#i live in want of that witch fic to be as good on paper as it is in my head

[sweetestberryofthebunch]

Scars On My Mind (Agatha Harkness x Reader)

Ever heard of the Daughters of Liberty? When Agatha appears at your doorstep covered in blood with a knitting needle peeking out of her elbow, you certainly wish you hadn��t. Here’s how it went.

Content/Warnings: WitchKiller!Agatha, Hurt/Comfort, Whump, Injury, So Much Blood, Open Wound, Angst, Mild Mentions of NSFW Content, no beta we die like the Daughters of Liberty

This fic is a gift for @marril96 who made a gifset for me in return! Ily, let's swap again! It was so so so much fun to dive a little deeper into Agatha’s Witch Killer days with this, and make her a little vulnerable for once!

The rain started on Thursday night and hadn’t stopped since. A continuous drumming against your window, the world outside tainted a muddy grey. It was the earliest hours of Saturday now, Friday had passed silently without you noticing, the continuous waterfalls of raindrops on the windows not letting up to let the days pass either. The vinyl player kept playing as Friday had slipped into Saturday too, the kettle kept simmering as you prepared a boiling cup of Agatha‘s favourite tea blend. Even as the days drifted away, the world kept going. Boiling hot water turned into lukewarm turned into cold, the vinyl finished playing, spinning to a halt. The rain kept thrumming.

You sighed, leaning back on the couch, eyes fluttering shut. Agatha was late, like, even later than usually. And you were tired, sleep tugging at your bones with gradually more and more urgency.

But it was useless to go to bed, no matter how often she insisted you shan’t wait for her. You wouldn’t find much sleep anyway. Not on nights like this. When Agatha was out with other witches, when she set out to … feed? Kill? Siphon?

Well, it was hard to find any rest while she was out there like that.

She may have laughed when you’d admitted to that, throwing her leather jacket over her shoulders before pulling you into a quick kiss by your neck.

„There’s nothing to worry about, darling. I do this all the time.“

But still, as the front door to your little nyc apartment swung open and she sauntered out, chirping a „See you tonight, honey!“, over her shoulder at you, the pit in your stomach remained. The ghost of her palm on the back of your neck remained.

You sighed, taking a sip of the cold tea you’d prepared. If she wasn’t coming home in time, you certainly wouldn’t let the water go to waste.

They’d just raised the prizes for utilities on you. And while Agatha had just laughed and mentioned some inactive bank account she had in Germany that she‘d simply pull from, you couldn’t help but stress about it.

It wasn’t that you didn‘t trust her, so far every time she’d mentioned some savings from one of her many, many lives it had always been true. But just because she was an undying, centuries old witch who didn’t have to concern herself with mundane things like paying bills didn’t mean you could just shake those things off the same.

You had no magick, but you did have your name on a lease. But so far, she’d always made it work somehow, whether that be with her old account of when she lived right beside the Berlin Wall ten years ago or by selling a quick spell or curse to some unassuming person desperate enough to pay for one. You weren’t even sure if she actually performed real spells all of the time. Your Agatha was a scam artist through and through, but you wouldn’t have her any other way.

You took another sip of tea, watching the rain pour down the window. Sometimes, you wondered how many more of you there had been. Agatha was good at dodging those questions, but one night, when you wouldn’t let off even after she’d made you come undone multiple times on the couch, she’d handed you a little cardboard box.

„I try not to be traceable and I can’t exactly show you baby pictures, but some stuff just sticks.“

The contents of the box were fragile, some paper so frail you barely wanted to touch it. Little notes, handwritten poems, a few pages torn out of books. A pencil sketch of the bunny that lived in a cage beside your bed, that she always made sure to drape a blanket over before going down on you. An ink sketch of her, without the worry lines on her forehead or the little wrinkles around her eyes. But, as always, with the amulet she never took off her body.

A few photographs. Black and white on flimsy film paper, Agatha in a flapper dress, feather in her hair and a cigarillo between her lips, legs spread as she leaned back on a barstool. Agatha in the same dress, smiling over her shoulder at the camera, a dark skinned woman in a matching dress sitting beside her, raising her champagne flute at the camera.

Jenny Kale, you knew from her stories, the most brilliant potions maker Agatha had ever met. And the most annoying one. They‘d fallen off, you assumed it had something to do with Agatha‘s habit of power grabbing.

But, there was also a Polaroid.

A Polaroid that lay on the coffee table in front of you now.

A Polaroid that had not left your mind since you’d found it.

Agatha with a wild, unkempt perm and uneven bangs, black liner smudged around her eyes, in a black tank top, arm stretched out to take the picture. But, what actually caught your eye was the arm wrapped around her waist, tight enough to bunch up the fabric of her shirt, revealing a thin line of pale skin of her lower stomach. The person hugging her was out of frame, all you could see was an arm, and a shoulder pressed into Agatha‘s, and the way the witch seemed to hold back a laugh. The handwriting under the picture was messy, and the black marker had faded over the years.

For my love A.H. 1982 - We can be heroes forever and ever

And then what you‘d assumed was once a heart, but got smudged by someone touching the ink before it had dried.

It was exactly what you‘d been looking for. Proof that there had been people before you. That you weren’t her first lover in the 350 long years of her life. Of course you weren’t, that’d be foolish to assume!

But still, the find had punched a hole into your stomach that had only hollowed out the more you thought about it.

How many other people had she taken a liking to, how many non magickal people had she moved in with, let them sign leases and contracts for her as she ran off to suck the magic out of the local witch community of wherever she found herself? How long had this been going on? How long until she’d move on?

Sure, you were young now, but other than her, the clock was ticking for you. Would you just wake up one day and find her gone? And would she bother to keep your picture? And, even if all of this was nothing, why would she hide it from you? She‘d told you about Jennifer Kale, but she‘d never ever mentioned living with someone during her time in Berlin, or any era before that.

You bit your bottom lip, hissing when you tasted the metallic tinge of your own blood.

Did you want to be just another picture in her little box of memories? Did she even deem you worth remembering?

It was stupid to think like that, and you knew that, but it was harder not to let the uncertainty consume you.

But, you were smart enough never to ask her about it directly. Your wild, fierce, unapologetic witch. You loved her, you had realised that the moment her eyes met yours for the first time, and you loved everything about the chaos and the magick and the passion that she brought into your life. Maybe that was why the potential answer scared you so much. Better to keep holding onto your belief than to risk knowing you didn’t mean as much to her as she did to you. Better to live in the harmony of what you had built with her.

You wish you‘d never asked her about her prior life, had never opened the paper box. Now that you had the Polaroid in hand, it was impossible to put down.

A sound ripped you from your self deprecating thoughts. A faint scratch, just loud enough that you were sure you hadn’t imagined it. Another one. Like a dog scratching at a locked front door … or a key that kept missing the hole it belonged into, and instead kept hitting the rough wood of your door.

You sat up. „Agatha?“

No answer. Fuck.

You knew Agatha had her enemies, it was impossible to live that long without them. Hell, there was a whole coven formed of the daughters of her prior victims, a piece of information you preferred to not think about too much. After all, you saw what she was capable of, saw her cast runes around the entire apartment to keep out evil spirits, the way she glowed after siphoning, the daily use of telekinesis and the occasional prodding your mind - which she swore was to remind you to keep up the mental wards she‘d taught you, and totally not because she enjoyed the image of her that danced around your thoughts since the day you met.

Wards you made sure you had up and intakt now as you grabbed a candelabra on your way towards the front door - the first weapon you‘d spontaneously found.

Another scratch at the door, then a grunt, and a little thud, like something was falling into the wooden frame.

„Agatha?“, you asked again, louder.

Panting, whoever was on the other side of the door was breathing heavily.

Here goes nothing. You bit down on your lower lip, fingers tightening around the candelabra. Twisting the doorknob, you held your weapon high, ready to strike. The wooden door flew open, you held your breath … only to immediately let it go in a loud shriek.

In front of you was in fact Agatha, however, this was not how you had expected her to return. Her shirt was torn and ripped apart, shreds of fabric barely clinging onto her. if you hadn’t known, you would have never guessed it used to be white fabric, for it was covered in mud and dirt and … a worrying amount of blood. There was so much blood. On her clothes, her face, her head. Like someone had dumped a bucket of red over her head. Agatha herself was shaking, her body leaning against the wooden doorframe, the key she was holding in her right hand quivering with every rattling breath she took. Her left arm … your stomach twisted. Her left arm was completely bare, the sleeve ripped away at the seam, and her skin was covered in dark red crusts of dried and fresh blood. It hung useless at her side, and as she shifted from one foot to her other, you saw a single, long piece of hard plastic sticking right out of her elbow.

Your stomach twisted at the sight, and you instinctively had to reach for the wall, not trusting your knees to support your weight right now.

Agatha’s eyes were open wide, blue piercing at you as she panted, a now dried drop of blood had run right between her eyes and down her nose. She looked insane. You felt insane.

And yet, she had the nerve to cock her brows at you. „The candlestick? Seriously? Do you have any idea how much that thing is worth these days?“

Slowly, you dropped your arm, the makeshift weapon sliding out of your grip and tumbling to the floor.

Agatha winced, like that was what really caused her pain right now.

„Agatha!“, you gasped, swallowing hard.

The witch bit her bottom lip, hard, before heaving her own body closer towards the entryway, pushing for you to let her in.

„I got ambushed“, she exclaimed, even though that didn’t explain anything at all, „This little bunch was smarter than they seemed. In theory at least“, she laughed, but it only made her grit her teeth, „All the spells and curses in the world, and they stab me with a fucking knitting needle!“

You gulped. So that was the thing peeking out of her elbow.

Glassy blue eyes found you, her glare bewildered, almost panicked. „Are you done now? I would love it if we could at least move this out of the hallway, before we wake the neighbors!“

Finally, you snapped back into reality. Agatha was injured, badly, and she was also leaving stains of red on your doorframe and the „Welcome Home“ doormat in the hallway. But those were problems for later.

Right now, you needed to get her to safety. You surged forwards, grabbing her by her uninjured shoulder, pulling her right arm around your neck.

„Lean onto me“, you instructed, kicking the candelabra out of your way as you slowly guided her into the apartment.

She was cold to the touch, too cold for your liking, but she still managed to tut at you anyway. „What would you say if i kicked your hairdryer around like that?“

You let the front door fall shut behind you, other arm wrapping around her waist to support her further.

“I would say Thank You Honey for not letting me bleed out on the doormat! but you can practice that later.“

That made her snort, and you felt her entire body wince in pain.

„Stop being funny“, she hissed, her right hand digging into your shoulder as you slowly guided her towards the couch, step by step, „It hurts.“

You finally reached the plush sofa and carefully sat her down. Agatha‘s body collapsed against the cushions with a groan, her head rolling back.

„Hey!“, you snapped your fingers right in front of her face, „Sit up! Don’t you dare faint on me!“

Her eyes fluttered, and you felt panic rise in your chest. Your palms found her cheeks, cupping her face gently as you pulled her head back up, forcing her to look at you. Blue eyes blinked up at you, pupils dilating when they closed in on your face.

„Agatha“, you said, taking a deep breath more to calm yourself than her, „I‘m gonna go grab the first aid kit, but I need you to stay with me, okay? No fainting. Can you curl your fingers for me?“

Her right hand curled into a weak fist with no issues, while her left hand laid beside her uselessly. You swallowed. „Okay, keep doing that. Clench, and unclench, exactly. I‘ll be back in a second.“

She blinked twice, and a small smile found her blood covered, cracked lips. „You’re worried about me“, she drawled deliriously, healthy hand coming up to poke your side. The touch was a lot weaker than you‘d like. „That’s hot.“

You bit down on your tongue. „You’re unbelievable“, you shook your head, making sure her own head was supported by the cushions behind her before letting go, „Keep clenching your fists!“

To your relief, the first aid kit was right under the sink in the bathroom, fully stocked and ready for you. On your way back out, you grabbed a towel as well.

Agatha was still sitting up when you came back, already digging through the first aid kit as you walked, pulling out bandages, alcohol wipes, and the little bottle of superglue you kept in the kit. You sucked your cheeks in, thumb running over the little tag on it. The next fifteen minutes were going to suck.

Glassy blue eyes watched you as you spread out your new findings on the coffee table. Her breath came in heaves, but at least they were even and her chest didn’t quiver with every gush of air that surged through her lungs anymore.

„How are you feeling?“, you asked, needing her to stay awake, stay with you at any costs.

Luckily, she had it back in her to let out a humourless chuckle. „Like shit. Those bitches betrayed me like I didn‘t teach them everything they knew.“

Even as you cut open the plastic baggy holding a bandaid, you had to give her a long look over your shoulder.

„Betraying the witch that was gonna betray them? How dare they.“

Agatha opened her mouth in protest, but then you sat back up on the couch next to her, the cushions she was resting her injured arm on shifting, and instead a high, pained whimper left her throat. The sound rang through your head and you pressed your lips together, carefully positioning her arm so the needle stuck in it was facing you.

„I‘m sorry“, you took a deep breath, „You‘re not gonna like me for the next few minutes, but I need you to stay still for me, okay?“ Your eyes found hers, and you gave her a firm little nod.

„What?“, Agatha's voice was weak, brows creased in confusion, her eyes barely focusing on you. You gave her a soft smile, hand closing around the knitting needle slow and firm. „Look out the window babe“, you softly hummed and Agatha‘s head rolled to the other side, lashes fluttering.

„Don’t turn around“, you said. But of course, she immediately turned back.

“The window Agatha!“, you sighed exasperated, not waiting for her to listen this time.

„Okay, one, two…“ Before you could say the next number, you gritted your teeth. With one firm tug, the knitting needle slid right out of her open wound.

Agatha screamed, flinching under your firm grip, head thrown back against the couch.

The needle made a wet sound as you pulled it out that made your stomach turn. Thick, red liquid was stuck to the plastic as well as fresh blood immediately pooling out of the wound at her elbow.

You quickly pressed the towel onto it, gripping Agatha’s arm tight so she couldn’t pull away, even as she screamed. The whimpers leaving her throat echoed through your bones, and you had to bite down on your cheek harder.

„I‘m sorry baby“, you pressed out, glancing over at her face. Fresh, salty tears ran down her face, parting the dried crusts of blood on her cheeks. She was biting down on her tongue, hard enough to draw blood, holding back her sobs as best as she could.

„Fuck you“, she sobbed weakly, eyes closed shut and you had to chuckle.

„That’s okay. Let it out.“, you hummed, pressing the towel down onto the wound with one hand. The pale blue fabric was quickly soaking up red, and you had to act fast, worried she was going to lose too much blood.

With your free hand you reached for the superglue, the lid already off, clear, stale liquid at the tip.

„I have to do one more thing that you‘re not gonna like“, you said, keeping your grip on her arm tight as she tried to pull away.

„No! Stop! That’s enough!“, she yelped and it took everything in you to stay firm. The wound needed closing, no matter how much it would hurt.

„Agatha!“, you held her tight, giving her a firm stare that held no room for discussion. When you saw the way her bottom lip was quivering despite her pushed forward chin, your voice softened.

“I‘m trying to help you. Just one more thing and you‘re done, I promise.“

Agatha swallowed hard, leaning towards you.

You let her, gently pressing your forehead to hers.

„That was scary“, she murmured, „They were so smart about it. Didn’t blast me once. Instead…“, her shoulders twitched in an attempt to shrug, the sharp pain causing her to wince.

„Instead you came home with a knitting needle in your arm“, you nodded, craning your neck. Your lips brushed over her forehead, the bittersweet mix of mud and blood on your tongue as you pressed a gentle kiss right over the crease she always pulled when she was in pain, but trying to be brave about it.

„This was terrifying, but you’re being so strong“, you leaned back again, enough to look her in the eyes one more time, „Let me close the wound and then it‘ll be over, I promise.“

And she let you.

As you pulled the towel away to inspect the wound closer, Agatha looked the other way, her right hand coming up to her mouth as you pulled the skin together. As you dropped the clear glue down onto the gash, pulling it closed with one hand and handling the bottle of superglue with the other, she let out another blood curdling scream, muffled only by her teeth digging into her own hand. But, it worked. The moment the liquid began to thicken, the bleeding stopped.

It took all the alcohol wipes of the kit to get her arm cleaned up, working quickly and in silence, knowing well not to talk to Agatha as hot tears ran down her cheeks. You made sure to save a wipe for the bite mark on her right hand too, and then once you were positive all of her injuries were cleaned, you finally reached for the bandaids.

By the time she was all patched up and in clean clothes (you‘d thrown her bloody shirt and all towels it had taken to get the muck off her face into the bathtub, a problem for later), the two of your curled up underneath a blanket, her healthy shoulder squeezed up against yours, the sun was coming up.

Finally, it had stopped raining too.

The two of you had shared a can of microwaved ravioli, and slowly but surely, the color was returning to Agatha‘s cheeks. You wrapped your arm tighter around her, nose nuzzling into the crown of her head. Her hair still smelled of metal and cinder, but that didn’t bother you right now. What mattered was that she was still with you, that her body was warm against yours and her breathing even.

The blanket rustled as she shifted in your hold, right hand coming up to rest over yours.

„Now.“, Agatha took a long breath, thumb running over your knuckles as she held your hands in hers. Finally, she seemed fully back to consciousness.

„Tell me why you‘ve been pondering all night instead of sleeping like I told you to.“

„What?“, your brows furrowed, tilting your head to the side in confusion as you glanced down at her.

Agatha nodded towards the coffee table, blue eyes fixed on a specific object scattered between the leftovers of your once organised and stacked first aid kit. „I doubt you‘re using that as a bookmark.“

Between scissors and a piece of bandage you‘d cut off, there was still the Polaroid you‘d taken from the box of her private possessions. Now, there was a single drop of blood on it, right above the black marker writing.

„Oh my god!“, you quickly reached for it, „I‘m so sorry, I‘ll clean that off!“

Before your hand could reach the photo, Agatha‘s unharmed arm lunged forward, hand closing around your wrist. Despite how pale she still looked, she pulled you back to her with no trouble, wrapping the blanket around you two tighter. Injury or not, there was still magick power running through her veins.

„Darling“, her pale eyes found yours, „Look at me.“

You didn’t dare break the eye contact she established, even though it was the last thing you wanted to do right now, ears hot with embarrassment.

„Have you been thinking about that?“ she asked, and you knew exactly what she meant. Her long, long life before you, the nature of your relationship. The only thing on your mind for days now.

„I mean, it‘s stupid!“, you shook your head „It’s naive to think I‘m something special, you’ve had such a long life already,“ you poked her side, „Even though that‘s hard to believe right now.“

Agatha‘s hoarse chuckle made you smile despite everything weighing on your mind.

„I‘m going to stop you right there.“

With her healthy hand, she tried to push herself up, eyes fluttering shut as she groaned in pain. You instinctively reached for her shoulders, helping her sit up and lean against the sofa cushions.

Her hand found your cheek, palm gently cupping your cheek.

„You are something special“, her voice was low and you swallowed hard.

„Do you think I could do this with just anyone? I was just bleeding out on your couch.“ Her eyes found yours, giving you a firm little nod. „Have there been others? Of course. A witches lifespan depends on her powers, and I‘m not exactly the type other witches want around for long. It can get lonely.“ Her lips pursed into a little smirk, brows rising. „But thanks to you, it‘s not. And thanks to you, it won’t end just yet either.“ She chuckled, raising her bandaged elbow with a sharp inhale.

Your hold on her shoulders tightened just the smallest bit, holding her upwards. Her thumb ran over your cheek, and you couldn’t suppress your smile at the touch.

„What I am saying is yes, there have been lovers before you. But that does not diminish your presence in my life, and it does not make you any less special. To be quite honest, you‘re the first person to have pulled a knitting needle out of my elbow.“

She let out a little laugh and soon, you joined in. Agatha‘s hand tugged at the back of your neck, and you willingly let her pull you into a sweet, gentle kiss. Her lips brushed against yours with the familiarity of someone who had practiced plenty, pushing her chin forward into the kiss like she knew you loved her to do, and you let out a little laugh in return, teeth grazing over her bottom lip just the slightest bit. Exactly the way that made her groan, pull you in tighter, kiss you with more and more fervour, until you’d bite down on her plump lip for real.

But not right now. You pulled away before she could coax you into something more, giving the shoulder of her injured arm a gentle tap as you raised your brows at her.

„Not now Agatha! You literally almost died today.“

She let out an exasperated sigh, but then opted to wrap her healthy arm around your waist instead, pulling you closer. „But I didn’t, thanks to you.“

You gave her a warning glare but obliged as she pulled you into her lap, arm wrapped around you and your hands resting on her shoulders. She leaned forward, lips grazing over your neck just enough to make you gasp before nuzzling her face in the crook of your neck and shoulder, a spot she had found she fit perfectly into one time while napping and loved ever since. Your hands found her hair, fingers slowly running through the thick, dark waves falling down her back. She hummed against your neck at the feeling, and you felt your heart swell at the sound. Even if all of this was fleeting, at least right now, you could provide a safe space for her.

You pressed a gentle kiss to the crown of her head, inhaling the faint scent of the lavender oil she liked to brush through her hair.

Even if you were but a fleeting moment in her life, maybe in 10, 20 years she‘d think back to you and miss the way her nose perfectly nuzzled into the crook of your neck.

“I love you, Agatha“, you whispered, so quiet, you could barely hear it yourself, „Try not to get killed while I‘m still around.“

If she heard you, she didn’t answer.

You pulled her even tighter.

[mothandpidgeon]

Nine Lives (witch's familiar!Ezra x witch!f!reader) - Part 3

Moth's Masterlist // follow @mothandpidgeon-updates and turn on notifications to stay updated with my fics!

SERIES MASTERLIST

pairing: witch's familiar!Ezra x witch!f!reader

rating: T (evenual E) MDNI

summary: As you came into your powers and your curves filled in, Ezra realized he feelings for you were more than just affection. The only problem? He's a 300 year old cursed witch. Oh, and he's a cat.

contents: age gap (like 300 years), angst, slow burn, yearning, probably anachronistic witchy stuff, Ezra is a cat, he won't be forever, this isnt a beastiality thing, mentions of abuse moth never uses y/n.

wc: 4.3k

a/n: I've had a tough couple of weeks (I mean, this week, who hasn't). I hope this will bring some of you joy this weekend. You deserve it. If it did, please please let me know. That would really cheer me up. Also, in case you missed it, going forward I'm going to be updating every 2 weeks. I really hope I can keep it up!

I must thanks @moonlitbirdie and @lowlights for the beta and their massive support of me in life and in writing this. Also thank you @schnarfer for helping me brainstorm some plot!

🐈‍⬛

Aunt Margot’s ringing up a tattooed girl with glasses when you stomp into the shop. You swing the door open so violently that it’s bell thwacks into the wall. You had almost a mile in the woods to walk it off but your anger has only grown, ballooning into a hot rage that’s devouring everything in your path.

“How was it?” Margot asks with a sly smile once the customer’s left with their little brown paper bag.

“River’s disgusting,” you announce. 

“What happened?” her expression immediately clouds with concern. 

“This is exactly why I don’t date witches. I told you that I didn't want to be set up with him.” you rant, blowing past her into what was once the dining room. 

There’s still a turned leg table at its center, now piled with goods for sale. Percy winds his way between beeswax candles and hand-poured soaps.  

“Oh yes I really forced him on you,” she says with sarcasm. “I recall the two of you were practically necking in front of the whole coven last night.”

You’re not sure if it’s the idea that you almost fucked River or the term necking that grosses you out more but you cringe.

“He’s so backwards. Guys like him make me ashamed to be a witch,” you say. 

“How can you say such a thing? Ashamed to be a witch! Do I need to remind you just how lucky you are? After what we’ve been through? Our kind was almost wiped off the face of the earth. By mortals like your little boyfriends,” she says. 

“I’m so tired of hearing that. It’s a shitty excuse. Mortals killed witches hundreds of years ago so we get a free pass to do whatever we want. To treat our familiars like slaves,” you reply. 

She scoffs. “Percy do you hear that?”

He squeaks indignantly. 

“He’s offended by that,” she tells you. 

“He should be. It’s worse than offensive. It’s evil!” you say. Your voice echoes so loudly it rattles the antique silvered mirror hanging over the mantle. 

Margot gathers Percy in her palm calmly stroking his white fur, her eyebrow arched in a way that tells you she’s trying to be patient. You shouldn’t take out it on her. She’s never been anything but good to her familiar. 

“Do you know what he said about Ezra?” You can feel tears begin to bite at your eyes. 

She frowns when she reaches into your mind to hear it herself. 

“His family’s always held onto the old ways," she says, shaking her head in disappointment. 

“Don’t make excuses for him,” you snap. 

She tucks Percy into the pocket of her cardigan and places a gentle hand on your shoulder. 

“He’s an idiot and I’m proud of you. And you should be proud of yourself too. All of you,” she says. 

–

The basement of the Arcane Page might be described as spooky, what with its cobwebs and dusty, amber jars. Apothecary shelves stocked with potions, rare ingredients, and animal bones meet the low ceilings. Disused broomsticks sit in the corner along with willow branches and a black goat’s horn. There are all manner of spell books down here along with hand written notes from your ancestors. At the center of the room there’s a wide oak table carved with runes and spells. It smells like ink and dried leaves and magic. 

The warm sunset streams through the egress windows catching the dust that floats in the air. Margot didn’t have to be a mind reader to know you wanted to be alone and so she didn’t put up a fight when you offered to close up on your own. After you closed the register and locked the front door, you ventured down to the part of the shop meant only for witches. 

Your plan was just to have some quiet before venturing upstairs where Ezra would be waiting. For all you knew he was still huddled under the bed. You could abhor River but only one of you had actually hurt your familiar. You couldn’t bring yourself to face Ezra knowing you were just as bad as the rest of them. 

You start opening old books. Spell books and ancient texts. You’re looking for something, what it is you can’t be certain. All you know is that you felt drawn down here, your fingers itching for the parchment pages. 

When you were a young witch, you came here often. There were spell books that had become your favorites, embellished with intricate illustrations. You memorized charms for changing the color of your hair and shuffled a dog-eared set of tarot cards. This was where you cast some of your very first spells. Magic made the world feel full of wonder yet it gave you some control, an order to things that would otherwise be chaos. 

That’s gone now. All of it mixed up— pride and shame, power and weakness, love and loss. 

You pull a large volume from the shelf, its soft leather cover embossed with constellations. heavy and thick, You need both hands to carry it to the table where it lands with a thud and a gasp of dust escapes into the air. 

You turn it open, the aged glue of its spine cracking. You run your fingers over the delicate pages, so thin you can practically see through them. They’re covered in a careful hand and you can’t help but wonder about the witches that set these spells down, what advice they’d have for you. 

The magic in here is convoluted, singular spells that spill over pages and pages with diagrams and celestial calendars. Some are written in verse so dense you can barely make out their meaning. They remind you of the cadence of Ezra’s voice. 

These are not small acts of witchcraft. There are instructions for summoning beasts and recipes for potions that restore youth to be brewed specially on the solstice. Some of it feels dangerous— curses against unfaithful lovers, spells to wake the dead and use them for your bidding. 

You read through them all with mild curiosity. You have no reason to reanimate a dead horse or brew a cure for quinsy— whatever that is— though it would be amusing to cast a perpetual dancing spell on River if you didn’t think it would kill him. 

You chuckle to yourself as you imagine him dancing uncontrollably, his limbs uncontrollable, as you turn the page. And there you see it. 

What you didn’t know what you were looking for has found you.  

–

You barge into the apartment with a wild look in your eye. Ezra’s still curled up in your spot on the bed. He’s been there most of the afternoon, letting bad memories flood his mind. 

After the elders turned him, Ezra promised himself that he would be better. He’d been selfish and dishonest. Quick to anger. It was out of necessity, he’d told himself, but obviously it had only brought him suffering. He would change. But had he? He’d let you care for him, had loved you and fantasized about you, and he’d hurt you.  

You’re calling his name, breathless from running up the stairs, with a leather bound book under your arm. 

Ezra lingers in the bedroom door, guilt still festering. 

“Look,” you say, setting the tome open on the little breakfast table with a thud. It seems as though you’ve forgotten everything, a whirl of urgency about you. 

Ezra hops up and seats himself in front of the weathered pages. He takes in the verses there, the drawing scratched with quill and ink. It’s complicated and obscure, laborious instructions that must be followed to the letter. Behind him you’re nearly bouncing with untamed energy. 

“What are you showing me?” he asks. He knows. The spell is exact but its outcome is clear. 

“It’s a transfiguration spell,” you explain. 

“That much is clear but—“

“I want to do it,” you say. There’s a determination in your words, a fiery assuredness that makes Ezra’s heart pick up. “I want to turn you back into a human.”

“That’s impossible.”

“No. It’s all right here. And it says under the moon of All Hallow’s Eve. That’s just in a few weeks,” you add excitedly. 

“Little mage, I needn’t explain why this is folly,” he says.

It pains him to say it and not just because being human again would be the greatest gift. Your expression is a mix of frustration and heartbreak. 

“You propose to defy the Elders’ judgment. They won’t take kindly to that,” he says. 

“Fuck them,” you hiss. “The laws have changed. If you were convicted now, they’d take your powers but they wouldn’t make you live like this.”

“They’ll take yours if you do something so foolish,” he says. It comes out harsh but he’s angry that you’d risk your powers for him. That he wants so badly to accept. 

“You don’t deserve to be a fucking cat. You should get a normal life,” you say, your body sagging onto the sofa like it can’t stand the weight of it all anymore. 

“That’s quite a touching sentiment.” Ezra tries to couch the words in sarcasm but his voice breaks. He jumps down from the table and situates himself on the cushion beside you. 

“Why didn’t you tell them?” you ask, defeated. Tearful eyes look towards the ceiling before falling onto him. “When they put you on trial. Why didn’t you tell the elders what he’d done?”

Ezra’s head sinks between his shoulders. 

Damon was the kind of witch that only used his powers to numb himself to the rest of the world. He brewed potions that made him neglectful of his daughter one moment, belligerent towards her the next. Ezra had never considered himself a do-gooder. He saw the girl with bruises and said nothing. He was so disinterested in the goings on, he’d never even bothered to learn her name until his trial. Largely, he ignored them until the night he took Damon’s life. 

Ezra hadn’t meant to engage him. It was a snide remark he made that pulled Damon’s attention away from berating Cee. Soon the two of them came to blows, Damon throwing the first punch with an accusation. Ezra was scrappy but there was a point when Damon had him pinned down and he thought his time was up. So when he was able to break free, Ezra made sure he wouldn’t be bested. 

“You can’t understand how precarious it was for us then,” he says. “A hundred years of witch hunts. The life of a witch, even one as detestable as Damon was precious.”

Maybe if they’d known how Damon treated one of their kind, they would have shown Ezra leniency. But the real reason he accepted his punishment was because he knew it had been his own fault. Had he intervened earlier, gotten the Elders involved, it wouldn’t have ended in murder. You might think him a hero, but when the Elders made Ezra her familiar, Cee made it clear that she did not. 

You sigh, a slight shake of your head, and you sink back into the sofa. 

“You are a more than capable witch but this is ancient magic. It took the powers of no less than three elders to change me,” Ezra says as if it’s any consolation. 

“Maybe Margot—“ 

“You’d both risk your powers,” he stops you. “No, little mage. It’s impossible.”

—

“I’m not coming,” you say. 

Aunt Margot is loading a carpet bag into the trunk of her station wagon. Nearly a month has passed since the equinox. Halloween is two days away which means it’s time for your annual trip to Salem where the coven will be gathered through Samhain. The celebrations will be days long, singing and food, apple bobbing and fortune telling. Your little gathering doesn't compare. 

Last night you couldn’t bring yourself to pack.

“What do you mean?” She asks.

”I’m sorry,” you say with a shrug. 

You’ve been waffling on this decision for weeks but you’ve made up your mind. Even if it disappoints Aunt Margot.

”But everyone will miss you. And Simone’s making her gumbo,” she says.

”I know,” you say. 

As Margot babbles out more reasons why you really shouldn’t stay home (“The spirit walk just won’t be the same without you”), Ezra snakes between your legs. You were nervous of how she’d take this news and Ezra promised to be moral support. 

She throws out her hands with a pout. “I can’t stand thinking about you alone for All Hallows Eve,” she says. 

“I won’t be alone,” you say, picking Ezra up and scratching under his chin.  

“I will miss the gumbo,” he tells her. 

“No Ezra,” she contemplates. “Maybe I can actually win at Scrabble.” 

“Perchance,” he says, and you know she’s mentally tabulating the word score. 

“Is this because of River?” She narrows her eyes. 

It’s not. While you certainly won’t miss him, you wouldn’t let some dickwad keep you from having a good time. It’s all of them, really. Esme and the rest of them. Knowing how they think of Ezra, how they think of you, it makes you want to scream. You can’t subject him to their scorn and disdain, you won’t. You’d rather spend All Hallows Eve at home. 

And then there’s that little part of you. The one that knows it’s preposterous and downright idiotic yet still hopes that you can put the Halloween moon to good use. Ezra shut that down fast but, oh, how good would it feel for the funny little witch to give them all the middle finger? . 

“I’m just not in the spirit,” you say. 

“Well it won’t feel like All Hallows Eve without you,” she sighs. 

“I know,” you say. There’s a lump in your throat. You’ve never been apart from her for Samhain. There are countless warm memories of Halloweens past. When Margot got you your very first cauldron. The taste of pumpkin pie. The year of the freak snowstorm. 

With another sigh and the jingle of her bracelets, Margot pulls you into an embrace. The smell of vetiver hangs off her hair and you breathe it in deeply. 

“I’ll light a candle for you,” she promises. 

“Thanks,” you say. 

“And I’m going to jinx River’s socks. They’ll be damp for a month,” she says. 

You laugh. 

The horn of her car beeps and you break the hug to see Percy appear at the top of the steering wheel. 

“He’s worried about the traffic on the Thruway,” she tells you. “I’m coming!”

“Take care of her,” she says to Ezra, petting along his jaw

He nods. 

When Margot’s tail lights disappear down the street, you sit beside Ezra on the front steps. 

“You could go,” he says. 

“I made the right choice,” you say, stroking down the shiny fur on his back. 

“So what now?” he asks. 

“I don’t know. I've always wanted to go trick or treating,” you say. 

“That’s blasphemy, little mage,” Ezra quips. 

— 

Ezra holds you in his arms. Human arms. Your skin is warm against his as you lay tangled together. The morning light catches on the prism beads you have hanging in your bedroom window, little rainbows dancing across the walls and rumpled bedspread.  His lips brush across your forehead, leaving a ghost of a kiss at your hairline. You sigh dreamily and your fingertips graze his bare chest. You‘re just barely awake when you turn your face up to him, your eyes warm like you missed him while you were sleeping. He greets you with a kiss, your lips opening to him with a low hum. His fingers tangle with yours as the grasp the spindles in the headboard. 

His name comes out of you in a gasp of breath. 

He’s had these dreams for years but they’ve been happening almost every night since you showed him that spell. Sometimes passionate– your thighs opening as he explores your body— but just as often innocuous. Picking flowers in the meadow by his boyhood home. Bringing you tea as you read on the porch swing. 

Each dream is so alluring, even the most banal, he wakes up with the words on the tip of his tongue, ready to ask you to risk it all and turn him. 

You haven’t brought it up again in the weeks since you set that spellbook in front of him. Maybe you thought better of it. Maybe you were just angry. You told him about your spat with River and, while it touched him that you’d come to his defense, he knew it was an impulsive choice. 

Either way, it’s for the best.

It wouldn’t end well. Of course, you’d be putting yourself at risk. He’d made that very clear to you. There are a thousand other reasons why it shouldn’t be done. He’s probably forgotten how to be human and what he would do with himself in this day and age, he has no idea. The only job experience he’s had in the past two hundred years is rat catching.

The logistics of being a human matter little to him, though. His real concern is with you.

He’ll no longer be your companion. You won’t scratch behind his ears, invite him to lay in your lap. You’ll probably expect him to move on and live the life he’s always wanted. He can’t think of one that doesn’t involve you.

At least as a cat, he never has to know if you’d choose another man over him.

He’s laying awake, pondering this once again, when your eyes crack open. Warm mid morning light pours in through the lace curtains, bathing you in a honeyed glow. With Margot out of town and the store closed, the two of you had been on your own, spending the previous dsy together. A walk in the woods, a visit to the coffee shop where other patrons greeted Ezra with friendly scritches. You bailed on plans with the mortal Connor to watch movies and snuggle Ezra on the couch. It should have been enough, that’s what he thought when the credits rolled and you were snoring on the couch, your fingers buried in his scruff. He could share a lifetime of this with you and be grateful for it. But he was greedy. 

”Happy Halloween,” you say. 

You pull him close and he nuzzles into your warm skin. 

“You were in my dream,” you say. Your voice is still rough from sleep, still somewhere far away like you haven’t fully regained consciousness. 

Ezra’s cheeks heat under his fur. It’s not just the raspiness of your throat but his shame. If only you knew what he’d been dreaming about. 

“I was doing that spell. To change you,” you say. 

“I would’ve hoped for something more scintillating.” He plays it off as a joke. 

You huff a laugh and rest your wrist across your forehead, eyes cast towards the ceiling. “Right when you turned I woke up,” you say. 

Ezra doesn’t want to admit it— that he was thinking about that very spell, that he wants your dream to be a premonition. Witches have been known to have those. No, that’s wishful thinking. 

He gets to his feet and stretches out. 

“What a pity you missed my face. I can’t quite remember my own countenance,” he says. 

You sigh with exasperation. “I think it’s a sign,” you say.

“Our dreams are just that,” he tells you.

“Not this one. It wasn’t just a dream,” you insist. You sit up on your elbows meeting his eye with eagerness. “I can do it.”

“I told you—“

“Ezra, I want to do it,” you say with finality. “I want you to be human again.”

He grits his teeth. If he was capable of crying, he might after hearing your words, seeing that resolution in your expression. It takes all of his strength to not just give in and say yes. You know the reasons why it shouldn’t be done and he can’t tell you the ones that make him hesitant.

“You would turn me knowing how much more capable I am of violence? I might be declawed but I will be far more dangerous as man than beast.,” he asks. It still weighs on him even though it’s been weeks since the equinox and it seems you’ve all but forgotten it.

“I trust you,” you say. There’s a tenderness in your eyes that makes Ezra’s heart swell. 

He knows you mean it. You shouldn’t. He doesn’t deserve to be trusted, to be loved by you. He was never a good man, never stood up for anyone else. And it’s that very reason that’s had his mind in knots. He’s selfish. He wants this chance. 

Maybe, maybe you’ll give him the same look as a human and he can love you back the way he’s always wanted. 

“Besides, I know how to defend myself,” you say with a grin. 

That’s his little mage. 

“Very well,” he says. “I’m ready.”

–

You light the final candles on the oak table. The basement is illuminated by the dim glow of candles. You’ve spent the whole day down here with Ezra readying everything for the moon of All Hallows Eve.

Luckily Aunt Margot will be gone for the week so you don’t have to worry about interruptions. You’re not sure how she’ll react but right now, frankly, you don’t care. This is the right thing to do, you keep telling yourself. It’s justice. It’s not about the thrill you feel now, butterflies in your belly. 

You’ve daydreamed about it and after last night’s dream, your imagination feels closer than ever There’s no good picture in your mind of what Ezra will be like but his looks aren’t important. You can’t wait to do normal things with him. What will it be like to get a coffee with Ezra? To do rituals together at Ostara. To hear his old stories again, made new by his facial expressions. 

He’s quiet, nervous you’re sure, beside your cauldron. His golden eyes flit from the flames to the spellbook to the darkened window. Your excitement cools and suddenly you’re worried that your enthusiasm got the better of you. Had you pressured him into agreeing to this? He’s still your familiar after all, bound to serve you.

You kneel at the edge of the table.

“Are you sure you want to do this? We don’t have to,” you say.

“As long as you’re certain you’re willing to take on the risks,” he tells you.

You nod.

“Very well,” he says.

You look at one another for a long time, both knowing that this will be the last time things are the same. You memorize everything about him, his elegant face, the whiskers beside his little black nose, the streak of white fur above his eye. This is your Ezra, will always be even if he doesn’t exist in this form. You wish you could thank him for everything he’s done for you but the words are stuck in your throat. It won’t do to start crying now when you need to focus and recite the incantation clearly.

“I love you, Ezra,” you manage.

He responds with a long, slow blink and you kiss his forehead.

The potion is murky and thick as you ladle it into a dish. Ezra recoils when you place it in front of him. 

“Smells like piss,” he says with a wince before lapping it up. A shiver runs over his body, down the length of his tail. “Tastes like it.”

He leaps onto the table and settles at the center of the carved pentagram.

“Work your magic, little mage,” he says.

This is it. It’s all laid out just like your dream but you’re still anxious. There’s no room for error.

With a deep breath, you straighten your back and begin to say the words. You read them countless times throughout the day, memorizing each verse so that it can flow from your heart to your tongue. As each one leaves your mouth, you visualize them on the page. Magic begins to stir in you, a tingle beneath your skin.

Ezra lays on his belly, his eyes drifting close, paws outstretched towards you. 

You shut your eyes tight and focus your energy, like a beam of pure magic directed towards him and say the words again.You think about him, really envision his details down to the hair. Memories flood you. Ezra rubbing up on the old books in the store. His soft purrs against your chest when your heart felt heavy. The time he slipped on the edge of the tub and fell into your bath. The love you feel for him radiates in your chest all the way to your fingertips.

You’re squeezing all of it palms, every drop of energy within you aimed at Ezra. A vibration, an earthquake. 

You say the words a final time. 

Lightheaded. Breathless. Exhausted. 

Your eyes flutter open.

Ezra lays on the table just as you left him. Unchanged.

“No.” The word slips from your mouth nothing more than a whisper.

Ezra blinks, looking down at his black paws.

You see his shoulders sag and a long moment passes as he gathers himself before looking at you.

It doesn’t make sense. You did everything right, just as you’d seen in your sleep. You’ve never cast with such fervor. 

“Okay,” you say, swallowing hard around a sob. “We’ll do it again. The moon will be higher.” You can hear your own desperation, voice shaking as you try not to lose faith.

Ezra slowly sits himself up.

“Maybe you need more potion,” you suggest.

“No, little mage,” he says, resigned. 

“Ez–” You’ve failed him. Your chest burns, tears brim in your eyes.It feels like you might collapse from the exertion and sheer heartbreak that’s overwhelming you.

“It’s alright. I’ve been a cat for more than a few years. And so I shall remain,” he says.

🐈‍⬛

Part 4

Again, it would really make my day to hear from you if you've come this far! My asks and dms are always open!

[reallyromealone]

Title: date night

Fandom: none

Characters: Kitsune, children characters

Fic type: nsfw fanfiction

Pairings: Kitsune x male reader

Warnings: male reader, reader insert, nsfw, OC fic, no name for OC, nsfw, smut, height difference, reader is a top, witch reader, Kitsune husband, blowjobs, they have children, the children are adorable, slice of life, cute, fluff,

Notes: to anyone new to this, I am writing like supernatural creatures/ fantasy creatures without them being an official character because I want too, I wrote a vampire and an orc already:)

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

(Name) Sipped his tea quietly as he took in the quiet morning, the witch reading the morning paper as the sound of pitter patters of feet could be heard as tiny Kitsune pups ran out into the livingroom "papa! It's morning!" One yelled excitedly and (name) smiled as his children crawled into their respective spots all but the youngest who waddled to his dad and lifted his arms up.

"Now, what should we have for breakfast" (name) set his tea and paper down before walking to the kitchen with his youngest of the four in his arms "bacon pancake" the seven year old mumbled sleepily and (name) chuckled before setting his kid down "why don't you guys go watch your cartoons and I'll make some yummy breakfast" (name) ushered the Kitsune halflings to the livingroom before starting on breakfast.

(Name) Was frying bacon when he felt two arms wrap around him, a nose nuzzling into his neck and a kiss at the nape "smells good..." His husband mumbled as he rested his hands (name)s hips "the children wanted bacon pancakes" (name) said simply as the Kitsune swayed them slowly, tail swishing lazily "sounds good" his voice low and husky as he looked at the bacon on the plate and as he reached for a piece, (name) gently smacked his clawed hand away "no, you can have some with breakfast" (name) gently scolded and the other pouted but pulled away when the little ones called for him.

The three older ones ate like their papa while the youngest always tried to copy (name) but very clumsily "so papa is gonna take you guys to school today and you are gonna hang out with papa and I at the store" (name) said as he ate his breakfast, the three kids excited that the Kitsune is taking them to school, that meant they got McDonald's for lunch.

"Now, behave and have fun" (name) said ushering the kids out the door as he carried his 2 year old into his arms and walked downstairs to the shop area and set the still sleepy pup in his play pen before opening the shop, getting everything ready and doing till count.

The couple owned a magic shop in the city, from arcane to alchemy to anything you could need.

They had it.

(Name) Came from a long line of mages, their home predating the city they lived in and when (name) inherited the house he turned the main floor into the store area and the upstairs into the house, the house large enough to move everything upstairs without problems and even using things like shelves and tables for merchandise.

"Alrighty! Pups at school, littlest pup napping and we are ready to go" (name)s large husband grinned as he stepped into the shop, (name) admiring him in his yukata, a casual looking one that the Kitsune wore between alternating clothes.

Kitsune were naturally bigger and stronger than mages like (name) so wearing clothes like that were easier though (name) did love it when his husband wore suits and turtlenecks, secretly he thought his husband looked fancy.

And he knew the Kitsune abused that when he could.

"What needs to be done pretty boy" his husband leaned over him, towering as his chin rested on (name)s shoulder as he looked at the to-do list that (name) put together "well, we have shipment from yesterday we have to put away and dusting and general cleaning and..." (Name) Went over the list as the other snuggled into him, (name)s voice was always soothing to him...

Customers came in and out as their little one was being a helper, following his parents around like a duckling instead of a fox as customers cooed at him "so helpful!" (Name) Cheered as his toddler handed him his own pen, smiling like he just did the most amazing thing.

When school was done, (name) collected them and brought them next door to their grandmother's, tot included.

As tonight was date night and they didn't need little ones ruining that.

"Wanna close the store early?" (Name) Asked as the store emptied and the fox grinned "my, is my goodie two shoes mate being... A rule breaker"

"Not a rule breaker if I make em" and make him he did as they closed up early and went upstairs, pulling out their secret snacks and turning on the adult tv shows that they have been watching when the littles aren't present, changing into comfy clothes and plopping on their bed "god we needed this" the Kitsune grumbled as the large man cuddled into his husband's chest, being the little spoon as they snacked and watched their shows.

"Wanna fuck?" (Name) Suddenly asked and the other immediately looked interested "we haven't properly had sex in four weeks with the pups raising hell" the Kitsune was already taking off their loose shirts and boxers as (name) looked at the others strong toned body, the two very different in size "you want me to top this time? You been working hard" (name) asked as they touched each other, (name) rubbing at the others nipples and pectorals "you sure...?" The Kitsune asked and (name) gently pushed him down onto the bed, it was a little funny as the Kitsune was a solid 6'7 and (name) was (shorter height) but the fox man was not complaining as his husband began sucking on his chest and stroking his large hard cock "lemme take care of you baby" (name) whispered as he licked around the others areola and sucked and bit on his nipple "god... Is it magic that you're so good?" (Name) Chuckled against his chest as his thumb rubbed and smeared the pre-cum against the others cock head before moving down and kissing across the scape of his muscles to his cock and mouthing up the base before kissing the top.

The Kitsune watched as (name) room the entire cock down his throat with ease, having sucked this cock enough times to be used to it as he began bobbing and looked focused, taking it up and down slowly and with as much suction as he could down to the others pelvic bone.

(Name) relished the sound of the other moaning and gripping the pillows as (name) used magic to lubricate his fingers, prodding at the others entrance with soft circular motions before pushing in, a tight heat that swallowed his finger as he thrusted it with his bobs, curling this finger against the others prostate before slowly adding another than another. Stretching and thrusting, the Kitsune let out low gutteral moans and even whines as (name) hit particular spots "what...?" He glared as (name) pulled away completely and looked at him with a grin "why don't you be a good pup and present?"

God did he love it when (name) used his lingo, immediately getting on his hands and knees, ass up head down as (name) kneeded his ass cheeks "god you have an ass sculpted by the gods...." And could you blame (name) as he layed a slap on those ass cheeks, watching them ripple ass he tugged on the others tail "fuck...!"

"Getting there, just wanna appreciate what I have been blessed with" he said before shoving his face between those cheeks and giving a lick, a feral grin on his face as he gave a bite to the others left cheek.

(Name)S husband always found it funny at how poised and reserved he was day to day but I private?

He was more of an animal then himself.

Mages were kinky fuckers after all, he knew if they weren't desperate that (name) would be using the toys.

He wasn't prepared when (name) pushed his cock in without warning, when did he even lube himself...?

Inch by inch (name) pushed in as the Kitsune moaned and eyes clenched shut in pleasure as (name) kissed his back, the height difference making it hard to get much higher but the arch of his back always made (name) smile slightly.

For a big tough Kitsune, he was awful sensitive.

Slow shallow thrusts were slowly shifted to long hard ones as (name) gripped the others hips, a grunt leaving his lips as he focused on the tight pleasure that surrounded him and the moans his husband produced "god... You're so fucking good... Such a good boy..." (Name) Gasped as his hips moved on their own, pressing against the others prostate with each thrust as the smell of sex was heavy in the air "wanna... Wanna... See you" the Kitsune gargled out and (name) chuckled before pulling out, flipping him with some assistance before putting the others legs over his shoulders and kissing just above the man's knee and pushing back in, watching the other carefully.

Eyes crossing slightly in pleasure and jaw hung one as (name) thrusted again "love you baby... God you're so fucking perfect!" (Name) Babbled as he folded the Kitsune in order to kiss him, teeth clashing and the Kitsunes fangs scraping against his lips as their tongues wrapped around one another.

Fuck he was so thankful that he and his husband took up yoga.

"Gonna cum.... Gonna cum!" (Name) Whined as the other kissed his neck, wrapping his arms around him as the Kitsune took every thrust "come on baby... Cum in me!" The Kitsune equally whiny said as he was about to burst.

"Fuck!"

Cum spilt out of the others ass and cum splattered between their chests as they rode their highs and caught their breaths, (name) looking at his husband and then realized that all four tails were out "came so hard you couldn't contain your shape shifting..." He chuckled at the others more kitsune features, sharper fangs and red tattoos "you look handsome..." (Name) Said love struck as the two kissed sweetly "god I love you"

[myluckymoon]

S/O gifting Chuuya a puppy on his birthday?

Hello, thank you for requesting. I hope this is good.

Chuuya x reader. S/o gifting chuuya a puppy for his birthday.

-tws. Fluff. Some cursing. Not very well made ending.

Today was a certain redhead's birthday and I wanted you to give him something special. But the problem was that he was rich. How was that a problem you might ask. Well you see the problem is that being rich ment you could get almost anything, cost not being important.

So you began to think. What did your beautiful boyfriend want most? Then, it came to you. Chuuya absolutely loved dogs. You could get him a dog. He would be over the moon if you got him one. But the question is, witch breed? A shelter dog or a puppy from a breeder?... So many questions. Not to mention the supplies.

You thought it best to get a puppy from a breeder. So you set out on a quest to get bull terrier for chuuya.

-time skip-

It had been about 3 hours of shopping. But you had finally gotten the little fur ball and all of its supplies. You checked the time. 6:00 pm. Perfect. You have roughly 3 hours before he gets home.

You drove to your shared penthouse. Brought the little bull terrier inside and put him in his crate, wrapped it up with air holes, then wrapped up all of the puppies supplies.You quickly backed a cake for him.

-time skip again lol-

You heard the door open. Then footsteps. You ran over to greet your handsome boyfriend. “Welcome back and happy birthday love!” You exclaimed as you hugged him. “Thank you doll.” Chuuya said as he shrugged off his coat and shoes. After a quick peck on the lips you lead him into the living room where his surprise was waiting for him. While Chuuya took a seat on the couch you brought over the surprise. The pitter patter of little paws could be heard from inside the box along with happy yipping. That pretty much gave away the content of what was inside.

Chuuya’s eyes widened when he realized what was inside his gift. You handed him the box with two hands. “No fuckin way….I have to be dreaming” he murmured to himself, clearly in disbelief of what his gift was. He tore away the wrapping paper and slowly opened the box. His eyes widened even more as he saw the little puppy in the box, tail wagging as he looked into his ocean Blue eyes.

He gasped as he opened the crate and the little bull terrier came flying out. Licking his face. Chuuya picked up the puppy, smiling like a little kid. You rarely ever see him this Happy. “Why hello there little guy”.

This is the end of the fic. Sorry I ran out of ideas. I will add more when I get more ideas.

Moon 🌙

Btw...my requests are open still.

[sitp-recs]

you got me hooked on harry x teddy !!! ive, hand on my heart, never before even considered that ship as a possibility and here i am now swiming in fresh waters of moral deprivity. much appreciated <33 a whole new batch of previously undiscovered fics just opened for me wohoo

on that note, could you please rec some of your favorite harry x teddy fics? thanks <33

ahhh I’m so very happy to hear this anon! I live to serve the small but mighty Hardy nation so I’m feeling very accomplished right now. hopefully I’ll convert even more readers into moral deprativity one fic at a time 😌 here are my top favorites, a special shoutout to LQT for their service as always 🫡 I also got a Tedrarry list if you’re interested :)))

grasp by onbeinganangel (E, 1k)

Teddy has wanted Harry forever. Of course he wants to be good for him.

Love is a Verb by @wolfpants (E, 1.7k)

The summer after Teddy graduates from Hogwarts, Harry takes him on a trip to the remote beaches of Land's End.

Coming Up for Air by @lqtraintracks (M, 2k)

I could have died of it, your tenderness toward me. Instead I decided to live.

so slide back down and close your eyes by lqtraintracks (E, 3k)

When the magic goes out at Harry’s place, and no one can get home, and it’s cold as a witch’s tit outside… well, what else are you going to do?

Beneath a Foreign Moon by lqtraintracks (E, 3k)

Harry visits Teddy in the middle of the night.

Simple As It Is, Complicated As You Need by lqtraintracks (E, 4k)

It's not something they do often, this whole 'Daddy' thing. But to be fair, they don't even have regular sex as often as Teddy would like either. It's not as though they've even admitted they're doing anything. One of the benefits and curses of both of them being Legilimens actually: Nobody ever has to talk.

Surface Texture by @the-starryknight (E, 5k)

I've drawn a hundred portraits, but none quite like Harry's. In the early hours of the morning, I lay him bare in charcoal and paper.

Waiting Under Vain by supergrover24 (E, 5k)

Teddy wants to know how sex really should be. Harry can't resist, no matter how much he tries.

When It Alteration Finds by lqtraintracks (E, 7k)

Teddy thinks this is the way to finally get what he wants. But there is more than one way to Harry's heart.

Holding Out for A Hero by @writcraft (E, 7k)

Even as he says no, Harry’s hands push into Teddy’s hair. Even as he protests, his lips connect with Teddy’s. Before Teddy can offer any reassurance his heart’s thumping wildly in his chest and Harry Potter’s kissing him as if there’s no tomorrow.

Seven Years Gone by suitesamba (E, 7k)

Seven years after his partner’s death, Harry has rebuilt his life with his friends’ help, but hasn’t managed to move forward romantically. Teddy Lupin, 28, is back in London for good after years of studying and working abroad. When he finds himself in need of some extra space at his new shop, he consults with Harry and Hermione, who have built a successful business around creating Wizarding Space.

Flesh Memory by @citrusses (E, 11k)

Harry’s going to put a stop to this before it goes too far.

Game, Set, Match by Writcraft (E, 13k)

Teddy is smitten, Harry is lonely and tennis seems like a great way to avoid dealing with this thing between them.

Putting Out Fires (with Gasoline) by lqtraintracks (E, 13k)

Teddy stays with Harry for a summer to help him figure out his life, or maybe to figure out his own, or to seduce his godfather, or maybe to fall in love.

Darling, Don’t Think Twice by @shiftylinguini (E, 18k)

Leaving the Aurors, and then England, after his divorce with Ginny was finalised was the best thing for Harry, and for Ginny, too ― but not for the godson who worshipped the ground he walked on. Now that he’s back, all Harry wants is to set up his own place, and to spend time with Teddy as he tries to fix their fractured relationship.

Bonus: a Drarry fic with some Hardy kissing

Wield Me by @tackytigerfic (E, 10k)

Draco Malfoy, blacksmith, is renowned through the magical world for his skill and exquisite creations. He could quite easily spend the rest of his days making pretty trinkets for the fae court, and being handsomely rewarded for the privilege. But why take the easy route when instead he could get involved in a dangerous mission with Unspeakable Harry Potter (who also happens to be Draco's... well, he's something, isn't he?).

[purpletyrant]

au chises that have been bumping around in my brain like my own personal multiverse of madness. they needed to be exorcised. i recognize and respect the adage that your au may as well be an oc at a certain point, and i think these two cross the threshold, but consider this: i like to play with chise like a paper doll and see how she reacts to situations. so there

for their faces i sorta referenced off of haruka kudo, who played chise in the stage play

attack dog chise is the "living weapon" trope. i imagine that the witch bought her just as elias did, but chise is under the impression that she was taken in out of the goodness of her heart. her master has taught her very little in the means of practical magic, instead focusing all of her training into inflicting as much damage as possible. the witch has no expectation that chise will live very long, so has no intention of raising her up to be an equal. so, this chise has only been taught the power of incredible violence. if she isnt using her fists, shes using low-level curses and other magic considered to be kind of a dick move

design wise, all the o-rings are meant to evoke arc 1 chises adder necklace. she was probably inspired by the knife-wielding punk chise with attitude from the merkmal. since this chise has no ruth, you could say that she sort of embodies both of them

i imagine the dynamic between her and her master as sort of a ~*twisted and dark*~ version of kimihiro and yuko from xxxholic... which ive never read, but still. i dont have a design in mind for the witch shes beholden to, but she isnt dissimilar to hiroe ando from the she who travels au. maybe she IS hiroe. hm

soothsayer's daughter chise is the golden child of her family and has lived a life of relative comfort since being taken from her mother. still, her bleeding heart causes her guilt when she thinks back on the mother she can barely remember. in the last couple years, this chise has tracked her down and set up the means to meet in secret with the intention of apologizing to her and gaining closure. her family does not take kindly to this, and when chise meets chika in the tiny, filthy apartment shes living in, magic is used to force chises mother to commit suicide in front of her. chise is left shaken to the core by this event, especially by chikas words that she "should have never come back." she attempts to maintain a brave and serene exterior, believing that no one else knows of chikas death

since yuuki is still considered a traitor to the family, this chise has a polite if distant relationship with him, having been mainly raised by uncles and aunts. fumiki is supremely annoyed by her. shes very protective and patronizing

her silhouette is based off of a shrine maidens, but i didnt want to dress her exactly like one, since thats... kind of on the nose, isnt it? regardless, the focus of her magic is in purification and exorcism - her soothsaying skills are not quite so refined

she who travels chise is she who travels chise, she comes with her own fic series, read it or dont. i do have thoughts about her older offshoot, though. this chise is in her 30s. she picked up smoking from master onishi - HE TRIED NOT TO INFLUENCE HER, REALLY - and took over the theater when he died. even though she owns it and its a good source of income, shes moved on and is trying to be a more respectable mage beyond the sideshow reputation of her early career. shes essentially cosplaying a put-together businesswoman, and is kind hearted but comically serious. she probably has a niece or nephew and is constantly giving them enchanted gifts. her elias received an untraceable check for five million pounds - adjusted for inflation - several years ago and has not been able to track her down. her anger has cooled, but its now been so long that she feels too awkward to contact him. she still maintains contact with angelica and simon, though - maybe one day shell show up in his yard in a shiny black car

i think it would be soooo fun to throw them all in a room together with canon chise and watch them fight. or maybe they would just cry it out? soothsayers daughter thinks shes above all of this and will condescendingly preach about how attack dog has a "wounded heart"... until attack dog roundhouse kicks her in the head

[mysteriouslybluepirate]

IZZY HANDS FIC RECS! (I want em', I've got em')

What is everyone reading in OFMD fandom right now?

I am currently mostly caught up on my 'to read list' and YALL. I'd love more recomendations!! I will take ANYTHING! I will read ANYTHING!

I'd love to start a chat, so I'd love y'all to leave something you've read recently down below!

I've also added some tasty ones I've read recently down below separated by ship! THEY ARE AMAZING!

Frenchie/Izzy:

The Poetry of Flowers: By Aletea [Rated:Teen. Complete]

Frenchie falls hard and fast. It takes Izzy a little while longer to catch up. This is the slow courtship of Izzy Hands, using flowers.

This fic was written for OFMD Aro/Ace Week 2024.

[Personal notes: OMG-It's so *GOOD*. This has a bit of S2, but mostly takes place post S2, if that tempts you, READ IT. This got me back into the hobby Frenchie does in the fic and AHHH]

you steal my breath away: By ChangeTheCircumstances [Rated: Mature. Complete]

Something is clearly off about Izzy, but when Frenchie sees him petting a cat, it finally clicks. Izzy is a fucking witch! In order to protect the crew, Frenchie makes the next obvious step in logic: he has to kill him.

[Personal notes: I feel this one is just 'if you like Frenchie/Izzy, you've READ THIS- but it's so earnest! SOLID fic the 'realizations' on both ends are really amazing and well written, reread it if you have]

Warnings from the Bottom of My Heart: By scrunglebungus [Rated: Teen. Complete]

Izzy likes Frenchie's voice. He appreciates his music and his long pretty fingers as they move across his Lute. He doesn't have a crush. He DOESN'T.

...and if he did, it's not like he's obvious about it.

(Spoiler: He is) AKA: 5 times Izzy is given the shovel talk + 1 time it's given on his behalf

[An alternate S2 fic written before S2! It leans a bit more 'Izzy needs to redeem himself' than I usually read, but all the Izzy & Crew interactions are SO in character it's scary. That and the Captains are so well realized on top of Izzy and Frenchie being great. LOVE IT]

Roach/Izzy:

Take Up Thy Stethoscope And Walk: bongbingbong [Rated:Mature. Complete]

Of Roach, the scientist - although, that those ghoulish practices he carries out should be called science is a subject on which some might disagree - I feel like I should speak with extreme terror. In laying down those events which transpired during that winter in the turning over of our century, it seems as though on paper they create an impression of little more than a tawdry tale, a freak show in writing for the morbidly curious. It’s no question that I spent a great deal of that time afraid for my life, and for my soul. And yet, I tell you - I have never felt quite so alive as I did during the days I have spent living in the graveyard.

I wonder what this might say about me. What a pair we make.

Izzy Hands dies. Roach brings him back to life. This is the easiest part of the process.

Written for the OFMD Reverse Big Bang 2023, with art from Tarouofthesea!

[Omg. OMFG. I love this fic. I love this Frankenstein'ian/Reanimator fic SO MUCH. It is just SOOOOOOO-! AMAZING characterization, stunning art, the way everything pays off plot/reference-wise! LOVE IT!]

Blackbeard's Roach: bongbingbong [Rated: Teen. Unfinished. 4/6]

What if Roach had ended up on the Queen Anne's Revenge before the events of the show?

(A alternative universe Roach who wears leather and cooks for Blackbeard's crew, and flirts outrageously with their first mate)

[ANOTHER bongbingbong Roach/Izzy fic!!! I love the way bongbingbong writes Roach/Izzy. It's not finished, but I am SO excited to see how it goes! In this one, even though it's unfinished, I feel it GETS the pre-Bonnet life Izzy lived on the Queen Anne. If you like probably autistic Izzy, READ THIS! That, and Roach and Izzy's relationship is SO GOOD. I won't spoil it, but the mutual trust is really strong!]

Stede/Izzy:

The Mount: rainingrenee [Explicit. Complete (WLW smut<3)]

Stede Bonnet enters the Revenge self defence class expecting to learn something.

She meets instructor Butch Dyke Supreme Izzy Hands and gets more than she bargained for.

[God. I love women. This smutty 8k fic is AMAZING and honestly any WLW in this fandom needs some love!]

When It Takes Hold: krill collins (krillcollins)[Explicit: 5/12]

Izzy Hands, a 90s heartthrob turned casting director with an impressively average back catalogue, never foresaw his career trajectory bringing him back to television. He certainly never would've guessed that his big return would be on Strictly Come Dancing. At least it breaks the monotony, even if he's paired with the insufferable twat, the Gentleman of the Ballroom.

It's the kind of fast-paced environment that Izzy was sure he'd long-since grown out of, and he's sure he's not going to make it past the first few weeks. Still, the more he finds himself enjoying it, the more he hopes he'll stay, and he finds himself more in love with life than he's been in years.

Still, the talk of the curse puts Izzy on edge. Bonnet is strangely captivating and seems more interested in Izzy than Edward has in years. Izzy may not believe in them, but that's the thing about curses: once they take hold...

[OMG. OMFG?!?!? Do you know how much I love 'Dancing with the Stars' AU? NO? Well. For every fandom I enter, my first tags I search are 'time loop' 'time travel' and 'dancing'. This fic is EVERYTHING I love about the trope. I have been following this fic from Day 1 and OMG. I love it. Can't recommend it enough]

The Island: triedunture [Explicit: 10/? Updates every Friday-SteddyHands but Izzy/Stede focused]

Stede Bonnet wakes up in the little cottage he and Ed share—except Ed's not there. Izzy is. Stede is somehow stuck in a world where Ed died and Izzy lived. As he struggles to get back to his real life, it becomes clear that things on the island are very different from what he first assumed....

Updates every Friday.

[A fic that, if the premise sounds cool-READ IT! It's a bit out there concept wise, but SO fun, and a great look at how Stede and Izzy interact in a 'do I want him' type of relationship. This fic has been my weekly bed time story, and I can't wait to see how the drama UNFOLDS!]

[lantanasmuttyfanfics]

Can I request some Red and Badwolf fluff please ?

Heyyyy look who posted…

In the time I’ve been away I seriously missed writing but what can I do school is school

Anyway I hope you enjoy this fic and ngl I might write a spicy part 2 because wow did I have the urge to make this smutty but you asked for fluff and fluff I give

Hope you enjoy!!!

———————————

(I’ll be referring to the big bad wolf as Wolf because he doesn’t have a name)

She didn’t know if it was because of her destiny or just her, but little red loved baking. It came naturally to her, so naturally that one of her first memories was her in the kitchen with her mum making sugar cookies for her grandmother.

And over the years she had come to perfect those baking skills, wether it was actually baking or decorating she was a master at both. She liked to think that if she wasn’t the next little red riding hood she’d be some character like the witch from Hansel and Gretal. Not because she wanted to eat children but because who wouldn’t want to live in an delicious gingerbread house.

So it was no surprise that she brought all that baking love to ever after and to her friends stomachs. If you asked any of them they’d say that they’d die from over eating the countless treats she made during the week.

But of course none loved her bakings more than a certain wolf, it was surprising for both when the big bad wolf discovered his overly big sweet tooth. Before he’d just eat whatever was once living but now he was the first to find Red and devour whatever she made that day.

Therefor she had taken it upon herself to teach her boyfriend how to bake in the case (he’d never allow it) that she couldn’t make anything that day. The task seemed easy on paper but the big bad wolf was more than eager to distract Red.

So here she was trying to get him to concentrate, “Wolf stop! Ok… now first you have to preheat the oven.” She slapped one of his wondering hands as he came behind her and hugged her from the back. He gave a humm of acknowledgment but didn’t move away.

Red sighed and pried his hands of off her as she turned to look at him with a soft glare, “I’m trying to help you here. I’d be happy if you could pay attention.” He only smirked, letting his fangs peek out as he prowled closer.

“Oh yeah?” He trapped her between his arms and the counter, leaning over Red. She gave an uneven ‘mhm’ at him while looking past, seeing her reaction he smirked further while leaning closer and closer. But before he could connect their lips, the ding of a timer rang about.

Red jumped at the opportunity and ducked under his arm as she pulled an oven mit on and opened the door. “Ok now that the oven is done preheating we can start making the batter.” Wolf held back a small growl as he watched move around the kitchen.

Noticing that he was still just standing there Red gave him a unamused look, he held his hands as he started to follow her around. He carried all the bowls and cups while she held a bag of flour, he tried to carry it for her but she insisted that she’d been doing this since forever after.

“Add 2 cups of flour in a big bowl and then add a tsp of baking powder.” She turned around going to get the mixer while he did that, to her surprise he was yelling back that he was done only a few seconds after she had turned.

“So is that my work done? Can I watch you… bake now.” His hand squeezed her ass for emphasis as he grazed his teeth along her neck. Red was stunned for a few moments before slapping his hands away “no bad doggy! Bad! Move over there and just start adding the 1 cup of sugar in.”

Red gave him a ‘glare’ as she pointed to the corner, Wolf sighed but did as she said while Red held the bridge of her nose while getting the mixer down. Once she brought it over to the counter he placed the bowl under the whisk.

“Good! Now mix for 2 minutes and I’ll prepare the wet ingredients.” She lingered for a second watching as his muscles contacted with the movement. Feeling her stare Wolf peered at her and smirked as he followed her eye view.

Snapping out her daze Red cleared her throat and started to collect some milk, butter and eggs. She brought everything over to him while picking up the appropriate cups for each ingredient, they stayed in content silence as she poured the milk and everything else in the bowl while he mixed.

“What are we making?” Wolf placed her mixer down while leaning against the counter, Red looked confused before she realized she never told him. “Oh! We’re making cinnamon cake.” Wolf licked his lips at the mention his attention going back to the batter.

“Don’t we need cinnamon for that?” Red peered at everything on the counter before jumping back up “right! Continue mixing I’ll be back in a sec.” He let out a small chuckle before doing as she said. Once she found the jar of cinnamon she brought it over to the counter, picking a spoon up as she tried to unscrew the lid.

From beside she could hear Wolf snickering at her failed attempt, growing annoyed at she turned to look at him with a fake glare “what?” He asked innocently as if he wasn’t just snickering at her. “I don’t know why your laughing.”

She grabbed a towel from the side as she tried to unscrew the lid with the towel ontop, “no I’m just wondering what you do in this situation when your alone.” He casually grabbed the lid and easily popped it of as he placed the right amount of cinnamon in the batter.

She clicked her tongue her annoyance growing again as she watched him, “i just find a way.” He shook his head turning the mixer back on as she turned around on her heel. Red grabbed some baking paper and a pan before checking the oven again.

“Alright just pour the batter in here.” Wolf nodded and carefully came around her, trapping her against his chest as he started to pour as if nothing was wrong. Hearing her huff he smirked and leaned in closer, pretending to check the pan as he let his breath tickle her neck.

Sucking in a breath as he came closer, Reds eyes widened her lips unconsciously falling open as he leaned so close they were sharing a breath. But just as she thought they were going to kiss he abruptly pulled away and brought the pan around her as he moved wordlessly to the oven.

Red stood there for a second dumbfounded before coming back to her senses, “umm- I- ok put a timer for 30 minutes.” She let out a staggering breath her mind still reeling. Wolf smirked at her reaction his fang peaking from his lips as he stared at her up and down.

Red met his eyes, pushing herself against the counter as she sighed while letting her dresses strap fall from her shoulder. Wolf licked his lips while unconsciously moving towards her, his hands finding home at her hips.

Once he was close enough to smell her addicting scent he sighed in her neck, “maybe I do like baking.” Red giggled and checked the time before wrapping her arms around his neck. “Especially when I can taste such sweet treats…”

———————————

Just a reminder my stupid fucking exams are still on so not taking commissions still and honestly idk when I’ll post again

I’m really sorry because I do miss it as well

Anyway I don’t have any idea if the real eah little red likes baking but I guess in this fic she does

As always have a great day and I hope you enjoyed!!!

[pandagobrr]

Ahhhhhh so I really want to write this fic that's like, kind of a crossover between IEYTD and The Princess and the Frog, but I've changed a lot of things, and a lot of it is no longer connected to Princess and the Frog, but I just really wanna get this out there, so I'ma just ramble in bullet point form aight? Aight.

Juniper as Prince Naveen and Phoenix as Tiana, except Juni gets turned into a cat and picked up by Phoenix at the Grand Party or whatever, trying to get someone's attention. Phoenix picks up this really fussy cat and after trying to determine if it belonged to anyone, takes him home with her.

Phoenix names him Rocket cuz he's always trying to escape and is very loud and chatty, and doesn't notice how her cat is abnormally smart and keeps getting into her pens and paper and stuff. She also doesn't think it's weird when her cat absolutely refuses to eat cat food. I mean come on, who would want to eat that stuff?

When she's not home (which is a lot of the time due to missions and stuff) Juniper tries to get into her fridge and find something normal to eat, except he's not very good at covering his tracks, being a cat and all. This leads to Phoenix putting a lock on her fridge, and then thinking no more of it. Except she did check to see what human foods were good for cats in large doses, poor guy looked like he was starving.

Zor as Dr. Facilier, this is a no brainer.

Juniper worked for Zoraxis and was told to meet the Dr in a dark alley to collect some sort of serum secret weapon. Turns out they just wanted to get rid of him because he was no longer useful, and didn't want to have to dispose of his body.

Juni spends the first few days on the street trying to learn how to walk and absolutely failing, begging for scraps from people walking by. He hears about the big gala and thinks of all the food that must be there, plus someone who might know how to undo curses.

Phoenix is also at the big gala, to collect info and such, she's had to become a lot more personable to try and get stuff out of people without seeming weird or giving away her position. This doesn't go well. Unfortunately her social skills are nowhere near her bomb diffusing and problem solving skills, and a small scene is caused.

While hanging out near the back she finds a grumpy gray long haired cat trying to get into the snacks or whatever, and snags the little guy to see if he has a collar. Upon no one claiming ownership of the cat that is trying VIOLENTLY to get out of her hands, she decides to keep like the little guy and takes care of him, which Juniper initially protests, but soon figures out it's easier to not starve when someone is taking care of you. So he WILL NOT eat cat food, he's not THAT hungry.

Phoenix takes him to the vet. This is not a fun experience for any parties involved.

There will be a point where Phoenix is giving her Very Grumpy Cat kisses, as one does, and suddenly turns into a cat too. This is how she finds out who her cat actually is. They have a cat fight. Literally.

Phoenix is an orange tabby, shorthair.

They hafta work together to get uncursed, and some firefly named Ollie tells them about the witch doctor who lives deep in the swamp (Prism).

Phew, alright I think that's all for now. Ig tell me if you're interested?

This is partly inspired by The Dark Awesomeness' fic How To Burglar a Cat Family. I really like how they portrayed cat Stan and I'm stealing it.

[cdragons]

Revenant

Summary: Kol Mikaelson's soul manages to leave and travel while he still remains daggered in his coffin. While he wanders around and bitches about his life, he meets an unexpected friend. Warning(s): VERY HEAVY crack fic, technical crossover of fandoms, weird shit, Kol is a horny-ass gremlin, Druig & Kaety are obsessed with each other, Kol has a thing for witches bc he got mommy issues, Klaus is a bitch

Note: Merry Christmas to all who celebrate it! This fic came from an idea that I shared with @ethereal-athalia, and it is VERY much a crack fic. I don't have any plans in continuing this idea, but I wanted to write it out as a Christmas gift to @ethereal-athalia for how much of a good friend she's been to me. I never would have been able to do any of my fics without her in my corner. I own only my Hecate!OC. I do not own either Druig from Eternals, or Kol from TVD franchise. Also, Druig still very much exists in this fic and world bc I physically CANNOT write Kaety without Druig. Stay safe and hope that your upcoming year brings you all good health and happiness!

Kol hated being dead. Truly dead. Dead in a way that he couldn’t move or speak or live.

At least when he turned as a gift Mother Dearest he could still walk, even if he couldn’t use the arcane anymore. But of course, he would still always find his way back to witches and their magic. He couldn’t help it if he exuded that charm that made him so irresistible.

Gods, just remembering how pathetically sex-deprived his physical form was currently almost made him weep. He couldn’t wait until the moment he got that fucking silver dagger out of his chest. Nik was going to get it when he finally got out.

Sure, he may have crossed a line when he stated that Nik had a pair of buttocks flatter than a sheet of paper. But was he the one that gave his brother such lacking assets? No. That fault lied entirely with their mother and his biological father, thank you very much.

But alas, here his soul was, walking in a forest in the middle of some mosquito-flooded country.

At the very least, his gorgeous body was safe from the onslaught of bug bites and sweltering humidity. Only in the fucking Amazon did winter feel like summer.

Kol audibly groaned once more at the thought of his immaculate figure rotting away thanks to Nik. He couldn’t bear to think about how his illustrious fair skin being that dull grayish hue from being confined by death. At least when Bekah got daggered, Nik had the decency to make sure that her body remained stored in proper conditions and carefully encased in magic to prevent any harm coming to her. He had no guarantee. No, such love and devotion only went to ‘Lijah and Bekah when it came to Nik.

Story of his life: always an outsider, even with his own fucking siblings. Gods, he wanted nothing more than have his powers return to him. At least with magic by his side he’d finally be able to show Nik he wasn’t the only one with threats, he’d show him, he’d –

“Well, well, well,” came a new voice, “aren’t you a strange sight?”

Kol immediately turned his head to locate the mindless idiot that dared to interrupt his thoughts. Did humans devolve so pathetically that they no longer understood that when they see a soul wandering alone, that soul would likely be uninterested in any attempts of conversation? But looking at the individual who spoke to him, he was shocked beyond himself to witness such a devastatingly gorgeous woman before him. She had dark almond-shaped eyes and tall with legs that went on for miles. And her thick and illustrious raven waves practically flowed down the middle of her back like a black waterfall.

Dare he say it, this woman was almost as beautiful than him.  

But regardless of how pleasing her outward appearance may be, she still would not be spared from his fury.

Pity, he would have loved to wrap those legs around his waist if he were actually here.

The corners of the woman’s lips went upward, and the cupid’s bow of her mouth was slightly pursed as she smirked, making her lips look plumper and more bitable than how they had right to be in the Original’s opinion. It was only a few seconds before the succubus burst out laughing. Her entire body arched with her back as she simply couldn’t contain herself.

“I’m sorry,” she said once he began to calm down, “but I’m afraid that I happen to be very happily married. In fact, I have been for the past near seven thousand years.” After making a quick glance up and down Kol’s near transparent form, she continued with a cat-like grin. “And I highly doubt someone as woefully young as you could satisfy a woman like me.”

Oh, now he was offended. Not being able to satisfy– did this woman have any idea who she was talking to? The list of names of men and women that swore they only believed in Heaven when Kol fucked them was so long that it would wrap the Earth twice. And she better believe than each time was more than consensual – they were begging him very enthusiastically to say the least. Who was this lady to assume –

Wait, did she say seven thousand years?

As if she could hear his thoughts, all the woman did was smiled before extending her hand.

“I think I’d like it very much if you and I became friends.”

Extending his own, Kol was surprised to see that his hand didn’t just pass through like it normally would for most physical objects. He could actually grasp her hand and feel the warmth passing through it. For the first time in…forever, Kol felt warmth flooding through him. He stared into her eyes, wondering how on Earth someone could live for seven thousand years. Even if she had the gift of mediumship, his presence was too well-hidden for even the most gifted and powerful medium to sense him.

Kol had to know more of her. He’d go mad if he didn’t.

“What are you exactly?” he carefully asked.

He could sense that this person was a being of extreme power. In the top of her finger, she likely contained far more power than Nik could possibly imagine, even in his wildest dreams. It seemed that being an invisible soul floating in the wind had its perks after all. If he was alive, walking and about, he’d never come across this marvel of a woman.

“I’d prefer if you began that question with ‘who’ than ‘what,’ but I suppose that matters little in this situation. My name is Kaetlyn, I prefer Kaet for my friends, but you may know me better as-”

“Hekate,” he whispered in awe, “Goddess of Magic. Titaness Mother of Witches and Monsters.”

“Surprised in a good way I hope?” Kaet asked with one brow raised.

“More or less, but I did imagine you about 30 feet taller with the night sky for skin and two more heads.”

“Well,” she softly chuckled, “I hope I didn’t disappoint you with my appearance. Now I’ll forgive you just this once for interrupting me. But only if you allow me to take you to my home.”

“Oh?” Kol asked, a salacious grin spreading across his face. Now things were getting interesting.

“Save it Kol Mikaelson-” ordered the ancient goddess as she raised her hand to her face as she pointed at him in warning- “I am taking you to the village that I run with my husband. So, I suggest that you keep your hands to yourself because he has a nasty little habit of being showing exactly how off-limits I am to youngsters such as yourself.”

“I never told you my-”

“You were once a witch, and I am the mother of magic. All witches and their magic came from me, including you.”

It really was so unfair how good she looked while talking over him. Oh well, he might as well play along. Finally, something interesting was happening in his life.

“So, who is this husband of yours, darling? And how can you be so sure that your husband could be a threat to me? You know who I am, what I became. What makes you so sure that once I enter your village, I won’t use my ghostly ways to end him.”

When Kol finished, he immediately felt a shift in the air. It was as if the sun had disappeared and the jungle went silent. It seemed that the animals that served as their audience went dead silent as if they were in anticipation for his end. The kind and amiable mirth of the chthonic witch shifted to dangerous and cold.

Kol had lived for over 700 years and after everything he done and witnessed, he had never felt such chill run down his spine.

“Listen well,” she began – her tone laced with the power and authority that came from someone of her position, “I won’t try to humor you with answering that ridiculous question, nor do I intend to let you presume that my kindness can be mistaken for naivety. My husband is one with abilities as ancient and powerful as mine. If you truly knew what he was capable of, you’d be far more terrified of him than you ever were of your father. That being said, if you ever try to threaten my husband or even think about go so far to joke about it again, I promise you that I can produce torture and incite fear that would make the devil weep in pity for you.”

Oh fuck, even as a ghost, Kol should not have been as aroused by her threats as he was in that moment.

But soon the tension dissipated and warmth from the sun returned to pass through him once more.

“Now that we have that matter cleared up, we really should get going. The sun’s about to set and you never know what or who would be lurking at night.”

With that being the final word, The Good Lady of the Night and Shadows turned around and made her way back to where he presumed to be the location of her home village. And what else could he do but follow her by how the slight sway of her hips seemed to beckon him.

Threats and chills mixed a beautiful witch with magic more ancient than time itself, Kol couldn’t remember the last time he felt so alive.

Authors' Note: And when Kol enters the village, he tries to flirt with Kaet in front of Druig like a dumbass, and his soul gets a major ass-whooping.

Tagging: @ethereal-athalia, @valeskafics, @klauslove, @carolineforbae, @misssophiachase

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[alpineshift]

Hi! Prompts! Yay!

I really loved the miscommunication April prompt fic so I wonder if you could please use that world for prompt 23. I thought I lost you. ? Except it’s just Nico being over dramatic when he can’t find Jack on the magic school campus (he’s just in the library basement trying to find a rare book for his latest research paper).

(More thoughts: I love the idea Nico being the softy cute dramatic one & Jack is just like why my guy? I know I look good but no one wants a pretty face that has opinions (only want that pretty mouth for other things). So he’s kinda suspicious and that’s also why the flowers were such an insult!!!! Because Jack took it as ‘I don’t want you for your thoughts, just be pretty & dumb for me’ and that’s happened so many times before that he’s had Enough. And has started to respect himself more (no dick is worth being undervalued like that) so courting Nico is a Big Deal. And sometimes he hides out in the library buried under his books & research. But nico thinks he’s lost! And searches all the other libraries and greenhouses before finding him. And Jack has to reassure him that no I do like spending time with you I’m not hiding from u but this is new because I haven’t been courted / dated someone before that o want to make it work with and it’s a lot to process. And Nico reassures him like baby I love that u study pls let me proof read ur drafts (j’s sentences are too long because he writes like he thinks so there’s no breaks which is also how I write oops) and rant to me about the archaic views you read about today.

(then they fuck about it) and they all lived happily ever after

lol this is probably longer than ur bullet stories would be but here ya go 🎁

anon I think you may have already written the prompt yourself LOOL (ilu ❤️). for context, this is the OG miscommunication prompt fill!

23. “I thought I’d lost you.”

After their absolutely ridiculous first meeting (and first misunderstanding!) Nico, understandably, takes it slow with courting Jack.

Slow, because he thinks it's unwise to go all in for a fresh relationship anyway, unintentional offences notwithstanding, but also slow because Nico's paranoid he's going to make another awful faux pas and gift Jack flowers that accidentally says his ass is flat or something. He's spending an absurd of time researching American courting culture and losing sleep over it.

"Just bring him out to dinner and go for a walk to see the sunset," Timo tells him, exasperated. "You're trying to date a guy, not an alien from outer space."

Look, Nico just wants to do a good job, okay? And hopefully charm himself into Jack's good graces while he's at it. Except, it's getting weirdly difficult to find Jack, to bring him food or gifts or ask him out on a date. The Bern Campus isn't actually that big; where on earth can Jack be? He wanders across the grounds, trying and failing not to look like a sad puppy as he searches for the other witch. What did he do wrong? Was it too late to beg for forgiveness?

And suddenly--there's a frenzy of people rushing down to the lake. "One of the Americans fell in!"

Nico nearly pulls a muscle rushing over, only to stop short when he sees one of Jack's colleagues crawling out of the water (he remembers them; he was one of the few snickering the night Nico insulted Jack with the flowers), furiously embarrassed after getting caught goofing off in a restricted area on the docks. And suddenly, there's someone standing next to him, a snort, and a familiar voice. "Man, way to live up to the asshole stereotypes, just what we needed."

It's Jack, in broad daylight, kind of under-dressed in sweat pants and a t-shirt, chilling next to him. Nico gapes at him before Jack glances over, eyebrows knitting together in confusion. "Uh, Nico? You ok--?" And Nico just pulls him into a hug and blurts out, "I thought I'd lost you."

He'd be mortified at his own admission if he didn't hear Jack's breathing hitch by his ear, and feel Jack's arms immediately rest along the spot between his shoulder blades, hugging Nico back. "Lost me? But I'm right here?"

So Nico had been half-right; Jack isn't avoiding him, but he did lose track of time working in the basement of the library. Jack also doesn't hate him, but he does have a bit of a hard time believing Nico has no ulterior motives when it came to quote unquote 'buttering him up'

"People are assholes, Hischier, and I'm not saying you are but, look, there's just been a few jerks lately with all their assumptions that's put me off dating for little while, alright? They think they can send me cupid-charm cards or pay for dinner once and I take my pants off for them."

"Then I'll court you until you say you're ready to date, if you ever want that at all. We go at your pace, we pause when you think I'm being too much, and if you realize you don't like me at all--well, we'll call it off." (It hurts to say it, but more than anything, Nico just wants to reassure Jack). "I can respect that, I promise."

He needn't have worried, honestly. Because there's a slow, flustered smile creeping up on Jack's face, and his cheeks are rosy with the most endearing blush. "Well, hang on. I didn't say anything about calling anything off. Fuck, let's get outta here--last thing I want is an audience when we talk about our feelings. And the basement's actually not half bad."

send me a jacknico prompt!

[aparticularbandit]

Instigation: Chapter One

Summary: Steve sends Wanda to seek out an old witch he once knew, and eventually, Wanda brings said old witch back to meet her family.

Wanda Maximoff/Agatha Harkness

Chapter Rating: T. Fic Rating: T.

AO3

next chapter

Mid-May, 2015.

Wanda stands outside the New York Sanctum.

It’s an impressive building.  Huge.  Gorgeous glass with a shape that might as well be mystical etched into it in shining gold.  The top is a dome, which is even more impressive given its age.  It literally gleams in the sunlight, which is odd, given how many pass it by without even stopping to look.  But, then, they’re probably used to it.  They see it every day.  If she lived here, maybe she would be used to it, too.

But Wanda doesn’t live here.  Even now, she only lives on the outskirts of town, and live is an interesting word.  She has no American citizenship, nothing to say she deserves to be here, nothing to say she can stay if the government—

The government isn’t going to send her away because the Avengers, that superpowered super team, has decided to keep her here.  With them.  It’s the same as before: she becomes immune to government interference because a more powerful political opponent takes her under her wing.  Never mind that these Avengers are apparently good.  She’d thought the same of Hydra.

It’s easy to believe when she wants to believe.

Wanda stands outside the New York Sanctum with a slip of paper in her hands, looks down at the address on the paper, reads it for what feels like the millionth time, looks back up at the Sanctum, squints, and then walks past the Sanctum to the apartment complex next door.  It’s shabby.  Old.  Probably as old as the Sanctum itself, if not older, and probably more expensive to live in, even with what are likely horrible apartments.  She knows a thing or two about those; when they could afford it, she and Pietro lived in plenty.

“You have got to be joking,” Wanda murmurs in her thick accent.  She glances down at the address one more time – and, yes, there’s an apartment number on there, so it’s definitely the apartment complex Steve meant and not the much bigger and more impressive Sanctum.

“When I was a boy,” Steve had said, “there was a woman with power similar to yours who lived here.  We didn’t see her very often; Mom told me to have nothing to do with her.  But every now and again, when she was desperate enough—”

“Sounds like an old fairytale,” Wanda had cut him off.  “I don’t need a cottage witch.  I don’t do magic.”

But Steve insisted Wanda at least go check the place out.  Seventy years might be a long time, but she could still be alive.  She’d be in her nineties, but with her power, he was certain she’d still be around.  Or maybe a new “witch” lived there, someone who took on that woman’s place in society.  Vision looked up the apartment and the records of ownership, finding that whoever lived there in the forties still lived there now.  Wanda chalked that up to rent control and an apartment that got passed down to a son or daughter or gifted to a family friend, and for a while, she adamantly refused to check things out.

Eventually, though, Wanda grew so tired of Steve’s insistence that she agreed to go.  Nat even offered to join her, although Steve’s stories reminded her of so much folklore that it made her uncomfortable, but she told her there was no point.  She wasn’t going to find anyone there and didn’t want anyone else to waste their time going with her.  Now, though, standing in front of the apartment complex, she decided there was one good thing about being here: if she struck out at the apartment, she could always check out the Sanctum next door.

Not that she believes her powers have anything to do with magic.

Wanda walks into the apartment, only to find that it smells of dust and mildew, and walks along the very, very long hallway to a door waiting at the very end, one situated on the side that looks out on the Sanctum.  She checks the number, checks her paper again, and then steels her face before climbing three floors of stairs, all the way to the top of the building.  It doesn’t matter how high up she gets, the Sanctum next door is still taller, and what’s worse is that the smoke that she hadn’t smelled on the first floor seeps into the air on the second and grows stronger with each floor.

Dirty, dank, and disgusting.  Just like the apartments she’d lived in with Pietro.  But that doesn’t make this smell like home.

On the top floor, at the apartment that holds the same space as the one she’d checked previously, Wanda reads the number, reads her paper again, and sighs.  It matches.  Well, then, this is her stop.  She steps forward and knocks on the door twice, not as loud as she could, but not too soft either.

“Whatever you’re selling, I don’t want any!” comes calling from within.

“I’m not selling anything,” Wanda says, cheeks flushing quickly with frustration.  “A friend of mine sent me to see an….”  She checks the paper again, trying to read Steve’s not so tidy scrawl.  “Agatha Harkness?”

There’s some shuffling inside the apartment before the door cracks open.  “Who wants to know?”

Wanda stares at the woman standing in the doorframe.  “Um.”

See, Wanda wouldn’t have really cared too terribly much about the woman’s appearance in and of itself.  She’s attractive, sure, and there’s something about how wild her dark hair is that makes Wanda want to tangle her fingers in it, to pull her to her, and, in an attempt to tame it, make it excessively worse.  But she can ignore that, she can ignore the woman’s pale skin, she can even ignore the light smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose, but what she can’t ignore is that the woman is dressed in a t-shirt that barely makes its way down to her bare thighs because she isn’t wearing any pants.

“Hey, hon.”  The woman’s voice breaks through Wanda’s thoughts.  “My eyes are up here.”

Wanda jumps.  “Sorry, sorry.”  She runs her fingers through her hair and draws her eyes back up, trying not to linger on the woman’s body any longer than she already has, but then she meets her eyes, thinking that will make things easier, and has to stop again.  “Um.”

It honestly is not at all fair, how this woman looks and how she should be wearing more clothes.  This is not her fault.

The woman smirks.  “You’re not so bad yourself, toots.”  She breaks eye contact with Wanda, lets her eyes wander the way Wanda’s already have, and deepens that smug look.  “You wanted something?”

“You’re Agatha Harkness?” Wanda splutters out, refusing to believe it.  Agatha Harkness was an adult when Steve was a child; she’s got to be ninety or a hundred or something like that.  There’s no way this woman – this very attractive woman – is any older than her mid-thirties.  She’s got to be a new resident.  Or a hot daughter or grand-daughter or some sort of extended relative.  This can’t be—

“Who wants to know?” the woman asks, eyes dropping to the paper now held tight in Wanda’s hand like a lifeline.  “You said something about a friend, hon?”

“Uh, right, yes, right.”  Wanda’s accent grows thicker as she grows more flustered, and she mutters in Sokovian under her breath with the assumption that the other woman can’t understand her.  “Steve.  Steve Rogers.  He said his mother used to visit a witch here when he was a child.”  She can’t help but roll her eyes.  “He did not call her a witch, but she sounds like a fairytale to me.”

The woman listens to her words and gives a little nod.  “Steve Rogers,” she echoes.  “You mean that hunk they’re calling Captain America?  Isn’t he a hundred years old?”

Wanda’s gaze shifts away from the woman.  “Eighties.  He’s in his eighties.”  She bites her lower lip.  “I told him she wouldn’t be here anymore, but he was so insistent that she could help me.”

“You got tired of his nagging, hon.  Don’t try to shortchange it.”

“I got tired of his nagging,” Wanda admits.  She glances up.  “But you don’t look to be her, so—”

“Help you with what, doll?” the woman interrupts.  She gives Wanda another onceover, and her smirk returns.  “Don’t tell me you mean this attraction between us.”

Anyone else, and Wanda would grow so frustrated that she would have left without another word.  But this woman….

She’s attractive, and Wanda can’t help it.  She wants to show off.

“With this,” she says, lifting her hand and letting her power out.  It turns the paper she’d been holding to ash, and as she turns her hand, letting the power thread through her fingertips, she lets the ash dump out onto the floor.  For all that the complex smells horribly of smoke, her addition doesn’t hold the same scent.  Then she brings her hand up, that scarlet power still snaking around her fingers.  “He thought his old witch would be able to help with this.”

The woman’s eyes focus on the power, and its light reflects scarlet in her pupils.  Surrounded by her bright blue irises, it seems like there’s a thin ring of deep purple between them.  “What’s your name, hon?”

“Wanda,” she says, drawing her power back and letting her hand drop.  “Wanda Maximoff.”

The woman takes Wanda’s hand in hers and squeezes.  “Agnes Harker.”  Then she tugs on Wanda’s hand and pulls her into the apartment, shutting the door behind her.  “And I can teach you everything you need to know.”

[paperbackribs]

The Gift (7 of 15) (Witch Steve AU)

previous: Chapter 6 Help a Friend next: Chapter 8 Unravelling the Thread Content: steddie fic, 2.2K words

Last chapter, Eddie reassured Steve that on top of being a total smokeshow he is the protector of the group and nothing like Vecna. This chapter, its finally movie night with just the two boys and Steve is curious as to what made Eddie so easily swallow the marble back in the Upside Down.

Chapter 7 Answering the Question

The smell of popped popcorn blooms in the air as Steve safely moves the bloated jiffy pop off of the stovetop, the silver of its top reflecting in the soft kitchen lights. He rests the snack on the counter before grabbing the pizza box and a handful of paper towels to join Eddie in the living room.

Pulling out a slice with plenty of mushrooms on it, Steve hands it to an eager Eddie sitting on the right side of the mustard-yellow couch.

He looks far more relaxed, Steve contentedly thinks, comparing the scene to the first time Eddie had visited his house. His armour of leather and chains is gone, replaced by a simple Hellfire t-shirt, black jeans and white Reeboks, which Eddie has already kicked off. His grey socks casually propped up on the living room table as he enthusiastically digs into his pizza.

“Thanks, where’s Buckley? I know she’s seen it, but I thought she was looking forward to the movie too.”

Steve grins, moving over to push the tape into the VCR. “Miss Robin Buckley has a date tonight.”

Eddie’s mouth drops open, showing a half-chewed slice. He swallows hastily, “Vickie?”

“Vickie,” Steve confirms.

“Good for her,” Eddie hums in satisfaction for his fellow queer in small-town Hawkins.

“My girl has game.” Steve drops heavily onto the couch on Eddie’s left side, the force of it jostling the other guy against him for a moment. Eddie laughs in response and pushes him back with a friendly shoulder, the warmth of it branding through Steve's shirt for a fleeting second.

But, as he fast-forwards through the FBI warning, Steve notices Eddie fidgeting. Not his normal expression of energy; he’s biting his lip while nervously picking at his pizza slice.

“What is it,” asks Steve, concerned that he’d missed some nuance to their conversation earlier.

Eddie side-eyes Steve for a moment before warily saying, “Speaking of game, this is like the fourth? Fifth? Movie night we’ve all had, I thought these evenings would be precious real estate for your own date nights.”

“For me?” Steve points to himself surprised, the idea had honestly not even occurred to him until Eddie mentioned it.

He mulls it over, thinking of recent opportunities he had easily overlooked at Family Video. The... not exactly repulsed, but certainly a feeling of aversion to the idea of moving beyond a light flirtation with girls and a boy or two over the counter. Whenever he had thought to allow himself to go beyond simple appreciation a wary feeling had usually overcome him. A warning that this was not the path he was truly interested in.

“Since the Upside Down, I’ve just enjoyed being with all of you guys,” which is true, but perhaps not the whole of the matter.

He reflects back on his quiet conversation with Robin by the RV as they pondered finding love in the face of the world ending. “I think my sense of romance sort of went out the window after the whole,” he gestures towards himself again.

“Stevie,” Eddie frowns in concern. “You’re still a good-looking dude.” He waggles his eyebrows, “The best in Hawkins, one might say.”

Steve laughs lightly, “No. Not the eye and scars.” Not only that, he adds silently, not wanting to start a conversation he thinks he has no chance of winning tonight. “I was just really... tired. I feel like I’ve been on sentry duty since '83. Anytime everyone drew a breath of relief over it ending — Will being found, the Russians being defeated...”

Eddie silently mouths ‘Russians’ to himself.

“I Knew it was coming back, but I couldn’t tell anyone. Well, not until Robin. I was a bit of a flirt when I met her back at Scoops, but I was trying to distract myself. You know,” he smiles wryly, “get a date and forget the night sort of deal.”

Steve feels the intensity of Eddie’s gaze on him, like what Steve is saying is important, that he has meaning to him. “And now it’s all over, I’m just taking a breather.”

He lets his head fall back, looking over at Eddie who’s not as far away from him as he thought. “So, all of that took a back burner and I’ve allowed myself to spend time with the people that matter.”

Eddie runs his hand over his hair with one hand while the other grabs the remote from Steve before he can fast forward over the beginning of the film.

“Okay, no date night for Stevie. The Bolrag it is then.”

Eddie starts the video and Steve stifles his laughter at the dramatic introduction of Fantasy Film Presents, keeping in mind that this movie is important to Eddie.

The music marches on and Steve wonders whether Tolkien had known more than readers would think: between the ideas of elders, the use of threes, and an understanding of the malleability of personal items like jewellery, Steve would willingly accept that the author had at least some knowledge about Witches.

More amused as the movie proceeds, Steve thinks that he would be Robin’s Sam any day, despite the weird voice of the little guy. However, the Balrog in the film reminds him uncomfortably of a cross between Vecna and the demo-bats if they wielded fire.

It’s also adorable, Steve decides later, watching the guy devour popcorn with enthusiasm, how Eddie looks like a squirrel with its cheeks bulging. The movie plays on in the background, but Steve has to ask now that he’s reminded of it. “Why did you swallow it?”

Eddie raises his eyebrows in confusion, gulping down a mouthful with a swig of his beer. “Swallow what?”

“The marble,” Steve clarifies. “You didn’t even hesitate.”

“I’d been living on Yoo-hoo and Honeycomb, maybe I was hungry,” Eddie says cagily.

“Shut up. Why did you?”

Eddie pauses, considering his response carefully. He reaches out and takes Steve’s hand, his fingers slightly buttery from the popcorn. He traces Steve’s lifeline gently and Steve suppresses a shiver as that peculiar hum of their connection intensifies like a sweet song weaving through him.

“Wayne had this 'friend,' a few years ago. He’s, uh, like us.” Steve’s mouth forms a little ‘oh’ in understanding. “They didn’t last since Jack wasn't around long, just moving through, working at the Hideout.” His grin is lightning fast leaving Steve a little lightheaded. “It’s actually how the band got our connection to play there later.

"Jack was into the ‘woo woo,’ as Uncle Wayne would say. He’s never had much patience for it himself, but he usually respects other people’s beliefs, so I learnt a little about tarot and Jack read my palm once too.”

Eddie's lips kick-up as if holding onto a private joke, "Stevie Nicks was real popular for a while there."

Steve tries to focus on Eddie’s story, but the sensation of Eddie’s thumb gently brushing over the meat of his palm is distracting.

“He said I’d come to a crossroads, a moment of crisis that would be the answer to my question.”

Curiosity piqued, Steve asks, “What was your question?”

Eddie’s smile becomes crooked, “Whether my life would ever be worth anything to anyone.”

Steve’s hand tightens instinctively, closing around Eddie’s as if to anchor him to the mortal plane and remind Steve that Eddie sits here healthy and happily stuffed full of popcorn.

“Why would you even think that,” Steve asks worriedly, concerned for an Eddie who would ever think it was okay to disappear from his life. “Of course your life is valuable.”

Eddie laughs bitterly. “Yeah, actually, I think I’m coming to know that now. But this was just a couple of years after my dad took us on a joyride in a stolen car. He didn’t care that I was there, right up to the point that he totalled it. Immediate death on contact, apparently. Mom skipped out not long after. And Wayne took me in, but it took a while to trust that he cared, that he loves me.” He exhales a heavy breath as if the weight of his history is being unloaded along with his words.

“Eddie,” Steve says without thinking but urged on by the burning need to persuade him of his irreplaceable worth and importance in all of their lives. “You’re loveable. I wasn’t kidding when I said I was a bit jealous about how the kids raved about you. They’re crazy about you.”

Eddie tugs at his hair as if to draw it further over his ears, “I’m starting to see that. You, ah, helped me see it actually.”

Steve's eyebrows fly up in surprise, "Me?"

"What we talked about in the kitchen —  when I asked you why you would risk your life for me."

Eddie's lips are still crooked, but his eyes are sincere, "Understanding what you can do, the sheer power of it, you know. And then having you focus so deeply on my surviving only to use that ability to see and tell me that there are people who love me, who would miss me if I was gone... It's hard to discount something that meaningful."

Steve feels his breath catch, maybe he'd had Eddie wrong in that conversation all those weeks ago. Eddie hadn't been looking at him with reservation and repulsion for Steve being a Witch but, rather, had been reflecting a prism of his own fears and doubts as to Steve's motivation behind saving him.

With a gentle finger, Steve coaxes Eddie's dimple out with a touch, wanting to make sure that this lesson becomes stamped in Eddie's heart. Wanting to make him smile once more. “And you know Robin and I love you too, right? You’re one of us, and you’re not getting rid of her or me.”

There’s something odd to the look in Eddie’s subtly mismatched eyes, but he squeezes Steve’s hand before letting go. “Thanks, Stevie, I’m starting to get that too.”

He grabs their beer bottles in one hand and shoves Steve’s into his now empty palm, the sweat of the condensation unpleasant after the dry warmth of Eddie’s skin. “Drink up, we’ve yet to get to the end. It’s a killer.”

Steve settles back against the plush cushions of the couch, feeling like he’s missed something crucial. But at least he’d said it. It is important to him that Eddie know how much he means to them and how necessary of a friend he’d become to Steve in such a short amount of time.

He realises suddenly too that this might be an opportunity to figure out whether the other night was for real.

“And Wayne, how’s he going with all this.” Eddie had mentioned early on that he told his uncle the whole truth of the Upside Down. “It must be weird being in the trailer.” Steve scratches at the bottle’s paper under his fingernails but sees Eddie slowly put down the remote in the corner of his right eye.

“It’s funny you say that. We’ve just decided that we’re going to move house. It’s, ah, a bit hard being right there. You know, where Chrissy...” Eddie blows out a shuddering breath. “It’s all right if I hole up in my room, but every time I have to come or go, all I can see is her, there, floating, an— and cracking.”

Steve can’t stop himself, even if he’d wanted to. He reaches across and pulls Eddie into his arms, reminiscent of how Wayne had hugged Eddie through Steve’s eyes the other night. He pulls him firmly into his embrace and Eddie’s hands creep around to hold tightly onto Steve’s striped blue and white polo.

For a beat or two, Eddie simply breathes hotly into the corner of Steve’s shoulder. Then he clears his throat. “Ol’ Uncle Sam offered Wayne compensation at the beginning of this. He’s a proud man so he wasn’t originally going to take what he thinks of as charity. But I convinced him the other night that it’d be a good F You to the bastards who were responsible for all this mess.”

“Good choice,” Steve murmurs, thinking he should put together a little herbal pouch that helps to promote peace.

He wonders how Eddie’s been sleeping, being right next to what was once an open door to their own personal cursed dimension. Curses at himself a little too for not thinking of how Eddie must have been coping, earlier.

Eventually, they settle back to continue watching the film. Steve is indignant that it’s a cliffhanger and possibly hams up his outrage a little more once he hears the first giggle from Eddie.

They hadn’t drunk much, but Eddie takes the couch and Steve makes sure to pile all the softest bedding on top of him before saying goodnight.

It’s not until he’s drifting away to sleep, satisfied that he had at least figured out he wasn’t imagining the vision from the other night, that he realises that Eddie still hadn’t told him why he’d eaten the marble. He thinks he needs to circle back to it later, but at the back of his mind the faint strings of a violin urge him on to an easy, dreamless sleep.

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@finntheehumaneater

@geekymagicalpotato

@goodolefashionedloverboi

@hallucinatedjosten

@ilikeititspretty

@just-a-tiny-void

@ledleaf

@littlewildflowerkitten

@lostonceandneverfound

@manda-panda-monium

@matchingbatbites

@mightbeasleep

@nburkhardt

@newtstabber

@obliosworld

@oliver-sykes

@platonicbesties4life

@probablyscreamingintothevoid

@rajumat

@scoops-stevie-archive

@spectrum-spectre

@swimmingbirdrunningrock

@tartarusknight

@whackyrach

[yourantag]

From Winter to Spring

AN: This fic is actually pretty different from my other ones since this is intended to be more like a letter. I listened to a song called "Magic Lily," which inspired me to write something in the perspective of Ithaqua's mother. The song is meant to be romantic, but I interpreted it as a mother waiting for their son to come back from war. Naturally, with themes of winter and suffering, I think Ithaqua, so here we are. Word count: 1.6 words Summary: A carefully written letter, multiple pages long, is stuffed inside an envelope. It doesn't seem like it was ever meant to meet its recipient, yet it resides within his hands. The delicate papers seems to weigh heavy with the love of a mother.

My dearest dove, 

It has been a long time since I've last seen your face. It's like it was just yesterday that we went to forage together. You had looked at me with such pride in your eyes, having picked two whole baskets of barberries. We had planned to turn them into jam with honey, a small luxury. You had smiled so brilliantly, so happily at that. To be able to make you happy like that made me feel whole, complete. The fondness I felt overwhelmed me, it almost made me want to cry.

I had never understood when other women spoke fondly of their children. They sacrificed their bodies, health, mind, their everything for them. Yet, children will never completely understand that sacrifice. Oftentimes, they take it for granted. They forget it. But you? You made me understand.

It's odd to think of loving someone more than yourself, but that is exactly how I feel. The stars could disappear from the sky, the heavens and earth could collide, and yet, I think I would not mind for as long as you were alive.

So, tell me why, why would you do this to me? Why have you left me like this?

Once we came back, setting aside our foraged goods, I felt an impending sense of doom. My throat tightened, heart racing as I felt unadulterated fear roll through me. Perhaps it was an instinctual thing, like how many of life's creations can sense death. I could tell my demise was near, be it in one way or another.

You had looked at me with worried eyes, asking me what was wrong. You have always been a sweet child, caring and attentive and so, so very smart. No matter how much I tried to hide my feelings, you always seemed to know when something was wrong. I sometimes wish you weren't such an intelligent boy, but that would be cruel of me. I love you for who you are- to remove any part of you would mean taking away who you are now. I could never do that.

I had forced a smile to my face as I told you I forgot something in my room, something important. You didn't believe me, but you did not pry. Thank you for trusting me, even when you knew I was lying. I know it's horrible to lie to you, but I had to do what I did.

I had ran to my room, throwing aside a cloth to reveal a crystal ball. Divination is not my specialty; it was the specialty of my mother. However, I am still above the rest when it comes to reading fate. What I saw was exactly what I had anticipated, something I hadn't feared before. Now, however, I was. I was beyond scared- I was downright terrified.

Before, I had nothing. My mother had been killed in a witch hunt, my home had been razed, and my friends and fellow villagers had turned their backs on me. I was consumed by rage, sorrow, and despair. I had nothing to lose but my life, I had no one to love but myself. 

Still, I could not hate people. I was human as the rest, but I was shunned. I was hated for my hair, for being a woman, for existing. Still, I could only hope, I could only live. To die would be to give into their hate, to throw away my mother's sacrifice for me to live.

Thus, I lived. Out of spite, out of grief. I lived because of love, because my mother would want me to. And, on my travels, I found God. I found peace. Life seemed less like a punishment than it had before.

Then, I found you.

At one point, I had wished my mother hadn't sacrificed herself for me, I wished she had lived instead of me. However, I understand now. I understand why she did what she did. As a mother, you are willing to do anything for your child. Even if it means becoming a monster, even if it means killing someone, you would do whatever it takes to protect your child.

In that moment, watching the future in which not just I would die, but you as well, I made up my mind. 

I cannot lie and say I did not want to live. I wanted to watch you continue to grow, to become a lovely young gentleman. I wanted to watch you become an adult, to love, to live. I didn't want to miss any moment of your growth, of you becoming your own person. However, I was willing to give up everything if it meant you'd live.

I got a glimpse of my fate and I couldn't help but shutter. Tortured till my mind broke, till I was no longer human, till I was no longer me. That was my fate should I sacrifice myself. But, was it worse than if you were to be tortured with me? Killed with me?

No, nothing could be worse than that.

So, knowing what kind of fate awaited me, I stood tall and put on a brave face. We didn't have much time, after all.

I asked you to hide in the closet, the men already knocking on our door. They banged against the wood as though it owed them money. The sound was like the call of death, a scythe hovering over my neck. But what can a mother do? I could only smile through the thundering of my heartbeat, through the tears that were rising in my eyes, the tight compression of my chest.

I was scared.

For me? Maybe. Mostly, it was for you. If they found you, I don't know what I would do.

The door swings open and I meet a painfully familiar face, as well as many armored ones. His arrogance is unlike your humility, the way he smiles is so different from your own. It's like a bearing of fangs, like a predator that had found its prey. It's horrible, terrible, what he does with your face. Your brother he may be, if only in blood, but he could never compare to you.

His words are laced with malice and self-importance, his finger pointed at me. I had braced myself for when the armored men would drag me away, manhandle me as though I were a fugitive and not just a lady, a mother.

Then, you came out of hiding.

Looking at your back, so small yet wide, I truly wanted to fall to my knees and weep. Your arms spread out, shielding me, you had stood. 

Ah, is love meant to hurt like this? Be difficult like this? Or, perhaps, is it just me?

I couldn't believe my ears when I heard you bargain with them, begging them to take you instead of me, to leave me alone. Words were clogged in my throat as you spoke, everything you said hurting more than any wound I'd ever had.

He had a contemplative look, that child. Then, like a cruel judge, he gave his ruling. He gave into your will, even going so far as to promise he'd place me somewhere I'd never be hunted again.

I had wanted to cry. I had wanted to scream. However, when you had turned to me with a smile so kind, so sweet, so sad and knowing, not a single sound could escape my lips.

You promised to come back to me in spring, like the flowers that withered in fall. You held my hands even as tears fell from your eyes, even as I tried to hold you back with all my might.

Yet, it was not enough.

You were taken from me.

Why? Why did this have to happen? Why did we have to suffer like this? Was this retribution? Punishment? For not having followed God sooner? For living? For existing?

My anger towards that boy, towards God, and towards the world, none of it could compare to the anger I feel towards myself.

This arduous path which I had to take, covered in thorns and decorated with hate, why did you have to take it too?

Ultimately, I believe it is because of me.

(There's darkened circles upon the paper, some smearing the last few words.)

It's been 5 years since then. Every time the snow melts, ushering in the coming of spring, I wait with anticipation. I wait for the sound of footsteps, for the sounds of life.

I wait for you.

It has been 5 years of fluttering frost, blossoming flowers, sunny fields, and bountiful harvests. I've seen the seasons come and go, the birds leaving for winter before returning home. Yet, the most important bird of all, my dearest dove, has yet to return.

There's a special kind of sadness that comes with spring. It starts with joy, which turns to immeasurable sorrow. I always wait, yet you never come.

Are you alive? Are you well? I've been taken to a place where no one despises me, where everyone accepts me, yet I'd rather be pelted with stones than part from your side. I would give up everything if I could just see your face once more.

Is it just me? This spring feels a bit worse than the last. I hope without hope, though I know you won't come. Not knowing if you're alive or well, it drives me mad. My divination has failed me, not allowing me to see anything beyond the veil of reality.

But, I want to believe. I have to believe. You always keep your promises, so I must believe it, believe that you will come back to me. I must weather the seasons, the storms, the sun, the snow, all for the day you return.

Yet, I grow tired of waiting. My heart is heavy, and my soul is weary. My eyes are always full of tears, constantly worried about you to this day.

How many more springs must I wait?

My dear child.

My beloved son.

*****.

Please.

Please.

Come home.

[writerbri-archive]

🤍 - other (a/b/o) 59. Paper steddie

I hope you don’t mind a little urban fantasy with your a/b/o.

Backstory: everyone lives in a city divided into factions - fae, wolves, witches, vampires, merfolk, human, and underworldlings (demons, wraiths, sprites, etc). There is a treaty to keep the peace but none of the factions (apart from humans, who are neutral) really like one another and sort of co-exist reluctantly. Steve’s mother is fae and his father is the leader of the coven of witches. Wayne is the pack leader of the wolves and Eddie is set to take over for him one day.

This is only a small piece of a much larger steddie fic that I intend to write.

send me a heart and a word for a fic

•••

It’s utterly humiliating.

Steve is trapped in place, stood between his all-too-pleased father and stone-faced mother and looking on helplessly as the room fills with representatives from nearly every faction. He feels as if every eye is drawn to him, measuring his worth and finding him lacking in every possible way.

He is used to the whispers that have haunted him since he grew old enough to understand. The hissed accusations of those who cannot insult the shocking union of his mother, a full-blooded fae, and his father, the coven leader and so-called witch king, without putting their own lives at risk.

Instead, their disgust is aimed at the product of their matrimony. The abomination, they say. A perfect mix of his mother and father in all the ways that offend the most. If it weren’t for his father’s authority, the coven would have turned their backs on Steve long ago. In truth, they fear his potential every bit as much as they resent his fae blood.

He grew up with few friends in this world.

What friends he did have quickly cut ties when he presented, setting himself apart, yet again, in the worst of ways.

Whatever dwindling affection his father may have held for him disappeared in the blink of an eye when Steve woke one day to slick-soaked sheets and a fierce, aching need in his body. He would never forget the look of utter disgust his father gave him, that he was not given the alpha heir that he required. Nor would Steve forget the vow Charles Harrington swore that day, that he would not be disappointed again.

Rumors swirl throughout the city, that the witch king took more than one lover from his own coven. Never looking outside of his people again, for all the good it did him when he chose his fae wife.

Steve saw the truth in his mother’s beautiful eyes that blazed with fury and grief for weeks and months until his father’s unfaithful deeds chipped away at her soul piece by piece and the wails of a newborn child filled the halls of their home, leaving her a ghost of the lively woman he remembered and ousting Steve as his father’s heir all at once.

Now here they are, sealing Steve’s fate with a simple piece of paper.

A piece of paper he wants nothing more than to set alight just to let everyone here watch it burn. He could do it without lifting a finger, but the unspoken promise of his father’s wrath stays his hand.

All that he can do is watch, fuming and mortified and trapped as more and more bodies fill the hall. Witches and werewolves and vampires and merfolk. Even humans have their place, content to sit by and watch the ceremony curiously.

The fae leaders are conspicuously absent from this gathering, having long ago spurned his mother for her choice in mate. Steve wonders if she regrets it now. If she might go back and change her decision if it were possible.

He almost wishes it were. Even the possibility of never existing is better than this.

The door to the hall closes with a resounding thud that sets Steve’s heart to racing, because he knows what comes next. All it takes is his father’s silent nod to call forward the pack leader of the wolves. A grizzled and grey-haired man with sharp eyes who pays no attention to the titters and judgments of those that surround him.

Despite their impudence, every soul in this hall knows that Wayne Munson is not one to be tested. No matter his simple choice in clothing that stands out amidst the finery draped creatures, including Steve himself, rumor has it that his wolf is the largest to lead the pack in two centuries.

Not that anyone has seen, outside of the pack itself. The wolves trust no one outside of their own, and they do not shift where just anyone can see.

Which is why Steve is still altogether stunned, beneath all of his righteous fury, that this arrangement has been agreed upon by not only his father, but Munson himself. He knows his father’s motivation well. This is a convenient way to rid himself of the son he does not want to put a full-blooded witch in his place, regardless of the child’s legitimacy.

But Steve does not know why the wolves agreed to this, and that alone makes his skin crawl with suspicion.

Flanking their pack leader are two faces that, though unfamiliar, Steve can identify all the same. To the left is a petite woman with warm eyes that fix on him with sympathy, as if she can sense how he is feeling. Many doubt Munson’s choice in second, but Steve suspects that Joyce Byers is more formidable than anyone knows.

To Munson’s right is the very bane of Steve’s existence, though they never met before this moment. The pack leader’s own nephew. A young man with unkempt curls, rings on nearly every finger, and a glint of amusement in his eyes as he strides up to the table that separates them with absolutely no concern for the raging glare Steve aims his way.

Eddie Munson, alpha and future pack leader all in one.

Steve hates him on sight.

There’s no reason to drag out the ceremony and, apart from a begrudgingly respectful exchange between his father and Wayne Munson, few words are spoken. The very paper that lays out Steve’s future in simple, binding terms awaits the last two signatures that will seal his fate.

He only signed his own name under threat of banishment, knowing that being tossed beyond the city as an omega with no faction would be far worse than signing away his right to choose a future of his own. At least this way, he stands a chance at surviving.

Wayne is the first to sign, his eyes flitting to Steve and giving away nothing as he steps back from the table. His nephew is more dramatic by far, taking up the pen yet forcing each and every one of them to wait as he reads over the contract that will bind them together for eternity. Joyce’s eyes are fixed on Steve, still warm and reassuring, but it does nothing to help the uncertainty coursing through him.

As soon as the last signature marks the page, Steve knows that his father’s magic will make it inescapable.

Only death can break it.

After what seems like endless minutes spent supposedly reading, though the contract is simple and cannot possible take so long to inspect, Eddie Munson finally affixes his signature to the contract and glances up at Steve as the unmistakable taste of magic fills the air, irrevocably tying them together.

The wolf’s eyes flash gold as he straightens up and the bastard has the audacity to wink.

Steve feels a swell of anger in his chest so potent that he is entirely unaware of the sparks of magic that escape from the tips of his fingers until his mother’s cool hand wraps tight around his wrist, calming him at once. Eddie sees it all, and a grin forms on his face as he steps back behind his uncle, seemingly delighted.

His mother’s touch remains as his father steps out from behind the table, announcing to all that the agreement is binding. Polite applause echoes through the room and there is no mistaking the glee on each and every face of the coven that he once belonged to. They are every bit as glad to be rid of him as his own father.

Every eye turns to him yet again, and Steve knows that he has no choice now. He thinks that his mother’s hand might hold him back, but her touch simply falls away as he watches Wayne, Eddie, and Joyce turn back towards their pack, waiting for him to join them before they return.

Swallowing his anger and his pride, Steve steps out from behind the table and keeps his chin held high as he sweeps past his father without a single word or glance. He may well be doomed to this future he did not choose, but he would be damned if anyone stole away his dignity along with his free will.

And if Eddie Munson thinks that he earned himself a weak, compliant omega that will bend so easily to his beastly will, then he will soon learn that he is wrong. Steve hasn’t lived this long with the hatred of many weighing his every step to let himself be broken now.

He may be bound to the wolf, but Steve has teeth of his own and he will use them if need be.

[elliemarchetti]

Habit Rouge

If I recall well, this is my first Halloween themed fic. Not that spooky, I know, but I suppose some of you might enjoy.

Plot: Nesta finds the perfect dress for a last-minute party with her best friend.

Words: 2325

Next

Gwyn's invitation had come unexpectedly, just a couple of days earlier.

Would you like to come to a Halloween party with me?

A simple message, straight to the point, exactly like the young witch she took under her wing some decades ago. It had been years since Nesta had real friends. She had a few lovers, a couple acquaintances with whom she liked to spend her time, but after Claire’s death she’d preferred to keep her distance, scared she would suffer again because of the mortality that wasn’t granted to her. Not that she’d expected the enormous powers she’d acquired since being initiated into the path of sorcery to come without offering anything in return.

She was born in 1837, in a now forgotten village that would currently have been in Poland. Her mother was a stern woman, and her absent father a wealthy merchant, who barely remembered he had three daughters at home. When his wife died of influenza, together with his mother-in-law, the girls were left in the lurch, but what really took a toll was the loss of their fortune. Gambling, drinking and a nasty spending habit nearly threw them on the streets, and since Nesta was the oldest, she felt the need to do something.

The woman in the woods, a middle-aged lady who lived in a stone hut surrounded by trees and shrubs of all sorts, had seemed a solution as good as any other. It mattered little that many feared her, and that her name sounded like it came from times now forgotten. Nesta had knocked on her door when the moon shone bright in the sky, and had returned home the next morning as something different, no longer just a desperate girl, but the pupil of one of the most powerful witches in Europe.

It hadn’t taken long for the student to outdo the teacher, and so Nesta had taken her place, initiated her sisters, and begun to age so slowly that staying in the village, even though the hunt for her kind was long over, became dangerous. She’d said the only goodbye worth saying on a dreary winter evening, Claire wrapped in a heavy shawl, her now grey hair tied in a bun at the base of her neck. She received a letter the following year from her daughter.

Mom passed away peacefully, please don't come back.

Few words, but they made her understand how little she was welcome in the place she once called home. Within a couple of minutes, the paper had become a pile of crunching ash in the fireplace, all evidence of hatred destroyed before her sisters could see it. For nearly fifty years it had been only the three of them, but over time they’d understood that a bond as strong as theirs didn’t require constant closeness, so each had taken their own path. The first to leave was Elain, although, to be fair, it was Nesta and Feyre who left her behind. Their warnings had been of no avail: she had chosen to marry a human, and it mattered little if after about ten years, fifteen at most, she would be forced to leave him, she loved the guy and wanted to be his dutiful wife. They were in Provence at the time, and the wedding had been so lovely that Nesta had almost managed to ignore the burning sensation she felt at being in a church. Feyre had been the second to meet who she thought was the love of her life, the head sorcerer of a French coven located on the northern border with Spain. Nesta let her go reluctantly, but the liaison didn’t last long, and in 1940, shortly before the outbreak of the war, they all fled to America.

New York had been Feyre’s favourite place. Despite the dark period, it was teeming with art, with new and experimental painting techniques the youngest of them couldn’t wait to try. Elain was the one who had struggled the most the adapt, so Nesta was left to act as a bridge between them, even though what she would’ve most wanted was to go somewhere warm and read the novels of her era, those she’d set aside in favour of grimoires and religious dissertations. She’d never worried much about what would be of her soul, but she feared for those of her sisters, so she’d tried to understand if Catholicism and the Bible were really to be taken so literally. After the end of the war, she told herself that if a God existed, he couldn’t be so benevolent.

From the 50s onwards, change had been so rapid that Nesta had struggled to keep up with it. Technology and globalization made slow life and superstitions die, but at least they allowed her to move freely from place to place without too many questions being asked.

She had already resided in half the states of America when she met Eris Vanserra, and for a brief moment, she thought Massachusetts was a place where she could grow roots and finally rest. She was in Boston, doing some research on the actual existence of the Túatha Dé Danann, to whom Feyre's new boyfriend seemed to be related, when she decided to take an evening walk in the Public Garden. Somehow, the place exuded magic, so she wasn’t surprised when a vampire tried to seduce her, probably in an attempt to drink her blood and then throw her body into the Atlantic. Being a witch, Nesta hadn’t fallen prey of his spell and he’d begun to court her with flowers, jewels, and hard-to-find editions of her favourite books. When she finally gave in, long games of chess and slow dances in the moonlight became the norm, until he told her le loved her. It was 1968, just after the preview of Promises, Promises at the Colonial Theatre. Truth be told, he said he loved her laugh, but something had shone in his eyes, so Nesta run away the next morning, leaving behind most of her things and a short apology note. Feyre had hosted her in New York for a while, and there she’d met Cassian, a werewolf who’d made her forget the way her heart fluttered when she was in Eris’s arms, at least for a dozen years. Upon hearing the news of their reunion, Elain also returned to New York, but after a brief fling with a friend of Rhysand and Cassian, she left again to join a traveling circus as a seer. Nesta had attended one of their shows, but one of the acrobats had reminded her too much of her immortal lover to bear the entire performance.

She met Gwyn on that occasion, the skinny girl struggling in a vain attempt to escape the grasp of a guy twice her size. He’d dragged her in the darkness behind the colourful circus tent, convinced that his wickedness would go unpunished if he’d chosen a novice as his victim. Nesta had made him change his mind, and Gwyneth Berdara had abandoned her pious life to learn how to defend herself with the most unorthodox means she could find. Her powers had proved less destructive than Nesta’s, more based on life than death, but for the duration of the 80’s they’d formed a duo worthy of a couple of newspaper articles. They’d told themselves they’d made the world a better place, for what little they could, and it was on the day they met Emerie they received the long-awaited confirmation. She was a werewolf, young enough she managed to survive alone after she left her pack to look for the witches who killed her father. Nesta never thought she would receive gratitude for the murder of a relative, and although she was relieved, from that moment on they’d dedicated themselves to helping the victims rather than prosecuting the perpetrators.

The Valkyries, the association they’d opened with proceeds obtained in a not entirely legal way, helped women who no longer wanted to hide what the violence of patriarchy had done to them to find a voice and a support system. Emerie had found her calling in running it, and although she once used to transform often to stay young, she no longer did so. Last time she saw her, her once perfect skin had begun to shrivel and her joints started to ache as well as her back. Nesta, who had faced that kind of suffering before, had stuck around to help however she could, but Gwyn, who had only endured the consequences of mortality when she was mortal herself, had walked away, choosing to travel for a while further north. She hadn’t notified anyone of her return, nor did Nesta knew how to take her invitation. Had she continued to practice magic like her or had she aged like Elain did in Provence? Would they still look almost the same age, or would Nesta have to hide her face with a mask?

I don’t know if I have anything suitable to wear, she replied, casting a wary glance at her immense wardrobe. Thirty years of fashion and memories, plus some memorabilia she wouldn’t have worn to a costume party even if someone threatened to torture her, were all she had left.

No problem, Gwyn had replied, so quickly that Nesta wondered if she hadn't been glued to the phone the whole time, waiting for her attentions, we can always go shopping!

So Nesta found herself in a thrift store more similar to an antique shop, surrounded by old oil lamps and countless replicas of the most disparate items.

“Were you alive when they used these things?” asked Gwyn, who hadn’t changed a bit, waving some obsolete electric hair rollers under her nose. A smile spread across Nesta’s face, and although she was very amused that her friend didn’t seem to have the slightest idea of how different things were when she was born, she simply nodded. In all honesty, she had never styled her hair much, preferring the thick braids of the Polish tradition to frizzy bangs and ringlets, but Elain loved them and was the first to try a perm when it boomed.

It was one of the things she liked most about her sisters, how each of them had their own personality, well-defined interest, and unmistakable sense of style, yet they still supported each other no matter what. If someone spending so much time together could lead outsiders to not understand where one person began and the other ended, the differences between them were so clear there was no doubt even whether a dress belong to one of the other. Maybe that was why Nesta recognized the gown as soon as she saw it, because nobody else would’ve liked it as much as she did. The velvet was a little dusty, and the golden chain on the back had been removed, but the design, the draped bodice, and the flowy gown, were still the same. It was one of the few lavish things she’d managed to bring with her from Europe, a piece that earned her many compliments in the twenties for how it accentuated her straight shoulders and slim figure.

“I think it will suit you,” Gwyn said, once she reached her at the end of the aisle. “Maybe it needs a bit of readjustments, but you’d make a great entrance.”

Nesta knew for a fact that the dress would fit her perfectly, but since she wasn’t ready to share its story, she didn’t contradict her and asked the owner how much he charged for it.

“When I got it they told me it was a one-of-a-kind piece, but from that day on no one gave it a second glance,” the old man admitted, and although Nesta was sure he was right, after all it was custom made, she still gave him less than a hundred dollars. Being a witch undoubtedly had its benefits, but she wasn’t able to make money appear from thin air, and as long as she didn’t turn to theft, or decided to abandon the Valkyries to find a real job, she couldn’t splurge.

“You should add a pair of fake canines,” joked Gwyn on their way home, but Nesta had put the idea aside, determined to relive one of the balls Eris used to bring her to.

A quick glance at the fabric neatly folded inside the unassuming paper bag made her relive a sea of moments she had relegated in the depths of her mind. Feyre’s laughter as she dragged her to on the French dance floors, the chatter with Elain as they ran arm in arm through the narrow streets of Paris, and Eris’s long, thin fingers, caressing her bare skin in the privacy of their apartment.

“You still haven’t told me why you care so much about this party,” she teased, if only to chase away the melancholy. It was normal to stumble when you’ve lived so long, yet Nesta was determined to compartmentalize and not let the mistakes of the past ruin her present. Boston was an error, she knew it now and probably already knew back then, but life went on, and judging by where she’d found one of the dresses she’d left there after her hasty departure, Eris did it too.

“I made a few friends on my road trip,” Gwyn replied, vague enough to spark her curiosity. “I would go alone, really, but I thought that after all this time among humans, a celebration open only to supernatural beings might be stimulating for you too.” “You had a wonderful idea,” Nesta lied, forcing a smile as she took her friend’s arm. Under no circumstances she intended to disappoint the lively redhead, but between witches, vampires, and werewolves there must’ve been at most a hundred of them in the entire United States, and if her sixth sense wasn’t deceiving her, she would soon see many faces she would rather forget.