#spellcest

[impossibleavenuestudent]

The King and Queen of Shadows 😈💜🖤

[impossibleavenuestudent]

Selfie 😙💜

[impossibleavenuestudent]

The strongest love... 💜💜

[together-as-sisters]

Pssst, imagine Wednesday Spellcest AU with H and Z going to Nevermore school? 👀

Someone please write this, for the love of all that is unholy!!

[xurkitreeking]

my ability to become super emotionally invested in music whilst also having terrible taste is such a strange duality to have

on one hand, a song with no lyrics can move me to tears. most recently, "song for my lost ghost friend" by spellcasting

it's a chiptune but it casts this image in my head of someone playing the piano and singing a song they poured their entire soul into. and the tempo isn't quite consistent. it wavers and speeds up, like they can't play it perfectly yet but they're pouring their entire soul into it to share it with someone they love. and it's so intimate and so gorgeous. there's this one part at about 0:50 seconds where they play these three ascending cords as it builds into a more complex part of the song, but they hold the first cord for just a second longer as though they have to think harder about what comes next. but the person they love is gone, and perhaps they cannot hear them from the afterlife. but this song is just as much to comfort the person playing it as it is for their lost loved one.

and on the other hand i unironically listen to this song just as frequently

an unexhaustive list of things it samples is: that one fart sound effect, moist critical/penguinz0 "WOO", an air horn, the vine boom, "botos binted", the "deez nuts" vine, "oh no. our table it's broken", the old minecraft hurt sound effect, the roblox "oof", the bonk sound effect, and "bruh"

[zeldas-cigarette-holder]

Witches Don’t Take Sick Days

ao3

“Hildegard.”

It wasn’t the carefully clipped drawl that she was used to, but rather a shockingly undignified whine that weaseled its way through her lips and spilled out before she could stop it.

Zelda knew she was a sight to behold, standing at the head of the table wrapped in one of Hilda’s fluffiest robes, her eyes puffy and nose red from constant sneezing and sniffling. It was only made worse by the fiery ache in her chest and the burning gaze of a dozen witches and warlocks watching her at her weakest.

Whomp whomp, tropetember day 3 is finished two entire days late!

Alas, enjoy some sweet spellcest fluff with a darling sick Zelda because she is my absolute favorite.

[zeldas-cigarette-holder]

currently taking requests for kinktober

prompt list can be found here

anything goes, but there are some I just may not have the muse to write! starting this early because with family, work, and vacations I’m gonna be b u s y and I wanna get a head start.

can be any combination of Zelda, Lilith, Hilda, Faustus, Dr. Cerberus, possibly other characters — just ask!

[zeldas-cigarette-holder]

Spellcest domestic HCs?

- Zelda has not one single time made her own breakfast or coffee. It’s been Hilda’s job since they returned home from their respective travels abroad and Zelda gets very bent out of shape if Hilda just isn’t there. On those mornings, she usually opts for a pack of crackers and a cigarette to tide her over until lunch.

- Hilda likes to complain about her sister not pulling her weight, though it’s only a ruse to get Zelda to help her with dinner, dishes, or hanging the laundry on the line. Those moments of still, quiet domesticity are Hilda’s favorite — standing hip to hip, chatting quietly about their days and stealing soft touches they pretended to be accidental.

- Though Hilda is adamantly against smoking (and wishes her sister would just bloody quit) she loves the way a stolen drag off Zelda’s cigarette tastes. There’s a subtle tinge of alcohol, sweetness, and something that is undeniably Zelda, and it never fails to make her heart clench just a little bit.

- For all the fuss Zelda makes about Hilda’s clandestine erotica novels, she quite likes laying on Hilda’s chest and listening to her read aloud. It becomes a comfort when they lose the way of their religion, curling up in her sister’s arms and closing her eyes, listening to the rumble of her chest as she read about some debauchery that Zelda couldn’t quite gather the energy to follow along with.

- When Zelda becomes the Directrix, Hilda makes it a point to check on her throughout the day. She brings fresh cigarettes to fill the little golden case, an abundance of coffee and tea (and alcohol), dinner and treats, and little notes of encouragement. Zelda saves every note in the drawer of her desk, the folder enchanted to only open for her. They aren’t racy notes — not usually — but Zelda likes to keep the little sliver of happiness for herself, something she isn’t used to having or liking.

- Hilda has a soft spot for Halloween, with all the gaudy polyester costumes and the spirit of trick or treating. Zelda endures it with minimal complaint only for the fact that Hilda doesn’t give her any fuss about loving Christmas as much as she does. It was under the guise of being best for Sabrina, but Hilda could never deny the way Zelda’s normally blasé face lit up with a hidden grin when she came home to the mortuary full of lights.

[spellcestdrunktexts]

[zeldas-cigarette-holder]

Can we have a snippet of the next fic?

“I have more important things to do, Hilda. Much more important than wasting my time when we have machines to do this for us.”

“There isn’t much that I find more important than you.” Hilda’s voice was gentle, carefully measured— she knew that Zelda was sassing back at her because she was desperate for some sort of punishment, wanted some sort of finality to the inner turmoil that plagued her. “And making you squirm with uncomfortable anticipation is entirely self-serving, the naughty brat you are.”

Zelda let out a small noise of embarrassment at the way her panties were already surely soaked, lips pursed into a thin line while she diligently dried the dishes.

“Has work been good, love?” Hilda kept her tone light — knew it only served to annoy Zelda more, but she was desperate to know the root of this sudden craving for punishment.

Zelda had woken that morning in a mood, always on her rare days off, partly because it gave them enough time in an empty house to deal with the frustration, but also because the weight of her new role came crashing down on her when she had a free moment to breathe. It was a routine of sorts that they had fallen into — she would wake and pick fights until Hilda was frustrated enough to break, to let Zelda sit in that uncomfortable guilt until she saw fit to punish her, would be a mushy puddle of sated happiness and renewed energy by the time Ambrose and Sabrina returned home.

“It isn’t bad.” She cleared her throat, eyes glazing over as she rubbed at the same spot on a dish. “But it isn’t good.”

“You’re doing such a good job, such a bright witch. And so maternal, too.”

Zelda blushed under the praise, felt her stomach flip. All she had ever wanted was to be recognized and appreciated — gave her entire life to her religion and coven and it felt so thankless that it made her reconsider her life choices on a daily basis — and the gentle smile playing on Hilda’s lips was enough to tell her that yes, she was doing a good job.

“You stepped up when there was a need, took care of our coven and our children when you were needed most.” Hilda was watching her with a narrowed gaze, watched the way she rubbed at the last dish to prolong the uncomfortable silence. “Now let me take care of you, Zelds. Would that be alright, love?”

[knowthatiloveyou]

“Together as sisters, forever and ever.”

[spellcestdrunktexts]

[spellcestdrunktexts]

[zeldas-cigarette-holder]

🌹

“You just sit there with those papers like you’re some kind of royalty — you never clean those up, by the way, always leave them for me in a nasty stack covered in ash and spilled coffee — and you watch me do all of the housework, all of the cooking, all of the washing.” Hilda was mumbling under her breath now, lifting and reading the bottles of dishwashing liquid. “So does it really matter what scent I buy?”

“I would murder you here if I wouldn’t have to drag your lump of a body fifteen miles home to the pit. Probably couldn’t get there before the rot started to set in.”

They were both mumbling now, undignified and heated in a way that wouldn’t lead to murder — no, Zelda had stopped that years ago — but something so much sweeter. Zelda almost craved the bitter sting of Hilda’s hand on her ass, her nails scratching at her back and thighs — wouldn’t act on it yet, because it was inherently better when Hilda came to her.

[spellcestdrunktexts]

[spellcestdrunktexts]