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

[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])

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 ends 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 figure 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

[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.

[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’

[mothandpidgeon]

Nine Lives (witch's familiar!Ezra x witch!f!reader) - Part 2

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 crused witch. Oh, and he's a cat.

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

wc: 3.4k

a/n: Thank you to everyone that read part 1!! I'm so pleased that you're enjoying it so far! I really would've liked to let this part simmer a little longer but I'm holding myself to this publishing schedule. It's time to yeet this into the world. I'd love to know what you think. Your comments and reblogs give me so much joy!

Thank you @lowlights for the beta and help with witchy stuff. Thank you @moonlitbirdie @schnarfer and @whocaresstillthelouvre for listening to me bitch about this and supporting me always.

“Don’t you look nice,” Aunt Margot says. 

You’re putting the finishing touches on your make up in the Page’s office. Usually you’d go back upstairs but you don’t feel like hearing it from Ezra.  

“Thanks. I have a date,” you say, packing your mascara in your purse. 

“Oh,” she replies, not hiding her disappointment in the slightest. 

You hadn’t intended to see Connor again but when he texted you, you couldn’t think of a good reason not to. He invited you to his place to check out his vinyl collection which sounds like an insufferable version of Netflix and Chill but you have no plans to listen to a single record. You just want to fuck in his bed and avoid any drama with Ezra. 

“Well I hope you’ll put as much effort in for the equinox,” she says. She flips the sign in the door from open to closed then snaps her fingers to turn off the overhead lights. 

You and Margot host the coven for the equinox each year which already means extra preparations in addition to work at the bookshop. 

“Why would I do that?” you ask. You don’t wear make up for moon rituals, don’t wear much of anything at all. 

“Esme is bringing River,” she says with a casual shrug. 

“No” you groan. 

“He’s visiting from Ireland,” she tells you. 

The last time you saw Esme’s grandson you were both in high school. River was built like a string bean, his upper lip dusted with the saddest mustache— if you could even call it that. He reeked of some badly brewed potion that was supposed to attract lovers. You still gagged when you smelled licorice root. 

“Good for him,” you say. “Please do not set me up with River.”

“I’m not a matchmaker, dear. I’m just trying to expand your sexual horizons,” Margot replies. 

Suddenly, Connor’s vinyls don’t sound so bad after all. 

—

Ezra pads through crystals and altar bells. Everything’s been laid out on Aunt Margot’s paisley scarves— scrying bowls and athame blades and jars of rain water all waiting to be charged by the moon of the autumn equinox. 

It’s just after midnight and the witches of your coven are gathered in a small clearing far enough into the woods that stray mortals won’t stumble upon them. The air smells fresh and cold like mountain spring water. A bonfire crackles, layered with herbs and pine needles. 

The waning moon feels heavy and close like it might just fall out of the sky and nick Ezra’s ear. It makes him feel uneasy. Then again, it’s hard to enjoy these rituals when he can’t participate the way he once did. 

Ezra watches you offer mulled wine to Esme and River, steaming cups scented with cinnamon balanced on an antique silver tray. You look beautiful in your simple white dress. It glows in the moonlight and he can see your body silhouetted beneath the fabric of its long skirt by the fire. 

He’s never cared much for Esme but, then again, he doesn’t have many kind words for any of the Elders even if the ones that cursed him are long dead. Even if he deserved that curse. She wears her long hair coiled on top of her head, a jade hair pin perched in its nest the same way her familiar, a tired old owl, watches from the branch of one of the trees. 

Ezra’s attention isn’t with Esme tonight. He’s keeping a close eye on her grandson. 

“He totally sucks. Please don’t leave me alone with him,” you’d implored. 

Ezra would be wary of him whether or not you’d asked. River is nothing like how you’ve remembered him to Ezra. He must’ve done a lot of growing up since your last encounter. Tall and lean with thick waves of auburn hair. He’s the kind of witch that even Ezra would have taken to bed when he was human. 

He sees the way River looks at you, watches him turn the charm on as he smiles. River’s eyes travel down your body and Ezra knows exactly what he sees. Waves of hot jealousy consume Ezra from nose to tail. For a moment, he worries he’ll get another thousand years added on to his sentence. 

After some small talk, Esme wanders away and that's Ezra’s cue. He slinks up between you and River, rubbing up against your legs to let you know he’s ready to bail you out. 

River swallows his drink with a chuckle. 

“That tastes just how I remember it. Me and Moss used to sneak glasses of Ariadne’s mulled wine when we were thirteen,” he explains. 

“Me too. Although I’m pretty sure Margot knew,” you say with a laugh. 

“Little mage, you asked me to fetch you when the oils were ready,” Ezra says. 

“Oh,” you say, throwing a self conscious smile at River. “I’ll go in a minute, Ez.”

“Margot could use your assistance,” Ezra adds. 

“Why don’t you go help her and I’ll be there soon,” you suggest.

Ezra can’t help but glare up at River. 

“Would that I had opposable thumbs,” he responds. 

You laugh. River doesn’t. You crouch down and glide your hand down Ezra’s spine.

“It’s okay, Ez. I’m good,” you tell him and you wink at him.

His blood turns molten as you turn back to River and continue your conversation. He wants to hiss and claw at him, draw blood. It feels like you’re slipping through his fingers not that he ever held a claim. Not that he even has fingers anymore. He’s completely powerless, standing at your feet like the dumb animal he is.

Rather than watch you moony over River, Ezra turns away and slinks off to the edge of the gathering to sulk. The fire’s warmth doesn’t quite reach and he presses back his ears to stave off autumn’s chill. He can’t run off into the woods the way he’d like to, not without raising questions from the other witches, make you look like you can’t control your familiar.

He can’t stop his eyes from wandering back to you. Your head thrown back in laughter, your hand on River’s forearm. Each moment of your joy is like a knife in his heart.

Ezra’s eventually relegated to the circle where the familiars commiserate. River’s is a jet black bird named Rhea who turns her beak up at him. He’s not one of them, not really. He was human himself with a familiar of his own but that’s not the only reason why they scorn him. They all know that he’s the worst kind of witch. 

There are many reasons why a witch might be turned into a cat but there’s only one crime that was punished with 1000 years— murder. And not just any murder. Ezra desecrated the life of another witch and, no matter how loyally he serves you, he’ll always have that stain. 

The rituals are done, the chanting. The embers from the fire float up through the trees towards the fat moon. Then the dancing begins. It’s erratic and joyful, Ezra can remember the ecstasy of it in his bones. Esme lets down her white hair and one by one the witches disrobe. 

He hears your laughter as you spin, shoulders shrugging with the pulse of the magic that swirls around the bonfire. 

He knows he shouldn’t look at you like that. Not you. Not here. You’re not putting on a show, you’re doing your magic. But the way your body moves against the glow of the fire is its own enchantment. He could worship you like the moon. 

The spell is broken just as quickly. River’s right beside you, bare skin radiant, muscles rippling with his own rhythm. His fingers tangle with yours and Ezra feels acid in his throat. 

The whole night becomes an assault on his senses. The sound of chanting rises, the old words frantic and savage. Amber and patchouli mix with the woodsmoke to choke him. Grotesque shadows fall over the faces of the witches like a carnival of horrors. And then there’s you�� incandescent and naked and whispering something in River’s ear that has him grinning. Ezra’s hair stands on end.

“Come dance with me!” you giggle as you leave the circle of merriment. Your teeth are stained purple, drunk on wine and magic. 

“I’m quite content here,” Ezra lies. 

“Are you having fun?” You ask but you don’t wait for his answer. “River is…wow. He did not look like that when we were kids.”

You pick Ezra up and whirl around in a circle. He smells the incense of your skin, the alcohol on your breath. 

“You’re going to get your wish. I’m finally going to fuck a proper witch!” you say. 

You toss Ezra in the air and catch him. The bile has come so far up his throat it’s an absolutely nauseating sensation. 

“Enough!” Ezra hisses. He swats at you with his claws bared. 

You yelp and drop him. Before he even hits the ground, he feels it— a searing hot pain that makes his back arch. You’re defending yourself with your powers like a reflex. He lets out a yowl and just as quickly it passes.

Ezra staggers and looks up to find you with tears in your eyes. He’s never seen you looking so hurt, betrayed. Your jaw quivers. Ezra landed on his feet but he feels upside down. He’s realizing what he’s just done, that he tried to hurt you because he’s pathetic. Jealous. 

“Ez,” you say, your voice strangled. 

Like a coward, he takes off, ignoring you as you call after him. 

—

It’s the sound of the cat flap that wakes you sometime after sunrise. You’re sprawled out on your bed, head aching, eyes swollen. You’re still wearing your white dress, you threw it on before going after Ezra but it was no use. He was as black as the shadows in the forest and had slipped away under some bushes.

You abandoned the equinox celebration and went home in hopes he’d be there. You waited. Alone with your guilt and anxiety. 

I’m sorry. Please come home. You were never very good at telepathy but you tried to reach out to him with your thoughts. 

The sound that he made echoed through your mind as you paced the floor. Strangled, terrified. You tried to stop yourself from picturing him out there in the dark shaking with pain. 

You hadn’t meant to hurt him. It was involuntary. As soon as his claw grazed your skin, your powers flared. Maybe if you hadn’t been drunk you could’ve controlled it. It happened so quickly you still can’t be sure of how strong it hit him. 

Even if it was just a momentary shock, you saw just how much damage that moment did. His hair standing on end, his tail rod straight. But what really crushed you was the look in his eye. 

Suddenly you were just as horrible as every other witch that he’d served. You’d used your powers to punish him, to harm him. Every promise you’d ever made to him had broken in that instant. 

You see Ezra’s slim form dart to your doorway. In a flash, he slips under the bed and your heart sinks into your ankles. 

“Ez,” you say, your voice ragged from the night’s festivities. 

He doesn’t answer. You press your eyes shut and swallow hard then crawl to the edge of your mattress. Your stomach lurches as you look over the edge. On top of everything else there’s a hangover churning in your gut. You guess you deserve that, too. 

“Ezra, are you ok?” you ask. Whatever words of atonement you pieced together before you cried yourself to sleep have dissolved. 

He’s in the furthest corner beneath the bed, tucked against the wall with his tail wrapped tight around his body. You think you might burst into tears again seeing him cowering away from you. 

“I hope I didn’t make you fret,” he says. 

You want to scoop him into your arms and hold him as tight as you can but it feels like you’ve lost that privilege. 

“I’m so sorry, Ez,” you say, climbing down to the floor. “I shouldn’t have done that. I'm sick over it.”

“You were well within your rights. You’re my master and I struck you,” he says. “I’m the one that should beg forgiveness.”

To hear him call you his master makes you feel even worse than before. There’s no amount of tuna belly that will make this right.

“No. It was my fault. And I promise I’ll never use my powers on you again. Ever,” you say. 

His gold eyes shift away. 

“Keep your apologies,” he says. “And I see I’ve kept you from your new paramour. Another act to add to my contrition.” 

“I don’t care about that.” If you hadn’t been so caught up in the prospect of taking River to bed, none of this would’ve happened. 

“Nonsense, little mage. You’re a witch. Be with other witches,” Ezra says.  

–

River’s in the bookshop when you arrive, standing opposite Aunt Margot. When you couldn’t convince Ezra to come out from under the bed, you decided to give him space. Maybe you could distract yourself re-alphabetizing the cookbooks. You were hoping for some quiet but you’re confronted by the very attractive witch you’d been flirting shamelessly with the night before.

You know you look a mess, your face still feels puffy. River, on the other hand, looks like the definition of a sight for sore eyes. Freshly showered and dressed in a well pressed shirt that’s rolled up to the elbows, the sun is streaming in the front window outlining his still-damp hair like he’s Prince Charming himself.

“There you are!” Margot calls. 

You smooth your hand across your top nervously as she appraises you. You threw on a more than slightly wrinkled shirt that was languishing on the floor of your bedroom, too preoccupied to put together a real outfit.

“Looks like we had too much of Ariadne’s little potion,” she says. 

“I have a tonic that’s great for that,” River says with a smile. “But coffee’s faster.” 

He hands you a steaming paper cup from the cafe down the street. He and Margot have their own perched on the counter. You take a sip and are surprised to find that it’s your regular order.

”Are you clairvoyant, too?” You ask.

River blushes. “Nah. Margot told me how you take your coffee,” he chuckles.

It's so thoughtful and you’re not feeling very deserving. You swallow down a lump in your throat.

“I wanted to go foraging around here but I really need a local,” he says. 

“That sounds fun,” you say half heartedly in an attempt to demure. You’re not really up for a good time but it feels like a real asshole move to turn River down considering he brought you coffee after you ditched him at the bonfire. Margot is beaming at the register.

“Doesn’t it?” she asks. “Why don’t I get you a basket?”

—

River carries the basket now overflowing with mushrooms and wild herbs. You’re deep in the woods, branches crunching beneath your shoes. Nature’s sounds echo around you, starlings and chipmunks, the constant whoosh of the breeze through the turning leaves. 

This path is overgrown but you know it well. You spent your childhood getting lost in these woods. They have their own magic. 

Your guilt overshadows the date. If it is a date. River seems to think it is if the way the back of his hand keeps brushing against yours is any sign. It’s hard to enjoy it especially when your mind keeps drifting off. He doesn’t seem to notice that you’re only half-listening as he tells you just how mystical the vibes are at Stonehenge. 

You stop at a stream, sitting on a fallen tree that’s overgrown with moss. It’s one of your favorite spots. The water sparkles where the sunlight spills though the branches, peacefully trickling over rocks. You pick up one of the smooth stones and trace its wet surface with your thumb. 

You’ve sat in this very spot before feeling just as shitty. Heartbroken then, too, trying to figure out if you could call it a break up when you hadn’t actually been anything official. She hadn’t wanted anything complicated and you swore your feelings wouldn’t get involved. Unfortunately they had their own plans.

Ezra found you there, sulking by the stream, wondering if anyone would think you were worth breaking their own rules for. 

It struck you how quiet he was. There were no anecdotes about what the witch scene was like in 1924 or tips for mouse hunting, indoor versus outdoor. He just padded into the water and nudged a little stone towards your feet. It was just big enough to fit in your palm and it was cool against your skin as you held it there. 

“A thing of beauty,” he said and he head butted your shins affectionately. 

It was. Round from years, maybe decades under the water’s friction. A dull gray cut through the middle by a wedge of some crystalline mineral like shards of broken glass. You recall exactly what it looks like because it still sits on your night stand. Each time you see it you’re reminded of how Ezra slumped down beside you, his warm body weight like a cozy blanket, a faint purr reverberating through him. 

“You’ve got a big heart, little mage,” he said. 

You choke up at the memory, unsure if Ezra would ever think that again. You certainly wouldn’t say it about yourself today. 

“Either you’re really hungover or something’s bothering you,” River says gently. 

You laugh tearfully and he rubs a circle on your back. You try to shake your head but River doesn’t give it up, looking at you with a soft concern.

“I really fucked things up with Ezra last night,” you admit. Telling him what a cruel witch you are might be a huge turn off but the feeling of his palm through your shirt makes you feel at ease.

“Ezra?” he asks.

“My familiar,” you remind him.

“Oh.”

“He scratched me and —”

“He hurt you?” he asks, face painted with righteous indignation. 

“No. He barely got me. I totally overreacted,” you say. “I used my powers on him. It was just a reflex, you know? But…I just feel awful.”

“Don’t beat yourself up,” he tells you with a relieved chuckle. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

If that’s true then why do you hate yourself?

“If Rhea was out of line I’d do the same,” he goes on.

You wince at the thought.

“You’d hurt her?” you ask.

He shrugs. “I’ve never had to. She knows who’s boss.”

You’ve always considered Ezra a partner. Of course, there are plenty of witches that think of their familiars as nothing more than servants. It’s an old school way of seeing it. You hadn’t expected River to use words that remind you of the way your grandmother used to talk.

“Maybe it’s different,” you say, trying to give him the opportunity to walk it back. Ezra’s not like Rhea. Maybe you’d feel the same way River does if your familiar hadn’t once been as human as you are. Still, it doesn’t feel right.

“You’re a funny little witch,” he says with a grin.

“What does that mean?” you ask. 

“Crying over your familiar. It’s sweet.” He says it as if it’s a compliment but the condescension makes you frown in disgust.

“If you want to make it up to him, why don’t you find him a lady cat that can make him feel good,” he adds with a laugh.

“Is that what you’re into?” you ask with venom.

“What? That was a joke,” River says.

“I don’t think it’s funny. You know, just because Ezra’s a familiar, it doesn’t mean he should be treated like shit. And he’s not a cat. He’s a human,” you tell him.

“He’s a witch killer,” River spits back. “So I’m sorry if I don’t have a lot of sympathy for him.”

Your stomach turns. It’s the truth. Ezra’s served as a familiar in your family for centuries, his history has never been hidden from you and he’s never shied away from it.

But his punishment has never made sense to you. A thousand years, so many lifetimes, watching his friends and family die as he toiled in servitude for witches as backwards as River. It’s cruel, that’s why the Elders changed the laws years ago. And yet Ezra’s remained a cat, a familiar, disdained. 

Suddenly, the anger you’ve been tormenting yourself with turns outwards and you think your powers could set fire to the dry leaves at your feet. It’s all so unfair. The Elders turned him and witches like River scorn him and none of them feel a lick of shame. The back of your neck heats with a protective rage.

“He’s my friend,” you choke. “And you’re a fucking asshole.”

And you leave River speechless in the middle of the woods.  

🐈‍⬛

Part 3

Thanks for reading! Comments and reblogs appreciated! My inbox is always open.

[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

@nixtape-foryou

@accidentpronedork

@xlittlefiend

@vqmpyrecult

@chainsawsangel

@esposadomd

@juhdoche

[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.

[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.

[ranticore]

happy anniversary STBH!! i bought both books while on a week break and read them both in two days voraciously despite my phone failing to decipher the epub files (squinting at a 200x zoomed pdf is a painful way to read but it was so worth it). i am periodically rotating the characters round my mind like the hypothetical apple number 1. Cain especially has been placed in my little mental cabinet of curiosity that i drop by during quiet hours to think about. love that man. number one cain fan. chewing him like an interesting stick. i love every other character as well though theyre all so fascinating and v human

anyway all this ramble to say i love your works and im patiently waiting for the moth release. ur prose is so lovely and i love love love the way you interpret folklore and mythology and your art

question for the stbh gang: what actually are their daemons? i know felix has estibarith the swan but im so curious as to the rest...

omg noo i'm so sorry the epub didn't work! i know you already suffered through it but for anyone else with this issue, i have a recommendation for google books app (if using android) but even if that doesn't work, you can always contact me and we can make something more readable (like a pdf with big font or something) that fits

i'm so happy that cain resonates with people, that old man is a favourite of mine even if i did forget to change his name from the original placeholder (whoops). he's a lil fucked up now but his story is far from over

as for tha daemons..

Islin: i narrowed it down to two potentials?? That i kind of bounce between. I tend to lean more towards a polled bull than anything else - a same-sex daemon which would be the only one in the cast i think, which i tried to parallel in pern story with him being the only one who doesn't match the canon rules for rider sexuality & dragon colour. but regardless the daemon is called Tarannach and the overall symbolism is a massive powerful dominant animal who is nonetheless "de-fanged" in some way (polled cattle naturally lack horns!) and appears more peaceful as a result. Tarannach is wilful and domineering, disagrees with Islin frequently (before Islin has his spine-growing moments), and unapologetically takes up space. would also be a massive inconvenience in day to day life but that's kind of the point. Before settling as a bull, Tarannach went through phases of wanting to be smaller and smaller.

Bowman has a dog daemon. It just has to be that way, there's no getting around it. I joked around that she would be a poodle but actually I would lean more towards a collie instead, a herding type. Something that looks rough and ready but is actually surprisingly high maintenance. Her name is Nell/Nellie. Her personality is irreverent, never takes anything seriously. She turns into a feral animal during the full moon.

We know Estibariz is a swan but some more about her - she wanted to be a lioness, something big and fierce, and Félix insisted that she would probably end up a serpent or a fox, something with connotations of being a sneaky liar, and he felt that when she did settle, it would be an externalisation of some inner ugliness he never wanted anyone else to see. when she did settle she enjoyed a big I Told You So. When he was taken by Puck and spat out again, she returned as a form-shifting daemon again, and had gained the ability to separate from him and travel long distances. She never shapeshifted willingly though. The first person to touch Estibariz aside from Félix was Bowman. The second person was Helena.

Clarion is the only one whose daemon was actually, for real, a horse. His name was Drey and he was a dapple grey draft breed.

Senca is obviously a witch so also had a daemon who could travel far from her. He was a bird, I thought maybe a nightjar or collared dove. Never got that far in the au so didn't pick a name. We'll just call him Namiliyath

Léa's was a thorny devil

Jean's is a ferret and her name is Missy. It looks like it could potentially be an ermine, a symbol of nobility, but no. It's a common hunting animal, white with black eyes.

Erica's is a magpie

Pascal does not have a daemon. There's something there that looks very swanlike, but it speaks with his voice. In a human au, it's a golden eagle.

I don't think I made anything for other characters, again I never got that far writing it

[onceuponapuffin]

Fanatic Intervention Part 15!!!

Okay, this is gonna be a long one, but I promise it's important. There was just a lot that I had to get in here. Also we had our first ever tie! So I chose between the two. Alright, let's do this. Enjoy!

Beginning || Previous || Next

*******************

The bar in question is rowdy and rustic. The crowd that has already gathered is loud, probably drunk, and honestly makes you wish you had some anxiety meds with you or something because the button in your pocket is a single thread holding you together when you could really do with a rope. You look over to Aziraphale, who’s grimacing at the scene. Oh good, so you’re not the only one who isn’t a fan of this place. You notice Crowley studying the bar – no doubt trying to get a sense for their selection.

“Over there,” Anathema shouts over the noise. You follow her pointing arm to see Sardis, already at a table and waving you over. Well, at least you definitely have a space to sit. That’s something.

The four of you approach Sardis who waves you into the seats around him with an enormous smile.

“Welcome!” He says grandly, “To my favourite place this side of town.”

“Your favourite place,” You repeat with skepticism, “Is a dive bar?”

“Oh not just any dive bar Little Moth,” Sardis winks as he speaks, “The best karaoke bar this side of the bayou. Personal opinion, of course. But I am an angel after all so feel free to take that as gospel.” He laughs loudly at his own joke. You chuckle uncertainly. Aziraphale shakes his head. Anathema rolls her eyes. Crowley looks like he could vomit. Basically, Sardis is the only one amused. Once he finally stops laughing, he looks around at you. “Such sour faces, my friends. But of course you have, I’ve forgotten my manners! Let me get you some drinks before the festivities start.”

“The festivities?” asks Aziraphale, “I’m sure you don’t mean...”

“The karaoke, of course!” Sardis smiles before leaving the table with a wink. “Be back in a sec!”

“I am not singing,” Crowley states firmly.

“Nor am I,” Aziraphale frowns.

“We may need to consider it,” Anathema says after a pause, “He has information that we need, and we may have to play his game to get it.”

“I mean, I don’t exactly…dislike him...but he's weird,” You, the dimensional traveler, observe.

“Oh absolutely weird,” agrees the witch.

“A very weird one indeed, yes,” affirms the angel of the Eastern Gate.

“Weird as all fuck,” confirms the demon.

Sardis returns carrying a tray with five drinks and lays it proudly on the table in front of them.

“Now, correct me if I’m wrong, but I took my best guess,” Sardis announces as he hands around the drinks, “Sherry for the angel, whiskey for the demon, margarita for the witch, and I played it safe and got you a sangria.” He lays the alcohol in front of each of you. You take a sip and holy crow is it ever delicious. “’S that good, Little Moth?” Sardis asks you as he takes his own seat. You nod, and his smile grows. “Good, glad to hear it.”

“Thank you kindly, Sardis,” Aziraphale ventures, taking a sip of his sherry, “Now, perhaps would you mind telling us what you know?”

Sardis laughs again. He laughs a lot, you notice. Probably having the time of his life with all of this.

“What I know is that I’m not saying anything about Jesus until you sign up and sing me a song.”

Honestly, you need to take a deep breath at that. The irritation is building. First he wouldn’t say anything until you came here, and now he won’t say anything until you sing for him. He keeps changing the goal posts on you. Anathema had said you might need to play his game to get information from him, but you honestly didn’t think it would feel so...condescending.

Anathema’s phone suddenly starts ringing. She pulls it out of her pocket, and you briefly notice the What’s App logo and Newt’s face lighting up the screen. After a brief apology, she excuses herself from the table and leaves the bar. Well. Lucky her. You sigh and stand.

“Yeah okay fine, I’ll be right back.”

“Where’re you going?” Crowley asks. His question has bite, but you’re sure it isn’t anger – he just doesn’t want everyone to end up leaving him with Sardis.

“I’m going to sign up,” You say, “Sing a song. Karaoke, right?” You look at Sardis, who nods appreciatively.

“There now! Little Moth gets it!”

Crowley and Aziraphale both gawk at you, but you’re already turning and beelining for the sign-up table.

Now here, dear Reader, let’s take a moment to talk about the Anxiety Loophole. In ordinary circumstances, you’d be lucky to talk to a crowd and sound normal about it (not to mention the possibility of nausea and such), but the Anxiety Loophole is a magical and gracious thing. In a situation where there is something that must be done, and everyone around you is too scared or embarrassed or anxious themselves to do it, suddenly it becomes possible for you. You may never dream of asking for your food to be sent back at a restaurant, but if your friend needs more ketchup and is too nervous to ask for it, you will put the chef in a headlock if you have to in order to get it for them. Or, say, if an angel and a demon have expressly stated their discomfort with singing in public, and another angel with vital information demands a performance before telling you said information, signing up for karaoke suddenly seems like a piece of cake. Besides, you figure, most of the people in the room are drunk. So you pick something easy, something loud, something most people here probably know already. That way, they’ll do most of the work for you, and then you’re singing with them, instead of for them. Are you a genius? Yes, yes you are. Take the praise, Reader, you’re going to want that confidence in a few minutes.

You return to the table, having put your name and song on the list, and take a seat (and a very large sip of your sangria).

“There,” You declare, “Now how about we talk about Jesus while we wait for my name to be called.”

“You’re not actually serious about this,” Crowley asks. You look to Sardis.

“I am if he is.”

Sardis’ eyes widen in surprise before he smiles again. “Oh, I most definitely like you, Little Moth.” He leans his chin on his hands. “Tell me, what has Metatron had to say about you?”

Oh good. You’re actually getting somewhere.

“Nothing good,” You admit with a frown, “He tried to turn me into salt once, and then trapped me in a bathroom and tried to manipulate me.”

Sardis hums and nods in affirmation. Then he turns to Crowley and Aziraphale.

“And tell me, what have the two of you done about that?” he asks them. The both of them practically jump in surprise.

“W-well,” Aziraphale starts and stops.

“Ngggk,” says Crowley.

“Well you see, it’s a bit more complicated than…”

“So nothing then,” Sardis concludes.

“Wait,” You say, “That’s not fair.”

“Have you given Little Moth any way to defend or protect themselves?”

“They don’t need to!” You all but shout, “They’re with me basically all the time!”

But Sardis doesn’t seem to hear you. He stares at the celestials with an offended glare. Neither Aziraphale or Crowley seem to know what to make of it, but he doesn’t give them much of a chance to before he reaches into his jacket pocket, pulls out a card, and hands it to you. You take it from him, worried that if you don’t he might get upset with Aziraphale and Crowley and really it’s the Metatron’s fault, not theirs. Put the blame in the right place. Your hands are starting to shake a little as you look at the card.

“Oh!” You exclaim, relaxing a little. Actually it’s not all that bad. It’s a punch card of sorts. It reminds you a little bit of Furfur’s card from the 1941 minisode, but instead of being a Miracle Blocker, it’s a Miracle Enabler numbered 1 to 12. You notice that each number is perforated – meant to be torn off so that you don’t need to carry around a hole punch. Clever, actually. You show it to Aziraphale and Crowley.

“Oh my,” says Aziraphale, “That really is clever. I’m rather embarrassed to admit that the idea never came to me.”

“Huh,” Crowley adds, helpfully.

“Yeah,” says Sardis, “You probably never had to think about things like, what if they ever turn off your miracles Up There. Probably helps that your only mention in the Bible isn’t about how shit you are.”

You look at the card thoughtfully for a minute. You think about all the genie questions you’ve seen online.

“Go on, Little Moth,” Sardis coos gently, “Try it out.”

You glance at him and then back at the card. Well he’s not giving you any hints about how this thing works, so probably best to just follow your instincts. After taking a second to think, you rip off the number 1 and make a wish.

The number has disappeared from your fingers and reappeared attached to the card.

“Oop,” Sardis says, “Looks like that didn’t go through. What were you trying to do?”

“I was trying to make it so that I could do miracles without the card.”

Sardis starts to laugh. “Oh you have a clever mind! I like the way you think!” His laughter continues for a moment before he calms himself, though you notice it takes him some time. Then he shakes his head.

“Listen,” he says to you, “Humans just can’t do miracles. For you to be able to do them without the card, you would have to change your entire species. And this little thing just isn’t built for that sort of miracle. Try again, something smaller this time.”

Your brow furrows in concentration as you stare back at the card. Something reasonable that wouldn’t need a big change in order to work. Oh, wait a minute. You rip off the number 1, and make a wish. Suddenly, you notice that you are holding a second Miracle Enabler, full up.

“There you go, Little Moth,” Sardis sighs approvingly, “Now that’s how you do it!” The first card goes in a place you can easily reach – your jeans pocket, perhaps. The second one you fold up and place in your sock. For emergencies.

“What did you mean about your mention in the Bible?” Aziraphale ventures, apparently sensing that he isn’t in trouble anymore. Sardis raises an eyebrow.

“Didn’t you read Revelation?” he asks.

“Well yes, of course,” Aziraphale replies, “But I don’t recall it saying you were...well...bad.”

“Shit, Angel,” corrects Crowley, “He said it calls him shit.”

“I know your deeds; you have a reputation of being alive, but you are dead,” Sardis quotes, “Wake up! Strengthen what remains and is about to die, for I have not found your deeds complete in the sight of my God. Remember, therefore, what you received and heard; obey it, and repent.” He shakes his head. “Does that sound like a glowing report to you? No, see, I invited that asshat John over for brunch one time, okay? ONE. He gets the runs, blames it on the bacon. Next thing I know, I’m getting hate mail, supposedly from Jesus, with passive aggressive notes about people who haven’t soiled their clothes. Yeah, no, I know exactly whose message that was.” He huffs angrily and sips his drink.

“So….” You interject cautiously, “You stayed down here because...oh, because Heaven endorsed it?”

“Enthusiastically,” he confirms, “I’m just a minor angel – ha, barely that. More of a guardian. They don’t care about me as much as the message.”

You nod, Gabriel’s trial coming to mind. It’s all about the message.

“We know all about that,” You say gently, “They threatened to erase Aziraphale’s name from the Book of Life. Well, anyone really, who uh, helped Gabriel escape judgment.” Sardis raises an eyebrow at that.

“Oh yeah? What did that bureaucratic ass do?”

“He fell in love with Beelzebub and said ‘Nah’ to Armageddon Part 2.”

“Psh, oh yeah, that’ll do it,” Sardis says, taking another sip, “Not that any of them could erase anyone. Not really. You need to know someone’s true name for that.”

“Hold up,” says Crowley, “The Book of Life isn’t actually real?”

“Oh, it is,” says Sardis, “I know it for a fact. You see, one of the things of being an Original Angel of the Church,” he says the title mockingly, you notice, “is that you end up with a gift. Something to give the worthy when they ascend. Mine happens to be knowing everyone’s true name.”

“Wait a minute, wait,” You say, “That’s...that’s...”

“I know,” Sardis says, “Look, it’s like this. Most books that you read, the words are 2-dimensional, right? The Book of Life sort of has more than 2 dimensions to it. And it records everything. Now look,” he takes a packet of coarse sugar, “This is a soul,” he opens it and pours the chunks onto the table, “Each soul can be different people throughout its existence, and the Book, for accuracy purposes, records your name in whatever life you're living,” he picks up one crystal, “on the first dimension,” he places it on top of the paper pouch, “and your true name on the dimensions that lie underneath.” He sits up triumphantly. “So before you can actually erase anyone you need to know their true name, and before you know that, you need to know how to read the Book, and before that you need the gift to be able to perceive the different dimensions.”

“Which you have,” Crowley concludes. Sardis nods.

“Which I have, yes. Unfortunately, I also have the misfortune of never being able to be anywhere near the Book of Life. So I’m basically the angelic equivalent of a dolphin who knows all the secrets of Super Mario. I know it, but fat lot of good it does me. Or will ever, for that matter.”

You’re about to say something else, but your name gets called to the stage.

Oh. Oh right.

Oh shit.

You walk up to the stage and take the microphone uncertainly as the intro music for Taylor Swift’s Shake it Off starts to play. You chose it because you know some of the actions to it and I mean, the lyrics are so simple that you’re hoping the drunk crowd will start singing along with you.

“I stay out too late,

Got nothing in my brain,

At least that’s what people say,

That’s what people say,”

A random drunk person in the back cheers.

“But I keep cruisin’

Can’t stop won’t stop movin’

It’s like I got this music in my mind sayin’

It’s gonna be alright”

The entire bar claps three times. Oh wow.

Basically, your plan works. They all can’t help but join in for the chorus, and you end up having a lot of fun with it. Their enthusiasm is so validating, and after a minute or two you don’t care if it’s because of the alcohol or if they actually think you’re good. You just sing the song and you have a fabulous time of it. Honestly, it's hard to have a bad time singing and dancing to that song. You forget about saving the world, you forget that Crowley and Aziraphale are watching you, everything just fades away for a few minutes except for the lyrics on the screen in front of you and the energy of the people in the bar. For a few minutes, you’re just having fun, and that’s the most important thing about this, dear Reader.

When the song is over you return to the table. Anathema is finally back, and you notice she’s finished her drink pretty quickly. Good thing you ate before coming. Sardis is clapping for you.

“That was excellent! Great job, Little Moth! Here, have another one on me.” He waves his hand and a second sangria appears IN A FISHBOWL. Oh...Aziraphale and Crowley better cover you later, a hangover while one world-saving duty would suck.

Anathema clears her throat.

“So,” she says, you notice her voice shakes a little. Probably because she downed that drink so fast. “About Jesus.”

“Ah yes,” sighs Sardis, “The prodigal son himself. Well, I will tell you that he is here, though not in this city. Came down in a plane and everything.”

“Ha!” You say, pointing triumphantly, “I told you!”

Sardis chuckles. “Yes, what a day that was. Landed in Los Angeles thirteen years ago.”

You nearly choke on your drink.

“Los Angeles,” says Aziraphale, “Well that’s awfully on the nose, isn’t it?”

“Wait a minute,” You say, “So he’s an adult then, right? Not a baby?” You’re hoping. Your fingers are crossed that maybe he arrived in the states when he was a toddler, or a small kid.

“Oh no, not a baby, but not an adult either,” confirms Sardis.

“Don’t say it,” You beg.

“What’s wrong?” Aziraphale asks. Crowley looks like he’s on alert. Even Anathema looks a little unsure what to make of you.

“Okay actually just say it,” You decide, “How old is he?”

“He’s thirteen.”

“Oh shit,” says Anathema.

“Is he at least one of the nice thirteen year-olds?” You ask hopefully.

“Well,” says Sardis, “He’s definitely white this time, and his family is rich so, what do you think.”

You drop your head into your hands.

“Um, I’m sorry,” Aziraphale interrupts, “But, ah, what exactly is the problem here?”

When, dear Reader, was the last time you were around a 13-year-old boy? The age when they are all about proving how masculine they are, the age when they like to play rough in places where they really shouldn’t be playing rough, be mean for no reason other than because it makes them feel like a badass, jump and hoot and holler and laugh at anyone with sense because they get a kick out of adults getting angry with them. There is no force more annoying or enraging than a 13 year old, of any gender. But now add privileged and spoiled to that and you have a force to be reckoned with. You briefly relay this to Aziraphale.

“So,” You conclude, “The person who we need to convince to save the world, the person who needs to take this seriously or everyone dies terribly, the person who we need to care, has all the makings of the one person who is the least likely to care on the entire planet.”

“Ugh,” Anathema groans, “Why did they have to do it like that? I thought Jesus was supposed to be all about the outsiders and being kind to each other and things.”

“Well,” suggests Aziraphale, “I suppose that was probably the first time around. This time, they’re probably a bit less concerned about the, ah, morality of the whole thing, and more concerned about the messiah bit.”

“Right,” Anathema says with a disillusioned sigh, “And the fastest and easiest way for anyone to become a messiah in this world is to be rich, white, and male.”

“Cutting corners, I believe humans would say,” concludes Aziraphale.

Sardis nods, a frown upon his face. The previously cheerful angel isn’t laughing anymore as he raises his glass and says “To the world.”

❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ 🖤

Beginning || Previous || Next

[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 crused 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