zelda is not a curving type of fit; she is stiff, yet obedient, and allows her thighs, which are still encased in black stockings, to press slightly against the backs of her Lady’s. A shy sheath. She can’t have a smoke this way, but it is whatever Lilith wants.
Zelda stares off, from the top of the other’s curls. ❛ Is that better? ❜ She finally asks, her intonation curving upward on the end of her ask in an almost sultry, smoky propriety used to mask something much less mysterious: shyness.
starter call !! like for a lil starter from zelds; if multi please specify which muse.
Zelda is very uncomfortable with most means of genuine, tender affection (unless with Sabrina or Hilda, and this is only in very dire, emotionally intense situations) and it’s best to either pre-cursor an affectionate gesture / phrase toward her with a quip, something sarcastic, or to downplay it by snapping at her first. If not, the dynamic will probably play out something like:
sb: I care a lot about you
zelda: wow, that’s disgusting
001. THE FAIRY.
chipped nail polish. glitter highlight. tall trees with smooth bark. tangled hair. the taste of cinnamon sugar. talking too loud and too fast. overgrown flowers in your hair. crumbling buildings reclaimed by nature. flirting. walking home at three am with no coat. platonic hand holding. blowing smoke out of your nose. dragonfly wings. chaotic good. freckles. fairy rings. secret meetings. gender nonconformity. leather. smudged eyeliner. forbidden fruit.
002. THE REAPER.
computer errors. a shiver down your spine. haunting beauty. hard liquor. crowns of thorns. shadowed alleyways. decaying plant matter. shattered mirrors and broken glass. corrupted memories. stopped clocks. the scent of stale cigarettes. tattered black hoodies. walking your friends home. the crescent moon. the sea. a graveyard on a foggy day. cold rings on cold fingers. absolution. looking out of the window of an airplane. soft kisses.
003. THE WITCH.
graffiti. pretending to know what you’re doing. worn paperback books. growing up too fast. parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme. lace and combat boots. moth wings. candles on every surface. a weathered deck of cards. turning the music up. fireflies in jars. calloused fingers. drawing on your skin. sunlight filtering through clouds. petrichor. a dying rose in a jaw. wearing a crystal pendant. illusions of spells. black cats. mint gum. chapped lips. dirt under your fingernails. the cycle of life and death.
004. THE WOLF.
murders of crows. frost - bitten leaves. wolves howling at midnight. knocking on your door. leaving food out for stray animals. the twang of an acoustic guitar. honey. tiny red buds on trees. claw marks on the walls. golden eyes. slightly too long stubble. knitted fingerless gloves. sleeping on the forest floor. always finding your way back home.
tagged by : @shedevvil <3 tagging : @sacrificingxspells @wellward @sucubitch @nekremanse @aunthlda @hellherald @itsnotpatsy @vorcotec
No one:
Zelda Spellman: Fucked a lot of demons in my time, yes sir.
zelda & gender expression
It is, in my opinion, a very important aspect of Zelda’s character that she struggles a lot with gender nonconformity. Due to the society, time period and social grooming she is born into, she struggles greatly with understanding her own expression and I don’t think really understands it nor will she ever. She feels, at her core, largely nonbinary. This is something I’ve recently been able to formulate a bit better and unfortunately something I think Zelda will never truly be able to recognize + come to terms with. Some talking / things that also point to this:
Zelda dresses in a way that tends to hide, or at the very least not draw attention to, her breasts / cleavage. This is an aspect of her body that would make others view her as feminine, and, especially in her society, therefore unequal.
If you notice, her breasts only seem to come out when she is using her body for approval, acceptance + to gain power by getting close to those IN power (for example with Faustus).
I don’t think this is solely due to piousness/religion, though that argument CAN be made . . . but the biggest indicator that this is also Zelda’s choice is that when Faustus literally noncons her to wear a very feminine, breast exposing dress in S2, she immediately detests it, and asks what the hell she’s wearing upon getting a moment of lucidity.
I think Zelda’s own experience with being considered feminine is frustration. She feels as though she was born a person with certain body parts and those make her, against her own control, viewed by others as less equal. Her experience also with being told things are “not feminine” or “not ladylike” growing up is that she feels she must not, therefore, be feminine, since she feels / does things that are “not ladylike.” This is something again that is very private to her.
She has learned somewhat how to use her body in a way that will gain approval from others in power, but her body is never viewed as something deserving of pleasure -- only a means to an end.
Zelda also does not have biological children, and I very highly attain in my headcanon that she does not want them and would hate childrearing thru pregnancy immensely. (This is of course not to say that this is true of all NB people -- just of Zelda in particular) She already knows that her body being viewed as feminine makes her viewed as unequal, so any aspect of being viewed as feminine (IE pregnancy) would be highly unwelcome and make her feel very dysphoric.
Zelda tentatively embraces being a woman and being ‘feminine’ with herself, more so publicly, because it is traditional and expected and she is not educated on gender as a construct. Her own frustrations and feelings on it are very private to her and not understood.
She takes a lot of her frustration out on Hilda, partly because Hilda is very happy and comfortable with identifying as feminine. Zelda tries very, very hard to do so, and it is draining. Yet it seems as though Hilda gets approval and praise effortlessly, and in this way Zelda feels powerless and angry... almost like a “what am I missing?” feeling.
Zelda’s “sexual goddess” demeanor is absolutely a front: she parades around talking about sex way too often to be someone incredibly sexually experienced (or at the very least confident about her experiences -- I think Zelda having sex is usually very unpleasant / nerve-wracking for her). I think she is very uncomfortable with sex because she is also very uncomfortable with others viewing her body and thinking of it as feminine.
I just need everyone here to know that it is one hundred and one percent the truth that Zelda parades around like she has had sex sOOOO much and is SOOOO experienced when, in fact, she’s probably had it a grand total of 10 whole times and she’s never once topped. Please don’t expose her she’s just an alien trying to assimilate into human ( witch ) culture xo
slithers demon tongue against ur face ;)~
One corner of her mouth flattens; she does not move. A slight shift in expression; she looks toward the other. Did she want something? Or is she simply trying to irritate? With Lilith it’s . . . never quite clear, and may not be one or the other.
#the power that this has #the intelligence that this has #the international implications that this has
𝗤𝘂𝗲𝗲𝗻 𝗟𝗶𝗹𝗶𝘁𝗵. †
I’VE ALWAYS INDULGED MYSELF IN BELIEVING I AM SOMEWHAT CLEVER .
Lilith scoffs, doing her best to fight the smile tugging at her painted lips. The smoke stains how her tongue tastes, and as her eyes trace the clever witch before her, the cigarette tip glows an ardent orange, sizzling the creamy cigarette paper in a hiss and blue-grey plume of smoke. It is almost the only late-night lights but for tea-light candles left out, flickering wanly.
IF NOT , I’D CERTAINLY NOT BE STANDING BESIDE L I L I T H H E R S E L F .
A pleased little hum sighs in Lilith’s throat. Zelda has an uncanny knack for being distinguished. Here she is, delicately arching herself into a position beneath her Queen, and Lilith couldn’t think of a place she’d looked more exquisite. Her eyes meet with Zelda’s, and she is very aware of the bated breath of the other, and, not for the first time, she thinks something sinful. ❛ Certainly not. ❜ Her correction is crisp enough to read as chastisement, but they’re both aware it is anything but. ( She thinks. ) ❛ Do you really think I’d waste my time like that ? ❜ It makes her nervous and excited at once. What young emotions to be having in the greying veins of her old, withered lungs. Lilith pushes these down: this situation could benefit from a little delicious cruelty ( not simpering and disquieted aortic rumblings ) and that she has in ample amounts.
❛ Your turn. ❜ She enunciates coldly, and takes yet another step into Zelda’s space, pressing herself against her. Lilith hovers the golden cigarette holder expectantly just between her face and Zelda’s mouth, knowing full well the breadth of things she could have placed on Zelda’s lips instead : but she is drunk ( ALLEGEDLY. ) and it is not a deity’s job to put an end to suffering, only to make it count. Her grip on the holder is vice-like, and her other hand drags nails across the table, her hips both resting against Zelda now, daring her to step away, to try take the cigarette holder - to do anything but inhale as the queen has softly commanded.
Zelda is a pious Witch. She has always been, and she always will be; she will be certain of THAT. She has survived and only just ( perhaps not THRIVED -- but it is no one’s business but her own to observe as such ) as pious and devoted and up to the standards of only the Elite. For how else can someone such as she receive power, receive praise, receive love? Through piousness, through appreciation, through a cold and powerful devotion. And now that she is here, she will CERTAINLY be nothing less than devoted . . . nothing less than closest to the ONE AND CENTER of all power . . . nothing less than pious and powerful through.
As the daughter, as the most pious, as the devoted Witch, Zelda has always known not to disobey. She is not to try her deity’s patience, nor toy with the command of any god. And as Lilith’s chosen, familiar, fleshy form hovers closer, like a cobra made of smoke despite it all, teases her lips just inches from Zelda’s own . . . Zelda is inclined immediately to take her turn and nothing more. The chill coursing through her does poke and coerce, however, a curious hissy whisper: play with her, tease her in return -- return with a clever twist of rules -- this one wants it.
Zelda, unblinking, never letting her eyes stray from Lilith’s own, never LEAVING the command of their deep and MURDEROUS hunt, leans forward. She encases the end of what HAD been her cigarette, now her queen’s, with painted red lips. They do not touch Lilith’s, as this had not commanded of her. Instead, she lets her eyes fall, toward the floor in a quiet respect . . . she DRINKS the smoke . . . takes a long drag of the wispy cigarette . . . and brings them back, slowly, staring, unthreateningly albeit hungrily, within Lilith’s own gaze. I am less satiated than before my inhale, Zelda is screaming. Please, my Lady -- give me what I need, whatever it may be.
Zelda has, so far, not gone astray from the rules; certain that piousness and command are the way to earning Lilith’s own devotion. But IS SHE CERTAIN? Yet . . . she lets go of her exhale, before commanded . . . lips parting, a phantom of smoke escaping from between them, and flowing toward the others’ mouth in a fast razor wind. She holds herself there. She has taken her turn, and now it is Lilith’s to command.
❛ I should certainly hope not. ❜ See me, for I am not a waste of your time, I AM your time, I am WORTHY of it all, dear Lilith -- I am Zelda Spellman -- see me for who I can offer you -- please, please, please, show me I have earned this.