Dave/Rose: AU where Rose is a witch, and Dave is her crow familiar.
"Dave," Rose drawls, one perfectly manicured eyebrow quirked to indicate minor annoyance. "What are you doing?" The crow in question caws once, loud and harsh, before bobbing his way over to her in a flurry of awkward jumps and feathers. Rose isn't deterred, and she motions to the mess by her familiar's perch. "Dave, what is that?"
He shrieks, the way only carrion birds can, and beats his wings against her head. It's a cocky motion, and really, he should know by now you're not deterred by his "dumb bird" routine. "Dave. Use your words."
"Aw, Rose, come on! Can't a bird have a secret project or two? It'll be dicks, yo." He says, amongst more of the rambling that you've become accustomed to, since it happens whenever he opens his beak to speak. But still, it's hardly becoming for a witch's familiar to speak so openly, brazenly, and with such little mystique.
What is he saying now anyway? She'd sort of tuned out, as her precious little blackbird tended to be rather long winded. "More of the sort of dicks that ejaculate gold, you know? Like pure nuggets of gold, not the shitty dicks that pump out sperm and shit. I'm telling you, Rose; it'll be the bitch-tits. The best tits.
"All tits will be jealous of it. And I'll have fucking thumbs. Fucking thumbs, Rose. Imagine all the sick beats I'll make. That fucking mockingbird out in the yard will die of envy. I'll be the most musical bird, Rose. That fucking mockingbird will suck dicks. So many dicks, because he'll be defeated. Losers suck dick, Rose."
Yikes, looks like he's been reading through your spell books again. That's something that needs to be remedied immediately, because a human familiar never turns out well. There are chapters, multiple chapters, in her beginner's spell book that highlight the many and varied reasons not to turn one's familiar into a human. The least of those is the possibility that some unsuspecting mortal engages in illicit sexual activities with the familiar, and births/impregnates the familiar with an inhuman, otherworldly horror.
With a wave of her wand, grimly decorated for stylistic points, the clumsy amalgamation of potion ingredients disappears back to whence it came. "I think not, Dave." Rose says primly, spreading out her skirt before sitting down in her chair with a nice novel. "You know why, too, so don't bother whining about it. It's not happening."
His offended shrieks are so offensive to her eardrums that she considers turning him into a salamander.