#meowing petulantly if anyone did anything he didn’t like

[adrift-in-thyme]

Ah I forgot I modeled Cree after my cat

[crowfeets]

this is nsfw and very rough, but this draft 0 scene is cracking me up

under 18 DO NOT LOOK pls

(Jackal, “totally straight what are you talking about“ Lastname)

Jackal caught a flash of light and his eye was drawn unbidden to Amal’s nipples, because what the fuck was that, there were gold rings in them. He felt himself flush from neck to forehead and tried not to stare. That had to be a sex thing, right? He didn’t know the first thing about how two men might fuck, but most of the girls he’d experimented with had certainly liked attention in that area. He felt himself getting distracted by the memories, shook his head to clear them which set the braids to clicking.

Amal shifted in his sleep with a snort and Jackal stifled a yelp, felt his face burn hotter, a rush of – what, guilt? Stupid.

Fuck this. He kicked out with his foot, jarred the chaise with a satisfying thump.

Amal snorted, gasped, flailed awake with a shout and nearly fell onto the floor. He blinked bleary brown eyes up at Jackal, hair in his face. His surprise quickly turned into a thoroughly miserable expression, which was good.

“Get up. I’m thirsty and the cat wants food.” He hadn’t forgiven Amal, refused to forgive him. Unfortunately he also didn’t know how anything worked around here.

The spotted cat gave a cry from the other room as if in agreement. Jackal heard the sound as it launched itself to the floor and the percussion of its feet as it ran over to them.

“Not even so much as a “good morning”?” Amal asked petulantly, rubbed at his face with a hand. He yawned into his fist.

“G’morning, my dear husband,” Jackal said scathingly. “Now how do I get some gods-damned tea in this stupid place?”

The spotted cat meowed by his calves.

“And breakfast.”

Amal groaned and hauled himself up to a sitting position, pushed back his hair with a sigh.

“You can find a bell-pull,” he started to say when Jackal interrupted.

“No, I’m not gonna remember shit-all if you just tell me. I need you to show me how, and then I don’t have to bother you again.”

Amal looked at Jackal for a moment, searchingly, and Jackal felt an urge to look away. The sunshine through the large windows painted green-and-yellow across his warm brown skin, his full lips, reflected in his deep eyes and dark hair.

“All right,” He said finally. “I need to get my leg on then. We may be newly married but you may want to turn away now.”

“What -“ Jackal started to ask, then registered Amal was un-fastening the knot that held his kilt closed.

With a sound that definitely wasn’t an embarrassing squawk Jackal spun around and clapped his hands over his eyes for good measure, face on fire.

“Twins’ shining asses you could’ve fucking warned me!” It came out a shriek, which made him wince internally.

“I did warn you, I just warned you!” Amal said behind him. There were sounds of fabric and metal jingling, the scrape of wood. “I literally just warned you just now!”

“Not that you were about to get your cock out, for the love of fuck be more specific you ibis’ cloaca!” Jackal groaned, resolutely not turning around.

“Ibis’ what?” Amal snorted. “I’ll admit that’s a new one. Did you know,” This punctuated by a grunt of effort and a scrape-jingle, “That you swear more than anyone I’ve ever met? Is this a provincial thing?”

Anger flared in Jackal’s chest. “No, this isn’t some “provincial thing”, and don’t you dare blame my parents. This is just how I talk, despite all the times my mother tried to clean out my mouth with soap.”

“It’s refreshing, to be quite honest. You’re also one of the only people who has ever insulted me to my face.”

“What, really?” Jackal somehow found that difficult to believe.

“You don’t have to sound quite so incredulous.”

[the-knights-who-say-book]

“I’m home!” Emi yelled, throwing her bag through the door and walking in after it. She always made sure something went through the doorway before she did — a habit she never explained to anyone.

Emi wasn’t a common kind of witch. She didn’t deal in magic that you could learn from a textbook or store-bought grimoire. She pieced her magic together carefully in small daily rituals and habits (or rather, she made her magic when she broke those habits. The day Emi walked through her apartment door without a person or an object going through in front of her, the entire building would likely burn down).

Of course, that meant Emi moved through the world gingerly, always taking care never to trigger one of her own unspells. Failing to complete one of her regular unspelled actions could mean anything from triggering an extremely dangerous reaction (like burning down the building) to simply losing years of work put into creating a certain unspell that she’d meant to use at another time.

And because Emi was an uncommon witch, it was no surprise that she’d ended up dating Mona, who was an extremely uncommon witch herself.

Mona was currently sprawled over most of the couch, watching Emi come in. The book in her hand suggested she was reading it, but her eyes tracked Emi into the apartment over the edge of the cover instead. “Hey, love. How’d the interview go?”

Mona had called Emi any number of nicknames over the years, from Queen Of The Dead And Also Everyone Else Probably to Actual Cutest Bumblebee, but she rarely went for anything as simple as “love”, so Emi was instantly suspicious.

She raised an eyebrow at her as she shrugged out of her jacket and put it over the back of the same chair as always. Her favorite chair, the one Mona had endowed with extra comfortableness she’d stolen from several other seats. “Pretty good, I think. Everything okay here?”

“Of course,” Mona said, but the guilty tone of voice made it clear something had happened that Emi wasn’t going to like.

Emi shot her another questioning look but let it go. In the kitchen, Iago was sitting on the counter, where he wasn’t allowed to be, cleaning one paw smugly. She petted his head, and then gently tried to nudge him off the counter.

“Fuck,” said Iago.

Emi stared at her cat. “What?”

Iago stretched and purred. “Mrrrrrrrrrrfuck.”

Emi turned slowly from Iago to Mona, who was now leaning against the fridge and guiltily twisting strands of her bright pink hair.

“I can explain,” she said.

“Why can my cat curse?!”

“Our cat,” said Mona. “And it’s Greg’s fault.”

Emi scooped Iago up, despite his loud (and fuck-filled) objection, and hugged him to her chest. “How is our cat cursing Greg’s fault? Who’s Greg? That rude guy from your Psych class? There is literally no way he taught Iago to curse.”

“He can’t really curse,” Mona said. “That sort of implies he can say all curse words, I think. He can only say fuck.”

“Technicality.”

Mona spread her hands pleadingly, coming closer. “It’s not a big deal, Em, come here—”

“No forehead kisses until you’ve explained this,” Emi said, lifting Iago up like a shield against her taller girlfriend.

Mona made a face and kissed Iago’s head instead, then took him from her. “It was an accident. After class I took out my hearing aids because I had a headache, right?”

Emi nodded. Mona seemed to take most opportunities to not wear her hearing aids. It was a trade off between Mona hearing things the first time they were said and Emi being able to kiss her ear without making her hearing aids squeal, so — pros and cons.

“So Greg said something to me and I couldn’t tell what it was after asking him to repeat it about five times — he’s a mumbler, okay? And he kept not speaking up. Yet somehow he gets to be annoyed with me instead of the other way around. So when I finally get my hearing aids back in to find out what he wanted, he decided it was time to make a super funny joke.” Her voice dripped with sarcasm, triggering an emphatic meow from Iago. “Thanks, Go. He is an asshole.”

Emi tapped her fingers on her arm. “Iago is not your ally until you explain this.”

“He asked if another snatcher stole my hearing. Thought it was really clever.”

“Oh, yikes,” Emi muttered without meaning to. Mona often got snide comments about her unusual power, but this was another level of jackassery.

“So,” Mona said, “I stole his ability to say fuck.”

“And while I support your right to deal with Greg, that doesn’t explain Iago,” Emi said firmly. “He didn’t do anything to you, he doesn’t deserve this.”

Mona’s look said that the rest of the story should have been obvious. “Well, then I had double the ability to say fuck after I took Greg’s, didn’t I? I was cursing all over the place on the walk home. I couldn’t keep it. So I just tossed it to Iago. And I think he’s having the time of his lives.”

“Take it back.”

“Greg doesn’t deserve to have it back,” Mona said petulantly.

“You don’t have to give it back to him, but Iago can’t keep it.”

Mona considered this. “I could probably transfer it to an inanimate object without a mouth to use the ability. But it always takes a bit of arguing to get non-sentient objects to take on the attributes of sentient things.”

“I’m sorry, non-sentient things are sentient enough to argue with you about accepting attributes?”

“Obviously.”

Emi rubbed her eyes. “That’s not... sure, it’s obvious. As long as I don’t end up with a cursing tissue box.”

“Oh, I won’t give it to the tissue box,” Em said, carrying Iago out of the kitchen. “I’m already storing your snores in there. Trust me, it’s got no more room left.”

thx for reading about my messy witch couple and their awful cat, you can read another not-story about them here if you want