#what if a moth was a witch would that be fucked up or what

[mothmothm0th]

if a moth offers you tea, don't

cw: mild squick, allusion to cannibalism Oh, dreary dearie. Did mother not tell you? Were you not taught? Ah, but who minds. Certainly not me. Come on in. I shall prepare a pot for you.

Tea? You enjoy tea, yes? Oh, no dear. I did not ask whether you do or not. Ah, this tongue of yours is quite tricky. Nevertheless, I shall open you up. Like a jar of honey. Yes, a little twist and… Hm? Oh, no no. I have no honey. Why would I? I've not been on good terms with bees since Melliphila IV. Such a busy… bee, that one was. Queens, you understand. Ah, but please sit down, please sit down. Ah, but may I ask for your name?

Whatfor is that look? Taught never to…? How peculiar! I've never heard of such skibidi. And this you believe, with heart? Peculiar, peculiar. Yet you've no cause for alarm. For every being a name, every name a being, heh heh. Such was I taught and I have the best teachers. The best. So no need to worry. No need at all.

Ah, but what is that whistle? Tee, you say? What is… Well I certainly have never heard of a shirt which whistles! Hm? Oh, you mean tea! Strange language, strange indeed. Yes, of course. I shall place the kettle on the stove and we shall have ourselves some delicious tee in no time at all. Ah, the sweet taste of wool and pomegranate dye… Hm? Oh, of course I'm simply joking. Of course. Let me fetch the pot.

Daniel be damned! Here is a pot of fresh, hot water. Why, the kettle must have developed a soul and learned to treat its mistress properly! How else could it have placed itself upon the stove and… Memory loss? Me? Dear, I do not suffer from such a thing. I would remember if I did, and I do not.

Now, what shall we have? Earl Grey? Pomegranate wool? I have a small sample of saffron linen if you'd like. Yes, wool and linen. Such distinguished tastes, are they not? Polyester simply cannot compete, heh heh. No? You would prefer the Earl Grey? Wondrous! Expensive, that was. Dried and ground up prime minister is simply not easy to source. Of course, the Victorians had the bright idea to go for the really aged stuff. Tasty, yes. Cursed, very much so. Perhaps best we leave the poor kings alone.

Lost your appetite? Oh, my. But one simply must! Tis bad manners to deny a host's request. Furthermore, I urge you to consider that I am simply a little guy. Look at my antennae! They're little guy antennae. You would not deny a little guy, would you? Furthermore, it is my birthday! I am a little birthday moth! Please don't do this to me. I... I simply wish to be a good host. N-no, the clothes are there for... for... A-and the dust merely adds atmosphere!

H-how would you know it's the kitchen sink were it not filled with dirty dishes? Mi-*mise-en-scène*! It's mise-en-scène! Please don't go. I'm so lonely... No one ever visits. I don't even have a doll to keep me company. I don't deserve this big hat if I cannot even host a guest... But you humans are so... particular.

Ah, but there is a solution! If you were not human, if you were not a guest, we would not be in this mess! Oh, moth, you're a genius. If I must live up to this hat of mine, then what better means of doing this but by crafting my own doll! Yes, yes. Yes! That would work. I'm a rizzler!

And hey, we have raw material, right here. Oh, don't you worry. The doors are locked. Nowhere to go. Did you know that moth dust contains a powerful paralytic component? To protect ourselves against predators, y'see. I'm covered in the stuff!

Now, breathe in deep. We'll be oomfies before you know it. Night night!

[iamnotoriginalphil]

Lay Claim (Agatha Harkness x f!Reader)

Synopsis: The return of Agatha's ex stirs up feelings in you that would rather have been left in the past.

Words: 2.8k

Warnings: jealousy, possessiveness, a few swear words, angst, mommy kink kind of

When you were told the Witches Road would show you your deepest fears you’d been expecting something like clowns or zombies or the inescapable plod towards death. What you weren’t expecting was Agatha’s ex to show up and stir up all kinds of feelings. That was not the kind of fear you were thinking you would be shown.

Watching Agatha and Rio interact, you felt a pit in your stomach. Turning your gaze down to your bare feet, you scowled, not wanting to keep watching, not wanting to keep feeling. Your silence was all encompassing, not able to even feign interest while this show was going in front of you.

An arm wound through yours, startling you. Glancing up, blue eyes were staring out at the coven you’d unwittingly joined, lips pressed together.

“The universe is conspiring against me,” Agatha said, a displeased growl of a voice.

“Oh please. I doubt the universe is even thinking about you,” you replied.

She rolled her eyes but her lips pulled up into a small smile. The flutter of your heart shouldn’t have been your response, but anything that give her some modicum of entertainment always did that to you. You liked being able to make her happy, even if it was only for a fleeting moment.

“You can’t trust her,” she said, lowering her voice, eyes trained on Rio.

“I know,” you replied, a sick twist in your gut.

You’d met Agatha long before she’d gone after Wanda and gotten caught in Westview. Back then, it had been the fluttering beginnings of romantic feelings. Soft glances, fingers brushing together, soft whispers over spell books late at night. Right on the precipice of something more, you’d teetered for months, waiting for one of you to make a move. And then she’d disappeared.

When she’d walked into your shop with a teenager in tow, you’d been completely caught off guard. Your heart had thudded once, twice, in your chest and you’d had no words. But you’d shown up to her house at the allotted time. Of course you had. It was still a case of when she told you to jump, you asked how high.

After so many years apart with no word from her, you were jumping pretty fucking high to be with her again.

“She’ll hurt you for her own sick gain,” she said, her eyes still locked on the other woman.

Rio turned, looking over her shoulder at the two of you. The wink she gave only made your jaw clench. Those brown eyes lazily dragged from Agatha to you, her smirk settling deeper on her face before turning back to looking forward.

“You assume I can’t take care of myself,” you said, knowing you didn’t sound pleased.

In your peripheral vision, you saw her head finally turn towards you. Those brilliant blue eyes were like a ghostly caress, sweeping over you before settling on your face. She lent closer, her breath ghosting over your skin. You fought against a shiver, knowing there was no way to hide it with her so close.

“Can you?” she asked.

You turned towards her, nose almost brushing hers.

“Just because I’ve never fought you before doesn’t mean I can’t,” you said, “I’m not the one who had her powers taken. I didn’t choose to take such a big risk and ended up losing it all.”

“No need to be mean, kitten,” she said, lips pouting and like a moth to a flame, your gaze focused on them.

“Isn’t there?” you asked, your eyes meeting hers again.

She didn’t give you an answer, only drawing back far enough that the two of you weren’t sharing the same air. You glanced away, finding brown eyes watching in interest. Turning to stare out at the trees, you ignored that probing look from the only person you refused to give your answers to.

“I remember you talking more,” Agatha said as if you hadn’t been difficult, “a real chatty Cathy.”

“It’s been years. People change,” you said with a small shrug that she must have felt through the arm still wound around yours.

“I didn’t think you would,” she said.

“Why?” you asked, not sure what you were hoping to get from her.

“Because I liked you how you were,” she replied.

“But not now,” you said, hating that you’d asked in the first place.

“I’m still deciding,” she said, almost distantly, like the answer didn’t matter.

The answer definitely mattered.

Later, walking beside Jen, you were doing your best to not look at Agatha and Rio again. Snipping at each other, the animosity a front for unspoken sexual tension, you were finding it difficult not to listen in. It was making your skin itch.

“So you knew Agatha before all this?” Jen asked.

“Uh huh,” you said, still watching the two of them bickering.

“What was she like? When you knew her?” she asked.

“Uh… kind of similar to how she is now,” you replied, dragging your gaze away from her, “a liar, manipulative, but so much fun. She was my best friend.”

You glanced back to her, finding blue eyes already there to meet yours. The moment stretched and you felt yourself trembling. Forcing yourself to look away, you found Jen watching with interest.

“But that was years ago,” you said, waving off the pit in your gut, acting as if it no longer existed.

“What happened?” she asked.

“What always happens. She disappeared into the night,” you replied.

“So what? She dropped you without warning?” she asked.

You narrowed your eyes at her, considering her for a moment. She was still looking at you expectantly. You wrinkled your nose and sped up, leaving her behind without an answer. The weight of a heavy gaze stayed on you, longer than you were expecting. You refused to meet those eyes again, hating every second of what you were feeling. This was not what you’d signed up for.

Except it was.

“So what made you agree to this little adventure?”

You’d been so caught up in your own thoughts you hadn’t realised that Rio had fallen into step beside you. You glanced over then away again, keeping your gaze straight ahead.

“All encompassing power,” you replied.

“Ha, right,” she said, “I’m sure that was the incentive that had you joining this band of merry men.”

“What other reason could I have?” you snapped, immediately regretting it when you saw the lick of satisfaction passing over her face.

“Perhaps you feel a sense of loyalty for a certain beguiling witch,” she said.

You scoffed, hoping to cover up the exact reason.

“Or maybe,” she said, drawing even closer, breath ghosting over your ear, “you just want to please mommy.”

You jerked back, snapping your head around to look at her. She was grinning, delighting in your heated cheeks and thudding heart. Her hand slid along your lower back, curling around your hip as she tugged you closer. Your breath was a shudder and your skin felt on fire. Brown eyes rested on your lips for just a moment before finding yours again. You didn’t even realise the two of you had stopped walking.

“Is that why you’re doing it? Are you hoping to be mommy’s special girl?” she asked, voice lowering into a whisper.

You pressed your lips together, eyes darting up, searching for someone, anyone, who could interrupt this moment. Blue eyes flashed and you felt your breath catch.

“Take your hands off her,” Agatha growled.

“And why would I do that?” Rio asked, head rolling in the direction of the other witch.

“Because I told you to,” she said.

“But she’s such a pretty pet,” she said, looking back at you.

Her nail trailed over your lip, a threat held in the gentle touch. You shoved at her, only to find her pressing you closer, chest to chest, caught up in her arms like twisting vines. She drew closer, the scent of wet dirt and rotting leaves invading your nose.

“Stop,” Agatha said.

“No one lays claim to her,” Rio said, lips almost close enough to brush yours, “she’s free game.”

“I claim her.” Agatha’s voice had hardened.

The small noise you made was embarrassing. So close, there was no possibility Rio had missed it, probably locking it away to use against Agatha at a later date. But to hear those words after all this time… You hadn’t been able to stop yourself. Rio released you, stepping away with a small shrug.

“If you say so,” she said. Agatha snatched at your arm, steering you away from the other witch. Your jaw clenched but you let her, like a toy won in a game of tug of war between two toddlers. Ignoring the audience watching on, she strode off, leading everyone further down the road.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you muttered under your breath.

“Yes,” she said, her voice still hard, “I did.”

You didn’t argue, letting her continue to steer you with the strong hold she had on your arm, just above your elbow, fingers digging in hard enough to make you wonder if there would be bruises there later. That wouldn’t be such a bad thing, you thought.

She kept silent until you made camp, another day on the road leaving you weary. The flickering fire crackled, the voices of the women familiar in ways you hadn’t experienced in such a long time. Agatha sat beside you, silent and brooding, shoulder brushing against yours. Across the fire, Rio was watching with dark eyes and darker smile.

It felt as if you were turning into a pawn in a game of power you had never agreed to play.

When it came time to lay on the bed of leaves, you curled into a ball, your back to both women. All you wanted was a moment to yourself, the roiling in your stomach and the burning in your veins toxic, making it impossible to forget the jealousy you’d been grappling with this entire trip. This god forsaken trip. You squeezed your eyes closed, willing yourself to sleep.

You weren’t sure how much time had passed, the sky never changing from perpetual night. Soft fingers were gently stroking through your hair. Your forehead was gently resting against the side of a warm thigh, your body curled towards the woman you’d missed more than you’d admitted to her. Your unconscious mind had sought out what you hadn’t let yourself want in your waking hours.

Keeping your eye closed, you pressed your face against Agatha’s leg. Her fingers stilled for a moment before continuing. It was soothing, her touch something you’d missed for so many years.

“I missed you,” you whispered, still soft with sleep, not quite able to stop yourself.

“I know you did, hon,” she said, still carding her fingers through your hair.

You sighed, knowing that was probably the best you were ever going to get from her. You shuffled away, dislodging her fingers. Sitting up, you plucked leaves from your hair, letting them flutter back to the road. She reached out for you but you shook your head.

“Don’t,” you said, “this is… I can’t do this.”

Scrabbling to your feet, you looked down at her. The expression on her face was hurt and confused before the mask slammed back into place.

“Fine by me,” she said, “if you can’t do it then you can’t do it.”

“Fine,” you said.

You spun on your heels and strode off, giving yourself the chance to calm down. The ache in your chest was only growing the more time you spent with her and you were certain it was going to end in heartbreak. For you, specifically. Even if she had done that whole claiming thing with Rio.

Which, you weren’t going to lie, was still making your knees weak when you thought about it.

Shoving your fingers through the front of your hair, clenching your fist, you stared out at the road. You should have never agreed to join Agatha’s coven. You’d known it was a bad idea even as you’d shown up to her house. And yet here you were, like a love sick puppy, unable to say no to her.

“Just to be clear, what is the this you can’t do?”

You jumped, spinning around. Agatha, in all of her witchy glory, had managed to follow you on silent feet.

“Don’t sneak up on me,” you admonished, your heart beating too fast in your chest.

“I see your perceptive abilities are still the same as ever,” she said.

“You know what? I take it back. I wish you’d left me alone,” you said.

“You don’t mean that, hon,” she said.

“I do,” you said, “because then I wouldn’t feel like this and I could have continued on assuming you’d just grown tired of me instead of whatever is going on now.”

“You thought I’d grown tired of you?” she asked.

You glanced up, finding those blue eyes staring at you with such intensity it made you shiver.

“We argued about you going after Wanda, but you went anyway and when you didn’t come back I just assumed…” you said, trailing off.

“That I was finished with you,” she finished for you.

“I mean, now I know that wasn’t it, and don’t get me wrong, I want to crucify Wanda for what she did to you. But then on the other hand, it hasn’t exactly been the way it was before you left,” you said.

“I’m glad you recognise you’ve been acting out of character,” she said.

“Not me,” you snapped, “you. You’ve been all mooney eyed over Rio. Lingering glances and stolen looks and bickering all over the place.”

“Careful, kitten. You’re sounding jealous,” she said, taking a swaying step closer.

“Say’s the woman who was ready to throw down with a woman who simply touched me,” you said.

“She was doing a bit more than touch you,” she scoffed.

You closed the gap with her, both hands grasping her face. Her own hands came up, fingers curling around your wrists in a tight grip.

“Don’t throw stones in glass houses, Agatha,” you warned, pulling her closer.

“I’ve missed you too,” she murmured, making your heart ache, “before that bitch put me under her spell, when I was there in Westview getting ready to take her magic. The entire time I wished you were there with me.”

“And now? Do you still wish I was with you?” you asked.

“More than anything,” she whispered.

“And Rio?” you asked.

“Can burn in hell,” she replied, “and if she touches you again she won’t be making it to the end of the road. You’re mine, pet, and only mine.”

“As long as you know I claim you too,” you said.

She lingered, a hair’s breadth from your lips. With your hands still cupping her cheeks, you closed the distance, kissing her the way you’d spent so long dreaming of. It wasn’t the stuff of romance, soft and sweet and butterfly inducing. She kissed you like she owned you, possessing you. You dragged her closer, pressing your body to hers, wanting to feel every inch of her.

The kissed deepened. Heat spread through your veins and you moaned, hands sliding from her cheeks to her hair, tangling your fingers in it until it pulled. Her teeth sunk into your lower lip. You whimpered into her mouth, clutching tighter, not caring how needy you were being. You’d waited long enough for this. You weren’t about to play it cool enough for her to think she’d made the wrong decision by kissing you.

She dragged herself away from your lips, eyes darkened and lips kiss swollen, a flush high on her cheeks. You thought she’d never looked so beautiful, nor more desirable. She was the kind of temptation that had your knees growing weak.

“I bet you’re not wishing I’d left you alone now,” she said, but the breathless note undercut the cocky attitude she was trying for.

“Shut up,” you laughed, pulling her in for another kiss.

You didn’t know how much time passed like that, losing yourself in her. But when you returned to the fire once more, you curled up beside her, head resting in her lap, letting her fingers run through your hair once more. It was the best you’d slept in quite a long time.

The next day, no one mentioned the change between the two of you, but they didn’t have to. It was obvious. Agatha had laid claim to you and you, without any argument, had laid claim to her too.

[mothandpidgeon]

Nine Lives (witch's familiar!Ezra x witch!f!reader) - Part 4

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: 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), nudity, alcohol, only one bed, masturbation, moth never uses y/n.

wc: 7.1k

a/n: Hello again, my friends. This chapter took much, MUCH longer than I expected and also much longer. It probably would have been a lot faster had i not been encouraged to add some smut you know who you are. There are at least 3 more parts to this story. Thank you for being on this journey!

Big thank you to @lowlights and @schnarfer for advice on this and to @moonlitbirdie for betaing and loving me unconditionally.

🐈‍⬛

He’s having that dream again. The one where he’s human and you’re holding him, lips against his shoulderblade, fingers stroking the coarse hairs low on his belly. He’d live in these dreams if he could.

After the disappointment of the night before, Ezra revels in it, even if this is fleeting. 

He should never have gotten his hopes up. It wasn’t just the risk to consider but the complexity of the spell. You’re not a child but as witches go, your powers are still young. And, with his last minute decision, the two of you bodged together the potion in less than a day. The chances that it would have been successful were so slim, he’d been a fool to believe that you could pull off such a feat. He’d been caught up in the moment, your unfailing belief in him, the tantalizing question what if…

At least he has his dreams. Half awake, Ezra reminds himself that had the spell had worked, he wouldn’t be laying naked in your arms. There’s no knowing how things would change if he did. 

Sinking into the sweetness of the dream, he can’t help but roll over and bury his face in your neck, purring against your pulse. Instead of being met with your mouth, your hands searching for more of him, you scream. 

It’s enough not only to wake him but startle him out of the bed. What would normally be a swift leap off of the mattress, landing on his feet, is an inelegant tumble to the floor, knocking his head and pulling the sheets off with him. You’re actually shrieking. It’s not just some figment of his imagination. A string of creative expletives leave you as Ezra tries to untangle himself from the covers. When he finally rights himself, his heart beating like a rabbit, he finds you pressed against the headboard with a look of terror on your face. 

“What the fuck! What the fuck!” you shout, your heels digging in the mattress as you scoot away from him. 

“Easy! It’s me, little mage! It’s me!” he says, breathless. 

Your eyes somehow manage to grow even wider. 

“Ezra?” you say, your voice barely a whisper. “It worked.”

His head is spinning so quickly that your words take a moment to sink in. Another is spent in disbelief as he look down at his hands, outstretched in submission. Ten fingers. There are legs snarled in the bedsheets not covered in black fur but with wiry hairs. 

Ezra touches his nose, still bent from where he broke it in his youth. He feels the divot of the scar on his cheek, the whiskers on his upper lip. All as he was. 

He stares, speechless for once in his life. 

“Ez, it fucking worked!” you cry, tumbling across the bed and diving over the side. 

You clasp your hands on either side of his face, your eyes wild with delight, and your laughter is a mix of joy and relief. He joins you, it’s contagious, laughing and gripping into your shoulders. If he didn’t feel your palms against his cheeks, he’d think this was still a dream. 

Luckily he has the presence of mind not to plant a kiss on your mouth though with the amount of glee bouncing between the two of you, he doubts you’d protest. 

“We did it!” you say. 

“You did it,” Ezra corrects, marveling at you. 

You amaze him more each day. Not only did you do some incredible and complex magic but you foresaw it all. Beautiful, clever, talented. And now you’ve given him his greatest gift. He’s human once more. 

Your eyes dance across his face in turn, taking in the new details

“It’s really you,” you say. 

You stroke at his face with your thumb. It’s a light touch but to Ezra, the sensation is so powerful he’s afraid he’ll shatter into a thousand pieces. 

You smile softly and reach for his hair. “Your patch,” you say, twisting the white strands out of his forehead. 

“Oh, Ez!” you exclaim.  

Overwhelmed by it all, a dam bursts. Tears are slipping down his face without him even knowing. Centuries of them finally making their escape. 

You lean in, press your forehead against his as you have so many times before yet it’s so new. The bridge of your nose brushes against his, your lips hover so close he can feel your breath. You stroke behind his ear, fingers in his hair, a sensation that’s familiar, grounding. 

He’s so grateful for you, for your faith in him. 

You sniffle and he realizes that you’re just as emotional. Your cheeks glisten with tears when you pull away, still shaking your head in disbelief. 

“Thank you,” Ezra says. Chokes. He’s never done this properly though he’s tried to show it. It’s too difficult to put into words, even for someone as verbose as he is. He’s grateful with a depth he can’t find words for though he’s always considered himself a master of them. 

Tears well in your eyes again but these aren’t like the joyful ones you just shed. Your lips quiver. Ezra catches one as it slides down your cheek with his fingertips. He’s watched you cry so many times and he’s always wanted to do that. 

You throw your arms around his neck, pulling him into a tight embrace. It feels better than he’s ever imagined. You fit in his arms so perfectly, he could hold you for a thousand years. He inhales your scent, familiar to him but different now. His senses have dulled but drawn close, he loses himself in it. 

“Ezra,” you say after a long moment. “I just realized. You’re totally naked right now.”

Perhaps he should be embarrassed, worried that this is your first glimpse of him and you’ve seen all that there is to see. But he couldn’t care less. 

The two of you descend into giggles. 

—

“This is how I’m to make my debut in the world?” Ezra asks, stepping out of your bedroom.

He’s wearing the clothes you picked out for him, all that you could find that would encompass his broad frame. Your sweatpants are cinched tight around his slim waist, ending far above his ankles. Below that, his toes overhang the edge of your old flip flops. The outfit is finished with a big sweatshirt you bought several Halloweens ago– the words Witch, please emblazoned on the front in a cutesy font.

A startled snort leaves you and he scowls.

“I’m sorry,” you say, covering your smile with both hands. “You look–”

“Like a buffoon,” he says.

“Like you need to go shopping,” you correct.

You wait for Ezra outside of the dressing room, your back pressed against the door. The very first stop outside of the confines of your apartment is the local department store to get him something normal to wear. Ezra’s an oddity, everything from the way he speaks to his awkwardness adjusting to walking on two legs make him stick out. An ironic sweatshirt and sandals aren’t going to help him blend. 

The excitement is still buzzing through your veins. Every few minutes you want to open the changing room door and make sure that he’s still there, still human. A couple of times you even peek under the door just to see his feet haven’t turned back into paws. It’s really happening. You’re out in the world with Ezra. Ezra the human, a man. You changed him yourself, just as your dream had predicted, but you’re less fixated on the feat of magic and more on what he’s transformed into.

Ezra’s not at all who you were expecting under the fur. He’s remarkably handsome. Tall and broad shouldered. A strong nose accentuated by a dark mustache. His mouth is almost always set in a pout, full bottom lip turned out, jaw dotted with stubble. 

He’s not entirely unrecognizable. There’s something about the mirth in his smile that feels familiar, a slyness in his eye. 

Still It’s hard to believe that this is your Ezra, the little cat that curled up in your lap, tiptoed behind you on the back of the couch. He’s all man, big enough to swallow you up in his embrace. If you were strangers, you’d be too intimidated to even look him in the eye.

You giggle to yourself at how ridiculous that thought is. He’s Ezra. Your best friend. It doesn’t matter what he looks like. And if you told him he was good looking he’d never shut up about it. 

“What’s so funny?” he asks from the other side of the door, his voice muffled as he brings a shirt over his head.

“Just thinking about how my sweats fit you,” you say.

“Breathe a word of that to a soul—“ he grumbles. 

“Are you done yet?”

He sighs and you hear the latch on the door and there he is again. It knocks the air out of your lungs to be face to face with him once again, with that new face. Ezra stares back at you. His eyes are nothing like those sharp, golden eyes you’ve known for so many years. They’re deep brown, big and round— funny enough, more like a puppy dog than a cat. 

Your gaze falls down onto the outfit he’s chosen.

”What happened here?” You ask. 

His shirt is only half buttoned leaving a large swath of that golden chest in view, a constellation of freckles dotting his neck clavicle. You noticed them when he was sprawled out on your bedroom floor, tried to keep your focus on those instead of letting your eyes wander too much. 

”I’m afraid I haven’t gained mastery over my thumbs yet,” he admits sheepishly. 

“Let me.” You try to hide your grin.

You work the buttons, careful not to let your knuckles brush his front. His warmth radiates through the thin cotton and you’re suddenly very aware of how close you’re standing. It shouldn’t be so tense. This is the same Ezra after all, the cat you snuggled to sleep every night. Nothing’s changed between you and yet it’s definitely not the same. You feel him watching you and you swear he’s holding his breath. He shifts uncomfortably. 

”Are you sure these trousers are right?” He asks finally, palms grazing the fronts of his jeans. “They’re exceedingly restrictive.”

”When’s the last time you wore pants?” You ask him.

“When you tried to put me in that ridiculous cowboy get up,” he reminds you. 

“You were so cute!” you laugh, remembering how he flopped down on the floor in protest. 

He scoffs. 

“Come see yourself,” you say, motioning towards the trio full length mirrors at the end of the hall of dressing rooms. 

Ezra’s a sight to behold in his new outfit. A crisp white shirt tucked into a pair of dark jeans. If you squint you can see the man he once was in one of those romantic billowy shirts. 

“Looks good,” you say. 

Ezra’s furrowed brow smooths and he catches your eye in the mirror with a bashful smile. 

“You have a dimple,” you say. 

You keep noticing new things about him as the day goes on. There’s a little bald patch in his beard, wrinkles around his eyes when he laughs. 

“I suppose I forgot,” he says, blushing. “Am I not what you expected?” 

If you didn’t know him better, you’d think he sounded nervous. 

“I don’t know,” you say. He’s not what you pictured yet he’s exactly right in every way. He’s better than you pictured. He looks like that. How could you expect he was existing in your presence all this time?

You remind yourself quickly how wrong it is to be thinking of Ezra that way. He’s the closest thing you have to a brother. How many nights did you stay up pouring your heart out to him about life? It’s just the novelty, you assure yourself. Once you get used to him, it’ll be different. 

“I guess I thought you’d look like Ichabod Crane,” you tease. 

“Hilarious.”

––

“You should go to the Grand Canyon,” you say. 

All night, you’ve been brainstorming a list for Ezra, all of the things he can finally do now that he’s turned. The two of you already crossed off the first thing— eat dinner at a fancy restaurant— and you’re working on the second item— drinks at the local watering hole. 

It’s a busy Saturday night but you worked some magic to get a cozy table. The place is rustic by design, the kind of bar invented for the Brooklyn transplants that are renovating barns into Air BnBs. 

It’s chock full of mortals but Ezra couldn’t care less if he were surrounded by the witch hunters of Salem, just being out and about with you feels like a thrill. 

“What about having a human body is necessary to visit the Grand Canyon?” Ezra asks.  

The more drinks you had in you, the more esoteric the ideas became. 

“I don’t know. You could hike?” you say. 

“I think I had the advantage with four legs. I’ll pass,” he says. 

“I guess you’re right,” you say. Then you point an excited finger at him. “Learn to drive!”

He tilts his head, considering it but you’re already onto the next one. 

“Dancing!” 

“I’m not sure I know how it’s done these days,” he says. He’d enjoyed dancing when he was human the first time, mainly because it gave him ample opportunity to touch and flirt.  

“I don’t know. You just move,” you tell him. “Come on. I’ll dance with you right now.” You reach your hand out for him across the table to show that you really mean it. 

Ezra’s seen you dance hundreds of times. At witches gatherings, of course, but many more times in the kitchen, wearing your pajamas and singing off key, you scooping him up and rocking him to the beat. You might not be a good dancer, he’s not one to judge, but he’s always loved watching your hips find a rhythm. 

He’s still unsteady on his feet with less than 24 hours on his new legs and yet he couldn’t care less if he looks a fool if it means he can dance with you. The two of you are sure to draw attention— no one else is dancing despite the fact that the music’s so loud he has to shout to be heard. That doesn’t bother him. Let these mortals see you with him for once. Let him pretend for a moment that you’re his. 

He takes your hand, his heart speeding up in anticipation of your body being close, when your face falls. Your gaze is somewhere past him and you pull out of his grasp. 

“Oh, fuck,” you say. 

Ezra looks over his shoulder to see a familiar face. A lanky guy carrying a guitar case stops in his tracks when he spies you. The last time Ezra saw this mortal he had his paws all over you. 

“Shit. I completely forgot. Connor’s playing a gig here tonight. He invited me,” you groan. 

This fuck. Ezra’s joyous mood is jolted by the memory of Connor slobbering over your neck, the sounds of the two of you on the couch that he tried desperately to block out, the jealousy that sickened him. Here was one of the mortals that had touched and tasted you in the way Ezra had only dreamed interrupting his first chance to truly be close to you. 

But his lips crack into a wicked smile as Connor’s face twists in disappointment. Ezra knows how it looks to him. You’re here at his show where he hoped to woo you with song and you’re cozied up to another man. How many times had Ezra himself been forced to endure such humiliation?

 “Hey,” you say with unconvincing friendliness, selling it by standing up to offer a hug when Connor finally works up the nerve to come by. 

He keeps a wary eye on Ezra who in turn sits up straighter, chest out. He makes himself larger the same way he would passing one of the strays in the graveyard. It’s been hard to adjust to his new body, constantly bumping into things because he’s bigger, off balance without a tail. But right now, he couldn’t be more pleased with his new form. 

“Who’s your friend?” Connor asks without exchanging any pleasantries. He’s not masking his annoyance very well. 

“Oh. This is—“

“Ezra,” Ezra offers. 

“Hey,” Connor says dismissively. 

“He’s a friend of mine,” you add quickly. “Wanted to tag along to your show.”

“I hear you’re quite the talent,” he says. 

There’s a twitch in Connor’s brow as you kick Ezra under the table. 

“I guess you need to go set up,” you encourage, so ready to be rid of him. 

Ezra has other plans. 

“You must have time for a drink first. What’ll it be?” He asks. He can feel your eyes on him, trying to figure out his ulterior motive. 

“IPA,” Connor answers after a moment’s hesitation. 

Ezra’s powers tingle as he waves over the waitress. 

Connor finds a chair and joins you at the little table. The beer sets his mind at ease as you bullshit about how Ezra is an old friend, trying to save this guy’s pride. It seems like he buys it. Like all mortals, he’s a bit dim. 

He’s ridiculous, too. Talks a lot without asking you questions. Thinks he’s terribly interesting when he’s no different from the other mortal men that have shared your bed.  

“Isn’t your cat’s name Ezra?” Connor finally realizes after droning on about David Bowie as if he were the one that heard an original pressing of Ziggy Stardust. 

You stutter for a moment but you don’t have to come up with an answer because Ezra chimes in.

“Now, what was it you were attempting to elucidate with regards to psychedelic rock?” Ezra asks. 

You stifle a laugh, choking down some of your drink to hide it. This time, beneath the table you’re pressing your knee into his. 

“Uh,” Connor says, trying to gather his thoughts. “Yeah.”

He clears his throat, runs a hand through his hair then reaches for his beer again. 

“Well a lot of people think it starts with The Beatles but actually,” Connor lifts his drink to his lips in a theatrical pause, taking a swig, but his expression contorts in confusion, then disgust. He spits the beer back into his glass and with it comes a spider, it’s spindly legs thrashing about wildly. “Ah! Fuck!” he sputters. 

In his fright, Connor’s arms flail cartoonishly. The glass flies from his grasp and hits the table top, spilling its contents in all directions. You cry out, jumping up to avoid getting a lap full of IPA. The spider spins in the slippery puddle, trying to scurry every which way. Connor tries to distance himself from the arachnid but he legs of his chair catch and he topples over backwards onto the floor.

All conversation dies away around you as the other patrons have turned to watch the chaotic scene– Connor’s feet pointed up towards the ceiling, the floor beneath the table pooling with spilled beer. Ezra sits cool as a cucumber, his side of the table miraculously dry.

”Careful there, Connor,” he says. “Just a pretty little spider.”

You shoot him a look and he shrugs innocently. Your eyes say behave but it’s contradicted by a budding smile. 

“You good?” you ask.

Connor lays there wincing, probably much more embarrassed than he is bruised. Ezra offers a hand to help him up, all friendly smiles. Connor scowls but he has no choice but to accept, letting himself be hoisted to his feet by the other man. The crowd loses interest as Connor dusts himself off. 

“What a tumult,” Ezra says with a laugh. He slaps Connor on the shoulder so hard that he stumbles forward.

The waitress comes over with a bar rag and a judgemental look. 

“Did you hurt yourself?” You ask.

”I’m fine,” Connor answers a little too quickly. He flattens his ruffled hair. “Listen, maybe I should just go warm up.” He motions towards the little platform that serves as the stage.

”A wise idea,” Ezra says and Connor darts away.

”You’re bad,” you say but you’re practically bursting with laughter.

Ezra considers continuing his mischief while Connor’s performing— make him play the wrong notes or break a guitar string— but he doesn’t have to. Connor’s eyes keep finding you as he sings his whiney little songs and each time, Ezra’s right there. Leaning in close to talk to you over the music, making little quips that have you close to spitting out your drink. Right now, you couldn’t care less about this mortal, busy trying to convince Ezra that karaoke should be added to his adventure list. 

“Let’s go,” you say after draining your glass. 

“But your friend’s not done,” he teases. 

“I think we’ve heard enough,” you say. 

You offer Connor a sad little wave as you get up from the table, taking Ezra’s hand in yours to lead him through the throng of people crowding the bar. 

He watches Connor’s face fall as his eyes follow you to the exit. It’s a silly little revenge but to Ezra it’s delicious, a comeuppance for every mortal that’s been in your bed. Maybe Connor thinks you’re taking Ezra home to do the same to him. Good. It’s so delightful that Ezra doesn’t even care that it isn’t true.

––

“What have I unleashed on the world?” you ask with laughter, crossing the threshold of your apartment.

“I have no idea to what you are referring,” Ezra says but there’s a smirk on his lips. 

“You’ve gone from hairballs in shoes to public humiliation.” You should be more sympathetic to poor Connor but you can’t stop giggling. Every time you recall the sight of him flying backwards, flapping his arms, you’re in stitches again.

“Just a little harmless magic to warm up my powers,” he replies. “Not to worry, little mage, I’m sure he’ll still be more than happy to accept a booty call.” 

You shake your head. Between the awful conversation, the spew of spider, and the wailing of his songs, you have no interest in revisiting things with Connor.

In the kitchen you pour two glasses of water, adding a few drops of a tincture you keep handy for hangovers. You’re still a little tipsy, will probably wake up with a headache in the morning, but you don’t care. You can’t remember the last time you had so much fun with another witch. Not that it should surprise you. It’s Ezra after all.

”You know, you can’t fuck with these mortals too much. You do that to the wrong guy and they’ll start hunting us again,” you warn. You hand Ezra one of the glasses and flop down on the couch beside him. 

“But it’s alright to toy with their emotions?” Ezra retorts. “How many hearts have you broken?”

You scoff in mock offense but you know he’s right. You’ve never let yourself get attached to any mortals. Somewhere, deep down, you knew you’d never have a serious relationship with one of them so there was no fear of falling in love, no worry about their feelings, no risk of getting hurt.

Now that you’ve stopped moving, fatigue sets in. You rest your head on Ezra’s shoulder. You’re starting to get used to the fact that you can actually do that but it hasn’t gotten old yet. An absent grin plays on your lips. 

“Did you have a good first human day?” you ask. 

You feel his chuckle under your cheek. 

“I did indeed,” he says. 

Your smile widens. Ezra’s arm wraps around your shoulders, his fingers gently grazing circles over your sleeve, and you nuzzle further into his chest. 

“Thank you, little mage,” he says. 

”Mm,” is all you manage.

Your heavy eyelids begin to drift closed. It’s so cozy, you imagine yourself as a little cat in Ezra’s arms. You wonder if this is how it felt for him, cuddled in your lap, getting scritches under his chin, and you swear you’re purring. No, you’ve fallen asleep and started snoring. 

You force yourself awake with a groan. Ezra’s sitting contentedly beside you, watching you shift and stretch.

“I’ve got to sleep,” you yawn and manage to drag yourself onto your feet. 

Ezra doesn’t move, just nods and says, “Good night.”

“Are you staying up?” you ask. He must be exhausted after such a roller coaster of a day. 

“I think I’ll sleep here,” he tells you. 

You falter just outside of your bedroom. 

“You don’t have to,” you say. 

“I should,” he says. 

“Oh. Okay.” You’re not sure why it hurts. “Well, then you take the bed. I'll sleep out here,” you offer. 

“It’s your bed,” he says. 

A pang of guilt punches you in the gut. How many times had you reminded him of that?

“It’s alright. I’ve slept here on numerous occasions,” he assures you. 

You linger for a moment, trying to come up with some good reason why he shouldn’t stay on the couch. It shouldn’t be important to you. He might want his own space, some privacy after all these years, yet it feels like you’re losing something. 

“Let me get some sheets—“

“I know where the linens are,” he says. Obviously. He lives here too. 

Eventually you have to stop standing there like a weirdo and go to the bedroom. Door open or closed? You leave it somewhere in between. 

“G’night,” you say. 

You lay in bed listening to Ezra in the linen closet, then shucking his jeans and settling on the sofa. Suddenly you’re wide awake and sober as a judge, ruminating on what this means for the future. The two of you can only slip further and further away. He wants his own place to sleep, he’ll want his own place to live. It’s only natural. He’s not yours anymore. That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it?

You roll over, pulling the covers up to your ears. Then off. You punch your pillow into shape. You strain your ears, listening for Ezra's breathing in the next room. Is he sleeping? You lean off the side of your bed, peering into the darkness and do your best to make out his form in the shadows. 

Soon Ezra will have his own life, his own friends. He’s always been his own person. At least that’s what you’ve always said. How long have you been deluding yourself?

You shift again, grabbing your pillow and squeezing it in your arms to mimic his cat’s body. No luck. Nothing’s the same as Ezra. The occasions when you’ve fallen asleep without him clutched to you have been few and far between. Loneliness aches in your chest. This wasn’t something you’d thought through before you cast your spell. 

Finally you throw back the sheets and march into the living room.

Ezra lays on the little couch as best he can, bare to the waist clad only in the boxers you made him buy. One of his long legs is sprawled over the side of the couch, the other tucked under his body. His eyes are wide open, staring up at the ceiling, an arm folded beneath his head. 

“I can’t sleep,” you say.

“Likewise,” he says.

“This is ridiculous. Ez, you’ve always slept with me,” you complain.

“That was different,” he says, sitting up on an elbow.

“Well–” You want to tell him that nothing’s changed but it doesn’t really feel like the truth. Everything’s felt different today. You throw up your hands. “This is weird.”

He looks at you for a long time, the swell of his bottom lip turning into a deep frown.

“Just. Come on,” you say.

You leave the door open for him as you go back to your room and climb into bed. It’s his turn to hesitate, loitering in the doorway. Moonlight catches on the slope of his shoulder and the angle of his nose, glints in his unsure eyes. You sit with your arms crossed until finally he relents. 

It’s certainly not the same as it was to have your cat beside you. Ezra occupies a large part of your double bed but he leaves a wide swath of mattress between you, keeping his limbs close to his body. Your instincts tell you to reach out for him but you don’t want to overstep this new boundary. 

Despite the awkwardness, the delicate balance neither of you want to upset, feeling his warmth on the sheets, you’re finally able to breathe a sigh and sink into your pillow at last. His warm eyes gaze at you, giving you a long, slow blink.

“Better?” he asks. 

“Mhm,” you answer. 

And soon you’re both fast asleep. 

––

Ezra’s cock greets him in the morning like an old friend. 

He can feel your breasts warm against his back, your arm curled around his waist the same as always. Despite his efforts to keep his distance, you found each other in the night, sleeping the only way you know how. His body responded in kind.

This was what he feared, why he tried– briefly– to be good and sleep on the couch. Though to say that you’d twisted his arm was a lie. He’d given in far too quickly because he wanted you too much.

He can’t keep thinking about you like this if he wants to stay close to you, if he plans on surviving as a human. But all he wants to do is crawl down the bed, bury his face between your thighs, and make you his. 

Before he does something rash, he slips away from you. You’re fast asleep thanks to the drinks and the late night. As Ezra rolls off the mattress, you let out a complaint, a little whimper that goes straight to his groin. He freezes, cock aching, and watches you roll over. You’re beautiful bathed in morning light, the sheets laying gently across your curves. If only he could run his hand over their outline. 

His movements are not exactly cat-like as he creeps into the bathroom, the old wooden floors protesting with each step. As soon as the lock clicks he’s divesting himself of these ridiculous underthings. And there he is, that old menace. His length glistens with leaking precum, tip flushed red, begging to be touched. Ezra grips the base carefully but it still elicits a groan. He’s too sensitive— hundreds of years of pent up desire and a night beside you have him dizzy. 

He gives himself an experimental stroke and it’s like lightning. His knees buckle and he has to hold himself up with his palm against the back of the door. With a silent curse and a steadying breath, Ezra spits into his fist and goes again. Slow, gentle. He knows he won’t last but he’s afraid his new body won’t be able to take the rapture. It’s divine torture, his mind soon swimming in pleasure. 

Every dream he’s had, each time you danced under the moon or came out of the shower skin beaded with water, it all rushes past his eyes a cacophony of obscenities. Thank the stars you can’t see him like this, more animalistic than when he was one. Repulsive. Fucking his fist as he thinks of you, the only witch that’s ever cared for him. Defiling you in his mind. 

He promises his guilty conscience that he’ll never do this again. He just needs it this once as his muscles strain and tighten. It’s bliss and agony all at once and he’s so close to breaking, he can hardly bear it.

“Ezra?” he hears you from the bedroom. Your voice is still rough and husky from sleep and it’s more than enough to push him over the edge. 

His head falls back, eyes squeezed shut, and he chokes down the growl that’s erupted from his chest. His hips jump and his hand is coated in hot release. 

“Ez?” you call out. 

Ezra swallows dryly, inhales as deeply as he can manage. 

“Just a moment,” he manages to croak out as his forehead comes to rest against the cool wood of the bathroom door. 

“Oh,” you say with relief. “You weren’t there. I thought-— I was afraid maybe the spell went wrong.”

“Not to worry, little mage,” he says. “I’m still under your spell.”

—

The two of you spend the day in the basement, doing magic together. Ezra shows off the spells that were something of a specialty for him. Mostly, they’re party tricks. (“This one used to send the mortals frothing,” he says as he changes a glass of water into wine.)

The only blemish on an otherwise perfect day came when you offered helpfully, “You know, if we can clean out the spare room down here, you could have a place of your own.”

It stung though Ezra knew you would expect him to leave the nest eventually. Maybe you’d heard what he’d been doing behind the bathroom door and were hinting he find somewhere else to abuse himself.

It feels good to be doing magic again, even better to share with you. He’s a little rusty, working a muscle that’s been comatose for years. You don’t seem to mind. You’re impressed, just as giddy as he is,  though you’re not amused when he turns a bowl of pasta noodles into worms.

“If you ever do that to me, I’ll turn you back,” you swear.

You’re particularly fascinated with a piece of magic Ezra shows you where he ignites a flame in his hand. 

“Show me again,” you say.

He strikes his thumb against his fingertips as though they were flint on steel and the fire sparks. You watch with a furrowed brow, rehearsing the motion with your own hand.

“You can do it with a candle. It’s quite the same,” he explains. The flame glows orange, hovering in his palm until he snuffs it in his fist.

You hold your hand forward and mimic his motion to no avail. 

“It’s not a snap,” he says in reply to your frustrated groan. “Observe.” He demonstrates again, slower this time.

“That’s what I did,” you complain.

After a few more attempts you shake your head.

“I can’t do it.”

“You turned a cat into a man. This is well within your abilities,” he assures you.

You thrust your hand towards him. “Show me.”

“Very well,” he says. 

It’s not like your touch is new to him and still he swoons as he cups your hand in his. Maybe it’s because yours is so much smaller, almost delicate. It’s the intimacy of this moment, the magic, that has his heart hammering. Your powers vibrate beneath your skin, heating you from within.

You don’t have to stand so close but you slot yourself against him, your shoulders against his chest.

“Relax,” he whispers into the shell of your ear. He can’t help himself, resting his other hand on your hip. 

You take a deep breath and he marvels at how easily you unwind in his arms. If you turn towards him, your lips will brush.

”Focus,” he says as if his own head isn’t swimming.

You nod and Ezra guides your thumb across your fingers. 

The fire doesn’t just spark to life in your hand but it ignites as if it were fed by kerosene, flaring wildly. It burns so hot he can feel it radiating through your fingers. You let out a delighted squeal, your smile brighter than the flame itself. 

“Holy shit!” You turn to share your joy with Ezra, so close your noses touch as you move. You giggle. 

He can’t help but grin himself. You are truly amazing. 

It all shatters in an instant. You hear the jingle of the shop door above and the fire in your fist fizzles to ash. You freeze except for your eyes that grow wide with horror. Footsteps cross overhead, the floorboards creaking. The bookstore is closed just as it is every Halloween week. There are no customers coming in. There’s only one person that could be here. 

Ezra hears Margot call out your name and his stomach drops.

”Are you down there?” she says. She’s just at the top of the stairs where you left the door propped open.

”Uh huh,” you answer. You still haven’t moved an inch, just stand there dumbly.

You’d talked briefly about how the two of you would break the news to Aunt Margot but you hadn’t come to a decision. You still had time to figure it out and you were both so giddy that you couldn’t imagine a world where she was anything but delighted to see what he’d become. Suddenly it’s an incredible risk and neither of you are prepared.

“”I just kept thinking about you here all alone. I left as soon as I could,” she says. “Everybody was asking about–“ her eyes finally land on Ezra and she stiffens ”–you.”

“Aunt Margot–” you try.

Percy, who’s just peeked his head out of her breast pocket, lets out a squeal.

“What have you done?” she asks, her voice barely a whisper. 

He’s not sure how she knows– Margot is perceptive in ways neither you or Ezra could anticipate– but she doesn’t need to be told.  

She stares at the man before her and he’s brought back to the look on Cee’s face years upon years ago when he stood over Damon’s limp body.

It’s a punch in his gut delivered by himself long ago, it all slips away. The party is over, the jig is up. The past two days evaporate like one of his dreams. Those sweet mornings waking up beside you, the swell of your touch, the thought of a future. He’d really believed it could go on like that forever. 

You look as terrified as your aunt but you swallow it down and say, “I turned him back.”

“That’s not possible,” Margot says. 

“I’m afraid it is,” Ezra says. His words don’t hold any of their usual cool confidence. 

“Is this why you stayed home?”

“No—“ you try.  

“You lied to me,” Margot says. “And you had no right to do this.”

“We had no intention of doing this before you departed,” Ezra begins.

“The laws have changed,” you snap.  Ezra wraps his hand around yours, not sure if he’s protecting you or grounding you before you lose your cool. 

“Well, they’re still laws. And shame on you, Ezra, for letting her do that,” Margot snipes. 

“I talked him into it,” you say. 

“Oh, yes, I’m sure it took a lot of convincing,” she replies with an eye roll. “Have you lost your mind?” 

“It’s unjust what they did to him,” you argue. 

“He was convicted of killing another witch. I’m sorry, Ezra, but that is no petty crime.”

“That other witch was a child abuser!” you snap. 

Ezra clenches his jaw. You’re the only other person he’s told about Cee and now seems like an inopportune moment to start pouring out his guts. Margo’s sharp eyes look to him for confirmation, her frown softening with surprise.

”I make no excuse for my transgressions,” he says.

“You should turn yourself in to the elders before they find out on their own,” Margot says. 

”No,” you say. 

”She’s right,” Ezra says, his eyes cast to the floor. 

“No,” you say once more. ”Ezra served his time. And he should never have been such an inhumane punishment.”

Margot hears none of it, shaking her head with her eyes screwed shut.  “The elders will take your powers for this. Or worse. They’ll make you both into cats. And you did this all under my roof. Did you think this through at all?”

Reality sinks in the pit of Ezra’s stomach. He’s put you in danger but Margot too. She’s always been good to him, one of the few people he enjoys and he’s gotten her mixed up in a crime. 

”You weren’t even here,” you say, your voice wavering. Clearly the guilt is creeping through your veins as well. 

”Go upstairs, dear. I need to speak to Ezra alone,“ she demands. 

”No,” you say with indignation.

“It’s alright,” Ezra tells you.

You look between the two of them. Margot stares at him as if you’ve already left the room and you have no choice but to obey. 

Margot says nothing, shooting daggers at Ezra for an excruciating amount of time. At last, she puts her hand to her brow in exasperation and does her best to collect her emotions. 

”Let me get a look at you,” Margot says when she stands tall again. 

Ezra steps forward, presenting himself with a slight bow as he was accustomed to do. He has many years on her but he currently feels like a boy caught by the schoolmarm, about to get his knuckles rapped. 

She takes his hand, turns it over in her own, inspecting the magic you’ve done. Margot lets out an indignant scoff. 

“How did she do it?” Margot asks, her voice half suspicion, half wonder.

“A potion. A spell. It was by her own hand,” he explains. “She foresaw it in a dream.” 

Margot fingertips brush her lips, the whirl of thoughts racing through her mind plain on her face. 

“You know what kind of witch has the powers to cast a spell like that?” he asks.

Her answer is a nod and a sigh, her shoulders straightening. Still lost in thought, Ezra fills the silence with his plea.

“Margot, I have served your family for two centuries but I have never cared for another witch as deeply as I do your niece,” he admits. “I’m well aware that what we’ve done is bold and rash. Foolish, even. But I promise you that I will not let any harm come to her so long as I’m living.”

His heart beats so hard, he’s afraid it might leap from his chest.

Margot looks into his eyes and there’s a momentary prickle along his scalp. Her lips quirk and her expression softens and Ezra feels too vulnerable. He’s let her see too much of the truth. If he could, he’d climb out of his own skin. The moment passes as Margot masks her sympathy, raising her chin and crossing her arms in a way that reminds him of you.

“Fine. This isn’t an endorsement,” she says. “But you can tell her I’m not going to rat you out.”

“Thank you,” he says. He knows that he’s been given yet another gift he doesn’t deserve. Hopefully Margot can sense his gratitude as she did his conviction. He heads after you, towards the back door of the shop but is stopped by the sound of his name. Turning, he sees Margot with her keen eye on him.

“Be careful,” she warns.

He’s not sure what she’s referring to but he knows she’s right.

🐈‍⬛

Part 5

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[rootspiral]

Agatha All Along deep dive: episode 4 part 3

(Wandavision entries: [1][2][3])

(AAA entries: ep1 [1][2][3][4] ep2 [1][2][3][4] ep3 [1][2][3] ep4 [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][+1] ep5 [1][2][3][4][5] ep6 [1][2][3] ep7 [1][2][3][4][5][6] ep8 [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][8][9] ep9 [1][2][3][4][5][6])

Lilia is bickering with Jen in episode 7. she turns around and SEES ALICE, WHO WAS KILLED IN EPISODE 5

alice, don't try to save agatha! but she's whisked ever further back to episode 2 before she can finish the sentence. imagine having the power of communicating with the past but it's never enough to warn them. seeing the dead and talking to them, knowing what's going to come next. and you wonder why she chose exile and solitude.

meanwhile agatha has collected her wits long enough to decide what her short term strategy with rio is gonna be: keep her distracted, isolate her from the others, keep her away from billy. see how she takes a moment to focus and get into character? she knows rio is about to follow her like a moth to a flame

just going on a trip with my best gal pals and a random teen boy, nothing to see here!!!! and agatha knows that rio knows that she's lying. hello, rio is PERFECTLY aware that there's no Road out there capable of magicking her into a glam rock sex den. but maybe, just maybe, agatha can keep her focused on something else. honestly it would be such a waste to not put all that combined cleavage to good use!

there she was, having a chat with sharon down in the dirt, and you guys went and dragged her up. like perfect morons. I love how she brought the flower along and it ended up working really well with the outfit

oh, rio knows. she knows everything.

and agatha SHOOTS UP and GETS TOO CLOSE and FLIRTS. oh my god this bitch. just like she did in episode 1, except now she's more collected and ever more deliberate. flirting is her best weapon of mass distraction against rio. because look, rio might know all her tricks but she's only (very marginally) human! who can blame her if she lets herself be seduced a little bit, just a little bit! for old times' sake! in rio's defense her wife is very hot and she misses her very much, your honor

rio is like, bitch I got you allllll figured out but also lemme gently caress your thigh. to enhance your acting performance. what's a little supportive yes, and between exes

she's sooo hamming it up. compare her face here with the genuine yearning at the end of the episode

oh this is hilarious. the others hear rio's flirting over the PA and panic, but no, girls, enthusing about murder is legit how they talk dirty!! (lol at lilia being like, right in front of my salad???)

"gasp!!!! that's my coVEN you're talking abOUT!!!! I'm not that kiND OF wiTCH anYMOWRE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" the ham! the ham! she might just bring the whole deli cart over at this point

and rio with her lil delighted laugh again. she doesn't get mad for one second, she didn't expect anything else. oh agatha, you silly goose, you're so damaged and so cute

let's recap what this fucker achieved with her latest performance, because it's always fascinating to study what's going on in agatha's ferociously scheming brain. she 1) distracted rio from billy. or at least tried to. 2) hinted at Rio's true nature to the others - who knows, maybe she can manipulate them into allying against her later on? 3) pretended to flirt but also flirted a lil bit forreal because there was a lot of skin showing and the flesh is weak etc etc 4) backpedaled alllllllll the way out when things got too intimate because she's too scared and resentful to get close to rio again. playing with fire as usual. or, as the kids say today, fucking around, about to find out

alice's trial has the best aesthetic fr fr. the 70s font!

I'm not 100% sure bcs it goes by so quickly but I think rio is dancing to the cursed music???

not the turntable!! that shit's vintage!!!!!!!

*brian de palma zoom*

*dramatic pause*

WE'VE BEEN CURSED (I love you patti lupone!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)

INJECT THIS AESTHETIC DIRECTLY INTO MY VEINS. also alice is red, billy and agatha are blue with purple undertones. the colors in this trial seem very deliberate

"she's a tourist." "she's a PSYCHO." look she never gets to just hang out and do fun things anymore, let her be!!

rio and lilia having a little staring contest as she plays with the knife. doing their own cute archnemeses thing

agatha shaking her head at billy and going shhh when he says 'maybe this curse isn't so bad.' like KID will you stop speaking HORRORS into existence?!?

alice standing with her back straight for the first time since like, ever? or since her mom died? did everyone in the family have their own personal demon or did it switch after killing the previous person? or wait, wait, was the curse only like, a metaphor until billy accidentally turned it into a disgusting 1970s animatronic harpy??

I'm convinced rio could see the demon from the beginning. look at her face here, she's the only one who sees both lilia burning and what's causing it

poor lilia must be thinking, burning witches? soooo original and not traumatic at all (lol at patti being a pro at screaming and writhing in pain on the floor. PROFESSIONAL ACTING)

no no no that's the reaping knife careful careful careful careful

alice's spell: expelle hoc malum, expel this evil. (rio when agatha tries it on her later: WHO ARE YOU CALLING EVIL)

lol. lmao, even. (just don't think about how jen has grown seLFISH TO SURVIVE AFTER HAVING TO LIVE POWERLESS AND DEFENSELESS FOR A CENTURY AND HOW SHE BECOMES MORE AND MORE GENEROUS AS SHE SPENDS TIME WITH ALICE AND LILIA)

oh noes my character just had a beast's giant talons perched on her shoulders i should flash the twins real quick so you can see it better

everyone else: EXTREME PANICKING

rio: stops reading her magazine to glance at the disgusting invisible harpy flapping around the room. goes back to the magazine.

and with this I'm off to my extreme friday night (tea and blankie and a book). ciao!

go to episode 4 part 4

[glowinstone]

devil come knockin’

Tom Riddle falls apart at the hands of his one biggest weaknesses… you

tom riddle x fem!reader

Oh how oblivious you were.

Despite being feared and supposedly the brightest witch of your age… you could not see for the love of merlin how Tom Riddle was so devastatingly in love with you. It was pathetic really, but any other cheesy romantic would swoon. Behind closed doors, you and tom would share secret smiles and soft touches. In the shadowed corner of the hogwarts library, you and tom would study the magic of dark arts, devouring collections he brought from his manor or in his case… secretly stole. Though he wouldn’t tell anyone that, a secret he would take to the grave.

But fuck… he was sure as hell not keeping his love for you a secret. At least he didn’t think so. Sure, he was cold, manipulative, and horrifyingly stoic- dubbed the devil of the school, but with you he was what he hated the most- soft, weak.The thought scared him, kept him up at night and when he finally succumbed to sleep- gave him gut wrenching night terrors. Of course he bloody tried to rid of his sickeningly sweet feelings for you.. oh how hard he tried.

You… a temptress in disguise, an aura so hauntingly beautiful he could not just stay away. A moth to a wild flame. Always a dangerous glint in your eye, itching for an adventure. Holding your own in class, his perfect academic rival. Truly, the way you recited incantations gave him a hard on, as much as he was ashamed to admit. You, just kept dragging him back without evening knowing it.

So… here he was at your door, the devil incarnate about to knock and confess his sick love for you. On your stomach, feet slightly swaying in the air, you hummed a tune whilst studying upon deadly plants. You figured there had to be a plethora of deadly plants that didn’t look so deadly upon inspection. Never hurt to have a sweet looking flower up your sleeve…

A gust of wind whipped through your room, inciting chills upon your arms and the harsh sway of your emerald curtains. Getting up to put on a jumper, coincidentally one of toms- a heavy pounding began on your door.

With a resigned sigh, you head to the door. Everyone knew you despised being bothered at this hour. You liked being alone, but the night is when you thrived. You thought the best then… able to think more clearly. The only person whom you allowed to disrupt this time was your Tom Riddle. Somehow, he managed to wiggle his way into your small circle. He managed to keep your attention, someone you liked to spend time with now.

Sure, he could be a tad chilly at times, and you would not deny he was a scary motherfucker. But.. he never scared you. He enticed you, showed a side of him that no one ever got to see. And in turn, you showed him a side no one even knew about. You swore yourself a fool, you let yourself become vulnerable around a man who his known to use people for his twisted benefits. Yet.. he stays close, gives you soft and sweet smiles that melt your heart.

He places a hand on your thigh when studying, always slightly squeezing. When you walk through the halls after curfew, he lays a protective hand on your back. Oh merlin, his hands. Your most favorite thing to look at. Slender and veiny, with silver rings adorning a few of his fingers. You know his hands hold immense dangerous power, yet you longed for them to be on you.

He sat with you at the back of your classes, just like a watchdog. Never paying attention, always surveying the room. Yet, his brilliant mind always managed to pass with flying colors. You both always fighting for the top marks. During these classes, he’d have a knee touching yours with his arm slung across the back of your seat.

Okay fine. You had a crush. Like a silly little school girl. Opening the door, there Tom Riddle stood before you, a lazy smirk placed upon those devilish lips of his.

‘Tom’ you opened the door a little wider, giving the devil an invitation into your room.

He enters the room with the grace of a king, surveying your trinkets on your desk, a keen eye you know that is picking up on every detail of your items. His eyes land on your open window, with a lazy flick of his hand, the window snaps shut and the curtains draw in. His wand-less magic never fails to impress you, okay fine and maybe turn you on a little bit. You quirk brow at his silent antics.

‘You’ll catch a cold’ is his short response. He looks at you now.. his eyes all but devouring every inch of your body. Ah, there is tension in his shoulders, and now that you observe his more,his hands that you oh so love are tightly clenched.

‘To what do I owe this pleasure to?’ You lean up against the wall, crossing your arms as you watch him stand stoically silent. His right eye twitches, he takes a sharp breath and in an instant his is on you.

With a startled intake of breath, you look up at the man who has now caged you in to the wall. Arms stiff above your head, and a look in his eyes that makes you quiver. Quiver in fear or arousal.. you’re not quite sure yet.

‘I’m infuriated with you.’

Your heart lurches, ‘Why… may I ask?’ You meet his stare straight on, tilting your chin up. Always being his equal despite his displeasure about the fact.

‘I’m falling apart, can’t you see?’ Exasperation coating every word. ‘You’re making a mess of me, every time I’m with you it takes everything in me to not lose control.’ He’s looking at you intently, eyes rapidly flickering over every inch of your face. He’s looking at you like your the only person in this universe, he’s looking at you like he’s…

‘What?’ You whisper breathlessly. He’s right, this is the most emotion you’ve ever seen from him. It has you stunned into silence. It’s silent for a moment, your breaths mingling with one another. You can feel the ghost of his lips above yours every time he breathes.

He snaps.

One moment his arms are above you, caging you in like you were his pray. The next, he has a hand on your throat and a hand right next to your head. With the smallest amount of pressure he squeezes in warning, like you should know you’ve done something wrong.

‘I am hopelessly in love with you, can’t you see?’ The pressure increases, and your breath hitches, and okay maybe your knickers are a little damp but that’s normal. And what?

‘I-in love with me?’ A huge grin takes over your face, you can’t help but let out a hysterical laugh. Is that what this was between the two of you? Love? You never felt love before but you suppose tom hadn’t either. He was capable of feeling such a strong emotion, and it was all at the hands of you.

He heaves a deep sigh, like your craziness is normal and you suppose to him it is. ‘Yes, that is what I said was it not?’ So straight to the point, you realized how fond of him you were in this moment.

‘Mm’ You reach up a little, slightly raising on your toes. You push your neck into his hand a little more, a devilish grin to match his new one on your lips. ‘Is that so?’

He hums a deep growl, and pushes you further into the wall. He dips, looks deeply into your eyes and kisses you like he hasn’t eaten in years. The kiss is hungry, he all but devours your lips. His hand on your neck moves up slightly, cupping the underside of your jaw and his thumb brushes the side of your lips as he kisses you into hell.

Your hands find purchase on his shoulder and the back of his neck, a hand tangling in his curls. You tug and all but whimper when his pushes into you. Letting your head fall back, you heave a breath, looking up for a merlin to come save you. You know you don’t want to be saved when the devil lowers his mouth to leave bites and kisses on your throat, cupping the back of your neck to drag you further into his mouth.

And okay fine.. ‘I am hopelessly in love with you too.’ You pant, and you groan when you feel his smirk on your neck. He hums, and raises his head to look back into your eyes.

‘Let me show you just how much I love you’

‘Please’

[s-4pphics]

moth. teaser. (e.w.)

SYNOPSIS: knights of the devil, you all are to be conquered. 

WORD COUNT: 881 

WARNINGS: vampire!ellie, vampirekiller!oc, a lot to come FUCK, violence… so blood(drinking), death, murder, gore, religion briefly,

A/N: yasss yaaas taglist?

prolouge

1809

“Oh, my precious darling…” 

Red, similar to her hair; palms painted from the tips of a finger to the points of elbows; knees sunk into begrimed pili drenched with fresh maroon. Panicked breaths are accompanied by prayers, wishes of denial. Desires for death. 

“… What I would give to protect you…” 

“F-F—“

Tortured hollers are directed towards the pouring skies. Bodies. Bodies everywhere; surrounded by decay. 

She sobs, deep from the pits of her stomach, “Father, for-forgive them! For they do not—“

Thunder claps. Lightning is being used as weapons from the Lord above, all meant to discover her and strike. The beams in the sky are intended to punish her discernment. It was a mistake. It was a mistake! Her eyes refuse to meet the battered corpse of the young babe, no more than three. Her crime was committed in a haze, blinded by starvation, all at the cost of the family before her. Villagers would deem the view a savage attack. A mutilation only made possible by the ravenous wolves after dark. The bears that protect the trees at dusk.

All on horseback, the strangers paused their ventures to inquire guidance. She swiftly became an aid for navigating the path, instructing them with a trembling finger and a blistering throat. Follow that trail to the end of the woods. Unbeknownst to their gracious eyes, she followed. Stalked after their mount for miles like the thoroughbred they ride, carried by the wind. Urged by bloodlust. 

Her vision blurred when they tied their horse’s lariats to a nearby post that barely passed the trees. Her vision was shrouded in darkness, a substance so thick that her limbs felt trapped, even in frantic movement. They’d reached the end, just like she’d promised. 

Their screams satiated her hunger, but never hindered her guilt. 

Demons, I tell you! All of them, demons! Witches destined to be set aflame for the masses! 

And now she crouches over them with remorse in her chest. Remorse that will wash away her like the rainfall that pounds on her shoulders. Much like it had in the past when her purity was stolen. Another fatality. 

1919

“Hunting requires bouts of unwavering dedication. If the entirety of your being doesn’t relish in the suffering of the demons walking, then you are to be shunned.”

Being the youngest hunter-to-be amongst legends, historical monuments that leave trails of prosperous victories wherever they advance, is humbling. Your mother pestered you for as long as you could remember: never, never become a hunter, being her only protest for you, her only child. She used to pray beside your bed at night when she assumed you to be asleep, praising the Creator for forbidding you sickness or poverty. You were her only treasure, a gift from the frosted heavens. 

And the demons took her. 

Hunters searched the unoccupied lands that surrounded your home relentlessly, but no traces of the Devils’ were ever discovered. They attended your mother’s burial for your protection, and prepared to assist your transition into the orphanage, but you denied. You were permanently vexed. Forever vengeful. 

I wish to become a hunter! 

Your recruitment was immediate due to the shortage of volunteers, and that same day, you witnessed all of the treasures and memories of your childhood home — of your mother — get burned to the ground by the Hunters. No trails for the demons should go untouched by fire. 

“If you hesitate for even a second, you’re dead. Either by their hand…” 

Something unsettled you that morning as you prepared for school. Something in the air, something underground. A heaviness in your home that you couldn’t trace. Your mother ironed your skirt and pinned your hair up, brushed down the small curls around your hairline, and she eased you. The weather is changing, dear, she’d said before wishing you well. You studied relentlessly, all while she was shredded by teeth sharp as knives. You want the Devil’s lifeless heart in the palm of your hand, risks be damned.

“Or mine. And I will not hesitate.” 

The overseer of your battalion, who slowly paces before his future prodigies, aura menacing, pauses in front of you. With your gaze locked forward and a lump in your throat, you gawk right on the crescent on his belt — the hunter’s insignia — your feet shuffle, shoes slightly squeaking above the wood. 

“Are you prepared, child?” 

His tone is disparaging, and you swallow. Your head bobs and your breathing stutters. 

“Yes, sir.” 

He crouches before you and your cells stiffen, elbows perched on his knees, eyes finally level with yours. You appear stoic due to the grinding of your teeth, inspecting the stitched scar that sprouts at his right brow and crosses his eye.

“You are nothing,” He hisses, and your heart clenches, “You are not a child, and I am not your elder. Any identity you held prior to your arrival is worthless, now. We are vessels for the greatest power above. Hunter is your only name, do you understand?” 

No verbiage escapes you. It couldn’t with how your breath trembles, so you nod once; Quite mechanic. 

“Stand straight.” 

His conviction forces your shoulders into alignment, and snickers from the older prodigies erupt from behind you. Your cheeks warm and your palms drip. The overseer rises to his feet once more.

“That goes for all of you!” He shouts, and the room is quiet.

The crescent sparkles under the yellow candlelight. Your palms grow clammy at his viperous swear. 

“I will not hesitate.” 

[shotmrmiller]

tw: mentions of simon's torture and SA so heed my warning plz

this is unfinished idk which way to take it, either a weird redemption or just keep him mean so here you go

I like to think that instead of Simon taking off his mask as a show of trust, it's his gloves.

He hates physical contact.

Back during his torture, Simon would have both eyes swollen shut more often than not, completely robbing him of his sight.

He'd bitten through his tongue through the worst of it, leaving him with a constant metallic taste of blood in his dry mouth.

There was never a moment of silence for him either. An insistent ringing in his ears, loud like a stirred-up hornet's nest. Buzzing in the canal, stinging in his ear drums.

Yet the one sense that only nothing could ever stop, unless unconscious, was touch. Simon couldn't stop feeling. Chapped, thin lips over his own. A grubby hand fisting his hair, pulling so hard he'd feel the pop of strands coming off of his scalp. The piercing pain of his broken nose, burning on his split lip; the crippling, blinding agony of the cold, metal hook in between his lower ribs. Delicate fingers leaving a searing trail across his bruised flesh, down to his—

Simon Riley does not like touch nor be touched. He covers himself from head to toe to avoid skin-to-skin contact— the gloves never come off. He grits his teeth when Johnny hits his shoulder, clenches his jaw painfully when Price taps his arm.

The only sensation he doesn't mind is the blood that soaks the fabric of his gloves when he digs his blade into an unsuspecting neck.

But that didn't mean his needs had faded from existence. Much to his disappointment, Simon was still of flesh and blood. He still felt a stirring in his loins whenever he laid eyes on a piece of fuckable meat. It's all he saw them as; just a hole for him to use.

He didn't get much of a chance to satiate the thirst, however, because of the one restriction Simon had.

Hands to yourself.

From the ones he'd chosen to take to a no-tell motel, only a handful had stayed. Not that it bothered him any, they had always thought themselves special enough for him to change his mind.

"Rules are rules, sweets. Take it or fuckin' leave."

And then he meets you at some dingy bar. You'd flitted your way over to him, like a moth to a flame.

If only you knew that he was an all-consuming fire; he'd burn you to ashes.

You'd been quick in agreeing to let him fuck you, too. His gloved hand grabbed your elbow in a tight grip, harshly dragging you into the men's bathroom. "Only one rule. Don't touch me. You keep your hands on anythin' else other than me. I take what ya give me, and in turn, you'll take what I give ya."

With your hands tightly gripping the edge of the porcelain sink, he'd taken you from behind viciously. Hungrily. Deliciously. He'd then left you in the bathroom with your number and his cum dried on the cleft of your arse.

It was like this for months. Always dropping by your house for a visit when the night was darkest.

"Hands on the headboard." His covered hands would rest right next to yours on it as he filled you up with his heavy cock.

"Hold your legs open f'me." The rough material of his gloves on the underside of your thighs never failed to bleed a little pain into your heady pleasure.

And then he'd started pulling the balaclava he wore up to rest right above his lips and settle his head between your quivering thighs. Ghost would drag his smart tongue through your folds and flick your slippery clit.

You'd ripped a hole into the bedsheets to keep from digging your nails into the thick muscle of his shoulders when you climaxed.

You also never brought it up after. He ate pussy like a man starved- all lips and tongue, occasionally a nip or two. This proverbial horse's teeth would never see the light of day.

Over a period of time, Ghost started staying a little longer after the hookups, and began to show up a tad earlier than the usual witching hour.

now this is where we choose the ending

is it a, he grabs your hands and chooses where you can touch? he stays in control the entire time because that's what he needs. control. a choice.

he'll blindfold you so you don't see him, only feel. feel the stubble on his strong jaw, the contours of his waist, his hips; feel how rough his bare hands are on your own smooth skin.

or

do you eventually question why he doesn't let you touch him? he'll snap his teeth at you like a rabid dog? you're not privy to his back story. he'll aggressive shrug his shirt back on and jerkily pull his pants up. doesn't even tie his bootlaces, just walks out your front door. you don't hear from him again.

it hurts, honestly. you'd only asked a simple question and he didn't even give you a chance to apologize.

[queenofallimagines]

Black!Witch!Mc getting chosen for the exchange program

I was writing about another request but then I specifically thought about how they would try to teach magic to MC but she was doing hoodoo so here we are✨

__________

Student Council:

- First off IMAGINE the audacity of getting kidnapped w no warning and now demons saying you gotta stay here for a full 365 days??

- Unserious

- I’m immediately putting a ‘no demon allowed’ sigils on the inside of my door so they wouldn’t be busting in 24/7 without knocking🙄

- Meeting belphie and telling he’s full of shit

- “I really am a human-“

- “Bullshit, I can feel your bitter ass spirit a mile away”

- Mammon knows what’s good so he’s already with the program

- “I had this bottle of Florida water just laying around. Not like I got it for you or anything but like here I’m throwing it out anyway”

- “I don’t know if human spirits would like this whiskey but like we had it lying around in the kitchen so just take it no one drinks it.”

- Baby I still see the price tag on it,,,,,

- Leaves fancy cigars in your room and when you mention them bc you KNOW they wasn’t there before he’s like “idk maybe you’re imagining things”

- “Satan has been doing research or whatever on human magic so maybe he left there here for ya to find.”

- He WILL gaslight you into thinking he isn’t like being helpful but like he’s not good at it

- Depending on where your from and if you work with more water and Sea based stuff Levi will be drawn to you like a moth to flame

- You smell like sea water and he peeps that

- When your around it feels peaceful like watching waves reaching the shore

- Asks you if you’re secretly like a mermaid

- “Maybe”

- He can not tell if you’re joking with that smirk Mc!!

- He sees you wearing pearls and starts just like giving you more of them

- “I got these from the bottom of that marinara trench or whatever and I thought you’d like them!”

- “You mean the MARINA TRENCH Levi???”

- He probably knows how to make jewelry out of them so he def does

- Gives you earrings and bracelets and says it’s for a cosplay

- “Yeah, the main character is like this really cool pirate queen who’s like secretly a siren.”

- “Oh damn That’s sounds cool what’s the name of it?”

- “…..I forgot but like trust me it’s REALLY good.”

- He is making up FAKE anime to get you to wear his gifts I am so sorry bestie

- Gifts you with seashells

- “I mean like humans pick these up all the time right?”

- “Is there a creature still living in there?”

- “You don’t want a little friend????”

- Please go put that back where you found it😭

- You like to chill in his room the most bc I mean look at it, it’s a big as fuck aquarium and it just feels like a vibe

- Was thinking about getting you this rly elaborate bathtub to keep in his room for you

- Like a blow up mattress💀 but it’s a Victorian claw foot tub

- But then you say that you can just sleep in his with him and he’s struggling to breathe

- “Y-you sure? I mean like I can sleep on the floor-“

- “It’s your room I’m not gunna make you move and besides there’s definitely enough space in there for both of us.”

- Gets all the softest blankets and pillows from all over the house like he’s snatching peoples shit up😭

- Stiff as a board when you first get in but then when he wraps his arms around you he feels at ease like he’s relaxing on the beach at night and knocks out

- Sweats he sleeps the best when you’re with him

- Satan is immediately fascinated

- Trying to see if he can pinpoint the meaning of the jewelry and clothes your wearing just from looking at you

- Noticed you always smell like incense

- Like he knew you were in the house bc he can smell sandal wood and lotus when he walks by

- “You’re not a regular human are you?”

- “You’re not really a regular demon are you?”

- Probably gets into it w you be you’re not taking any of his shit and you’re quick to clap back

- Traps him in a corner with salt

- “Time out. Sit your ass down”

- Stops getting mad somewhere along the line and starts getting turnend on by it

- Like may just set up scenarios behind the scenes that cause you to absolutely loose it

- An euphoric feeling washes over him when he sees you pissed off

- 🙄😒 he setting up scenarios for you to beef w Radom people

- Like it’s enough

- Likes to see you mad at him but he knows he has a limited amount of times he can do that in one sitting as not to damage your relationship

- Finds the way you do magic fascinating

- Throws him off a little bit

- How you just find shit and make it work??

- “Okay so for this spell it says we need like finely aged Demonus, frankincense resin, and blood.”

- “Okay well I got pine needles, old grape juice, and apple cider vinegar.”

- ????

- And he’s literally flabbergasted when IT WORKS PERFECTLY

- “That’s not the rules???”

- “Ion need those that’s optional.”

- “Hello?????”

- Scratching his head in frustration bc like?? YOURE NOT FOLLOWING THE BOOKS AND YET THINGS WORK??

- “Listen, when you don’t have things on hand you gotta substitute. It’s like the same thing kinda if you think about it.”

- “No it’s not!! You can’t substitute mullein for graveyard dirt!”

- “Says who🤨”

- Watches you like a child the way he hovers over you analyzing what you’re doing

- He was waiting on shit to backfire but he sees you doing things with ease and his curiosity is eating away at him

- “How long have you been doing this?? For you to just be quick on your feet like that?”

- “I don’t know? My whole life? It’s just like something you do everyday without thinking.”

- His nosey ass is always in your business

- Asmo is entranced by your appearance

- He can feel the energy coming off the jewelry you wear in an instant

- “Oooo where did you get those?”

- “It’s been passed down to me”

- “What’s the name of your grandparents? I might know who it originally belonged to👀”

- Clown ass will find out he ran through some of your family

- “I remember hearing about this one great great great great cousin that cheated on his soon to be wife and disappeared forever after they got married.”

- “Wait hold on I remember that name! That might have been be lol. I seduced him and then broke up the marriage and made a deal with the wife to make him disappear. Good times”

- “HELLO???”

- Like any generational curse he’s def behind it

- “My aunt cursed the family to never find love” ass shit and he’s like daaaam that’s was me my bad let me left that lol

- Clown

- Has you charm his jewelry

- Even tho he can do it himself he wants to watch you do it

- Beel

- What a sweetheart

- Likes when it’s your turn to cook

- Giving him snacks or cooking food that eases his hunger pains

- He’s holding you like a teddy bear

- Walks into your room like 🥺”snack pwease?”

- Your ancestors love him

- “Go give beel this”

- “….i bought that for YOU”

- “Okay?? Go feed my baby!”

- Like absolutely crazy

- Satan is their fav white boy

- In an “lmao this funky little white bot got some spice in em”

- Like he does In canon like Afro beats so IMAGINE they hear him singing like Marvin Gaye and they’re like “yeah this the one”💀

- The most annoying mf EVER

- He walks into your room and is like “oh I ain’t here for you”

- ????

- “Ayo don’t just roll up in here KNOCK first??”

- “Oh Mc I didn’t come here for you- good afternoon grandma McRae, I wanted to show you I aced my finals😌”

- AND THEY WILL HYPE HIM UP?????

- Mammon is that cousin that you know always in some shit but he’s the one who do the most to help out

- Leaves Grimm on your altar

- You’re surprised he didn’t just snatch it but when you catch him bc it’s been accumulating and you know YOU ain’t put that much there

- “What you mean?? For good luck I ain’t miss yet at the casino”

- Imagine how tired we are

- Will hide Goldie there and they will NOT let Lucifer find it💀

- “Don’t worry baby I got this you run along now” INSANE

- Very “go make sure he ate breakfast this morning” energy

- See now belphie is so annoying

- Hoping and PRAYING that they don’t know about lesson 16 bc it’s like on sight

- Lilith is chilling on that mf altar and she will bring the WHOLE FAMILY to beat his ass

- So imagine they’re not beating his ass 24/7 and this is after the party when you guys made a pact

- He comes into your room while you’re busy to sleep in your bed because why would he sleep in his own if he wants to bother you??🙄

- “Hey Mc I’m gunna sleep in here they’re being too loud.”

- “…..hello and good afternoon to you too, I’m doing great how was your day😐” like he don’t ever be saying hello

- He feels this weird ass vibe in the room and he looks over at your desk

- “You a spell or something? What’s up with all that stuff?”

- “Hm? Oh no it’s just an altar for my ancestors I made one shortly after I got here.”

- Hums before wrapping himself in your blankets

- They all in his dreams whew

- He’s seeing people he’s NEVER seen before glaring at him and being like “you done lost your mind”

- Assumes he’s entered one of your dreams until Lilith is like

- “Why did you do that?”

- He was surprised to see you were related to her the first time

- IMAGINE they show him a flashback of what happens but he gets to see what we saw and Lilith last words to us

- And then he’s surrounded by people being like 😒😒😒

- He’s on his knees crying fr

- Want Lilith to beat up her brothers like “don’t mess w my baby👿” because we’re like her niece or whatever minus a few eons like her direct descendant

- She do not play about you at ALL

- She’s putting the fear of god in him before she’s like “I know you’re sorry and you’re my brother and I love you but don’t do that shit again”

- Only reason he ain’t get it worse is bc you love him💀

- They still baby him to an extent bc he is the baby of the family and since he can talk to them directly he will be asked to deliver messages for them

- but he woke up struggling to breathe

- And you’re like ?????

- Worst nightmare he’s ever had

- Getting all the other babies out the way they like Solomon but in a sneaky way

- “There he go again up to something “

- “I would never🥺” and he’s literally plotting

- They talk to like the most I think because he’s like idk how that works but they seem happy when I leave treats up there

- He runs to them when yall pick on him

- “Leave that baby alone!!”

- Simeon is the golden child obviously

- Picture perfect and so respectful

- Will leave a feather from his wings there just bc

- Everyday it’s “tell Simeon I said hi!”

- Like okay :// enough he can probably go see yall face to face

- Saving the very best for last Lucifer

- Comedy relief

- They be messing w him heavy

- Moving things around so he can’t find it

- His favorite pen runs out of ink and when he gets a a new one it starts working perfectly fine

- Missing matching socks

- Like just bc it’s funny

- They do however see he’s shouldering all this stuff that he really don’t need to and that he’s head over heels

- Suddenly his lunch feels more filling and comforting

- His paperwork seems less like an endless mountain

- When you’re not there he will go to the alter and leave little things

- Also asking them for advice on how to purpose

- All of a sudden you’re getting signs for a wedding

- “Are there even this many doves in the devildom????”

- “A wedding or union is in the future”

- “?? What do you mean by that auntie?”

- “😊”

- “WHAT DO YOU MEAN BY THAT!!”

- Jokingly mess w him bc COME ON it’s Lucifer!

- Stressing him out is like prime entertainment

- Honorary members of the anti-Lucifer league

- Satan leaves a little pin in there that says that LMAO

- Lucifer internally sighing bc wow his family got even bigger (he is not complaining, glad to see more of Lilith kin and how she had such a long strong lineage)

[ddreamywitch]

Chapter Five - No Plan

knight!Benjicot x princess!reader

word count: 3k

a/n: do you guys enjoy reading from benji’s perspective?

song: No Plan - Hozier

You won’t look at him.

It’s quite seriously driving him insane.

He knows he’s overstepped, broken his oath in some ways even.

He is sworn to you, of course, to serve and protect nobody but you, but he is part of a system, a machinery of knights and guards, who, at all cost, must report back to the king.

He wasn’t ever going to snitch on you. But maybe he should have put his foot down.

Were any of the happenings of the past few weeks to come to light, he is almost certain that he will lose his head for it. Or they’d find some other creative way to rid themselves of him.

Had he been stricter upon finding out about your meddling in the arts of healing, perhaps you had never gathered the guts to sneak out by yourself, you’d have never found yourself in the hands of some lowlife scumbag and he wouldn’t know how well you fit into his arm curled around your back.

Then you might still be speaking to him.

Well, you had spoken to him. An hour into your carriage ride you had leaned out the window to tell him to have Fury saddled, already tired of being confined.

Throughout everything, he kept feeling an overwhelmingly deep rooted sense of pity.

He gazes up at the sky, grey clouds gathered above, knit together so tight you couldn’t see the blue hiding behind.

He doesn’t remember the last time he had pitied somebody so much.

Of course, he felt bad for the impoverished, the sick, the depraved. But this was almost sickening; his stomach twisting in uncomfortable ways, each time he thought about your fate.

A girl like you is rare to come by in the place you had grown up in. He does not understand how you could even exist, an enigma, given the people you had been around your life. Though your sister and brother were respectable for the most part, there was something innately warm about you.

As he contemplates he almost resents you again, like he had in the beginning of his knighthood.

How could you be so good?

It is frustrating really, to be around you and watch the way people bend to fit around you, to feel your presence and grasp your attention.

At first he had assumed it to be your status, that got everyone so riled up, but he understood rather soon that, that isn’t the case.

People tried to approach Prince Tristan and Queen Cordelia as well, but around you it seems to be something more honest.

He thinks about your handmaiden and you, the way the two of you giggle each time you are together, the way the cook without request organises your favourite pastries for you.

For fuck’s sake even young children and animals were drawn to you like a moth to the light, despite not having the slightest comprehension of who you are and what importance you held.

Your dumb horse damn near tries to kill anyone that nears it besides you.

It is ridiculous really.

Yes, ridiculous.

He doesn’t understand it.

From now on he would not fall for this anymore.

Benji is a strong soldier. He’s killed. He’s hurt. He’s bled. He would not fall for something as silly as that girlish charm you had. One might think you are actually a witch, with the way you mesmerised the people.

He glances at you in front of him, back straight as a board. There’s a shiver to your unnatural posture.

“Your highness?”, he calls out and he almost can’t believe his own hypocrisy.

“Yes, Ser Benjicot?” You don’t turn around to face him, so he forces his horse alongside yours.

Suddenly he feels silly, back to being a young boy. Or a dog that can’t help but return to its owner. “Are you cold, princess?”

You don’t even spare a second to look at him. “I am quite alright, do not fret.” You’re cold. Closer now, he can see the goosebumps that trail your arms through the translucent fabric of your sleeves.

You’re almost dressed for a funeral, your gown a deep shade of purple.

The king had frowned at you that morning, Benji had seen the way his thick brows had pulled together, lips pulled into something reminiscent of a pout.

He himself was more so wondering how you had managed to get on your horse with the ten thousand layers of tulle and frilliness you were heaving around.

“Do you not wish for a cloak? If you were to get sick you would need to return to travel by carriage,” Benji finds himself warning you.

That does trigger a reaction in you; a deep sigh. “Fine then,” you mumble.

Benji doesn’t like this. He can’t help but feel responsible, the events of last night must be heavy on your mind.

It was all confusing and annoying to him. Nobody had told you to leave the castle, least of all him, but still he faults himself for not having been there sooner.

You had your troubles but you had never been confronted with men who’s inappropriate fantasies aren’t confined by the code of conduct at court.

It doesn’t take long for somebody to appear with your cloak.

With all the fabric it almost looks as though your horse is the one wearing the clothes.

For a few more wholly uncomfortable moments of silence Benji trots along your side, until he decides that it’s likely best to give you time.

Your journey goes on until shortly before sunset. There are still two days worth of travel ahead of you and so one of the guards rides ahead into town and organises a stay for the night.

Benji could see the exhaustion in your face as you’re helped off your horse, wincing and stretching without much decorum.

The servant who helped you looks away in uncertainty. His cheeks are flushed. Benji wants to roll his eyes.

The inn is surprisingly nice; one of the two kingsguard members with you informs him that it is because a lot of merchants pass through this town when travelling to the capital.

You are smiling at everyone, saccharine sweet and Benji wished he didn’t notice the way you are twisting the ring on your finger nervously.

As it seems, spending almost every single waking moment with you for the last cycle of the moon, does take its toll.

Without much ceremony you leave supper early and excuse yourself to your bedroom, your new handmaiden close behind.

She’s a nervous little thing, a mouse-like girl, much younger than Marion and entirely overwhelmed by your presence it seems.

Benji hasn’t heard her say anything yet that wasn’t some variation of an apology.

It is terrifying to be responsible for a princess.

He should know.

He takes a gulp from the beer in front of him.

Ser Corrigan taps his fingers against the table, only remotely in sync with the fiddler in the corner of the room.

“D’you think she’ll be well with that Baron?,” he pipes up.

Benji doesn’t register that he’s being spoken to for a few moments.

“Don’t know. But if he takes after his sister, I should have serious doubts that they will get along,” he answers.

Corrigan nods to himself.

The fiddler plays an old ballad, one of a kind queen long dead, the fire crackles in the room and the night crawls on.

Benji is not on watch duty, so he allows himself more of the not-good-yet-not-bad beer they serve here before he heads upstairs as well.

It is long past midnight by now and it suddenly strikes him that he should have spoken with Ser Corrigan.

He has no friends here.

His room is at the highest floor of the building, guards stood at the top of the stairs.

You are right across from him. The only two people that are to sleep here.

His eyes linger on your door and his fingers itch to knock and ask about your wellbeing but he doesn’t.

He cannot find rest. Of course not.

The last few weeks catch up with him, ghosts that had constantly been in his periphery and have finally clawed their way into his mind.

His uncle sending him away.

The isolation inside the castle.

You.

He tosses and turns, yearning for comfort.

He won’t find it in here and so he decides perhaps fresh air might help him.

He slips out of his room and realises he isn’t wearing his boots.

Then he hears it.

Distant, through the thick of the oak door, he hears your sobs.

He knows he can’t ignore it, even though he lingers for a moment.

He throws one glance at the guards at the end of the hallway, neither of them having noticed him.

Benji steps as lightly as he can across the wooden floor and without so much as the thought of a squeak he slips into your bedroom.

Your eyes are swollen and bloodshot when you look at him, mouth dropped into surprised ‘O’.

Neither you nor him speak until you do at the same time.

“Are you–”, Benji asks.

“I didn’t mean to-” you interrupt.

Silence again. Benji waves his hand for you to go first.

“I didn’t mean to be loud,” you whisper. “I couldn’t sleep.”

He hums in agreement. “Neither could I.” He leans against the door. “And you weren’t loud.”

You’re sitting at the foot of the bed, your hair and robe both somewhat disorderly. “My apologies. For scaring you last night.”

His arms cross and uncross again when he thinks that he might intimidate you like that. “Don’t worry.”

“Benji?”

The name sounds so different when you say it. It rolls off your tongue like river-tumbled pebbles through a creek. A sweet and calming sound.

“Yes, princess?”

Your cheeks are reddened again. “Perhaps you could keep me company? I don’t sleep well outside my own room.”

You look so young like this, he thinks to himself. A vulnerable doe-eyed girl. To be married soon.

What was to happen to you, with your unbelievable innocence? That you should invite a man into your chambers after last night, is more than naive.

He remains where he stands.

“Please?”

How can he refuse you?

You shuffle to sit with your back to the wall, beckoning him to take a seat next to you and he complies.

He struggles to comprehend his innate urge to be useful to you.

“Do you think I’ll find some common ground with him?”, you ask.

Benji sighs. “I’ve not met somebody who doesn’t like you since coming to the capital.”

“You didn’t like me.” You prod at him with one accusing finger.

Your shoulders almost brush when you’re sitting like this, the tiniest sliver of space between them. It feels tantalising.

“That’s an exaggeration. I was merely…,” he trails off. What was he? What is he now?

He watches you shrug. “I do not blame you. It seems I am in a much similar position now. Sent away to a place far from home to spend my days with someone I do not know”

“I told you that there’ll be a way to find some arrangement,” he reminds you. “Mayhaps he’ll not even want you after all.”

You snort. “Did you not just claim the opposite?”

“Well yes, but you know at first glance, perhaps he’ll think you’re too much of a troll.” This is something that once again could cost him his tongue if you were ever to snitch on him, but for now you laugh quietly to yourself.

“Were you always so rude? I’m sure your mother didn’t raise you to talk to ladies like this.”

He looks down at his hands, the scars, the rough parts of it. Yesterday evening on the way home he held yours in them and then after you had clicked his nose back into place, such a gruesome and nasty act from your delicate nimble fingers.

He wonders what his mother would think of you.

“Firstly, you are still a witch and not a lady. And no, she didn’t.”

You know, of course, that his mother, much like your own, is six feet under, engulfed by cold wet soil. You know every noble house in the land. Perhaps you know his own house's history better than he does.

You twist to look at him. “What was your mother like? Your parents?” Then you realise the forthrightness of your words and stutter a bit. “I mean- if you should want to tell me.”

He shrugs. “It matters not. We are bound either way.”

That stirs you the wrong way. “I do not want you to do everything just because you feel you must. I told you so.”

Benji chuckles. “You did not. You told me to be civil or be silent, otherwise you’d order me executed.”

Your back straightens. “I was of course not being earnest, Benjicot.” Red spots dot your neck and cheeks, borderline outraged.

“How was I to know? You got so serious on that beach, you little witch, who knows what potion you could mix into my breakfast.”

He had of course not feared for his life. Just his ego.

Benji clears his throat. “My mother was very headstrong. She knew her place in the world and she knew what to do with what she had. She kept my father on his toes. I don’t know if they were a love match but they had their own dynamic. They were most certainly friends.”

You’re smiling a bit now and decide to lean against the headboard again, feet shuffling beneath the blanket.

“She was a bit like your sister, I suppose. They both have a certain quality about them. I think. The memory blurs with each day.”

“Cordelia likes you, I believe. She is quite selective with who she deems respectable.”

“She’s a bit scary.”

You slap his upper arm, your hand lingering there a moment longer than needed. His shirt is made from much less soft fabric than your chemise is and he wonders what you would think about that.

“She isn’t scary, she has been through a lot.”

“Your family seems a bit fucked,” he says before he can stop himself. Blood rushes to his cheeks. “Uh- Pardon me, I-”

But you laugh. Loud and clear and Benji wants to remind you of the guards outside but he can’t bring himself to.

Better to see you laugh, even if your cheeks are still puffy from tears shed prior.

“No we are. We are. Maybe if our mother had been with us longer, we might have turned out differently. But Cordelia and Tristan aren’t so bad.”

“Neither are you. It really just is the king that’s making problems.” His head drops a bit. “If anything I’m fucked.”

You tug at his sleeve. “I think you’re alright.”

“I am a liability, you said it yourself. And I did terrible as the head of my house.”

“Yes, because you were a child when your father passed. It was right after your eleventh name day, was it not?”

Benji shrugs. He had failed either way and after three short years, everyone had campaigned for his uncle to take the reins until Benji was of age. And then by the time he was, he didn’t care for it, preferring battle and combat to the rigid authority. And now he is here. In your bed.

“Let’s not dwell on it.”

Your hair is so close. He doesn’t understand how you could always smell so wonderful, even after a day’s worth of travelling. Especially with the heavy layers you wear.

This also bothers him.

It seems everything about you is equally fascinating and bothersome to him.

“Tell me about your home. I’ve rarely travelled to the Riverlands, my father does not enjoy the weather there.”

He bites back the comment about how your father likely doesn’t appreciate the weather because he is too prissy to be rained on.

“It’s wonderful. It’s green as far as the eye can see. I suppose you would enjoy riding your horse there.”

“Tell me something interesting. I know what the land looks like. I want to know what you did there. I want to know what your life was before this. Perhaps I can restore some of it. Maybe even bring your old lover to court.”

You had tried to said it carelessly but the way you stumbled over the word lover gave you away.

He ignores it. “I do not have a girl waiting for me. Matter of fact, I think they’re all glad I’m gone.”

You scoff. “What? What were you doing, you rake.”

He laughs lowly, feels it rumble deep within his chest. “That is not a topic I wish to discuss with someone of your sort.”

“What, a woman? You imbecile, just because-,” you start and he doesn’t need to look this time, he’s certain that the red spots are back on your skin.

Benji cuts you off before you get mad enough to have them spread all over. “No, not a woman. A princess of the realm. The realm’s delight, even. I will not be the one to spoil you, I’m sure Marion already did enough damage.”

“I’m not a child,” you huff. “I’ll be wed sooner than later as it seems, I’ll know either way.”

He shrugs and as he does he suddenly realises your head was resting against his shoulder. Immediately he regrets the movement, tries to bend in a way to return you to your previous position. You fit back perfectly, all the while you’re suppressing a vaguely impolite yawn.

“I won’t do it either way. And I won’t tell you the tales of Bloody Ben either, if that’s what you’re looking for,” he explains. “You were shocked enough by the events in the alley, I do not want your head filled with gruesome images of violent men.”

Your eyelids are drooping. “My god Benjicot, will you just tell a story,” you grumble.

His mind races to find something, some memory of his that he wants to share with you, and finds that there are very few.

He’s never been ashamed of his tendency to brutality and he isn't now. He applies it when needed and fairly so. It really isn’t his fault that so many people wanted to see a glimpse of it, prodding at him with razor-sharp insults to get to him. Especially those god-forsaken Bracken boys.

“I fell from a tree as a little boy,” he says, to his own wonder.

He feels your giggle in his bones. “What?”

“Yes. I climbed it to prove a point to some cousin or something, I don’t remember and I remember thinking that I was falling to my death.”

“Goodness Benji, don’t you have a happier story.”

He shushes you. “Just wait until I get to the good part you impatient witch.”

You resign and he keeps going on about how he had clambered his way up the tree barefoot at seven years old, how that had been the moment he understood that he had a fear of heights and how he spent ten hours in that tree before gathering up the courage to get back down by jumping, so in all honesty he didn’t fall, but he did promptly land upon his sword instructor who at that moment decided that Benji was his most precious diamond in the rough, because what kind of insane person would jump down and from that point on their friendship had bloomed.

Then after that story was done he kept on going.

Takes of his childhood, his friends at home, his visits to tavern which he discreetly censored to not come across as vulgar.

He can’t pinpoint at what moment you fall asleep but soon enough your snores begin to fill the room, your head still propped against his biceps.

He figures he should get up but he really and strongly does not want to do so.

Instead he moves you, carefully, with much more care than his own hands are used to, until you are horizontal.

He almost manages to scrape together enough discipline to leave you, but then you do something…peculiar.

Though sound asleep, your fingers curl around the fabric of his pants next to your hand, like a child grasping its mothers skirt in some odd way.

Benji doesn’t get up.

He doesn’t sleep for a second, instead he remains exactly as he is.

This is fine, he figures. What are knights for if not full-time protection?

taglist:

@dancingbaek

@jhepolie

@knight-of-flowerss

@majoso12

@rebeccawinters

@poppyflower-22

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[bossuary]

I keep thinking that Bloodbath would be so different if Lucanis had remembered to look UP. In The Wigmaker Job, after Lucanis successfully kills a bunch of bad guys from his hiding places atop statues, on shadowy rooftops, on the fucking ceiling like an errant moth, Illario jokes that if the Venatori ever learn to look up, Lucanis will be in trouble.

Illario should not have been able to get the literal drop on Lucanis.

I mean, he does have a blindspot when it comes to Illario, and that it's literal in this moment with Zara is pure DA humor. The game thinks it's very funny for Lucanis to constantly break all of his own rules: no talking during combat? Pfft. Try and stop him from snarking and/or cheerleading during a fight.

Lucanis and Spite struggle, argue, when they should be killing Zara. It's Lucanis' attempt to control Spite, to get some answers for his trauma, that gives Illario the opening he needs to drop down and kill Zara himself.

It's such an important moment, why wouldn't he check his corners? Why wouldn't he look up?

A year earlier. Hell, a month earlier, Lucanis probably wouldn't have hesitated. That someone sold him out would matter less than making Zara pay.

Right out of the Ossuary, this man would not forget to look up.

I reckon if Bloodbath happens right out of the Ossuary: --Lucanis and Spite kill Zara without hesitation. (Illario doesn't intervene? but if he does, Lucanis clocks him, maybe literally.) --Lucanis never learns who betrayed him. --Illario kills Caterina, she's too much of a liability. --Lucanis never reunites with his grandmother. --Illario uses Elgar'nan's trinket to control Lucanis and Spite. --Illario takes over the Crows (eventually, a blood-magic-tortured Spite turns Lucanis into a full abomination, and carnage ensues.)

Caterina's loss galvanizes Lucanis, but fulfilling her contract with Rook changes him. He's hurt, damaged, possibly irrevocably, by what happened at the Ossuary. Rook and Co. show him that he can't ignore the very human need to know why someone hurt him, and move past it. The WHY matters a great deal to everyone in the Lighthouse...because HE matters a great deal to them.

Spite doesn't give a shit about any of that. Spite wants what they AGREED on: to kill the Venatori witch. KILL HER. She's right-fucking-there. We have SO MANY KNIVES. She's got nothing but her birthday suit covered in coagulated blood. Fucking. Kill. Her.

So, in their hard-fought moment of vengeance, when Lucanis stands there not killing Zara, holding out for answers instead of being an assassin and fulfilling their pact, Spite goes goblin-mode in a nuclear way.

Spite embodies the person Lucanis was. Of course that guy is at odds with the person Lucanis is becoming. Change is hard. To quote Andrea Gibson,"it hurts to become." Boy howdy, does it ever.

Lucanis says it's throwing off his game. As a professional, he should be able to work, he's shouldn't have missed Ghilan'nain, yadda, yadda. But like, the game has changed. A professional assassin who accepts that his life has changed...that is a whole new kind of Lucanis. Worse...what if that's good?

Of course he doesn't look up.

Some part of him has already decided that he's not that guy anymore.

[holylulusworld]

Hunter vs Witch (2)

Summary: Sam just can’t stand you.

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Witch!Reader

Sidepairing: Dean Winchester x Pie 🙃

Warnings: banter, implied past sexual encounters, fun, enemies to lovers, chasing, implied/very light smut, collars (magical), mentions of somnophilia?

Catch up here: Hunter vs Witch

Divider by @firefly-graphics

“I will kill you!” Sam yells while chasing you around the bunker. They invited you to join them on a hunt (well, Dean invited you) and you decided to stay a little longer. You took the opportunity to grab a few books and talismans to try a few new spells. Much to Sam’s chagrin. 

The hunter still doesn’t trust you. Or so he likes to tell everyone. The truth is, he didn’t like how you eyed his brother when Dean emerged from the showers, only a towel hanging loose on his hips.

“Y/N, stop or I’ll shoot you!”

You giggle and run even faster; your prey is still tugged under your arm. “You can try, but you won’t succeed, Winchester. You’re too slow, Samuel!”

“Guys, can a man not enjoy the company of pie in silence nowadays!” Dean yells from the kitchen. He was about to feast on the pie you helped him bake and now, the moment of togetherness got ruined. 

“Sorry, Deano!” You call while running past the kitchen, his brother hot on your heels. You snicker, and speed up again to hide at the last place Sam will expect you to hide in. The dungeon.

“I mean it!” Dean points a fork at his brother as Sam tries to run past the kitchen to catch you. “If I hear or see you copulate with her again, you’re banned from the bunker for a week.”

“I didn’t do a thing with that woman,” Sam lies poorly. He glares at his brother, eyes dropping to the pie. “It’s rather you who’s all over her all the time. Y/N made the pie to increase your sexual appetite.”

“Dude, she’s obsessed with your dick, not mine,” Dean grumbles and turns his attention back toward his beloved pie. “Don’t listen to him sweetheart, he’s a jealous bitch. You’re everything I want.”

Sam shudders. “Just don’t do anything odd with the pie,” he says before turning to run after you. “We don’t need therapy only because you couldn’t stop yourself from banging the pie.”

Dean eyes the pie. He licks his lips and hums. “I’m telling you, man. If I could, I’d fuck the pie and be happy for the rest of my life. Pie makes you happy. Women can be…complicated.”

“Gross,” Sam comments and finally chases after you. You poke your head around the corner, waiting for Sam to catch up with you before running toward the next hideout. 

This is going to be fun…

The chase ended with you pressed up against the wall in the dungeon. Naked, except for a collar wrapped around your neck to remind you that he’s in charge of you, and your body.

“I knew the collar would look good around your neck,” Sam whispers in your ear. He’s pressing the full length of his body against yours, making sure you feel his strength. “You won’t use your powers inside the bunker. Not without my allowance.”

“Fuck you,” you dip your head to look at Sam. He smirks at your response. “I will use my powers whenever and wherever I want.”

“Try to use them now,” he nips at your earlobe, tugging at it. “Come on, try to use them with the collar around your neck. It will hurt like hell and knock you out. I will just fuck you while you’re out cold.”

You smirk now. “I knew you’re a sick bastard, Winchester.”

“Only because you make me sick,” he purrs and nuzzles your cheek. “I’m going to show you what happens when you steal my artifacts and books ever again.”

Sam holds you pinned to the wall with his upper body while his hands work his pants open. 

“What do you want to do?” You chuckle darkly, hoping he will punish you with his cock. “Do your worst, Winchester. You won’t break me.”

“I’ll break you so good.”

It’s too late for regrets now. He’s so hard it hurts not to feel you wrapped around him. Even if he doesn’t trust you, there is something about you drawing him in, like the moth to the flame.

Sam teases your entrance with the tip of his cock slowly inching his way inside your body.

“Yeah? How good, little hunter.”

Sam groans feeling your walls welcome him. He slams his hands against the wall while cursing your name. 

You press your head against the wall, breathing slowly to not give away how good it feels having him inside of you. “Not too bad, hunter.”

“You’re going to be a good little witch for me from now on,” Sam wraps one arm around your body, holding you close to him as he starts rolling his hips. "If you do what I say, you're going to cum. If not...well...you know that I'm a master in punishment."

Sam made sure you’ll feel his rules in your bones. 

The collar didn’t come off until you whimpered his name, and fell asleep, overstimulated, ass bruised but with a dopey smile on your face…

Tags in reblog.

[hellcheckers]

tier list of all the hours in cultsim based on how horny I think they are

S Tier: The Grail - Self explanatory

The-Mare-In-The-Tree and The Malachite are canonically rumored to fuck nasty in the woods despite it technically being illegal to fuck if you’re immortal

A Tier: Mother of Ants - im biased because I think she’s hot. the fact that jesus is one of her names won’t deter me from trying to hit that.

The Forge of Days - Quite literally caused a millennial calamity via killing the Sun-In-Splendor because she was afraid that they would get too horny, would put in S tier but she did kill her lover so.

The Moth - Listen having one of the ways to ascend as the carapace cross is to be a stripper and lapdance in several occult locations. The moth may not fuck be they sure as hell don’t mind that.

The Sister and Witch + The Witch and Sister - these lesbians are literally intertwined with two different versions corresponding to different aspects. Which one is the witch and which one is the sister? I don’t fucking know and neither do you. One drowned after the other and if that doesn’t scream tragic sapphic sex idk what does. also they probably sent the recipe to the sex in the beach cocktail to some random bartender as a prank good for them.

B Tier: The Flowermaker - While I don’t know much about them, I do know that those flowers a definitely drugs. Not horny enough to bone but horny enough to make Acid 100000.

The Thunderskin - Bro got flayed because The Grail and him fucked to the point that he was the sacrifice bc they just really boned that much.

The Beachcomber - While this avian hour does not have any lore behind its sexual preferences, it is said to “collect the secret liaisons of the hours and gloat”. Fucking voyeur.

C Tier: The Elegiast- He is not the kindest hour, but he does not forget. This may or may not extend to the liaisons of mortals. Best not to ask him about it.

The Colonel and The Lionsmith - Gonna be honest these two are too caught up with trying to one up each other via eternal strife to actually think about committing the crime of the sky. Shoutout to the theory/headcanon that The Colonel and The Mother of Ants are secret lovers though.

The Vagabond - Has probably fucked in her lifetime, but is definitely too salty over being banned from the Mansus to think about sex.

The Velvet - She’s too busy digging in the dirt and hiding juicy gossip and world ending secrets. Understands consent as she did say No to the Glory.

D Tier: The Sun-In-Rags - I don’t think any of the technical children of The Sun are too happy about being born via failed and lethal sex. Definitely don’t think the Sun-In-Rags is happy about visiting what’s essentially his mom when it’s the spitting but depressed image of his dad.

The Door in The Eye - I don’t think medieval LASIK is hot tbh but that might just be me. Other than the fact that Teresa is within its vicinity, there are no horny vibes here unless you count blood.

The Meniscate - Child of The Sun, see above. However, bonus points to how she’ll take in the dancer if they are too symmetrical to be sorted under heart or moth.

F Tier: The Wolf Divided - CONSUME TEAR KILL FLESH. CONSUME TEAR KILL FLESH. CONSUME TEAR KILL FLESH.

The Crowned Growth - EAT MOLD EAT MOLD EAT MOLD EAT MOLD EAT MOLD EAT MOLD EAT MOLD EAT MOLD EAT MOLD

The Madrugad - Probably the least traumatized of The Sun’s children. Also probably has the level head to not get involved with anything that has to do with The Crime of The Sky.

[auckie]

I wonder if those white Etsy witches or the ppl on fivver who sell curses ever get like a scary amount of requests from one krustomer, and if they’ve ever had to be like. ‘Alright buddy. I’m cutting you off. You can keep attempting to curse everyone in your life.’

Or if they ever get enough data from the purchases to piece together a little story. Like the first one is a cheating ex, then the guy she cheated with, then his family, then her family, then someone random with not enough context but to link to the cheating arc, but it’s followed with enough supplemental curses that they witch can deduce that these are possibly bosses or coworkers.

Then there’s more random people who seem vaguely relayed— maybe the clients family? But then it starts getting a little close to home. Someone the witch may or may not know. Hard to tell, but they’re a high class service so they do a little bit of web sleuthing for every name given.

And they realize this is someone they went to community college with. The next one is a neighbor, then one of their estranged ex coworkers. A former roommate.

How long until they say something? What would it take to cause concern?

Because the service in question is totally within their power and arguably a useless endeavor. Oh you’re cursing me? Oh my gd a white woman in akron is cursing me FUCK!

Surely the witch knows this to some extent. So the client is fucking with them and seems to know too much. What does she do? Does she curse them? Is it a violation of her personal code of ethics? Is she in a slack with other witches or a discord server where she can post an APB for Etsy user SmurfBerry229 for possible doxxing or stalking allegations? Does the community band together to block and curse this person or reach out to the countless victims, maybe they try and undo the damage with uhh. What’s the opposite of a curse. A blessing. Do they sell blessings? Can you buy a boon from Gd?

And what would you do if you received a Facebook message or something similar informing you that you, your partner, both of your families, your boss and coworkers and roommates and pets and their families have been marked by the hand of Black_Luna_Nacht and her powerful tome. Will you accept the Etsy witch community’s attempt at rectification and allow them to heal the damage that’s been done with a complimentary rose quartz spell jar?

Maybe they offer a counter curse. It becomes a game of provincial kingdoms and their respective magickal viziers for hire shooting off little bits of burning bay leaves into the night, hexes and wards bouncing off mirrors like moths gently bumping into the lit windows.

This world is nothing but I’m so intrigued by it and really want to know the minutiae of commissionable witchcraft, specifically on Etsy and fivver. The undercurrent of drama must be insane, but also probably kind of niche.

There’s gotta be cliques who dislike one another and witches who swear off others because of questionable ethics, banned krustomers, maybe even off limit targets because for whatever reason a disturbing amount of seemingly random people have requested to fuck over some 32 year old pregnant woman in Milwaukee because she keeps letting her pug shit in public and doesn’t clean it up.

I don’t imagine it’s the most lucrative business but often it’s the specific clientele that begets the most interesting demographics of controversy.

[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!

[moonyssmommyy]

My Marauders Headcanons Pt. 12 ~ Pandora Liliosa Lovegood

Best friends with Regulus

Made him Luna's godfather

She's bisexual and polyamorous

A Ravenclaw

She's a VERY affectionate friend. Just very affectionate in general.

Believes in platonic kisses like the one you'd give your mother before you went to bed as a child

Loves to hold hands

Cuddling is her fav

Def makes flower crowns

Barty (who's always had a secret soft spot for Pandora) gave her one of his Slytherin ties one day and now she wears it as a headband

Her fav color is periwinkle

She loves pastels

Flowy fabrics

Lace tops

Flared bottoms

She's super sweet

Honestly VERY quiet unless she knows you really well

If you've even so much as told her your name she will say hi to you whenever she sees you

She loves yogurt

Prefers a nice lil yogurt over a Popsicle in the hot summer heat

Like the little spoons

Big cuddler

Her laugh will make you smile and if not then you have no heart (that's how i found out barty had one)

Born at 6:27 in the Morning

Born June 22

Cancer

Pandora's mother LOVED Marilyn Monroe and Pandora did too even though she died before Pandora was born

Pandora Lovegood is absolutely ethereal and hypnotic

And she follows Marilyn Monroe's beauty tips religiously

Ties the little witches locks in her hair and weaves thread/yarn into her braids

She has thin pink lips

Wide, blue eyes that are very soulful and expressive

She adores collecting things

She loves the beach and wants to live on the shore line

She likes the funky patterns and fabrics every one else usually doesn't

She loves quirky, dangly earrings

She usually wears flowy dresses, tight tops, and loose pants

Mom jeans truther

Has a butterfly tattoo on her right shoulder

Long, wild, wavy hair

Best class is charms

Fav class is care of magic creatures

She also really likes potions

She'll put her hair up with her wand quite often and she wears the Slytherin tie as a headband

Loves dainty little necklaces and chokers

Loves jewelry in general

She makes jewelry too

Has a TON of rings

But the stone in all of them is a different crystal

Astrological nerd

Knows everyone's astrological charts

Very spiritual

Divine feminine

Animagus is a white cat

Fairy grunge meets gloomy coquette in the most tantalizing of ways

Absolutely bewitched by the muggle world

Either she's perfectly put together or a hot mess there is no in between

Dated Emmeline Vance for years and was absolutely devastated when they broke up

Her new found friendship with Lily is what saved her after their breakup

Was already dating Xenophilius by the time Mary and Lily asked to be in a relationship together

Pandora was really nervous about dating another girl much less two after how hurt she was when her and Emmeline broke up

She told Mary and Lily she would think about it but really she wanted to say yes

She just really loved Xenophilius and wanted to make sure he was ok with it first

He would give Pandora the entire world if she asked so of course he said yes

But he was confused on whether or not hed have to date them too tho

EXTREMELY SMART

She has her astrological sign constellation tattooed across her neck/collarbone

She wants a hedgehog

Loves moths

Has a Siamese cat

And a tarantula

Pandora loves insects and will casually let them crawl all over her and it literally freaks the fuck out of EVERYBODYYYY

[lias-writings]

Be my MJ??

pairing: spider-man!bella x reader

tw: kissing, mentions of food, fluff, established relationship, flirting (?)

a/n: hey!! so few days ago bella reposted the photo of them like a spider man ^ and i had this idea, there are few changes, like bella’s taller than reader, they are not famous obviously, and they are still british, but live in queens, so does reader but reader’s ethnicity isn’t mentioned.

also!! this is an au! you can imagine it as one of the spider-verse if you wish to (that’s how im imagining it) but it’s up to you <33

summary: you found out your partner is the spider-man everyone is interested about and not just a regular teenager as you thought.

you always thought that you had a pretty average life, and you did. you were going to local high school/college, you went to house parties with your friends and you had a partner, who you loved and who loved you.

and there you were laying on your bed scrolling thru your instagram looking at all the posts updating about the local superhero spider-man.

no one really knew who it was, no one knew if it was even a man but no one would guess it a teenager from queens.

as i mentioned before, you were doing basically nothing when you heard a knock on your window.

you almost jumped from your bed in shock but when you looked to the window’s direction, outside you saw nothing but dark night and noisy New York City.

you would go back to your previous action if you didn’t heard that sound again. this time you were sure it wasn’t just in you head so you grabbed the nearest thing- a hair brush, and put it in front of your face in a protective way.

you expect anything, a confused bird, witch on a broomstick, kidnapper or even a fucking alien but not this. not the superhero in a red costume, named after an animal you feared the most.

THE spider-man was outside of your window. at that moment you thought nothing could surprise you more, but hell you were so wrong.

the person just pulled their mask down, and at that moment your heart stopped. it’s not a middle aged man, it’s not another rich dude who became a superhero, it’s your partner bella.

you were staring at the window for good minute while bella was waving at you and signalising that they want you to open the window.

when you kind of pulled yourself together you slowly opened the window, still taken away a bit.

“hi.” they said with a little apologising smile.

“hi.”

“i-i can explain, all of this”

“i’m listening” you weren’t as confused as you were moments ago, now you felt more angry because they’ve been lying to you.

“okay, so- i kind of was bit by a spider- radioactive spider and since then i can do this” they started explaining and then shot a web right from there wrist at the direction of your door - “and this” they continued as they sticked their hand to the ceiling and crawled around a little.

“how long have you been this spider-person?” you asked knowing that spider-“man” has been around for few moths at least, but you wanted to hear it, you wanted to know why they didn’t trusted to enough to tell you sooner.

“a year” they almost whispered with a guilty face.

“a year?!” you almost screamed but luckily realised, that your parents are downstairs, soon enough.

“i’m sorry i didn’t tell you, i know i should have, but-”

“but what? am i not trustworthy?” you cut them before they could finish their sentence.

“no! of you course you are, i-“ and as they were speaking they slowly walked closer to you.

“if you knew, it would put a target on your back, which is the last thing i want, i love you and i’d never forgive myself if anything happened to you.” now your waist were completely hugged by two arms of theirs and they were resting their forehead on yours.

“even now it’s dangerous for you to know but i’m gonna do everything i can to protect you.” they finished as they gently kissed your lips, while stroking your waist.

the kiss made you completely forget what were you mad about so you dived more into it.

moments after you both pulled away in the need of oxygen but still kept your faces close.

“so you’re a spider-man, huh?”

“yeah, most girls would kill to be at your place” they smirked.

you let out a sarcastic gasp and pulled out of the ‘hug’, so you could touch the place where your heart is.

“oh really? just so you know i’m still mad at you for lying to me.” you made a fake insulted face at them as they chuckled.

“guess you don’t want this then.” they said as they leaned out of the window to grab a plastic bag that was there the whole time. you leaned your body closer to them in a curiosity and your eyes brightened when they pulled out your favorite food/sweets.

“so this is the biggest advantage to date spider-man?”

“no you haven’t seen the best yet.” they winked at you as they handed you the meal.