#kitchen witch bitty

[alphacrone]

ok but kitchen witch!bitty and plant witch!jack living in a sweet little cottage and greeting the sunrise with delicious things bubbling on the stove. bitty goes out, half asleep, to feed the chickens, his familiar, bun, on his heels. jack kneels down to run a hand through the soil around his herbs, sneaking glances at his husband. just the sight of him, bleary eyed and smiling in the gold of dawn, is enough for a small flower to appear in Jack's hand. he sneaks up on bitty to tuck it into the pocket of his apron, pressing a loud smooch to Bitty's cheek.

[dontthinkaboutzimbits]

The Book of Mormon AU No One Asked For (Act II)

Part 1

The following day…

Jack doesn’t wear his pressed slacks and button up white shirt like he usually does. Today he wears a soft t-shirt and faded jeans and makes his way down the street to Bitty’s doorstep. Part of him doesn’t expect Bitty to answer the door, but he does. He smiles softly. “I almost thought you wouldn’t come.”

The curtains are drawn in the house, the windows shut and locked. The place is too familiar to be spooky by now; instead it’s very quiet, close, the edges of things feel soft somehow. Candles burn on almost every surface in the living room. “You believe in an afterlife, right?” Jack shivers as Bitty’s fingertips brush over his hand, guides him to the couch. “For you there’s a heaven, and what you do, how you are, in this world determines where you go in the next.

“I don’t. For as long as I could remember, I was told that there’s only hell for me. Because I’m queer, and a witch.” Jack starts at the word queer, the way it rolls of Bitty’s tongue without a hitch. He frowns. “I’m gay, Jack. I’m not going to hide because I’m not ashamed. I’m gay, and there isn’t a church that would let me in their heaven even if they could, and I’m not afraid.

“I don’t know if there is a heaven or a hell. But I do know that this is real, this world, this moment, and it’s not a game.” His eyes are impossibly dark in the gloom. Bitty is whatever the opposite of ethereal is. Solid and whole and immovable. “I believe in doing the work that is in front of you, and I believe in making the world a better place. I don’t know if I believe in sin, but I do believe in hope, and love, and sometimes I’d rather just believe in sin. I believe in devouring the gods, and breathing life into them, and molding them from clay in our own image.” They’re sitting close now, Bitty’s voice a low, steady rhythm, as if it’s a speech he’s memorized. A prayer. “I believe in ghosts and the strength of herbs and the stories you can read in a handful of tarot cards. And I believe in bringing light to dark places, I believe that bad things happen in threes, and a little bit of salt thrown over your shoulder never hurt nobody.” Bittle’s hands shake, but there is nothing but resolution on his face. Jack can’t help it any more. He closes the distance between them, lets his mouth reach Bitty’s.

He’s never allowed himself to want, but in this moment he does. He wants Bitty closer, more. They part and Jack dips down again, opens his mouth a bit, invites him in. Bitty clutches at his shoulders, fingers tightening, and Jack kisses just a little harder. Here, in this moment outside of time, in a dark room where no one can see, Jack lets himself run his hands through Bitty’s hair and it’s exactly as soft as it looks. He runs his hands up and down his back and it feels just as good as he never let himself imagine it would. And then Bitty bites down on his bottom lip and he gasps. Bitty shifts, climbs up to straddle him on his lap and he’s just as hard as Jack is. And then the world is Bitty. Bitty’s hands, Bitty’s breath, Bitty’s hair, Bitty’s sighs.

And then all at once Bitty’s gone, leaning back, regarding Jack almost coolly. “You don’t mean it,” says softly.

Jack is pretty sure he’s never meant anything more in his entire life. “I want you.”

“Are you sure?” He cuts himself off and shakes his head, climbs off Jack’s lap. He never knew he could feel the absence of someone so acutely. “No. This isn’t going to work. I…I understand if you want to experiment. I know it can’t be easy with your lifestyle and all—“

“I don’t know if I’m gay or bi or what,” Jack says. “I don’t care. You’re not an experiment to me.”

“You charmer,” he snorts, and just like that the tension breaks and Jack can’t help but laugh. They go around the room and blow out the candles, open the curtains to let the sunlight in. If he wanted, it could be like their little make out session had never happened. Jack is pretty sure that’s even what Bitty intends.  

In the light he almost looks fragile, and for all that his mouth is kiss-swollen he looks sad. He walks Jack to the door, gives him a lopsided smile. “I guess I got a little carried away there.”

Jack cradles his face in his hands and Bitty’s eyes widen. He kisses the top of his head, his forehead, his nose, and finally his mouth. He lingers there, keeps the kiss chaste and sweet until he pulls away. Bitty’s eyes are still closed, lips parted. “I’ll text you,” he promises, because what else is there to say? And then he kisses him one last time, a quick peck.

When Jack leaves, Bitty closes the door behind him and leans against it. The curse nets do not stir. The windchimes hang motionless by the window. His home is still in a way he never noticed before, as if it’s holding its breath, as if it’s waiting for the other shoe to drop just as much as he is. And then, in his pocket, his phone buzzes. 

[zombizombi]

nothin’ says lovin’ like somethin’ from a coven - pt 5

( part 1 - part 2 - part 3 - part 4 - AO3 )

October bled into November, the energy in the air crackling along Eric’s nerves. For a witch in his tradition, the spiritual new year started after Halloween, and it always brought with it a rush of excitement. He loved that crisp, clean feeling in the air, loved the idea that there was a clean slate ahead of him.

Eric always woke up on November first feeling inspired. His reading on Halloween night had suggested that he needed to speak up for himself, and that was precisely what he intended to do. Splashing water on his face, Eric smiled at his reflection. “It’s going to be a great day,” he told himself, trying to imbue the statement with a sense of power. Rubbing moisturizer between his hands, he sighed. “I’m going to have confidence today,” he said, meeting his own eyes in the mirror, concentrating on his words. “The confidence to ask for what I want.” After pressing both hands to his face for a long moment, feeling the warm buzz of his intentions, Eric rubbed the lotion in quickly.

He still had a book to return to the Samwell library, and he had a hunch that if he timed it right, he might meet Jack there. Tugging on a thick blue sweater, he considered his options as he pinned a protective evil eye pendant just inside the bottom edge. Run by the library before work? It seemed the best way to maximize his time. Tucking an amethyst into his pocket for luck, Eric grabbed the romance novel before leaving his apartment.

Stopping at his downstairs neighbors’ door, Eric dropped off a batch of muffins for the two small children and their single mother. He kissed both children on the forehead before leaving, murmuring a quiet blessing. Eric made sure to smile at people in the streets, even if they didn’t smile back.

Staring up at the entrance to the Samwell Library, he brushed his fingers under the edge of his sweater, touching the evil eye. He could do this. He was prepared.

Eric stepped inside, shivering just a little. He went to the circulation desk, dropping off the romance novel in the book return. That done, he headed for the stacks. Hopefully Jack was a creature of habit and Eric would find him easily, studying in the same cubicle he’d been in before. When he didn’t, the force of his disappointment shocked him.

Carrying the third novel in the series to the circulation desk, Eric quietly set it down. It took only minutes to check the novel out, and once it was done, he looked around the lobby, sighing a little. There wasn’t any reason to hang around, not really. He’d banked on running into Jack and it hadn’t happened. He could take a hint.

Arriving back at the shop for his shift, Eric set his bag in the office and switched on the electric kettle. Pulling out a mug, he spooned equal measures of lavender and chamomile flowers into an infuser shaped like a cat, murmuring a soft plea for an extra measure of calm. That done, he went downstairs to check in with Lisa in the basement.

“All set?” she asked, not looking up from the table where she sat tying bundles of sage into smudge sticks.

“Yes,” Eric said. “Thanks. Are you…?”

“Mm, I’ll finish these and then go. You do your thing.” She smiled.

“All right,” Eric said. He returned to the office to pour hot water over the herbs. He carried the cup to the front desk just in time to greet a young woman. Smiling cheerfully, he helped her find what she needed before returning to his tea. The liquid was now a deep blue and Eric pulled the infuser out, careful not to spill on the counter. Perching on the stool behind the counter, Eric blew on the tea before carefully taking a drink.

When the bell over the door rang, signalling a new customer, Eric didn’t get up. “Welcome to Made With Magic,” he called from his seat behind the counter. “I’ll be with you in a moment!” He took another drink from his mug and brushed his fingers over the evil eye pinned inside his shirt before getting up. He rounded the corner of the counter quickly, leaving his cup sitting on the surface to cool.

Jack was standing in front of the shelf of candles, looking at them intently. He was gorgeous, like always, dressed in an inky black sweater that only made the light blue of his eyes more distinct. His cheekbones were absolutely breathtaking.

“Jack!” Eric stopped just next to him. “How are you? What brings you in today?”

Jack turned to him. “I ran out of tea,” he said.

“Oh!” Eric laughed. “Is that all? Come on. It’s by the desk.” He turned and led the way, the feeling of Jack right behind him making the back of his neck hot. Brushing his hands over the shaved sides of his head, Eric turned to smile at Jack once they reached the counter.

Jack smiled back.

“So,” Eric said, “do you want the same one? Or would you like something different?”

“Well, I thought I’d just get the same one,” Jack said. “But if you think I should get something else…” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “I’m open to suggestion.”

Eric gestured to his cup. “Want to try mine?”

Jack looked at it. “It’s blue,” he said.

“Well,” said Eric, “yes. Yes, it is.” He laughed. “It’s just lavender and chamomile. It’s great for relaxation.”

“Were you feeling nervous today?” Jack asked.

“Oh.” Eric blushed. “I, uh. I had some plans that didn’t quite work out how I’d imagined,” he said. “Nothing too serious.”

Jack lifted the cup to his lips and blew softly on the liquid before sipping from it. Eric tried, and failed, not to stare. When Jack set the cup down and ran his thumb across his lower lip to wipe away a shimmering drop of liquid, Eric flushed.

“So?”

“It’s not bad,” Jack said. “Will it be as effective as the other one?”

“Mmm.” Eric pursed his lips while thinking. “Not quite. But I should have enough of that one made up, here --” He brushed past Jack and popped up onto his tiptoes, reaching for the cannister.

Jack let out a soft laugh and reached around Eric. His free hand grazed Eric’s lower back as he grabbed the container, pulling it down easily.

Eric swallowed against the hot dryness in his throat. “Thank you,” he said. Accepting the cannister from Jack, he set it on the counter and opened it, peering down into the herbs. “Ah. How much did you want?”

“Enough to last a while,” Jack said. “I don’t know.”

“Sure.” Eric walked back around the counter, taking out the plastic bags they used to package teas and carefully scooping some out. He paused, holding up a half-full bag. “This is about ten cups’ worth,” he said. “That enough?”

Jack nodded. “That’s fine,” he said.

Popping the lid back on the container, Eric set about labeling the bag with brewing instructions. Jack leaned on the counter, watching him. It took a moment for Eric to realize that Jack was looking at him expectantly. Had he said something?

“Hm?” Eric looked up at him.

“I said, do you work every day?” The corner of Jack’s mouth curved into a small smile.

“Oh!” Eric laughed. “Well. Not every single day, but… most days, I suppose?”

A soft blush tinted Jack’s ears. “When are you free?”

“Well, we don’t have a lot of employees,” Eric said, “so I work most days. Sometimes I have Thursdays off. Oh! And we aren’t open on Sunday, so I never have to work Sunday.” He smiled. “Small business, you know. But I don’t mind, I like coming to work. The shop is kind of a soothing place, isn’t it? And --”

Jack looked a bit bewildered, eyes wide, and Eric realized, quite suddenly, that he might’ve missed a rather monumental social cue. Jack wasn’t just commenting on Eric working a lot. He was asking Eric when he was available.

“Oh,” Eric said, “or, um. Did you mean, like -- free, free?” His face heated with an intense blush. Good lord, first the situation and now this? Abysmal. Pathetic. “I mean -- um, I -- I’m closing the shop today,” he said, “but I’m not doing anything on Sunday. Or, um. Really I’m not that busy after work. But -- next Thursday. I’m free next Thursday.” He looked down at the tea in his hands.

“Do you want to come to my hockey game?” Jack asked. “It’s Friday evening. Are you free then?”

“I --” could be. Might be. Could arrange to be. “Yes,” Eric said. “I’d love to. At the school?”

“Yeah,” said Jack, as if Eric had said something funny. “At the school.”

“Okay.” Eric pushed the tea across the counter.

Jack pulled his wallet out of his back pocket. “Okay,” he said.

“Great,” Eric said. “Yes. I’ll see you then. Oh! That’ll be -- well, you can see the total there, I guess!” He accepted Jack’s money, still blushing. “I hope you like the tea!”

“I’m sure I will.” Jack pocketed it quickly. “So I’ll see you Friday?”

“Yes!” Eric leaned on the counter. “I’ll see you then! Um --” he bit his lip. “When is then, exactly?”

“Seven,” Jack said. He paused. “Do you have a pen?”

“Of course.” Eric plucked a pen out of a cup on the counter and handed it over.

Jack grasped Eric’s wrist, flipping his hand over. His grip was warm and firm, and Eric’s skin tingled where Jack touched it. He scribbled numbers across Eric’s palm quickly. “Here’s my number,” Jack said. “You can text me.”

“I’ll do that,” Eric said.

[dontthinkaboutzimbits]

The Book of Mormon AU No One Asked For (Act II)

Part 1

The following day...

Jack doesn’t wear his pressed slacks and button up white shirt like he usually does. Today he wears a soft t-shirt and faded jeans and makes his way down the street to Bitty’s doorstep. Part of him doesn’t expect Bitty to answer the door, but he does. He smiles softly. “I almost thought you wouldn’t come.”

The curtains are drawn in the house, the windows shut and locked. The place is too familiar to be spooky by now; instead it’s very quiet, close, the edges of things feel soft somehow. Candles burn on almost every surface in the living room. “You believe in an afterlife, right?” Jack shivers as Bitty’s fingertips brush over his hand, guides him to the couch. “For you there’s a heaven, and what you do, how you are, in this world determines where you go in the next.

“I don’t. Even if your god is the one true god, even if your doctrine is all one-hundred percent certifiable fact, there’s only been hell for me. Because I’m queer, and a witch.” Jack starts at the word queer, the way it rolls of Bitty’s tongue without a hitch. He frowns. “I’m gay, Jack. I’m not going to hide because I’m not ashamed. I’m gay, and your church wouldn’t let me in their heaven even if they could, and I’m not afraid.

“I don’t know if there is a heaven or a hell. But I do know that this is real, this world, this moment, and it’s not a game.” His eyes are impossibly dark in the gloom. Bitty is whatever the opposite of ethereal is. Solid and whole and immovable. “I believe in doing the work that is in front of you, and I believe in making the world a better place. I don’t know if I believe in sin, but I do believe in hope, and love, and sometimes I’d rather just believe in sin. I believe in devouring the gods, and breathing life into them, and molding them from clay in our own image.” They’re sitting close now, Bitty’s voice a low, steady rhythm, as if it’s a speech he’s memorized. A prayer. “I believe in ghosts and the strength of herbs and the stories you can read in a handful of tarot cards. And I believe in bringing light to dark places, I believe that bad things happen in threes, and a little bit of salt thrown over your shoulder never hurt nobody.” Bittle’s hands shake, but there is nothing but resolution on his face. Jack can’t help it any more. He closes the distance between them, lets his mouth reach Bitty’s.

He’s never allowed himself to want, but in this moment he does. He wants Bitty closer, more. They part and Jack dips down again, opens his mouth a bit, invites him in. Bitty clutches at his shoulders, fingers tightening, and Jack kisses just a little harder. Here, in this moment outside of time, in a dark room where no one can see, Jack lets himself run his hands through Bitty’s hair and it’s exactly as soft as it looks. He runs his hands up and down his back and it feels just as good as he never let himself imagine it would. And then Bitty bites down on his bottom lip and he gasps. Bitty shifts, climbs up to straddle him on his lap and he’s just as hard as Jack is. And then the world is Bitty. Bitty’s hands, Bitty’s breath, Bitty’s hair, Bitty’s sighs.

And then all at once Bitty’s gone, leaning back, regarding Jack almost coolly. “You don’t mean it,” says softly.

Jack is pretty sure he’s never meant anything more in his entire life. “I want you.”

“Are you sure?” He cuts himself off and shakes his head, climbs off Jack’s lap. He never knew he could feel the absence of someone so acutely. “No. This isn’t going to work. I…I understand if you want to experiment. I know it can’t be easy with your lifestyle and all—“

“I don’t know if I’m gay or bi or what,” Jack says. “I don’t care. You’re not an experiment to me.”

“You charmer,” he snorts, and just like that the tension breaks and Jack can’t help but laugh. They go around the room and blow out the candles, open the curtains to let the sunlight in. If he wanted, it could be like their little make out session had never happened. Jack is pretty sure that’s even what Bitty intends.  

In the light he almost looks fragile, and for all that his mouth is kiss-swollen he looks sad. He walks Jack to the door, gives him a lopsided smile. “I guess I got a little carried away there.”

Jack cradles his face in his hands and Bitty’s eyes widen. He kisses the top of his head, his forehead, his nose, and finally his mouth. He lingers there, keeps the kiss chaste and sweet until he pulls away. Bitty’s eyes are still closed, lips parted. “I’ll text you,” he promises, because what else is there to say? And then he kisses him one last time, a quick peck.

When Jack leaves, Bitty closes the door behind him and leans against it. The curse nets do not stir. The windchimes hang motionless by the window. His home is still in a way he never noticed before, as if it’s holding its breath, as if it’s waiting for the other shoe to drop just as much as he is. And then, in his pocket, his phone buzzes. 

[dontthinkaboutzimbits]

The Book of Mormon AU Absolutely No One Wanted

Note: Idk anything and the day I do research is the day I storm heaven and devour God. 

The Zimmermanns are Mormons. They move down from Canada to Mormon city stronghold of your choice for vague reasons.

That afternoon a young, well-dressed man comes to their door with a tin of cookies and a smile.

“Hi! I’m Eric Bittle and I live down the street. Just wanted to make a good impression before you go to church! You probably won’t see much of me after.” 

Of course it’s Jack who answers the door and receives the cookies, and he’s so awkward and stunned by literally the cutest ray of sunshine in all of Mormon Stronghold that he doesn’t think to ask what Bittle means. “Um, thank you.” And then he closes the door.

The Zimmermanns are greeted warmly by the community that weekend, so warmly they get several warnings to stay the heck away from that Bittle fellow.

Several elders have been by Bittle’s house to give him literature and invite him to the church. He’s always very polite, friendly even, but he’s really… gay unsettling.

On top of that, the inside of his house is kinda unconventional. Like, there’s a lot of dribbly candles. Black pillar candles. Candles shaped like skulls. There’s incense everywhere, and herbs drying upside down by the windows. There are animal bones, picked clean by scavengers and bleached by the sun, apparently somehow acquired and resting in a curio cabinet. Bittle keeps strange dolls, terrible faceless things that smell like rosemary and earth, in cupboards and drawers. And there’s a rabbit, a fat brown fluffy thing with floppy ears, that he talks to like it understands.

They think Bittle might be a witch. And almost definitely gay. And a bad influence besides.

But he’s also very friendly and bakes more sweets than he could possibly eat, which created something of a conundrum. The elders fought each other to be the ones to visit him nearly weekly, but the church as a whole disapproved of any of their members being within a hundred feet of Bittle’s front door. 

But it’s very anticlimactic.

The Zimmermanns see Bittle from time to time. He waves cheerfully when they go by, or says good morning if they cross paths on the sidewalk. Jack finds his eyes following Bittle when he goes to grab his mail, or walks down the road to grab a coffee.

Jack, of course, is straight. There was an incident with Elder Parson at his last church—

(a series of incidents, or one looooong incident, it was too difficult to say. But at the end Jack knew the feel of stubble scraping across his chin, too hot hands pressed into his lower back, the way two erections feel rubbing together. And he knew what it felt like to be ruined; not sullied as some would believe, but spoiled. To know that there was this, all along, and he would never get to taste it again. Never get to have him again. Ruined.)

--but he likes girls. Girls are nice, lovely to look at and lovelier to hold. He tries to imagine having a wife one day, but he can’t get the picture to focus right.

Some weeks pass. Jack gets the occasional postcard from Elder Parson, the first one had a picture of the New York skyline, the second and third ones were from Uganda, a country in Africa. Like the Lion King. But it’s all very dull at the Mormon Stronghold.

Jack makes a couple friends. There’s a guy everyone calls Shitty (Jack still doesn’t know his first name) and a woman named Larissa and there’s Adam and Justin. They all do cool church stuff but pretty soon Shitty starts inviting Jack to not-church related stuff. And it’s nice. Very safe, minimally diverting, but nice.

“Brah, I’m taking you to the witch’s lair.”

At first Jack thinks Shitty is going to take him to a bar or something, but instead they turn down his street, walk right up to Bittle’s door and ring the doorbell.

Bittle answers. He’s wearing a blue apron, and there’s flour in his hair, a mixing bowl full of batter under one arm. “Oh, hello Elder Knight, Elder Zimmermann. What can I do for you nice boys?”

“Greetings sir or madam do you have a moment to talk about the Book of Mormon?”

Bittle throws his head back and cackles. It’s a bright sound. Jack has never been so grateful for Shitty’s ridiculous motor mouth in his entire life. “I always have time for you, Mr. Knight. Come on in, you can lick the bowl.”

Bittle sits them down at a comfortable couch and serves them herbal tea and scones before returning back to the kitchen to put the brownie batter in the oven. Jack can’t stop looking around. “You get used to it,” Shitty murmurs.

There are candles everywhere—dribbly ones and tall black ones and ones shaped like skulls. There are strange structures made of wire and string hanging from the ceiling, bundles of herbs to dry by the windows, a faceless handmade doll on the coffee table. This is most certainly the house of a witch, for all that it smells like baking.

Shitty bites into a scone and makes the most pornographic noise Jack has heard him make so far. “Bits!” he yells, spraying crumbs across the room. “What is in these?”

Bittle sticks his head into the room. “Lots and lots of love,” he beams.

This was nothing like any other visit Jack had done. He was an ace proselytizer; he could push literature like no one’s business. But this wasn’t about getting right with God. Bittle—Bitty was a nickname, apparently—plopped himself onto the couch beside Jack and they talked. They ate scones and drank hot herbal tea and they talked about football and hockey, and about the weather, and about politics.  Bitty updated Shitty and Jack about the most recent family drama, this time regarding jam (Jack had no idea you could make jam until today). And at the end Shitty dropped one of the new pamphlets on the foyer table on their way out, winking at Jack like this was a very conspiratorial move. Jack is carrying a plate of brownies, still warm. He barely has any memory of asking if he could have a corner piece.

They’re all corner pieces. He only saw one square baking pan go in that oven, but he counts eight corner brownies. He’s afraid that if he questions it the universe will catch wise and make half of his brownies disappear.

“Jack, sweetie, should you really be eating what that Eric Bittle made?” He knows Bittle makes his mom uneasy, and that the stories about him floating around at church worries her. “You don’t have to have any if you don’t want,” he says, which is not what he wanted to say but it was probably the right thing to say, because for all that his dad could get competitive Alicia Zimmermann has never in her life turned down a dare.

“What is in these? Oh my goodness! Jack, remind me to get the recipe from him. Don’t look at me like that, you know darn well I can bake.”

Bob comes home a little later and tries a brownie. He cries. Jack has to hide the remaining three brownies because he has plans for them. Ice cream plans. With sprinkles.

The infighting to visit Bitty’s house is mostly between Lardo/Shitty/Jack and Ransom/Holster groups, so half the time they all go as one huge frankengroup. The first time Bitty just takes a moment to admire them from the doorway while they settle onto his couch.

“Gosh! I don’t think I’ve ever had so many well-dressed young men in my house before. You know, I had a dream that started like this.”

Bitty always says something like that and it always makes Jack’s ears burn. Ransom and Holster and Shitty hoot and holler, because it’s nothing to them. Bitty’s gay. It’s not a big deal. It’s just that sometimes Jack gets a prickle of jealousy. Just a little. Because Bitty can openly admire men—Ransom and Holster have an entire “gun show” routine that makes Bitty laugh every time—and Jack can’t.

He can’t notice the sparkle of his eyes when he’s talking about the topic du jour.

Can’t notice the way his skilled hands peel an apple.

The way he rolls his sleeves up to the elbows, or the way his forearms look when he kneads dough out on the counter.

The softness in his voice when he scoops up his rabbit and puts her on the other side of the baby gate so no one steps on her by mistake.

Jack’s not allowed to notice. Because he’s not gay.

He and Shitty are on Bittle’s doorstep when Shitty grabs his phone from his pocket and frowns at it. “Sorry, brah. Something’s come up at home.” His mouth twists in the special way he reserves for paternal drama. “Go on without me,” he sighs, and slouches back the way they’d come, face stormy at being cheated out of pie.

For some reason it doesn’t occur to Jack that he’ll be alone in Bittle’s house, with Bitty, until he’s on the couch, sipping hot herbal tea while Bitty bumps around the kitchen, putting things away. Bitty comes and sits on the couch with him and Jack scrambles for something to say, anything, but all that comes out is “euh…”

Luckily Bitty can conjure conversation out of thin air. “So how’s church?”

Church. Jack can talk about church. So he does. This one is a lot bigger than his last one. More people and more politics too. Right now they’re raising money for a new roof and there’s going to be a bake sale. “But nothing as good as what you make,” he adds, matter of fact because it’s true.

He’s never seen Bitty blush before. “Oh, you charmer,” he laughs, and now Jack’s ears are hot.

“You know I’d help out if I could. But I don’t think any of the, um, church goers would buy anything at the bake sale if they knew I had something to do with it.”

“That’s not true,” Jack says, but he can still hear the way his own mother questioned Bitty’s brownies.

The corner of Bitty’s mouth lifts up but he looks sad. “You’re sweet.” Jack has never been sweet before. Well-behaved as a child, polite as a man, but never sweet. But the word doesn’t sound like a lie, not out of Bitty’s mouth.

“What do you believe in?” Bitty’s eyebrows make for his hairline but Jack never made it a habit to retract his questions. “Do you have a god at all?” He picks up a faceless doll from the coffee table. Something inside crunches drily. “What is this?” Bitty’s face is inscrutable. He holds out a hand and Jack drops the doll into his palm. His hand comes away smelling like rosemary, and basil, and autumn leaves.

“Jack.” He’s only ever been Elder Zimmermann, or sometimes Mister Zimmermann, before. “Jack, I can’t tell you everything you want to know. I don’t have a holy book to show you, or little pamphlets I can leave on your table. There isn’t a website I can direct you to. But I’m never going to come to your church. I’m sorry, I thought you knew.”

“I do know,” he says, feeling unbelievably stupid. Making a Mormon out of Bittle had never been the goal of these visits. “I just…I barely know about your beliefs.” I barely know you, he doesn’t say. “I guess I’m curious, is all.”

His face is still inscrutable, which Jack supposes is better than offended. Or he thinks so until Bitty says, “I think you should go.”

“Come back tomorrow,” he adds quickly, because Jack’s face keeps giving himself away. “I’ll know more of what to tell you then. I have a lot to think about.”

[alphacrone]

ZIMBITS AU -- Neighboring Magic Shops

Eric Bittle, a kitchen witch, is determined to bring success to his new bakery, Just Peachy, where he specializes in charmed treats and teas. Jack, the fallen wunderkind of famous necromancer Bad Bob, does not appreciate the saccharine scent of baked goods wafting into his shop every waking moment of every damn day. He runs a serious store, with powerful artifacts and ancient tomes -- things far less frivolous than luck & cheer infused PSLs. Enter a few meddling friends and a werewolf pack that runs the neighborhood bar, The Haus, and Jack and Bitty find themselves on the adventure of a lifetime. 

[zombizombi]

nothin’ says lovin’ like somethin’ from a coven - pt 3

( part 1 - part 2 - AO3 )

Waking up one Wednesday morning, Eric had the intense sensation that something important was about to happen. Sitting up, he glanced out the window. Greasy rain slid down the glass, illuminated by a pale sunrise.

Eric sighed. His cat stirred at the foot of his bed, arching her back. “Morning,” he said. Stretching both arms up over his head, he arched his own back, mimicking the cat’s posture. Running a hand over his hair, Eric yawned before swinging his feet out of bed. The shock of the chilled floor under his feet helped push him further into wakefulness.

Shuffling into the kitchen Eric set his kettle on the stove. Pouring coffee into a french press, he added a dash of cinnamon and just a little nutmeg to the grounds. Shivering a bit, Eric shifted his weight from foot to foot while waiting for the water to boil. It was incredible that the rain wasn’t snow.

After the kettle whistled and he’d poured hot water over the coffee and spices, Eric went to dress while waiting on it to brew. He tugged a blue sweater on over a blue and green plaid shirt, quickly adjusting his sleeves. On Wednesdays Eric opened the shop, which meant he needed to get moving. Once he was dressed, he returned to the kitchen and gently pressed his coffee, pouring the dark liquid into a travel mug immediately. Adding a splash of milk to it, Eric popped two pieces of bread into his toaster and sat down on the floor to pull on a pair of thick socks.

The shop wasn’t far from Eric’s apartment -- just two blocks -- but the chill of the wind and the dampness in the air made him grit his teeth as he stepped outside. Not for the first time he wished he could get Lisa to move in with her boyfriend already and give him the apartment directly above the shop. It would make getting to work so much more… pleasant.

Unlocking the door, Eric stepped into the shop with a gentle sigh of relief. He flicked the lights on and headed directly for the counter, setting his coffee down. Rubbing his hands together, he stood on his tiptoes to check on the prosperity candle before ducking into the back office to water the plants in the window.

Every morning started out that way. Eric didn’t mind getting up to open, so he usually came in first and he enjoyed the quiet morning hours. Lighting an incense blend of his own design -- sandalwood, violet, tuberose, and sweetgrass -- he left the office door open so that the heating would begin to permeate the chilly shop. Pale morning light flooded through the office window and Eric took a moment to sit down behind the counter, wrapping both hands around his coffee mug again. He closed his eyes, breathing in gently.

That feeling still shimmered along his nerves, a pale sense of vague anticipation. Opening his eyes again, Eric took a sip of his coffee. He supposed he could consult the cards. They rarely had customers so early, after all, so he normally had a bit of free time. Leaving his seat, he ducked into the reading room to grab for his personal deck.

Eric’s deck was all pastel colors and smooth, flowing images. It was a much more soothing and peaceful deck to look at than Lisa’s, which featured devilish art on many of the cards and strong, heavy black lines. Eric set the deck on the desk next to a chunk of rose quartz and settled in to pull a card or two in reference to his day.

Once he’d spend a little time just sitting and holding the cards and having coffee, Eric shuffled the deck. He pulled the first card off the top of the deck, setting it down in one crisp motion. The second card followed it, laid just to its left. Setting the deck aside, Eric flipped the first card over.

The Knight of Cups stared up at him, a swirling blue card where a rider on a horse stared up at a cup in a golden vortex. Tilting his head, Eric regarded the card quietly for a moment. The Knight of Cups was an invitation, a messenger. The cups were such an emotional suit, anyway, emotional as most things associated with water tended to be, and the Knight of Cups wasn’t an exception. It could be the arrival of a person or the arrival of a situation, but it definitely indicated that something was coming. Eric quickly flipped the second card, hoping for a little more information.

Death. The card of sudden change, of endings and beginnings, of letting go of the past and moving forward. The image on Eric’s deck’s Death card was a phoenix, brilliantly red, rising in flames above a twisted lilac branch. It was a chaotic card.

“Oh,” he murmured, “so it’s going to be like that, is it?”

The bell over the front door jingled as it pushed open. Eric jerked a little, immediately placing a protective hand down over the tarot cards. “Hello?” he called. He tucked the deck of cards back under the desk and left his seat, coffee in hand. “Can I help you?”

Coming around the desk, he didn’t see anyone. Eric frowned again. He turned to the left and collided with what was possibly the most muscular chest he’d ever felt in his life. Jumping as his hot coffee splashed between them, Eric swore just a little.

“Shit -- I’m sorry! I didn’t see you!” Would it kill this guy to make some noise? “You know, the desk is this way --” he looked up and saw a pair of unusually light blue eyes.

Oh.

Great.

“Sorry about that,” said Jack.

Eric stared at him. “Uh,” he said. His gaze moved down from Jack’s chiseled face to his broad chest. He swallowed. “I think I got coffee on your…” he gestured with one hand. “Situation. There.”

“My situation?” Jack echoed.

Eric flushed. “Hang on,” he said. Turning away, he quickly went to set his coffee firmly on the counter and headed for the back to find a towel.

“His situation?!” he hissed to himself, digging around in the office. “For real?” Why did he say that? What had possessed him to say that? “Get a grip,” Eric muttered.

Coming back out with a tea towel, Eric found Jack standing at the counter. The coffee wasn’t terribly obvious on his black-and-red plaid shirt, but Eric knew it was there. “Here,” he said, holding the towel out. “I really am sorry.”

“Thanks.” Jack took the towel and gingerly pressed it to his shirt. “It’s really fine, it’s not that wet.”

“Right,” said Eric. He smiled. “So, uh. What can I help you with today?”

“Actually,” Jack said, “I was sort of wondering… about you.”

“Me?” Eric pulled his coffee cup close to his own chest. The further from Jack the better, right? “What about me?”

A muscle jerked in Jack’s jaw. “Do you know who I am?” he asked, though it really sounded more like a demand. “You do, right?”

“Uh…” Eric glanced to the side for a second before flicking his eyes back to Jack’s face. Was this some kind of weird trick question? “Yeah? You came in here with some friends a few weeks ago? I think I pissed you off pretty well, so actually, I wasn’t expecting to see you again.” He took a drink from his cup. “Ever, I mean.” He smiled. “But I remember you, of course. Jack.”

Jack frowned. “You read my palm but you already knew who I was, right?” he said. “That’s why you said all that stuff.”

What? Eric laughed, but in truth he was a bit offended. Jack was calling him a fraud, essentially. “No,” he said. “Look, I’m sorry if I’m… supposed to, like… recognize you from somewhere, or something?” He paused. “Are you famous or something?”

“Uh --”

“When you walked in here I didn’t know you from Adam,” Eric continued, his voice picking up a bit of heat, “and I certainly didn’t… Google you or something equally creepy and somehow know you were coming ahead of time. And in fact, I don’t appreciate your accusation.” He rested a hand on the counter, leaning his weight on it as his hip jutted to the left. “I’m a witch.”

Jack blinked, his mouth opening just a tad.

“This is an occult shop,” Eric continued. “You paid for a palm reading. Right?”

“I did,” said Jack. “Well, technically, Shitty did. But --”

“So that’s what you got. And I’m sorry I brought up your daddy, as it obviously displeased you, but that doesn’t mean you can come into my house and accuse me of readin’ up on you online.” Eric sighed and ran a hand over his hair. “Look, Famous Jack. I’m not giving you a refund just because you didn’t like what you heard, so --”

“I didn’t ask for one!” Jack glared at Eric.

“Good,” Eric said. “Because services rendered are always paid for.”

Jack blushed. “I didn’t mean to offend you,” he said. “I was just wondering. It was -- it was really accurate. That’s all.”

“Mmhmm.”

“You weren’t supposed to recognize me,” Jack continued. “I didn’t mean it like that.” He rubbed the back of his neck with one large hand.

He was cute when being sheepish. “It’s okay,” Eric said, relenting a little. “So now that you’re done questioning my authenticity, is there anything else I can help you with?” He smiled.

“Uh --” Jack shifted his weight from one foot to another.

Perhaps he needed a bit of guidance. “How ‘bout some tea?” Eric offered. “I blend it myself. I have a feeling you could use a little now and then.” Walking around from behind the counter, he reached up to the top shelf, popping up on tiptoes to grasp at a large container. The round sides slid from his grip and Eric bit his lower lip, stretching out his hand.

Jack reached right over him and took the container down. “You need a ladder,” he remarked.

Eric glanced at him before taking the container, tips of his ears turning red. “I manage,” he insisted.

Once he’d measured out about five cups’ worth of tea, Eric bagged it up and hand-wrote the little label explaining how it was to be made. “Now, I don’t take anything in this when I drink it,” he said while he wrote on the label with a blue sharpie, “just the tea is fine alone. If you like you can try a bit of honey, but it won’t be good with milk or anything like that.” Capping off the marker, he smiled. “It’s five dollars,” he said.

Jack fished a wallet out of his back pocket and handed over a crisp five dollar bill. “What if I hate it?” he asked.

“You can come back and let me know what you think,” Eric said, “either way. If you want.”

Jack picked up the small packet of tea. “I will,” he said. He hesitated by the counter for a moment, glancing at Eric again. “So I guess, uh. I guess I’ll see you around?”

“I’ll try not to spill coffee on you next time,” Eric said.

“I think my situation can handle it,” Jack said, a hint of a smile hovering around the corner of his mouth.

Eric almost choked on the mouthful of coffee he’d just taken. He cleared his throat. “Ah, yeah,” he said. “I’m sure you can handle lots of, uh. Situations.”

Jack’s smile dawned over his face slowly, transforming his face from handsome to absolutely breathtaking. That smile. Eric sucked in a quick breath. “Have a great day,” he said.

After Jack left, Eric sat back down at the counter, feeling a bit dazed. He leaned his elbow on the counter. The Knight of Cups, just in the corner of his vision, the halo around the rider’s head the same pale blue as Jack’s eyes. An arrival.

[zombizombi]

nothin’ says lovin’ like somethin’ from a coven - pt 2

( part 1 )

Eric went home after work still thinking about Jack and his hands. That sweet sadness around him kept tugging at Eric’s mind, and as he unlocked the door to his tiny studio apartment, he sighed a little. Jack was never coming back, was he?

Eric should’ve kept his mouth shut, all things considered. Dropping his keys in the little dish he kept on a table by the door, he sighed and rubbed at the shaved sides of his hair. What an unsettling day. The emotional force of Jack’s unnerving stare skittered along Eric’s nerves still, winding him up and stealing some of his breath.

Unsettling days called for restorative action.

Heading into his kitchen, Eric pulled out a large mixing bowl and set it on the counter. He shuffled through ingredients in his cupboard, coming up with the basics for an apple pie. After lighting a red candle and a bit of sandalwood incense in the small niche to his left, he switched on the top 40 radio station and washed his hands. Losing himself in cooking would be the best thing for his spirit, Eric reasoned. He could always bring the pie to work the following day.

As he cut the apples, releasing their faint familiar tang into the air, Eric found his mind wandering back to Jack again. It’s only because of that jawline, Eric told himself. Anybody would remember a jawline like that. Dumping the apples in a bowl, Eric combined them with lemon juice and sugar and a pinch of cinnamon. Leaving it to sit, he began to work on the dough.

He just seemed so sad. Eric shook his head, letting out a soft sigh. Jack seemed like he had a nice group of friends. Eric had no reason to worry about him. He didn’t even know him, right? If he wasn’t careful, the pie would wind up sad, too. Looking down at his hands, Eric shook his head a little. “Get it together,” he told himself. No one liked a sad pie. He grated a bit of gryuere cheese into the crust.

The gentle light of the blue hour poured through the windows on the far end of Eric’s apartment, painting everything with a soft, sweet glow. Eric mixed dough together quietly, humming along with the radio. After popping the pie into the oven he curled up in a worn recliner, staring out the window with a cup of steaming herbal tea in his hands.

Breathing in the clean scent of chamomile and mint, Eric leaned his chin in his hand. After a long moment of reflection, he shook his head. He had a book to read! He had plenty of things to do! There was no reason to be sitting around feeling melancholy over a guy he didn’t even know. Resolved to do something about the lingering energy, Eric headed for his bathroom.

Scattering a packet of his own calming bath tea into the tub, Eric turned the squeaky handle and ran steaming hot water over the herbs. Rose, calendula, lavender, salt, and chamomile would help him relax, let go, and feel more ‘normal’. Taking a deep, steamy inhale, Eric sighed. He added a rose quartz crystal to the bottom of the tub, too, just in case. He swished a hand to set the water swirling and then stepped back out to check on his pie.

One the pie was safely out to cool, Eric gently blew out the red kitchen candle and turned off the light. He locked his door, murmuring a quiet plea for protection and restful sleep before stepping away. Night was already beginning to fall over the city.

After lighting some candles and stripping down, Eric picked a book up off the back of the toilet and flipped it open to the marked page. It was just a romance novel, nothing very heavy. Settling in to soak and read about two professors falling in love at Cambridge in the early twentieth century, Eric sipped his tea and attempted to focus on a bit of romance with a side of murder mystery.

… He ended up finishing the book that night.

The following day called for the book to go back from whence it came. Grabbing it on his way out the door, Eric stuffed it into his bag and made a mental note to run by Samwell University before heading home after his shift. He was opening that morning, so he knew he’d be out of work by five in the evening. That was plenty of time to get the second book in the series!

Scribbling a small note on a post-it, Eric tucked it inside the cover before leaving the shop. Making his way to the Samwell library, he stopped to pet a stray tabby cat around the corner from Made with Magic. Halfway to the library he paused to murmur a blessing over a busker’s hat. And, once he got to the library, Eric headed into the stacks immediately with the novel in hand to make sure he’d be able to find the sequel.

Fiction was tucked away in the corner of the library near a group of study booths. Eric checked the spine of the book in his hand and followed the little codes, looking for the second in the series. He was so engaged in looking for the right combination of numbers and letters that he took one too many steps to the right and ran into a small, ancient-looking wooden cubicle. The novel in his hand hit the table with a rather loud bang as he reached out to steady himself.

A dark head leaned around the edge of the cubicle. “You okay?”

Jack.

“Oh!” Eric flushed. “Hi there! Sorry, I – was distracted.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Sorry about that.”

“You’re the palm reader,” Jack said.

“That’s me,” said Eric.

Jack blinked. “Do you go here?”

“Me?” Eric laughed. “God, no.” He held up the novel. “No. I’m just grabbing a book. Not, uh. Not stalking you or anything. Not a student, either.” He laughed again. “Fun reading.” Realizing quite suddenly that he was holding an incredibly gay romance novel up to a young man he barely knew, Eric flushed. “So, um. Have a nice day! Sorry again, for botherin’ you.” He turned around, clutching the book to his chest, and swiftly made for the front of the library.

Eric left the first novel on the table.

Jack picked the book up, flipping the cover open. A pale yellow post-it stared up at him, cheerful handwriting in blue ink gracing its face.

A little reminder… You are amazing!

(Yes, you. ♥)

He looked up, but Eric was already gone.

When he’d finished working on his paper, Jack carried the novel up to the front. “Can I check this out, please?” he asked, handing it to the student working the circulation desk.

( see me on AO3 ! )

[zombizombi]

are you going to continue your check please! magic shop au? because it's amazing and I love your writing style

Honestly, I’m not sure! I had originally hoped to make it a multi-chapter situation, but I got a bit hung up on some plot points. I will be putting it on AO3 soon, and if I continue it I’ll keep putting it there!! Hopefully the muse will rise again.

Thank you so very much for enjoying it. I’m so happy and still surprised 💖 y'all have all been amazing, sending me comments like this!! I appreciate it so so much you don’t even know 😭

[zombizombi]

I found your kitchen witch Bitty fic ... delicious! I'm more a greenwitch myself than kitchen witch, but hell, if you ever want to swap writing prompts, I'd love to explore more topics like that in my own writing!

Aaahhhh! Thank you so much!! I’m shocked 😭😭😭😭

I’ve never traded prompts before, but I’d like very much to encourage you to explore witchcraft in your writing!

[zombizombi]

The kitchen with! Bitty fic was lovely! I would love to see more. Will Jack come back to the store? Will he want more readings?

Ahhh, thank you! Oh my gosh, I’m really shocked and excited that anyone likes my writing, so I appreciate your message :)

To be honest, I had planned to write quite a bit more in that AU! I got a bit… Stuck… On some points, but that doesn’t mean the inspiration won’t strike me again. I’d like to continue it if I’m able!

[zombizombi]

nothin’ says lovin’ like somethin’ from a coven

Eric leaned his elbow on the counter, idly stirring his cafe au lait. The weather was just beginning to turn, the wind gaining a crisp, clean edge. Eric had opened the small window in the office behind the counter and a faint, cool breeze ushered itself through, making the candle flame from the constant prosperity spell flicker in its glass.

He was taking a small break from sorting through a shipment of items and re-stocking shelves. They’d had an uptick in business lately, though there was almost always someone in the store, looking through books or getting a reading or just generally poking around. Their store-made teas and bath products had gotten a few rave reviews in magazines, and ever since then they’d seen sales soar. The shoulder of his blue sweater slipped a little and Eric pulled it back up, flicking his eyes toward the phone.

Any minute now.

The telephone rang and Eric left his cup sitting on the counter, the spoon still slowly stirring the liquid. “Hello, thank you for calling Made with Magic, this is Eric –” he paused, listening. “Yes, we offer many types of readings. You can choose from palm, tarot card, tea leaves, aura, runes…” he trailed off, brushing his fingers through bright blond hair as he smiled. “Mmhmm. I’ll be here tonight until closing, that’s eight p.m. Yes ma’am. Thank you for calling!”

He hung up and returned to his coffee just as the bell by the door rang, signalling a new arrival. Eric looked toward the doorway as he lifted his cup to his lips, sipping the hot liquid. It looked like a group of curious guys, led by a young man with an impressive moustache. They were all rather tall and obviously athletic, save one very short young lady.

Most of their customers liked to browse in peace, usually. Eric didn’t make it a habit to follow people around – he could tell if they took something, anyway. It was such a curse to steal from a witch, he almost found it funny when anyone tried. But these guys looked new, so he figured he ought to at least say something.

Swallowing his coffee, Eric lowered his mug. He hopped down off the stool and walked around the counter, his sneakers surprisingly quiet on the wooden floor. “Welcome to Made with Magic,” he said, offering the group a bright smile. “Let me know if I can help y’all find anything. We’re offering a sale on all our vigil candles today –” Eric swept an arm in the vague direction of the tall, wooden shelving containing row upon row of glass-encased candles. Two of the young men turned to look at them immediately. “– as well as our bath teas. Let me know if y’all have questions.”

Returning to his coffee, Eric noticed that he’d left the spoon stirring again. None of the customers, it seemed, had noticed such a small thing – sitting on the stool, Eric put the mug back to his lips. The coffee was hot and smooth from the milk, and he smiled a little as he tasted it. There was cinnamon in it that day. Cinnamon for protection, prosperity, good luck – someone must’ve made a new pot that afternoon. Eric knew he needed to finish his coffee and get back to stocking, but he decided to watch the exuberant young man and his friends for a little while instead. A tall blond poked through all the vigil candles, giggling over a few and making comments in a mock scary voice about the Santa Muerte candle. His similarly-sized friend seemed unnerved by the whole place, following his friends around and looking anxiously at the figural candles. Eric leaned his chin in his hand, watching them as he sipped his coffee. He turned his head just as the man with the moustache approached the counter with his dark-haired friend.

“I mean, it’s just a chance to reaffirm your awesomeness, what’s the worst that could happen?”

“You spent the entire walk over here talking about –”

“At the least maybe he’ll tell us which team you sign with. You know, in the glaringly bright utopia that is your future?” the young man slapped his hand down on the counter and turned to look at Eric. “Right? Tell him.”

“See into your future, huh?” Eric grinned. “Well, something like that.” He quoted the small price for a basic palm reading. The dark-haired young man reached into his pocket but his friend waved him off.

“Naw, it’s on me. C’mon.”

He motioned toward the curtained area to the left of the desk. “I’ll see you in here, please. Ah –” he held up a hand, warding off the moustachioed friend’s disappointment before it spilled all over his counter. “Alone, please.” Eric smiled and stepped into the back to ask Lisa to cover the desk. As soon as she was in place, smiling brightly at the young men, Eric stepped into the curtained reading area, motioning for the young man to follow. It was a small space with dimmer light than the rest of the store, curtained off from the rest of the shop. The table was low, surrounded by a few pillows. A crystal ball sat off to one side next to a deck of cards. Eric set a candle down on the table before seating himself on the left side of the table. “Have a seat,” he said. Looking at the young man, Eric ran his fingers over his hair again, letting them trail softly over the shaved sides as he tilted his head. The scent of mint and lavender wafted up from the candle between them. “What’s your name?” Eric then reached out a hand, meaning to take the young man’s palm.

“Jack,” he said. After a moment of hesitation, he extended his hand.

“Hi Jack,” said Eric. He smiled again as he grasped Jack’s hand with an easy, but firm, grip. “Nice to meet you.”

Jack didn’t return his smile. His eyes were an incredibly light blue, almost colorless in the low candlelight.

Right.

Flipping Jack’s hand over, Eric leaned forward. “So, I’m not really looking into your future,” he said. Letting out a soft laugh, he tilted Jack’s hand one way first, then another. “It’s more just learning about who you are,” he said. “But we’ll see where that takes us, won’t we?”

“Sure,” Jack said.

Jack had a short and deep life line, the kind of thing that signified some struggle. “Things haven’t been easy for you, have they?” Eric asked, voice soft. “Your life line is forked,” he said, “which means that your life… changed directions, rather suddenly, at some point. This break, here –” he tapped a short section of skin near Jack’s thumb, “shows me some struggle.” Glancing up at Jack’s face, he smiled. “But I think you’re comin’ along fine. Don’t you?”

Jack’s eyes narrowed.

Eric ran his finger over the line that extended across the palm, toward the little finger. “Now, this is called the head line. You often find yourself mulling things over – maybe a bit much – before coming to a decision. Maybe you’re a little over-analytical?” He flicked his eyes back up to Jack’s face. “A deep, long line is evidence of a clear, focused thinker.”

Drawing his finger along the the short, curved line that arced up and ended about a half inch below the base of Jack’s middle finger, Eric paused. “This is your heart line. I think it’s obvious that this line is about love.” He smiled a soft smile, illuminated by the candlelight. “You’re reserved. You like smaller groups rather than big ones. And –” Eric glanced back up again. “You open up best in one-on-one settings. Your heart line touches your life line, which means your heart breaks easily.”

Jack took a breath. He looked down at his hand in Eric’s, his throat moving with a quick swallow. “And?” he asked. “Is there more?”

Eric smiled softly, running his thumb along the base of Jack’s fingers. “Of course there’s more, sweetheart,” he said. He lightly turned Jack’s hand in his again, feeling the shape of the hand beneath the fingers. The shapes of the mounds under each finger all meant something to him, told him something about the person in front of him. Eric sighed softly and the candle flame flickered, dancing light across his face. The soft, sweet smell of incense curled through the curtain. Lisa must have been lighting a new stick or cone somewhere, ushering the scent through the store. Eric gently caressed the hand in his. Long fingers showed him a delicate person, perhaps a little anxious? ”You’re shy, unable to communicate. You live in your head, but don’t share it with others.” He glanced back up. “You’re a bit of a loner, aren’t you?” Despite all those friends he’d come in with, Eric felt that the person in front of him was quiet and shy. ”You should be careful about living so much in your imagination.” Eric slid his fingers back down Eric’s palm. “It can crowd out all sense of reality. I see that you love the arts, particularly –” he smiled, touching the edge of Jack’s finger. “Photography?” Eric took Jack’s other hand and leaned over it for a moment, staying quiet. Where was that sadness from? Eric turned Jack’s hand over and back up in his, looking for the answer. Perhaps cards would show more? As it was, he needed to wrap up this reading before he gave the young man more time than he’d paid for. A black cat slipped in through the curtain, winding around the legs of the table and staring at Jack with wide, bright green eyes. “You’re influential,” Eric finally said, “whether you know it or not. Intelligent, a natural leader –” Eric paused, pressing under Jack’s middle finger. “But you’re also terribly stubborn. You have a tendency to be alone. Depressed, maybe? Or perhaps you’re a bit cynical and shy.” He tilted his head, staring at Jack’s face for a moment. There it was. “Tell me about your father,” Eric said.

Jack turned his head, breaking eye contact with Eric. He glanced toward the black curtain before pulling his hand back. A muscle jerked in his jaw.

Ah. He’d hit a nerve, then. Eric blinked and bit his lip. Damn. He was still working on not sharing everything he saw in a reading. Lisa said it was worth learning to tell what needed to be said and what didn’t. “I’m sorry,” he said quickly, “I didn’t mean to upset you –”

“Jack!” The exuberant voice of Jack’s mustache-wearing friend cut in between them. “C’mon, man. Holster’s freaked Rans out about ghosts and now he’s fucking –” He pushed through the curtain. “You done, dude?”

“We’re done,” Jack said.

Eric could feel the relief coming off him in waves. He released Jack’s hand immediately, well aware that they were quite done. As Jack exited the curtain, Eric stood, following him out. He watched as the friends paid Lisa and left the shop as quickly as possible. No sooner had the door closed behind the gaggle of boys than Lisa turned, putting one hand on her hip. “Guess you said something he didn’t like,” she said. “You have to work on that, Eric. We need repeat customers, hmm?” Raising a brow, she held up the fee. “And you should’ve upsold yourself. Haven’t we been over this? Always offer them all types and then –” “He wouldn’t’ve paid for cards,” Eric said, waving a hand. “Forget it.” The cat padded back out of the reading room, jumping up on the counter. As Eric ran a hand over soft black fur, he sighed. “I’ve got stocking to do. Are you okay on the counter for a while?” Lisa switched the CD out for her preferred mix and waved him away. “Have fun. Make sure you inventory the herbs tonight, too. We’re definitely out of rue again.” Stirring her own cup of coffee, she smiled brightly as the door opened and a group of girls entered the shop. “Welcome to Made with Magic! How can we help you ladies today?” Eric passed by the giggling girls, ignoring their curious glances. In the basement of the shop, with his cup of coffee and the consistent company of the cat, he sorted through boxes of candles and carefully shelved a few of their more… specialty… items. His mind kept wandering back to that young man, recalling his rather unique eyes. It wasn’t often Eric got to read for such a pretty guy.

continued on AO3!