Magic AU. Bitty is a baker who really messed up this maybe-not-recipe. Jack is a powerful but quiet demon who isn't sure what's going on, but there's pie.
Okay you sent this a literal year ago, but it’s finally done. Also, it’s 5k.
I will post another, more refined version on ao3 (with betaing, even) in December, after NaNo, but please enjoy!
“Aaand… done.” Bitty shuts the oven firmly, and claps flour off his hands. He picks up the yellowed piece of paper from the counter, and scans his eyes over the recipe. He’d had to buy a few… weirder ingredients from the internet to get it done, but as long as it came out of the oven correctly, he’d get an A on his project, meaning that he would be officially done with his Bachelor’s degree in American Studies.
Now, to wait. The recipe said an hour, but Bitty’s oven was, obviously, better (though not by much) than a simple fireplace stove, and so he’d set it for thirty minutes, which was just enough time to finish that new movie he’d been watching.
Thirty minutes later, he pulls out a steaming pie, and grins. The crust is a beautiful golden brown (and all the symbols the recipe said were necessary stood out nicely, a darker, richer brown than the rest of the crust, unexpected but pleasant). “Perfect,” he mumbles to himself, setting it on the counter. He was tempted, all of a sudden, to cut into it. But it needed to be perfect for his professor, and she was a renowned stickler. He’d fail if it wasn’t perfect, and he didn’t have the money to buy the ingredients for another try. There were only so many places one could get rat tails for cheap.
i know tons witches, espcially on tumblr, always say this but a lot of times it dosnt seem true. those same blogs posting about “not needing tools” (myself included) reblog photos of sparkiling crystals and decorated altars. in comparison, our own practice can seem inadequate. but remeber that witchcraft is an old practice, and while over centuries this practice has grown and changed, the basis of the craft is old as fuck. the mothers of our practice most likely didn’t have access to a houndred different crystals, the entire whole foods spice rack, and dozens of specialized tools. the mothers of our craft were creative and worked with what was locally available, not $30 organic vanilla beans flown in from mesoamerica (unless that just so happened to be where they lived). the mothers of our craft were nifty and clever, and knew how to make everything out of anything. so, while beautiful, shimmering, lovely items are always nice -and can make us /feel/ witchy- our witch moms founded this practice without them.
Scott, just listen to me, okay? You’re not no one. Okay? You’re someone, you’re…Scott, you’re my best friend. Okay? And I need you. Scott, you’re my brother. Alright, so…so if you’re gonna do this, then…I think you’re just gonna have to take me with you, then.