#witchy tbr

[runes-and-bones]

i finished reading witchcraft and magic in 16th and 17th century europe the other day, and my opinion did a complete 180° during the course of the read.

initially, i was chugging along and interested in the history of the witch trials from an academic perspective (as opposed to reading about it in witchy books that are notorious for being full of shit). i was glad to see the takedown of murray's witch cult and the acknowledgement that most of the people who were punished for witchcraft were actually christians, not the secret ancient pagan cult that totally existed, you guys!

but he completely lost me when he tried to deny that misogyny was a motivator in at least some (if not most) of the witch trials.

there was a passage about halfway through where he said (paraphrasing) that misogyny was unlikely because women and children made accusations of witchcraft as well. completely ignoring the fact that women absolutely can be misogynistic and children can learn those behaviors as well...

it's already wild to me that he would deny misogyny as a motive in the first place because we still have access to texts like the malleus maleficarum, which is brimming with misogynistic horseshit. he even acknowledges the malleus maleficarum in this work, but downplays its role.

the part of this work that thoroughly soured my opinion of it was toward the end though. this is what he had to say:

"But there is a distinction between hating women and having a poor opinion of them, and while the lowly reputation they enjoyed may have made it easier for women to be suspected of witchcraft, it is not quite so clear that misogyny proper had much responsibility for witch prosecution."

excuse me? "the lowly reputation they enjoyed"? i really don't believe women were having a good time or benefiting from their "lowly reputation", actually. further, the above quote came directly after the following:

"A host of biblical passages proclaimed this message, summed up in the famous description of woman as 'the weaker vessel' (1 Peter 3:7). Aristotle, too, had held that women were inferior to men, blaming this on a defect in the process of their generation. It was even questioned by some writers whether women were really human beings, or whether they belonged to some lesser species."

so bro literally talked about historical prejudice against women, then denied that historical prejudice could have fueled the witch trials where women made up the majority of the victims??? bonkers behavior.

tl;dr

this read seems to give good information on what we know about who was being accused of witchcraft, where the myth of the demonic witch came from, how different countries dealt with their witchcraft scares, and how many people were actually accused/punished/murdered during these trials, among other things.

however, the author mucks it all up with his refusal to acknowledge misogyny as being part of the problem. (which also results in him stating that if you squint hard enough the persecutors were well-intentioned, aCKtuALly.)

(i should also mention i only had access to the 1st edition from the 80s. hopefully some of this was revisited in the 2nd edition, but idk since i don't have access to it. if there's anyone who has read the 2nd edition, i'd def like to hear if these sections were changed in any way.)

[thetarotwitch111]

What’s their biggest secret? - pick a pile

Spotify reading: taylor’s version

Here’s to show you my spotify readings, is like tarot but using music! I interpret the lyrics of the songs that start playing, connecting them to your life.

✨help me keep bringing you free readings with some TIPS.

Thank you in advance.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

T.S 1:

Don’t Blame Me + August

They’re caught up in a love they probably shouldn’t be. It’s one of those intense I can’t get enough feelings, even though they know deep down it’s not going anywhere. They might play it cool on the outside, but inside? They’re totally obsessed. Like, they know it’s bad for them, but it feels too good to walk away from.

And then there’s the fact that this whole thing is probably long over, but they just can’t let it go. It’s very August, where they’re holding onto a moment that was never meant to last. Maybe it was a fling, maybe it was a situationship that burned out fast, but here they are, still thinking about it, still waiting for something to happen that just won’t.

They’re stuck in the past, replaying it all in their head. They act like they’re fine, but they’re secretly waiting for this connection to come back around, even though they know it’s a long shot.

Let me know if it resonates!

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T.S. 2:

Lover + Who’s Afraid of Little Old Me

Your person is dreaming of a perfect relationship. They’re imagining a future with this person, but they’re not being fully real. They’re hiding parts of themselves because they’re scared that if they show who they really are, it’s going to mess everything up.

On the outside, it’s all Lover vibes, like they want the romance, the closeness, all that. But on the inside, they’ve got some stuff they’re keeping hidden. They think if their person saw the messy, complicated sides of them, they’d leave. So they’re playing it safe, showing only the “””best”””version of themselves, but it’s draining them.

They want deep love, but they don’t believe they can have it if they let someone see all their flaws. It’s like they’re living in this balance between being loved and being scared they’ll ruin it.

Let me know if it resonates!

✨✨✨✨✨✨���✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

T.S. 3:

Anti-Hero + Cardigan

They’re really hard on themselves and they’re constantly overthinking everything, feeling like they’re not good enough, or like they’re always screwing things up. It’s Anti-Hero all the way. they might joke about it or act like they’re fine, but deep down they’re their own worst critic. Every little mistake feels huge to them, even if no one else notices.

They’re also carrying around a lot of nostalgia. Cardigan is their whole mood because they miss feeling truly loved and seen. They’re comparing what they have now to what they had before, whether that’s a relationship, a friendship, whatever. There’s this past connection that made them feel safe, and now they don’t feel like they measure up, like they’re not anyone’s favorite anymore.

They’re stuck between their own insecurities and the memories of a time when they felt better about themselves. They want to feel that love again, but they can’t scape the feeling that they’re not enough.

Let me know if it resonates!

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[apolline-lucy]

what was your favourite January read?? mine was THE SPIRIT BARES ITS TEETH 💜

[battyaboutbooksreviews]

🦇 Good afternoon, my bookish bats! Where did September go? Did you read anything good? Grab your favorite beverage, that book at the top of your ever-growing stack of books, and your nearest fur baby, because it's time to dive into your October TBR!

📖 What books are at the top of your October TBR? My TBR stack includes: 🦇 Off With Their Heads - Zoe Hana Mikuta 🐈‍⬛ Payback's a Witch - Lana Harper 🦇 A Tempest of Tea - Hafsah Faizal 🐈‍⬛ Spookily Yours - Jennifer Chipman 🦇 Hex and the City - Kate Johnson 🐈‍⬛ The Pumpkin Spice Café - Laurie Gilmore 🦇 Big Bad - Lily Anderson 🐈‍⬛ Bloody Fool for Love - William Ritter 🦇 With Love, from Cold World - Alicia Thompson

✨ The ARC Approvals at the top of my TBR include: 🦇 Fledgling - SK Ali @skalibooks ✨ Breaking the Ice - Amy Andrews @amyandrewsbooks 🦇 Serpent Sea by Maiya Ibrahim @maiya_ibrahim ✨ Not in My Book - Katie Holt @readinromance 🦇 A Gentleman's Gentleman - TJ Alexander

🐈‍⬛ What other books should I add to my October TBR?

[sapphire-imeo]

Catching up on some cozy reading 📖🐈‍⬛️🎃

[amandacanwrite]

The Happy Ending Isn't Always Happiness

Hi friends, this is something I originally shared on my newsletter, but I thought a lot of people here would benefit from reading it as well!

I spend a lot of time thinking about the Japanese art of Kintsugi.

For those of you who don’t know, Kintsugi is a Japanese practice in which broken ceramics are repaired with gold instead of ceramic slip. The idea is that by highlighting the imperfections in the broken glassware, you repair the vessel while also granting it a beautiful acknowledgement of its journey to what it is today. The origins of the practice aren’t entirely clear, but it is believed to embody the Japanese philosphy of wabi-sabi; the appreciation of simplicity and the beauty of imperfection.

The results are stunning, to say the least. But the real reason I find myself thinking about it so much is not necessarily because of what it looks like, but because of the symbolic power of mending broken things with gold—a rare and precious metal.

With the practice of Kintsugi, a cheap or even poorly made vessel is granted new value far beyond its original worth. In fact, it is through the shattering that the vessel is able to become more than what it was.

I don’t think very often about the things that capture my heart. To me, it is enough to be inspired by them and I don’t think too hard about why they move me so much, but this particular artform has had me thinking a lot lately. In particular thinking about how much I let my own mental health struggles and the day-to-day failings in my life get in the way of the things I desperately want for myself.

I am finally learning to take the advice I wrote in my own debut novel. (Holy hell, what a concept, right?)

“Juni,” he said, “You’re not going to be able to sort everything out in a vacuum. You can only grow and change by challenging yourself.” “But how can I challenge myself without falling to pieces? I can barely function around most people,” she said. “You lean on the people who love you; the people who have been supporting you anyway. You lean on me and your father and your mother. You let us help and protect you; you see yourself through our eyes until your own eyes adjust to the lighting,” he said.

I truly believe these words I wrote, and yet for so long I have been holding myself to the impossible standard of having to be “well” or “fixed” before I pursue something I really want. The feeling that I have to wait to be perfectly mentally healthy before I could even dare to strive for something.

For me, it’s never been about feeling undeserving. It’s always been about wanting to be able to seize the opportunity once I get it; something that can be hard to do when I’m struggling to get out of bed and take a shower in the morning. Or when my ADHD makes even the smallest of tasks feel like mountains.

But as I’ve been working with my editor on my book, I’ve realized that if I wait to “be well” to pursue things—if I wait until the stars align and a window of high functionality opens up—I will watch all of my endeavors sputter and peter out.

Facing this has required me to accept that in order for me to have success in life, I’m going to have to do it from a place of vulnerability. I’m going to have to fail publicly, falter on promises of how quickly I can finish things, and I’m just going to have to be honest about it when I simply do not have the energy to do things the way other folks do.

I want to embrace my cracks. I want to forge them in gold.

Sometimes the happy ending isn’t happiness.

Sometimes it’s just learning to keep going and to keep trusting the world around you to keep you buoyed and cradled in its kindness.

Sometimes it’s learning that the world will drop you sometimes; that you’ll get more cracks and will have to spend more time reconstructing yourself with that molten metal.

Juniper, the main character in my book, doesn’t cure her anxiety by the end of the book. She grows, and she gets braver, but much like it is in real life, those things don’t simply go away. I wrote it that way on purpose, because when you have a chronic mental illness it truly doesn’t go away. It sticks around and you learn how to make it your ally.

It feels silly to be learning this lesson now, close to three years after I wrote the words of my first draft. But, better late than never, right?

Thank you for sharing this journey with me.

I’ll leave you with a little snippet from the epilogue of With Love, Juniper.

Yes, she still had many of the odd fears and behaviors she always had; it was still nerve-wracking to place orders at restaurants or buy tickets at the train station. There was still the rare customer who would force an uncomfortable smile when she extolled the virtues of the nutrients found in cow manure or caught her speaking to her seedlings when they wandered into her store. But that was alright; she knew she wasn’t meant to appeal to everyone. She found the comfort in being an acquired taste, a delicacy for a special chosen few, so long as Oleander was counted among them.  She wasn't entirely sure that it would always be easy, wasn't sure she would always feel so brave—but she knew that she had the support of the ones she loved to make it through the times that were truly frightening. She had done it once before, and she could do it again.

If you want to be involved this year in the release of my book, feel free to comment below and let me know if you'd like to join my writing taglist! ARC readers will be something we need soon, and I'm also doing a really cute cover reveal that you can participate in! Thanks so much for considering it either way!

[artemismatchalatte]

2023 Pinterest 50 Book Reading Challenge

23. A Book You Want to Read Based on It's Cover

Edie in Between by Laura Sibson

[daniellethamasa]

August TBR

Hey all, Sam here. I can’t believe I’m working on my August (August?!) TBR already. Where has this year gone? I always look forward to August, because my birthday kicks off the month, and the beginning of the month also marks our annual trip to Gen Con in Indianapolis. I love going to the convention and trying out some tabletop games, buying lots of gaming products and accessories, and checking…

[runes-and-bones]

the hyper-focus has really kicked in lately so i've been making some noticeable progress on my witchy tbr. i've been creeping slowly through drawing down the moon by margot adler for several months now. my problem is that i keep going down random rabbit holes when she mentions things that i want to know more about. (prominent figures, terms i don't know, other works, etc.) and it. is a. Problem.

i've now put the book down temporarily (again) while i read witchcraft and magic in 16th and 17th century europe by geoffrey scarre. i also put witches, midwives, and nurses on hold at the library because i've seen discourse online about it and got curious. i'm just all over the place, y'all.

i'm not a religious witch/wiccan/neopagan, but drawing down the moon has been such a great resource. i love deep diving into topics that interest me so it's been a ton of fun learning the history of modern witchcraft alongside my dabbling. i already have a list as long as my arm of other works i want to track down based solely on what adler has cited so far. i am delighted.

[lotusbxtch]

OMG OMG OMG an update!!! Can’t wait to read

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

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

SERIES MASTERLIST

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

rating: E MDNI

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

contents: age gap (like 300 years), nudity, alcohol, only one bed, masturbation, moth never uses y/n.

wc: 7.1k

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

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

🐈‍⬛

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your eyes somehow manage to grow even wider. 

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

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

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

He stares, speechless for once in his life. 

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

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

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

“We did it!” you say. 

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

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

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

“It’s really you,” you say. 

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

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

“Oh, Ez!” you exclaim.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The two of you descend into giggles. 

—

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

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

A startled snort leaves you and he scowls.

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

“Like a buffoon,” he says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you done yet?”

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

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

”What happened here?” You ask. 

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

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

“Let me.” You try to hide your grin.

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

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

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

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

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

He scoffs. 

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

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

“Looks good,” you say. 

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

“You have a dimple,” you say. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hilarious.”

––

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Dancing!” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, fuck,” you say. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh. This is—“

“Ezra,” Ezra offers. 

“Hey,” Connor says dismissively. 

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

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

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

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

Ezra has other plans. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You good?” you ask.

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

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

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

“Did you hurt yourself?” You ask.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

––

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You feel his chuckle under your cheek. 

“I did indeed,” he says. 

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

“Thank you, little mage,” he says. 

”Mm,” is all you manage.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You falter just outside of your bedroom. 

“You don’t have to,” you say. 

“I should,” he says. 

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

“It’s your bed,” he says. 

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

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

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

“Let me get some sheets—“

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

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

“G’night,” you say. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I can’t sleep,” you say.

“Likewise,” he says.

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

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

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

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

“Just. Come on,” you say.

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

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

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

“Better?” he asks. 

“Mhm,” you answer. 

And soon you’re both fast asleep. 

––

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ez?” you call out. 

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Show me again,” you say.

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

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

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

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

“That’s what I did,” you complain.

After a few more attempts you shake your head.

“I can’t do it.”

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

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

“Very well,” he says. 

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

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

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

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

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

You nod and Ezra guides your thumb across your fingers. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Aunt Margot–” you try.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s not possible,” Margot says. 

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

“Is this why you stayed home?”

“No—“ you try.  

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

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

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

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

“I talked him into it,” you say. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

”No,” you say. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

”No,” you say with indignation.

“It’s alright,” Ezra tells you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Be careful,” she warns.

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

🐈‍⬛

Comments and reblogs appreciated! Asks always open! I'd love to hear from you!

[freckles-and-books]

It’s finally October! And I have, once again, created an overly ambitious tbr. But I’m hoping the books I read will contain all the atmospheric, gothic, and witchy vibes I need to enhance my experience of my favorite month. 🪦🕸️🍂

Here are my October hopefuls:

The Invocations by Krystal Sutherland 🧙🏻‍♀️

Graveyard Shift by M.L. Rio 🪦

The Doll Factory by Elizabeth Macneal 🎎

The Briar Book of the Dead by A.G. Slatter 💀

House of Hunger by Alexis Henderson 🧛🏻‍♀️

The Dead Take the A Train by Cassandra Khaw and Richard Kadrey 👁️

A Night in the Lonesome October by Roger Zelazny 🦴

Midnight Rooms by Donyae Coles 🗝️

The Secrets of Hardwood Hall by Kate Lumsden 🕯️

And that’s not to mention my audiobook, American Scary: A History of Horror, from Salem to Stephen King and Beyond by Jeremy Dauber, or my current read, The Bone Key: The Necromantic Mysteries of Kyle Murchison Booth by Sarah Monette. It should be a full month!

[apolline-lucy]

hey my sapphic witchy fantasy THE HOLLOWS is releasing November 29th but only 44 people added it to their tbr list on Goodreads.. please consider adding it to your list too✨

HERE

[ash-and-books]

Rating: 4.5/5

Book Blurb:

magical training by breaking a powerful family’s curse. But her own affliction—to never find true love—gets in the way when she falls for the girl she’s trying to save.

Magic is in Delilah Bea’s blood. Her absentee father is the world’s most famous cursebreaker, while all the women in her family are fated to never find true love. So when Delilah sets out to complete her magical Calling and gain her full powers as a witch, she has the perfect task in mind—breaking the Bea family curse.

But Delilah’s Calling is hijacked by Kieran Pelumbra, the spoiled son of the most powerful family in the country, and breaking his curse suddenly becomes her official assignment. Every generation, a pair of Pelumbra twins is doomed, with one twin draining the other of their life and magic. Kieran grows weaker while his sister, Briar, becomes…something monstrous. 

As Delilah and the twins set out on their quest, they quickly realize that breaking the Pelumbra curse isn’t going to be simple. For one thing, the rest of the Pelumbra family doesn’t actually want their curse broken—and they’ve sent hunters after the trio to ensure they fail. For another, something about Briar gets under Delilah’s skin, distracting her and making her want to kiss the perpetually grumpy look off her face. But with time running out for the twins and Delilah’s own true love curse getting in the way, they may not stand a chance of finding their happily ever after.

Review:

A delight sapphic witchy romance about breaking curses, falling in love, and getting your happily ever after. This was a touch of Practical Magic meets Howl's Moving Castle, Delilah Bea's family is cursed so that any man who falls in love with a Bea woman will forget all their memories of said lover once they fall in love. Delilah is a witch who's father is a famous cursebreaker and when it's time for her Calling, a ceremony in which she is tasked to perform a magical feat to prove that she should be allowed to keep her magic, she opts to break the family curse.... too bad someone objects and sets a new task for her: to break his family curse. Kieran Pelumbra is the spoiled son of the most powerful family in the country and breaking his family curse has become her official assignment. Delilah should be mad but when she finds out that Kieran is dying and he doesn't have much time left and he is sorry for doing this to her but she is his final hope before he dies... she relents. Keiran needs Delilah to help him break his family curse: a curse that has killed every single set of twins in the family, and Keiran needs Delilah to help him find his twin Briar who has run away. Delilah is determined to break both her own curse and Keiran's curse, yet when she meets Briar she doesn't expect to be so completely taken aback by the prickly, eye patch wearing snarky girl who would sooner wrap vines around someones neck than ask for help. Delilah and Briar immediately get off on the wrong foot but the longer they spend together the more Delilah is beginning to realize that the reason Briar gets under her skin so much might be because she is falling for her. But can she fall for a woman when she is cursed to have all her lovers forget her? With the clock ticking and so many curses to break, can Delilah do it all? This was such a cozy romantic read and I loved the witchy atmosphere and the banter between Briar and Delilah was really cute. It's a great read for the autumn time and it's got a sweet love story at the center. I've loved Kayla Cottingham's books and this one was another great read! If you want a witchy sapphic read I would absolutely recommend this one!

Purchase Link: Amazon

Tour Link: TBR Beyond

Author Info: website

Release Date: August 27,2024

Publication/Blog: Ash and Books (ash-and-books.tumblr.com)

*Thanks Netgalley , Random House Children's | Delacorte Press, and TBR Beyond Tours for sending me an arc in exchange or an honest review*

[aroaessidhe]

Hi, can you recommend some sapphic fantasy books that are not very in depth about politicking or war strategizing (I like those but I'm not in the headspace currently) and focus more on magical adventures, meeting strange creatures, fairytale like atmosphere etc?

I loved Girl Serpent Thorn, was hoping there is more like this. Thank you ✨

Oh yeah sure! man, I feel like when I try think about it, most high fantasy is some level of political (though maybe in YA it's not that in depth anyway)

I'm like, oh yeah, there's tons like girl serpent thorn! then i try to think of examples and I'm not sure actually haha. but here's a few that are not super political and more magic/adventure focused (as far as my memory goes), some have fairytale vibes, though aren't all super atmospheric (or strange creatures-y)

YA:

Girls Made of Snow and Glass (same author, a little less fairytale-y but snow white retelling)

The Mermaid The Witch and the Sea (atmospheric, magical adventure, mermaids)

The Midnight Lie (atmospheric, magic and gods)

Lucha of the Night Forest (spooky magical adventure)

Sweet & Bitter Magic (witchy magical journey)

Sofi And The Bone Song (magical journey, atmospheric)

The Midnight Girls (historical fantasy, monster girls)

The Name Bearer (magic, coming of age, adventure)

Ash/Huntress (magic/fairytale, adventures, fey)

The Never Tilting World (magical adventures)

Tell Me How It Ends (magical adventure)

The Deathless Girls (gothic fantasy, vampires, atmospheric)

(I feel like these are all pretty well known, so might not be that helpful)

Adult:

The only things that vaguely come to mind (and none quite have the same vibe) are: Spear (Nicola Griffith), In The Vanisher's Palace, Errant (L.K. Fleet), Burning Roses.....

There's gotta be more I'm forgetting haha. I feel like there's probably some in the adult fantasy/fairytale romance genre that might fit? a couple on my tbr are Thorn (Anna Burke) and Bitterthorn, maybe...

anyone else have suggestions????

[wannab-urs]

The Spreadsheet Digest - Fic Recs

Here's everything I added to the Pedro Fics spreadsheet in the last week with my unedited ramblings attached (the notes I make immediately after reading, often unhinged).

Apothecary a Joel series by @atinylittlepain

-> super cute witchy story with a great ellie and an adorable joel

Just Keep Breathing a Javi Peña one shot by @swiftispunk

-> Javi is getting old and he smokes too much and this is cute

Weeknights a Frankie complete series by @frannyzooey

-> I haven't actually read this one yet, but I've read other frankie things by them and like I guarantee this is worth reading. It's on the list of TBRs

Let me love you a Javi P one shot by @thetriumphantpanda

-> You and Javi are both brats and it's like pretty cute and then you get hurt and Javi is perfect

Every Pilot Needs a Wingman a Frankie one shot by @kikis-writing-world

-> reader pining for frankie in his gray sweats, frankie is oblivious, Santi wingmans, and I was smiling like an idiot.

Heat Waves a Javi P one shot by @loquaciousferret

->A very hot javi fic, if you catch my drift

A Ghost of You a Dieter series by me

-> this one is mine sorry if that's weird, drug abuse, toxic relationship, angst, mental illness

Only Backwards a Dieter one shot by @pennyserenade

-->Dieter shows up with a black eye and you let him in even though you shouldn't. smutty feelings. toxic dieter bc duh

A Little Lipstick Never Hurts a Max Phillips series by @max--phillips

->Max Phillips forced (consensual) feminization, pegging, panties, spanking, bondage, this isn't my usual thing at all but I was intrigued and then the AFTERCARE made it a must share

Bucket of Bolts a Din one shot by @toxic-seduction

-> Cute lil fic where Din reluctantly bonds with a BD unit

Losing My Religion a Din series by @oonajaeadira

->the softest, sweetest, most incredible din story, non-explicit smut that is pure poetry, what should have happened in season 3 probably

Between the Raindrops a Frankie Complete series by @jazzelsaur

-> divorced!Frankie, widow!OC/reader, no one has kids, slow burn with great spicy scenes, smut! with a gorgeous plot

Tolerate It a Din two shot by @beskarandblasters

-> din is your ex and he is also stupid and you smut it up in an interesting location

Say It With Your Hands a Joel series by @swiftispunk

-> Joel's back is all fucked up and he needs a masseuse. He gets a happy ending but Han made it not creepy somehow, good work

You Have Me In a Chokehold a Mr. Ben one shot by me

->Mr. Ben from SNL finds out his coworker made a fan cam and he's really dom about it

[breelandwalker]

Got into knitting recently and was wondering about spells/rituals/meditations/etc that could be done with that. Would that be a kind of knot magic? Should I look more into that first?

Absolutely! Knitting, crocheting, sewing, nalbinding, weaving, embroidery...all of these things can be potential vehicles for spellwork, if you wish to do so.

I'm a crocheter myself, and I find that the steady pace and stitch-counting for whatever pattern I'm working on is very soothing and also lends itself well to magic. When I sit down to make something that I want to put a spell into, I try to focus on (or at least keep in mind) the magical intention I'm going for and anchor it with the stitches every few rows. I'm sure knitting would work along the same lines.

There are at least half a dozen books out there with suggestions and project patterns for crocheted or knitted witchy crafts. I've gotten a few good ideas from Brandy Williams' "Cord Magic" (although admittedly I'm just starting to get into that particular branch of magic). "Fiber Magick" by Opal Luna is on my TBR and it looks like it has a lot of good reviews. There's also a book called "Dark & Dramatic Mosaic Crochet" that I want to get purely for the patterns.