#familiar keith

A witch and the stray that became his familiar 🐾

Something something cats always on countertops and in the way when you’re trying to do things

Klance Supernatural Beings AU

Title: Foul is Fair

NOTE: Based on the amazing Klance witch and familiar comic by @mistmistly ! Their art is fabulous and I totally recommend checking them out! ^-^

Pairing: Klance

Word count: Around 1,700 words

Chapter: 1/? - This is really just a preview to the fanfic that I will be releasing more of later on on AO3

About: PREVIEW CHAPTER of this: Sleep-deprived Keith avoids all things supernatural- besides his best friends Pidge and Shiro- and especially all things witches. He refuses to use his magic as a familiar and declines any and all non-human class offers from Shiro. That is, until Pidge asks him to tutor one of their friends that Keith has never met. If Pidge is friends with him and thinks Keith would be a suitable tutor, then surely this guy is a tolerable human. Right?

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17096180/chapters/40205000

•~•~•~•

For the end of September, it’s chilly. It is as bitter and biting as both the scalding dark coffees and the one who clings to them like they’re a life raft. Keith doesn’t mind it though, and he considers it one of the only enjoyable things about the time of the year. Everything else- the schoolwork, Mabon, his birthday, Halloween, and hell, even Columbus Day- are all things that he dreads and tries to avoid like the plague.

Most supernaturals enjoy the season due to the celebrations and the upcoming two week period around All Hallows’ Eve and Samhain in which their power is heightened. Keith doesn’t though, for various reasons.

The sort of strong aura of non-humans- especially witches, unfortunately- created by Mabon still lingers around like a heavy swirling mist. Everyone’s still a bit high on the scent of magic that makes Keith’s nose crinkle.

Thankfully it’s mostly humans in the library still- for some reason the supernaturals tend to show up in public more often around this time of the year- but there are still far too many supernaturals for his liking anyway. A pixie and human are chatting animatedly. Vampires are sipping from metal water bottles that actually probably contain blood right in front of possible victims. Witches are being witches with their familiars always hanging around them like animals on leashes. He’s pretty sure that Lotor is dealing and doing potions back there in the corner but he can’t bother to look closer because it feels like his loaded backpack has been tied to his eyelids, making them droop as the dark bags that underline them cradle the last of his fragile sanity.

Keith plops into his usual seat in the library, only to realize that it is in fact not his usual seat, and he’s accidentally sat at the wrong table. Pidge doesn’t even look surprised. They just give him their classic deadpan stare that says ‘I’m not moving’. They look even worse than him with the baggage hanging under their eyes and ratted hair- if that’s even possible.

He doesn't bother moving either. He just holds their coffee in the space between their tables and lets Pidge swipe it with their noodle arms. They yank out one of Keith’s earbuds as well, letting it dangle and brush against his hoodie. It dulls the sound of classic rock in his ear and fills it with the unwanted sounds of loud chatter instead. For goodness sakes, this is a library, not a social house. Whisper for crying out loud. It’s too early to have to deal with this.

Keith glances around to make sure no humans are around before speaking. “Why the fuck are people still hype about Mabon? Or are they already getting hyped up for All Hallows’?” He can hear the irritation in his own whispered voice, but he doesn’t do anything to keep it back. Nor does he try to tone down his language or adjust the scowl on his face. Too much energy.

“Well, statistically, Keith, people don’t tend to hate these holidays as much as you do. They actually look forward to it.”

“Doesn’t give my witch neighbor permission to have parties every night ‘till the crack of dawn for days in celebration of Mabon and then mixing it with my poor sleep habits and heavy school workload to make me a walking zombie rather than a familiar. Fucking witches.”

“Your mother was a witch, Keith,” they say softly, carefully. Mother. It’s a word that must be treated fragile when handed through the shells of Keith’s ears.

Keith looks to the ground. And that’s exactly the reason why I don’t like them so much. That’s why this hurts so much. Pidge knows that information but he doesn’t share it again and he avoids mentioning it. Too personal. Too deep. Too buried away behind walls and locks and chains for it to escape his tongue. Discussions about it are meant for someplace quiet, still, in his and Pidge’s own corner of the world with only the shadows and dust bunnies for company. Places where there is enough space and he has enough energy to let his demons roam.

Pidge picks up easily on Keith’s worsening mood. They almost look guilty for trying to use his mother as an argument in this discussion. “What about the witches in Harry Potter?”

“The only good ones.” Keith huffs as Pidge chuckles beside him. “That’s… different though. Witches and familiars and all the other creatures of that world are different from us here.”

Pidge scrutinizes him, making their glasses seem more like magnifying glasses used to help them pick away at the complex inner workings of Keith rather than to clearly read pages. Keith feels uncomfortable under those beady calculating eyes, his shoulders hunching inwards to shield himself as if he’s a piece of technology that the gremlin can toy with and solve. One day, perhaps they will succeed in their hacking of his brain and will be able to put some sense into it. Not today though.

“Still having those sleeping problems? Besides the neighbor?”

“Yes.”

“I’m worried about you. Shiro is too. Maybe it’s time that you get some-”

Keith knows what they are about to say and he doesn't want to hear it. “No, Pidge. I’m not doing that.” His forehead firmly thunks against the wooden table. He yanks his hoodie up, hoping that it muffles out some of the loud background noise and keeps him out of Pidge’s sight. Ends this conversation. The demons aren’t going to escape here. “I’m fine,” he says, acutely aware of his sickly pallor and the weakness in his voice. Very convincing.

Pidge hums and then is silent, so he decides that their brain finally started to overheat with all their thinking and that they are probably mildly fed up with his complaining about the holidays every year by now. However, when he lifts his head, gasping for coffee like a fish on land, they are still studying him intensely. “You can’t hack into minds you know.”

“Worth a try…” Pidge shrugs. Their eyes go from two narrow lines of rushing binary code to wide bright blinking light bulbs. “I just remembered something.”

“What?”

“I know what I want for Samhain.”

‘Even I know that Samhain doesn’t work that way, Pidge. It’s not like those human holidays like Christmas,’ Keith had said many times before. ‘And even if gifts are given, it’s usually a spiritual one.’ But Keith enjoys breaking supernatural traditions more than anything, so he had agreed many years ago to begin his own tradition with Pidge. They give each other gifts for Samhain every year- and they aren't related to witchcraft in any shape or form.

Keith furrows his brows. “I thought you wanted Buzzfeed Unsolved merch or plane tickets to Roswell?”

“Well, I’ve changed my mind. You know how my professor chose me to work on that special coding project?” Pidge continues before he even gets a chance to nod. “Well, since I’ve been chosen, I no longer have the time to fulfill another responsibility. So I’m asking you to take it for me.”

“What is it..?” Keith asks warily.

“I need you to tutor my friend in art history.”

“No.”

“Keith.”

“No.”

“Keith.”

“You’re just gonna have to be happy with a Roswell trip and a wheezing Ryan and Shane t-shirt.”

“Why not?”

“I’m not exactly the most patient person. Or a people person.”

“If he can deal with me, he can deal with you.”

“I don’t have the time. I’m way too sleep-deprived and busy with my major, job, avoiding this whole month, and your ass to add anything.”

Pidge starts to look desperate. “You need help in Spanish, right? I’m sure you guys could make an arrangement. It’s his native language. And he likes Harry Potter! You guys would be such good friends. Trust me. Please, Keith, I’m begging you. He’s a really good guy and I just need to find someone to help him! You’re the only art guy I know! Please, please. Please!”

Keith does have a pretty low grade in Spanish, and his art professor will probably be more likely to bring him on that special public art trip if he keeps his grades up. And Pidge looks so desperate that he thinks it would physically hurt to reject them.

He sips his coffee, mulling it over. Or, at least, he tries to. His brain is too foggy for him to fully think about the consequences and he just wants Pidge to stop rambling and filling up his cramped brain with frantic words so he agrees with a shrug. “I’m not looking for more friends but what the hell, why not feed my workaholism more?” He deadpans.

Pidge’s whole face glows and they make a sort of inhuman whirring noise. “Really?” They ask, as if Keith would be able to say no when saying yes leads to Pidge making that face. He feels like a father being dragged around by an eager child with puppy dog eyes all because he’s too weak to say no.

“Yes,” he sighs. For how much Pidge puts up with him, they deserve it. “You owe me though.”

“That’s not how gifts work.”

“Well, then I want my Samhain gift to be a favor, charity case. I don’t know what it is yet, but I’ll figure it out.”

“Fine. It’s a deal.” And they drink to it, both of them equally hunched over. Just like how they used to with potions or whenever they made promises as children.

Their contract of coffee is hot and bitter as it crawls down the back of Keith’s throat. Keith isn’t quite sure it’s just the drink though. There’s something tingling on the back of his neck, his scalp is prickling, and he feels off.

Perhaps it’s the desperation in Pidge’s tone. He worries for a moment that he didn’t ask enough questions before agreeing. Worries that this friend of Pidge’s might be annoying or loud or stupid or would want to be friends because he really doesn’t need that in his life right now, but then he realizes that if Pidge is truly his friend, he must not be any of those things at all. He must be both tolerable and human if they would even suggest this.