Just another magical crack fic

The Determination

"How can you say that? Are you not a sex-positive person? That sounds so fucking hateful. I think you might actually be a bigot. I thought it was some cynical act up 'til now, but you are a fucking monster. People don't choose their sexuality." Jack scoffed at me.

I was shocked and offended. I am NOT a bigot. All I said was that Jack probably decided to be pansexual so he could enchant all genders rather than having to work for anything in life. I feel like that may have seemed like a thinly-veiled pickup line, but I'll scrub myself in the shower for that one later.

"I know people don't choose their sexuality," I replied indignantly. "I said YOU chose YOURS for your own devious means. I wouldn't put it past you." This was my third coffee-gathering, not date, with Jack since I met Lana. She was at a friend's house this time, and I considered telling Jack I wouldn't meet him without her in tow. God knows that this asshole was less interesting than his incandescent daughter.

I was a relatively late bloomer as to my magical duties, having been seemingly transported into a stuffy, sleek-looking office lobby about five years ago when I was hospitalized after a car hit me while I was biking. I was fairly certain that I had a traumatic brain injury, rather than a cracked patella and busted collar bone, when I was walking through the marble-and-gold central office in a hospital gown with my ass hanging out. Rita, standing before me in her cheap, polyester pantsuit that tugged at all the wrong places, told me if I "work on the get up" I'd be fine, and stomped out her cigarette. I didn't think people could smoke in buildings, and I said so, and her deep, rough laughter told me I had fucked up. RIta put a hand on my shoulder, her eyes met mine, and she said, "You think this is a building?" Yeah, so I guess I met her on the astral plain, or some shit like that, and I was bestowed my magical duties as a reasonable, competent adult. Charlie, I learned, was completely fucked on ecstacy when he got his Lucky Charms during business school, which somewhat explains why he took no offense at his intervention. The others were at least pubescent when they learned of their power. A quick survey resulted in the conclusion that no one I knew had ever seen a magical child before. As far as we understood, there was no hereditary link, and empowerment was a result of some fucked up universal reverse-lottery where no one entered because the prizes were worse for winning.

As I continued to subconsciously ignore the beautiful man before me and refocus on his much more interesting daughter, I considered my action plan. I had to befriend him enough that he trusted me to take his daughter away from him and get her in contact with Annie, who would then use her higher-up-magical-connections (voodoo hands) to apprentice this child. I imagined there was some sort of Hogwarts teacher who would stop my little glow worm from compulsively illuminating in public like she was dumped in hazardous waste. For fuck's sake, I am the tooth fairy. I was bestowed with an implicit trust to serve and protect the innocence of small children everywhere, and here I am, basically plotting a kidnapping and brainwashing. If only Rita could see me now.

"Next time we should invite Charlie. I think he deserves a little above-the-waist action at this point. We've gone on two restaurant dates already." I was snapped from my reverie because of the pause in conversation with Jack waiting for me to provide some input on his fondling timeline. "It truly doesn't matter. Whatever action occurs, I will hear about it later whether or not I am there to witness it," I reply, but I decide Charlie might be a good accomplice, and so I agree to expand our coffee not-date company in the future. Maybe Charlie will become Lana's new mommy, and I can have some kind of parental authorization to assuage my conscience after I kidnap her. "He told me about the dick pic, so I assume he is down for any action you are willing to give at this point." That motherfucker didn't even blush.

"You could invite Tate, too," Jack tested. "He seems like your type. He's single, right? It could be a double date." I frowned at that. Tate was everyone's type because he was hot and buff and quietly sweet and rich. I also began considering what Jack could want from Tate other than that sweet ass, because I still didn't trust his intentions. "You mean, my only cis, hetero, single man friend is my type. That isn't very sex-positive of you," I stabbed back. He parried with, "Really? He's the only one? Well, that's... unsurprising." And then Jack got an acute case of boot-to-shin disease. Notably, he did not suggest inviting Annie, and I filed that gem away for later.