#chapter master list

[the-real-treasure]

Treasure Treasure! Masterlist

[One Piece Live Action] Sanji x Reader

COMPLETED

**FULLY EDITED 20/09/24**

Summary:

"I'm not a mind reader Monkey D. Luffy."

"No! You're a dream reader! And that's even better!"

-----------------------------------------

As a child you were told eating the Treasure Treasure fruit was the stupidest decision you could have ever made. It was pointless, offering no additional skills to assist or support the Supreme Commander's family or scientific endeavours. As useless as the overly emotional boy you were assigned to follow and serve, branded with the number 3 with a line scored through it.

But, as you lay in a courtyard, surrounded by marines vying for your capture and execution, and stared up at the grinning boy in a scruffy straw hat, you realised no.

There were much much stupider decisions to be made.

Read on AO3: Here

Read on Quotev: Here

Total Word Count: 58,800 words

Chapter One: Shipwrecks and Hopeless Dreams

Chapter Two: Straw Hats and Treasure Maps

Chapter Three: Whispered Wishes and Demanded Dishes

Chapter Four: Big Big Top Trouble and the Risks of Show Business

Chapter Five: Sweet Syrupy Lies

Chapter Six: Let Sleeping Cats Die

Chapter Seven: Returning Tides of Home

Chapter Eight: Mon Cœur Est Un Petit Âne

Chapter Nine: Treasure Troves in Orange Groves

Chapter Ten: Poisson d'Arlong

[myokk]

before it felt like a sin, ch. 1

pairing: Sebastian Sallow x f!MC

word count: 3000

summary: Eloise never wanted to be different.

And yet, her differences are what have defined her life up until this point: growing up as a squib in one of the most prominent wizarding families, being exiled to muggle society, and then attending Hogwarts at the age of sixteen.

She finds herself thrust into the life she should have been prepared for from birth but was denied. As she navigates this new life and her new precarious position in her family, she must come to terms with the fact that maybe what she dreamed of her whole life isn't turning out how she ever expected it would.

a/n: Hi everyone!! I decided to post this here too...I'm slowly going through everything I've written so far, and I want to post each chapter here as I edit them. I'm hoping that this can be a way to a) get back in to writing more, and b) get better at my art as I make full illustrations for each chapter. Let me know what you think!! :)

There is nothing quite as horrible as being a muggle, Eloise thought savagely as she ripped out yet another stitch in the landscape she was embroidering. At least, it was supposed to be a landscape. Maybe with her head tilted to the left and with her eyes almost closed so everything blurred together, it might resemble one. She did just that, trying her hardest to make out some recognizable shape and blast the stupid practice of manually pushing colored thread through a fabric in some sort of -

“And what is this, Miss Babbit?”

Eloise jumped at the sound and looked up at the scowling face of her teacher, and then quickly back down at the tangled thread in her lap. Behind her, she could hear the hushed giggles of the other girls in her class.

“Oh! Er…it’s -”

“How long have you been here?” the woman interrupted.

“One hour…I just -”

“Don’t be smart with me. I mean, at this institute.”

“Five years.” Eloise glared down at her embroidery as if it had personally offended her. It wasn’t like she was actively trying to be bad at everything, but she had the distinct disadvantage - how had it ever come to be that she would be at a disadvantage to muggles? - of not having spent a lifetime being prepared for muggle society and all that it entailed. The last five years had been a monotonous, endless cycle of lessons designed to turn her into the perfect lady: French (a waste of time as Eloise was already fluent), embroidery (a waste of time as the things she embroidered weren’t actually useful), dancing (a waste of time as she was already engaged to be married - why would she bother trying to woo another silly man?), and her most dreaded class of all: etiquette. No matter how many years had been spent trying to assimilate into muggle culture, her thoughts still got muddled when she tried to remember the steps to a dance, or how to properly address the son of a duke.

Did it really matter, anyways, what the other girls thought? She had pretended her whole life to be the daughter she thought her parents had wanted - now she was simply pretending that she hadn’t been thrown into the muggle world without a second thought. What was a bit more pretending - that she didn’t care? That she hadn’t been tossed aside without a second thought?

“Exactly. Five years. And yet, you have shown no progress whatsoever. This -” a finger jabbed accusingly at the embroidery - “is absolutely horrendous. If your parents hadn’t continued to make such a sizeable donation every year, I would have deemed you a lost cause and sent you packing when you first arrived. How your family ever managed your betrothal to the son of an earl is beyond me.”

Eloise grimaced at the mention of her fiance as her teacher clapped her hands together to get the attention of the class - a wholly unnecessary action due to the fact that it was already being given. “Class is dismissed. Please collect your belongings and put them in the correct place. Remember, as future wives and mothers, you must be organized in all aspects of your life. Many of you will be managing important households and the slightest misstep -“ a slight glance to Eloise out of the corner of her eye - “can cause the biggest of scandals.”

Eloise raced to gather her things and leave the classroom before everyone else. No matter how many years had been spent at the school, she couldn’t help but hate sitting through the classes amongst the judgmental stares and snide remarks. Although things had started out shaky at the finishing school - to be expected, really, when you’ve grown up in wizarding society and then are then forced to live as a muggle - it still stung that after all these years, she still hadn’t found a friendly face. She was treated as if she were a pariah: it was as if the other girls just knew that something was different about her. But…wasn’t that the great irony of it all? She wasn’t different than them. She was a filthy squib.

When she first arrived at the school, she was an anomaly. A twelve-year-old girl who didn’t know how to play the piano or who the queen was. It was clear to everyone that Eloise wasn’t the charity case of the school - her parents were obviously quite wealthy - and yet they seemingly wanted nothing to do with her. Whereas the others got regular letters and visits from their family, it was as if Eloise were an orphan. Nothing new to her of course, but to her peers this otherness aided them in her ostracization.

Upon entering her room, she was abruptly pulled out of her thoughts. Something wasn’t right. Everything seemed the same: a twin bed perfectly made opposite a small wardrobe, a plain wooden desk placed between them. The weak afternoon sunlight shone through the window, illuminating her desk. But…there.

That…

Placed on her bed, resting on the pillow, was a letter.

She never received letters.

Eloise shoved her embroidery under her bed and hungrily grabbed at it, pausing when she saw the address. Miss E. Babbit. The Third Bedroom on the Left… It seemed vaguely familiar to her in a way she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

As she read the letter, though, it became apparent to her exactly why this was. Although not exactly the same as the one her brother had received six years earlier, it quickly became apparent that this was a Hogwarts letter. For her. For Miss E. Babbit.

Hands shaking, she set the letter down on her desk and sat on the edge of her bed. She smoothed her hands over her skirt over and over, taking comfort in the familiar softness as she tried to even her breathing.

How was this possible? She had all but accepted the fact that she was a squib. The shame of her family, a dirty secret to be hidden away and never talked about or mentioned again. Her parents had suspected as much by the time she had turned seven without any signs of magic whatsoever manifesting around her - not even a basic transformation of brussel sprouts to sweets during dinner. It was ultimately confirmed, however, when her own Hogwarts acceptance letter never arrived. She had spent the whole year before her banishment daydreaming about her life at Hogwarts, still optimistic that there could be something magical inside of her. Her brother, Leo, came home every holiday with wonderful stories of his new friends and teachers, and the subjects he was learning at school. Even back then, at twelve years old, Eloise hadn’t been sure if he was actually hopeful she wasn’t a squib, or if he had been trying to prolong the fantasy for her before it all came crashing down.

Although she had had five years to come to terms with her new life, there was still a small part of her that hoped. A small “what if…”. She had tried time and time again to squash that tiny ray of optimism that would escape every so often, tried so very hard to cultivate a hard exterior that wouldn’t let any sort of vulnerability shine through. And that optimism was a vulnerability, after all. It was that vulnerability that had made it absolutely impossible for her to fit in the muggle world, and made it so that she didn’t really want to try.

Five years to come to terms with the fact that she needed a new purpose for her life and…

…not anymore?

Eloise grabbed the letter and greedily read through it again, drinking in all of the words. She paused at the end, thinking. Was this a forgery? Some sort of awful joke orchestrated by her brother? Leo had never been cruel to her in the past; in fact, he was the one who always encouraged her and was the most probable source of the small optimism that remained within her. However, she had no way of knowing how he had changed since she had last seen him. It had been, after all, five very long years. And not once had she heard from him, even though he had promised her through huge sobbing gulps that he would never abandon her. Maybe their parents had slowly poisoned him against her. It would be right on the nose for them, after all.

Looking at the envelope again, however…Third Bedroom on the Left…no. It was too specific. Nobody in her previous life had any reason to even want to contact her again, and nobody in her current life even knew what Hogwarts was, let alone have the ability to convincingly forge a letter just to have some fun at her expense.

A light, bubbly feeling began to spread throughout her body as it sunk in that this was real. She was going to Hogwarts. Soon, a - squinting at the letter again - a Professor Fig would be contacting her and giving her things to study. A huge grin slowly spread across her face and she hugged the letter to her chest as she fell back on her bed. She read through it again. Was it the fifth time already? It felt as though no amount of times rereading the letter would ever be enough.

Eloise got up and walked over to look at the calendar on her desk. She was surprised to see that September 1st was in only two days. The days at the finishing school moved in such a strange, sluggish way. They all felt the same. Monotonous. French and Latin and embroidery and household management and Merlin even knows what else all blending into each other in an endless parade of dusty classrooms and gossip and boredom.

The light feeling left her in an instant as, after years of practice, the optimism was squashed back down. But how will you even get to London? And, her brain added sneakily, you haven’t even shown any signs of magic. Maybe you’ll just be returned back here after they realize their mistake.

No, she thought fiercely, gripping the letter. Until -

A tapping came from the window. A tentative smile returned at the sight of a tawny brown owl with another envelope in its beak. She ripped it open as soon as it was in her hands (again addressed to Miss E. Babbit) and along with the letter a small, purple pouch fell out of the envelope and onto her bed.

Miss Eloise Babbit,

I am pleased to be the wizard charged with such an important task as escorting you to Hogwarts in two days’ time. It is something extraordinary to be accepted in your fifth-year, and as such, I expect extraordinary things from you. I have enclosed a small pouch along with this envelope, and in it are some items that will be vital to you in the upcoming days. I have included books for you to study at your leisure, and a small gobstone that will bring you to our rendezvous point in London. All you have to do is touch it at noon on the 1st and you will be transported instantly.

Your family has not been informed of your acceptance. I am sure you understand why - at this, Eloise scoffed quietly to herself - which is why I will personally be your escort.

I am looking forward to meeting you and bringing you to the sorting ceremony in two days’ time.

Yours,

Eleazar Fig

The handwriting was tiny and spidery and cramped, but it didn’t stop Eloise from reading it with the same vigor as the previous letter and as many times. Finally, she turned to the small pouch that had fallen onto her bed when she opened the second envelope. It must have had an invisible extension charm, because it was filled to the brim with books on basic spellwork and general wizarding history. Professor Fig had no way of knowing, but Eloise had already read many of these books and many more during the year her brother had started Hogwarts, as she had needed to know absolutely everything about what would be awaiting her. A few years may have passed since she had stepped foot in her family’s library, but she couldn’t get the books or their contents out of her brain even if she had wanted to. She had really wanted to forget everything she knew about the magical world when it was confirmed she was a squib but it was a futile effort. As she zoned out during her piano lessons, she would find herself mentally going through the movements to cast different charms.

It was painful to be thinking about things from the life that had been ripped away from her, to know that what she was thinking about would never come to pass, that she would never be able to wield magic - and yet she couldn’t find herself able to stop.

As Eloise picked out one of the books and settled into her armchair, a steely resolve overcame her.

She would prove that she deserved to be there, and was just as capable as any of they were. She would make her parents regret ever discarding her like she was nothing.

She was worthy. She was capable. And she would prove it.

The morning of September 1st dawned cold and rainy. Absolutely perfect.

Eloise had pretended to be sick the night before, and no one had suspected a thing when she stayed in bed long after all of the other girls had gotten ready and headed to breakfast. As the last of the chattering faded away down the hallway, Eloise finally got out of bed and prepared herself for the day. It was difficult to sit still long enough to braid her hair. Her fingers wouldn’t stop trembling and she had to restart countless times. Finally, she tied the black ribbon at the end into a neat bow and turned to the drawer of her desk to retrieve the small purple pouch she had hidden away.

Everything she deemed important enough to come along with her had already been placed inside: the books from Professor Fig, the hair ribbons gifted to her by her brother many years ago, and some clothing. Nothing else was coming with. She needed the fresh start. Besides, anything else she might need would be supplied, as her acceptance letter had specifically stated that any school supplies would be provided to her.

Waiting the hours before noon came along proved to be more difficult than Eloise had imagined. Time seemed to be moving slower than the molasses that had come with the breakfast sent up to her, the steady patter of the rain becoming a sort of metronome keeping time as she paced back and forth. Wasn’t there anything that could distract her, even for a bit? She glanced at the clock. Only five minutes had passed since the last time. 10.35.

The second hand ticking away in tandem with the sound of rain splashing against her window.

What if this was all a trick? What if she arrived at Hogwarts, and they turned her away because they realized they had made a mistake? After all, why would they admit a sixteen-year-old? Surely she was too old; every other student had started Hogwarts at the age of twelve and had shown signs of magic much earlier than that. She still hadn’t shown any signs of magical capability whatsoever, and didn’t feel any different than she had before receiving the letter. It had to be a fluke.

As her thoughts started veering into the melancholy she was prone to, she shook her head. No. Today was a happy, exciting day. She wasn’t going to squash the optimism down today, not when she needed it most. All of these thoughts she was having were simply that: thoughts. Not reality. Hogwarts never made a mistake, and in all of the history books she had read, she couldn’t recall an instance of someone being turned away at the door. Granted, she had also never heard of someone being admitted so late. But, better to focus on what she did know, which was that she had gotten the letter. It must be right in its assumption that she had magic.

Trying to pass the time was easier said than done. She ended up quizzing herself on all of the charms she had memorized in the books sent by Professor Fig, moving an imaginary wand in the precise movements needed to successfully cast and focusing on her pronunciation. She had studied all of these forms late into both nights she had had the books, and when she would eventually close her eyes to sleep, the wand movements were all she saw.

Eloise was determined that she would receive pity from nobody. Nobody was going to look at her like she was lacking. She had gotten enough of that to last a lifetime, and now that she was given this opportunity she wasn’t about to waste it.

When noon finally struck, Eloise was ready and waiting. She eagerly grabbed the gobstone that was sitting on her desk and felt the familiar tugging sensation in her navel as she was whisked away to London and the beginning of her new life.

next chapter

[theguardianwriter]

Desmond surrounded by three surprisingly over protective master assassins.

Desmond: Guys my dad is not that bad.

Frisk sitting across the room: your sperm donor is dick.

Desmond: FRISK YOU'RE NOT IN THIS CONVERSATION. Guys really is not that bad.

Bayek: Desmond don't try justifying that man.

Ezio: he right, William does not deserve the title of father.

Altaïr: I'm already sharpening my blades for him.

Desmond: come on, Frisk just exaggerated some of the events.

Frisk: NO I DIDN'T

Desmond: SHUT IT, I'm fine.

All three master assassin eyeing Desmond with a critical eye.

Altaïr: Then explain the scarring on your back

Ezio: And how you flinch when I raise my hand.

Bayek: And the way you lend into any positive touch.

Desmond: you all make it sound like I been abused

Bayek, Frisk, Altaïr, Ezio: you were!

Desmond: damn.

[bittasol]

clarazz are so strong if i was (vaguely in love with and) slightly possessive of my best friend and the whole world was obsessed with him (like i was) id crash out 😭

[ellesthots]

🦇 masterlist 🦇

⭒ battinson!bruce wayne x reader ⭒

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

ongoing: ♡

completed: ♥︎

contains sexual content: ☾

contains graphic violence/disturbing content: 𖦹

all 18+ - FAQ/DNI page ༝༚༝༚

series:

➤ fateful beginnings ♡ ☾ 𖦹

Bruce Wayne is an angsty mess, and you get thrown right into his tornado when you accidentally discover his secret identity.

read on AO3 ❤️ on Wattpad 🧡 fic playlist 🎧

I. the club within the club

II. research

III. the alley 𖦹

IV. unmasked

V. the interview

VI. dinner

VII. peaches

VIII. as the rain settles

IX. goodbye, Gotham

X. discernment

XI. lying through teeth

XII. exceptionally qualified, equally eager

XIII. already spoken for

XIV. losing grip

XV. mutually-assured destruction

XVI. sweetener

XVII. orientation

XVIII. indebted

XIX. (im)mortality 𖦹

XX. close call

XXI. belonging

XXII. gone missing

XXIII. desperation

XXIV. natural curiosity

XXV. Mr. Wayne

XXVI. grave responsibility 𖦹

XXVII. tender loving care 𖦹

XXVIII. eleventh hour 𖦹

XXIX. uncanny valley 𖦹

XXX. gut feeling 𖦹

XXXI. deflection

XXXII. superglue

XXXIII. night light 𖦹

XXXIV. the affliction of pity

XXXV. bittersuite domesticity ☾

XXXVI. whiplash

XXXVII. Luminol ☾

XXXVIII. for love 𖦹

XXXIX. why, why, why?

XL. priorities ☾

XLI. guilty as sin? ☾𖦹

oneshots:

➤ punished ♥︎ ☾

after a disappointing night as Batman, Bruce wants you to make him suffer.

read on AO3 ❤️

[my-thoughts-and-junk]

the father [solar lunacy] the son [you move to dayshift but aren't paid any more, go figure] and the holy spirit [i see you, sundrop!]

[ikcaris]

Summary: It's been just over a year since Dracula was killed and it's been a year of adventures and victories for Trevor, Sypha, and Alucard. Their adventures have led them to light, love, and fleeting peace. Their victories are cut short when a monster hunt goes wrong and they are forced to make a decision that none of them were ready for.

Trevor x Sypha x Alucard

[suffering-and-happy-about-it]

Favored Ones (A Last Of Us II. Series)

Part I. - Jackson Days

Series description: Many things were surely fucked up in the year 2038, but no one ever told anyone how all of it went down. What happened before a group left for Seattle to handle personal matters? Why did one girl refuse to leave all of it? And why there were so many dead in the end?

General warnings: age-gapped relationship (give or take 20~27 years, depending how the reader is to you tbh, but she was always in mid-20s when i wrote her) | after out-break joel | usage of curse words | alcohol consumption | description of sexual acts | gore | violence | blood | death | major character death | ellie being ellie | detailed description of reader's relationship with other jackon residents (ellie, jesse, dina, maria, tommy & other circus friends ) | anxiety & depression | hunt depictions | overall not as brutal and violent as Seattle days |

Useful links: | Synopsis & Declaration (Master list) | | Joel's Playlist | | Jackson Days (YouTube playlist for those, who don't have Spotify) |

A/N: Because the story has 31 parts, I've decided to divide it into two mini-master lists - mainly because normal master lists allow me to use 30 URL links and therefore, it was unstable and sometimes hadn't saved certain parts being linked. It's also more convenient for reading and orientation since the story has always been divided into two parts - Jackson and Seattle.

Smut is tagged with 🔥 - those chapters shouldn't have much overarching story relevance, and it should be okay for you to skip them | Revisited chapters are tagged with 🌿 |

Series word count: + 100 000K

Chapter 1: What will you do when the man comes around? 🌿 Chapter 2: The Survivors 🌿 Chapter 3: There is a difference between strings and strings 🌿 Chapter 4: Goodnight 🌿 Chapter 5: Doom & Gloom 🌿 Chapter 6: I’ll Be Good 🌿 Chapter 7: Can’t Go on Without You 🔥 Chapter 8: 99 Problems 🔥 Chapter 9: Tequila and Autumn Sunsets Chapter 10: Hell, You and Christmas 🔥 Chapter 11: The Time of Everyone’s Life Chapter 12: The Bad Touch 🔥 Chapter 13: Future Days Chapter 14: Ecstasy

[deluxewhump]

Lawrenceville Baptist

IV: Peter

Prev

CW: questionably dependent adopted sibling relationship, pet/slavery universe mentions

One day in January, Peter stayed home sick from school. Paulo watched from the kitchen as the Sullivan brothers argued quietly in the living room. He busied himself making a pot of coffee.

“I can’t,” Jesse told Peter, already dressed in canvas pants and steel toed work boots for a winter day on the jobsite. “You know I can’t.”

Peter looked wounded. His eyes were bloodshot from what must have been a bad night's sleep, and his hair looked like it had dried and redried from sweat. He was wrapped in a yellow afghan on the Sullivan’s brown sofa like it was a first aid blanket. “Please, Jess?”

Jesse shook his head patiently. “I can’t ditch work when I’m sick. What makes you think it’s okay for me to ditch because you are?”

“You used to,” Peter mumbled, making himself smaller by pulling his knees to his chest. “Whenever I was sick.”

“That was high school. It was different. This is work.”

Paulo thought the change Peter was able to affect was impressive. At church last Sunday he’d been well dressed, engaging, and never even went within twenty feet of his brother. He’d listened intently with eyes of seaglass green to Pastor Patterson’s sermon about deciding to disengage from a life of ease and sin, like the rich man Jesus had told to give all his belongings away if he truly wanted to follow Him.

Paulo sat still and made no facial expression the entire sermon, uncomfortably aware of the congregation’s glances on his profile and back every time sin was mentioned. They all wondered what sort of Sodomesque underworld he’d hailed from, and suspected he was trailing it around with him like spilled perfume. Mrs Sullivan put her hand over his at one point and he flinched in surprise. She didn’t look at him, but patted him once and returned her hand to her lap.

Peter in church and Peter at home were two different boys. Here he campaigned for Jesse’s attention, basked in his affection.

“Do a half-day,” he suggested, looking up through his lashes at Jesse.

“If it’s an emergency,” Jesse said, squatting down to be eye-level with him. “Call my cell and I’ll come home. Is it an emergency right now?”

Peter laid his head against the sofa cushion. “No,” he admitted in a soft voice.

“I know,” Jesse sympathized, putting his hand in Peter’s hair and giving it a gentle tousle. “You know I’ll be home tonight. Text me, okay?”

Knowing he’d lost, Peter nodded in reluctant defeat. “You text me.”

“I will. Paulo will get you something if you need it, right Paulo?”

“Sure. Of course.” He didn’t miss the dirty look Peter gave Jesse. It’s not the same, that look said. I want you to do it.

Jesse left, and Peter got up from the couch, showered and changed, and returned to put a gameshow on TV.

“Hey,” Paulo said awkwardly. “If you need anything, really. I’m happy to help.”

Peter pulled his eyes away from the TV to look up at him. “We’re supposed to be helping you.”

“I just meant I can make you lunch or something.”

“Thanks. But I’m feeling better.”

It was true, he didn’t seem sick like he had before. His eyes were clear and he wasn’t moving gingerly or speaking in the way he had to Jesse. It was almost like he’d never been sick at all, and he was just playing hooky. Did he just want to see if Jesse would call off and take care of him all day?

“Metal health day?” Paulo asked.

Peter sensed his skepticism and gave him a sidelong glance. “Whatever you wanna call it.”

“He really loves you, you know.”

Peter blinked, caught off guard. “Yeah?”

“Are you kidding? You’re obviously the most important thing to him.”

“Not the most,” Peter rolled his eyes. He echoed Paulo’s word choice ironically. “Obviously.”

“What does he do with the money he makes?”

Peter shrugged. “He helps out. Even just two horses are expensive. We used to have way more. Mom did boarding and lessons, when I got here…” He trailed off abruptly. He hadn’t meant to say that. He probably didn’t think Paulo knew about the adoption. “He pays for his car, and insurance. Sometimes…a bill for the house, I guess. Stuff for me. Only if he has extra.”

“That’s nice of him.”

“I’m doing the early college program,” Peter informed him like he didn’t owe him this information, but since he’d pushed…. “So I’m really busy with AP classes and my college credits. It doesn’t make sense for me to have a job if my GPA would suffer.”

“Where do you want to go to school?”

“Yale,” he replied sarcastically, bored with where the topic had gone.

Paulo suspected it was because Peter had no concrete plans of actually leaving to go to a decent college, at the very least an hour or two away. Not with Jesse here. He felt a twinge of disdain for him… his shut-in mom and their almost deliberately tacky furniture, the farmhouse and barn falling apart around them. You’d stay here and rot for what? he thought. Your adoptive big brother? That self righteous little shack of a church?

“Not everyone around here goes off to college,” Peter told him as if sensing his thoughts. “It’s not the end-all-be-all.”

“Sure," Paulo said. "Jesse didn't."

“You don’t know him. He seems one way but he isn’t, really. He’s just quiet unless he’s got something to say. He could’ve gone to practically any school in the country, he just didn’t wanna leave.”

“Leave home? Or leave you?”

Peter exhaled between his teeth at Paulo’s audacity. “Where are you from, anyway? You don’t act like a pet.”

“What’s a pet act like?”

“I don’t know. Not you. Glen says it’s usually prostitution that opens the door for it. Were you turning tricks and someone stole you?”

“That’s not really how it works,” Paulo answered, amused at the phrase ‘turning tricks’. He sat on the floor a few feet from the sofa. “I mean it can happen, but you’d just be kidnapped, you wouldn’t be a real pet. It's a legal process. It’s like filing for unemployment. There’s paperwork.”

“Can you ever get out of it?”

“If you escape… or are abandoned, and no one claims you… after three years you can file for effective emancipation. Otherwise someone has to free you. And that’s expensive.”

“So someone rich has to love you a lot.”

Paulo nodded. “And in the right way.”

Peter shrugged, as if that made sense. It wasn’t great, but it wasn’t shocking news to him. “Hey. What was the worst thing you ever did?” he asked, trying to sound casual but with a child’s greedy curiosity in his eyes.

Paulo thought the wording of the question was off. Did Peter mean the worst thing that happened to him, or the worst thing he’d ever done? The worst in his life or the worst as a pet? Did he just want to know the most depraved, the furthest thing from most people’s minds as they went about their day— something that would shock or transform to hear about?

“I never called my mom,” Paulo said plainly. “Not since the day I left. I could’ve. I could right now, you guys have a landline. I just haven’t.”

Almost imperceptibly, Peter’s curiosity deflated. He twisted his mouth in a downward smile of banal acceptance. “Least you’ve got one,” he said, and turned definitively back to his TV show. Paulo didn’t know if he meant Mrs. Sullivan or his biological mother. He supposed it didn’t matter.

[keicordelle]

Things are starting to get just a little bit spicy up in here! (Don't worry, they're going nowhere fast, we've got at least another 6 chapters of fluff and fretting before the two of them get their act together enough to do anything more than kiss and blush.) Chapter 14 of A First for Everything, Off the Beaten Path, is up on Ao3!

Read it on Ao3 at the link above, or check out the first chapter on Tumblr here.

-

The light filtering through the windows made for a dappled display against the map spread out over the coffee table. Shadowy spots danced over the carefully marked routes and hideaways. It might have been distracting, had Thancred actually been studying the map as closely as he pretended.

Instead, his eyes drifted sightlessly over the patterns, his own cramped handwriting blurring into illegible blotches. Worry gnawed at his stomach and clattered like pixie wings through his skull. This was a really bad idea, wasn't it? The longer he thought about it, the more certain he became that this was one of the worse ideas he’d had in recent memory. He’d agreed to it in the moment in part because, well, he would probably agree to just about anything Urianger asked of him at the moment. And in part because he was worried that if he said no, Urianger would just make the trip himself. Which...

He would be fine, probably. Almost certainly. He'd clearly traveled here on his own, and he wasn't some damsel in need of constant protection. He could take care of himself when he needed to. Thancred had been impressed recently, watching how adept Urianger had become at his divining magicks. But if something were to happen to him when Thancred had just stayed back and let him go off on his own, he'd never forgive himself.

But... Maybe it wasn't the best idea to bring Minfilia back into Eulmore's reach. Not when they'd just lost their trail. They’d fought so hard to get away from them. If they were to draw their attention again, it would mean returning to life on the run, dodging scouts and armed soldiers on scant hours of sleep.

...It would mean having to leave behind the comfortable routine they'd established here. Leave behind the soft blankets and the real food and the solid roof over their heads. Leave behind Urianger. And.... Thancred didn't want to leave.

Hells. He dragged a hand harshly through his hair, and when that wasn't enough, down over his face, lips catching on the rough drag of callouses. They were going to have to leave eventually. That was always the plan. They couldn't stay here indefinitely, no matter how comfortable it had grown to be. It wasn't fair to Urianger to impose so long on his kindness, and it wouldn't help Minfilia. Thancred was supposed to be training her, helping her become something more, not relaxing in the fae lands with his new— his new.... Arg. His friend. Urianger. Who he happened to kiss. A lot. And think about constantly. And spill himself almost nightly to the thought of. Gods this was dangerous. And stupid. Maybe he really should just leave.

Soft footsteps and the shush of robes around slender ankles drew his head up like a dog who smelled a treat. Urianger's eyes landed on him, golden and kind. He paused, head tilted in that familiar way that used to simply mean "elezen" but now just screamed "Urianger." "Is aught amiss?" Urianger asked.

And suddenly, miraculously, nothing was. The familiar melody of his voice washed away all of Thancred’s troubles in an instant, and suddenly everything felt right — and that in and of itself was wrong. Urianger shouldn't be able to do that to him, to make everything feel better just by walking into the damned room. Nothing should be able to distract him as much as Urianger did.

Thancred merely shook his head, pushing his hair back out of his eyes. "No, I'm fine. Just a bit of a headache," he assured him.

Urianger looked as if he wasn't entirely convinced, but he didn't push. Instead, he brushed his fingers against through Thancred’s bangs as he passed, glancing furtively both ways before stooping to press a quick kiss into his brow. Pink tinted his ears as he pulled back, turning quickly away to return his attention to his task.

Thancred watched him as he moved about the room, gathering the things he thought he would need for their trip, lost in his own world as he contemplated two different canisters of tea leaves. Slowly, the worry crept back in to gnaw at Thancred’s thoughts, the small smile Urianger’s kiss had raised to his lips slipping away. He really, really didn't want to give this up, but... If he brought Eulmore's forces down on Urianger’s head because he was too selfish to leave, he would never forgive himself.

"Urianger?"

"Mm?" he answered without looking up, distraction blanketing his tone as he set one jar back on the shelf.

"I've been thinking... Maybe I should leave. Once we're done at the Crystarium. Maybe it's time that Minfilia and I go our own way."

There was a clatter as the tea hit the floor. Urianger didn't even try to pick it up as he turned to Thancred, his face contorting as he struggled to hide the distress that so clearly painted itself across his features. His mouth opened and closed, once, twice, soundlessly. Then, quietly: "I... would prefer if thou didst not. I... I wish thee to stay. Here. With me. Just for a short while longer?"

Watching the shadows that flitted within his aureate eyes, Thancred could have kicked himself for even suggesting it. He felt rather like he'd just punched a puppy, his heart aching in his chest in a way he'd never felt before. He fought the urge to grip it, to reassure himself that the sensation was all in his head. "If something happens though while we're out, we won't have a choice. I won't risk bringing Eulmore's forces to your door." Never mind the fact that a handful of moons ago, he'd been all too willing to take that risk. Desperate for somewhere to stay and someone to turn to.

Across from him, Urianger swallowed hard, feeling the lump in his throat all the way down to where it settled like a stone in his stomach. He'd known that Thancred would have to leave eventually. That was always his plan. That he'd stayed even this long was nothing short of a miracle. But... Urianger had grown greedy. Avarice clutched at him like a dragon's claws. Demanding. Desirous. He wasn't ready to give up the tentative intimacy that bloomed between them. He wanted to spend more time at Thancred’s side. "Perhaps I could simply come with you, if that is the case. Thou couldst use a healer to assure thy safety."

"No!" Thancred barked, a little too quickly. A little too vehemently. The tentative hope that had begun to unfurl beneath Urianger’s breast withered. He couldn’t supress the expression that twisted his features before it broke across his face, hurt welling in his chest.

Thancred flinched, back pedalling. "It would be too dangerous, to have so many of us in once place. Better to have allies tucked away than to travel together. For now, at least. Besides, your research is too important to give up, and you could hardly do that on the road. That's the whole reason we're taking this risk in the first place."

Urianger’s teeth worried at the inside of his cheek, eyes falling from Thancred’s face. Much as he would have liked to, he couldn't argue with that.

Thancred softened, casting a glance over his shoulder to ensure they were alone before he held out a hand to Urianger. "Come here."

An offer Urianger could never resist. He went to him in a shush of robes, the tea cannister abandoned on the floor behind him. Thancred's hand closed around his, drawing him down into an embrace. His arms were gentle around him, a quiet strength in his fingers as they stroked along the exposed skin of Urianger’s back. Chains tinkled as he caressed upwards, over Urianger’s shoulder to rest his palm against his cheek, cupping his face tenderly. Thancred’s thumb brushed out across his jaw, the warmth in his eyes mirrored by the warmth of his body, seeping into Urianger’s skin where Thancred’s leg pressed tight against his.

Thaliak preserve him, he was practically sitting in Thancred’s lap, tugged down onto him when he'd drawn him into his arms. This close, Urianger could see every fleck of green and gold in Thancred’s eyes. Could feel the brush of his breath against his lips. The hard lines of his body beneath him, soft skin and dense muscle and warmth, so much warmth. Urianger’s pulse quickened, his heart racing beneath his breast as heat spilled through his cheeks and out along his ears. Surely Thancred would be able to feel it, thundering against his chest. Urianger’s eyes dipped to his lips, plump and inviting before him.

He couldn't say who leaned in first. They met somewhere in the middle, Thancred’s lips ghosting against his in the softest of kisses, sweet and chaste. A gentle brush, then another. Just a pressing of lips, nothing more.

He could say for certain that Thancred was the one who deepened the kiss. Lips parting and tongue sweeping out to tease at the seam of Urianger’s mouth in a silent request. He opened for him, as readily as he always did, allowing Thancred in to taste him. Thancred’s tongue slid along his, curling along his lips, his teeth. Urianger’s head tilted to allow him in deeper, mouth moving on Thancred’s as his hands rose to tangle in his hair, holding him to himself.

Urianger could also say for certain that he was the one who pushed for more. Gentle brushes became more heated, the thrum of Thancred’s pulse echoing through Urianger’s chest as he pressed closer, pushing forward against him until his back pressed into the cushions, Urianger’s knees framing his hips and their bodies pressed flush. He could feel the heat of Thancred’s skin bleeding through their clothes, could feel the way he shifted against him. Could feel the hard dig of something against his stomach, pressed tight against his naval. Was that his—?

Blood rushed to Urianger’s face, fluster making his tongue clumsy against Thancred's.

Yes, that was definitely what he thought it was, digging into his stomach. It wasn't the first time he'd felt it when they kissed, but it wasn't usually so close. Usually Thancred played it off, or he shifted his hips so Urianger didn't have to feel it, but this... It was... curious. Intriguing.

Urianger’s own body stirred in response, thoughts swimming from the depths of his passion-addled brain. Thoughts of what lay beneath the tight grip of those trousers. Thoughts of what it might looked like — what Thancred might look like, with his jacket and his pants decorating the floor rather than his body. How it might feel to press his bare skin against Thancred’s, to feel those hands on him as Urianger kissed him. To... Touch him? No— That was— He couldn't—

Urianger drew back, his tongue a leaden weight in his mouth and his ears burning hot enough to melt snow. Where on earth had those thoughts come from? His eyes dropped, away from Thancred’s face and down to focus on the sculpted lines of his stomach. And yet, despite himself, his gaze was drawn inexorably downwards to the catch on Thancred's groin. Not, of course, because he was picturing what lay beneath the cover of cloth and leather. He simple could not bear to look Thancred in the face while his own body raged with a slithering heat that coiled and gathered beneath his robes. Urianger’s pulse throbbed between his legs, distracting and insistent, and his fingers twisted in the fabric of his robes. Please no. Calm down. Go away!

Thancred followed Urianger’s gaze down to his own lap. Surprise jolted through him, redness spilling bright up his ears as his eyes darted back up to Urianger’s face. "Shit, Urianger. I'm sorry, it just— it just happens, you know. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. I— please don't run away."

It had been a consideration. He forced himself to stay, despite the antsy twitch of his legs. How could Urianger express to him that it wasn't Thancred that made him wish to flee? It was a natural response, full well did he know that. He was not unimmune himself to the natural course of biology; he was familiar enough with the body’s automatic response to such... stimulating situations... But the way that his own blood raced, his mind filling with thoughts of kissing Thancred, of holding him, of... "It's— I know. Mine apologies. Pray forgive my response, I simply— I'm not—"

Seemingly assuaged that Urianger wasn't going to flee despite the tension that still sung through his legs braced where they around his hips, Thancred softened. He reached up to brush a hand along Urianger’s face — not holding, just touching, allowing Urianger to move away if he wished. Allowing him the opportunity to run, even if he hoped he wouldn't. "Hey," he said, his voice soft and soothing as he drew Urianger’s attention back to him. "I know you're not. It's okay, it doesn't mean anything, really."

Urianger merely nodded, not quite able to bring himself to look up and meet Thancred’s gaze, no matter how reassuring those steady hazel eyes would be. Not when his smalls were still uncomfortably tight beneath his robes, rubbing against his skin in all the wrong ways. His hands fisted in his robes, grateful that the heavy fall of fabric hid it from view.

Thancred's thumb stroked along his cheek, gentle and soothing. He scratched lightly at the edge of Urianger’s beard, the pleasant shift of the hair beneath his finger tingling along Urianger’s skin. A welcome distraction from other, less pleasant tinglings. Slowly, the sensation faded, and with it, the tension leeched from Urianger’s body until he was able to meet Thancred's eyes.

Thancred was watching him warmly, waiting, a reassuring smile on his lips. "There, that's better," he said. He leaned in and Urianger braced himself for another kiss, but Thancred’s lips landed instead in the tip of his nose: a quick, light brush. His lips were damp from their earlier kiss, softened by their shared saliva as they ghosted against Urianger’s skin.

Urianger’s heart caught in his throat, snatching his breath to reside there with it. That was a new kiss. Of all the places Thancred’s lips had touched, they had never touched him there. His mouth, his cheek, his brow, but never his nose. It was different from the others. Lighter. Sweet and cute and playful and... Affectionate.

Not that kissing Thancred wasn't always affectionate; the mere act of kissing necessitated affection. But this was different, somehow. More like the stroke of a thumb up the back of his hand while their fingers twined, or the caress of fingers through his hair while Thancred helped lull him to sleep. Like....

Like the countless little gestures Thancred doted upon him each and every day. A hand on his back when he was stressed. The bump of a knee beneath the table. A mellow voice reminding him to stretch out his back and asking if he'd eaten. Thancred’s every gesture was full of that same sort of soft affection. How long had he looked upon Urianger so, with that delicate warmth in his gaze, without his notice?

 Urianger’s eyes lifted to meet Thancred’s, seeing as if for the first time the way the light haloed his features in a gentle radiance. The way his eyes softened at the corners as he looked at him. The private smile that graced his lips, the one he shared only with Urianger and none other. It widened as he reached forward, tucking a stray lock of hair behind Urianger’s ear. "What do you say we finish getting ready for this trip. Best be prepared for anything, right?"

Urianger could only nod, the swell of emotion beneath his breast staying his tongue. Oh. So that's what I've been feeling all this time.

[Chapter 15] | [Masterlist]

[Kofi/Commissions]

[pyrettawychwiggin]

Songstress of Skyrim - Masterlist

Disclaimer: The following story is centered around my own character, Mhari Freysri, who is the only character in this piece that I own. All other characters and elements of the world within the Elder Scrolls series is the intellectual property of Bethesda. This story contains, not just massive spoilers, but is in and of itself one very long spoiler, as it is based off of my playthrough of Skyrim: Special Edition. You have been advised. Please enjoy this newest installment of my cringy fanfiction.

Please note: chapters and sub-chapters are posted chronologically in the order in which they are intended to be read; stay tuned for more updates as chapters are posted!

~ Behind-The-Screen Content ~

• Author's Introduction - a note from me about what this story is, what to expect, and hopefully it can answer any questions you may have about it as a whole.

~ The Story Begins ~

Mhari arrives at the docks of Solitude; young and bright-eyed, ready to seek out her fortune at the Bard's College, and to start building a life for herself in this strange new land. (Haafingar Hold/The Bard's College)

• Character Sheet 1 (Mhari Freysri) - the first of what will likely be many character sheets for Mhari throughout her story.

• Chapter 1: Welcome To Solitude - Mhari finally arrives in Solitude. She witnesses a gruesome scene beyond the gates, and seeks out a drink and a room at The Winking Skeever to ease her nerves.

• Chapter 2: Among Bards & Madmen - Mhari takes a stroll through Solitude and arrives at The Bards College, and she's confronted by a strange man with an even stranger request...

~ Sub-Chapter 1: The Bearer of Bad News - Mhari takes some time to talk to a few more Solitude residents and run some errands. When she hears of the alchemist's missing daughter, she takes it upon herself to find out what happened to her.

~ Sub-Chapter 2: Honouring the Dead - Mhari, having realized there seems to be no shortage of death and tension in Skyrim, takes time to collect her thoughts and pay her respects to the fallen.

~ Sub-Chapter 3: The Price of Spice - Mhari does a couple minor favours for some locals and tries her hand at some basic alchemy with Angeline.

• Chapter 3: The Blue Palace - Ready-or-not, Mhari prepares herself to visit The Blue Palace, but she soon realizes that she perhaps shouldn't have heeded the request of the rambling madman from before...

• Chapter 4: Wabbajack - Mhari finds herself in the last place she ever expected; trapped in a strange, twisted realm with a deranged (and dangerously bored) Daedric deity.

• Chapter 5: Amalthea - Finally having made nearly enough to buy her very first horse, Mhari quickly realizes there's far more to horse ownership than simply riding place-to-place...

• Chapter 6: Dragon Bridge - Mhari is ready to make the journey out to Dead Man's Respite, but she knows she's unlikely to make it without some protection. Lucky for her, there's a mercenary for hire in Solitude.

• Chapter 7: Chillwind Depths - Mhari and Belrand, having rested up in Dragon Bridge have started their journey to Dead Man's Respite when they happen across a downed and pillaged cart by the river. As they follow the evidence, they realize some adventurers may be in need of help in a nearby cavern.

• Next Chapter: Coming Soon...

* more to be announced...

~ The Pursuit of the Arcane ~

* to be announced... (Winterhold, The Daedric Princes, The Reach & The Pale)

~ The Trials of Kyne ~

* to be announced... (The Wilds of Skyrim)

~ Blood and Coin ~

* to be announced... (The Rift, The Thieves Guild)

~ Bound In Darkness ~

* to be announced... (The Dark Brotherhood)

~ A New Leaf ~

* to be announced... (The Dawnguard, Morthal)

~ Dovahkiin ~

* to be announced... (The Main Questline; The Companions)

~ The Art of War ~

* to be announced...(The Civil War & Eastmarch)

~ One Last Adventure ~

* to be announced... (Solsteim)

~ Horizon ~

* to be announced... (The Final Chapters)

[the-real-treasure]

Treasure Treasure! Masterlist

[Anime] Sanji x Reader

Summary:

Rage rattled through you as you watch the smallest boy get beaten and beaten and beaten, red, blue and green brothers throwing everything they have at destroying him.

(Pleasepleaseplease)

Your siblings hover at your sides, Denki cackling to your left, Hikaru beside him and Doku beside him watching as listlessly as the pink haired sister just ahead of you. Kuranku leaned in from your right.

(IwantIwantIwant)

"Maybe they'll finally kill him and we'll be rid of the two of you."

(Getmeoutgetmeoutgetmeout)

Read on AO3: Here

Chapter One: A Game in the Courtyard

[mrcowboydeanwinchester]

🔪 Revenge for Dummies 💋

jomeg fic - 10k - rating: T - high school AU - 2stab2fest - read on ao3

“You said it yourself that being lesbian has novelty value! So it is a popularity move!” Meg shrieks. With blood smeared across her face and eyes wild with the power of standing on a table in two inch heels, she looks demonic. She looks incredible, Jo thinks. She looks like royalty. “We are being QUEERBAITED."

Jo is the queen bee of Midwest High, all until Meg steals the throne by claiming Jo is queerbaiting the school. What follows is the epic tale of Jo’s homoerotic revenge mission. It’s about girlhood and popularity and lesbianism and being a batshit insane 16 year old—with a knife!

written for the brilliantly run 2stab2fest and accompanied by gorgeous art from @keikakudom !!

chapter 1 of 5 below cut!

High School 101

Though it might’ve come as a shock to her 10 year old self, at 16, Jo Harvelle’s life is one long chick-flick moment. We’re talking resident queen bee of Midwest High with a side-dish of blonde bombshell best served hot. She rules alongside her best friend and loyal confidant Claire Novak, and their passionate alliance is founded on the fact they met in the opening weeks of middle school, when Claire found Jo reading Beginner’s Book to Blade Wielding in the quietest corner of the library and asked if she could read it with her.

It therefore may come as a surprise to some that Jo and Claire have ascended the ranks of social status with such ease and grace. Stabby lesbians with dearly departed daddys don’t often tend to work the runways of high school popularity, after all, but the facts of the matter fall like this: Jo has always been an outcast, but now she gets to be distant in the way royalty is and not in the way lepers are. Like, untouchable, but make it chic. 

The lesbian thing turns out to be pretty helpful too. Jo and Claire are known for their Biker Barbie lesbian swag, which, at Midwest High, provides the perfect intersection of gender. The boys are into their leather jackets, but Jo and Claire don’t want them back, and the girls crave their nonchalantly fashionable attitude, so Jo and Claire can bask in their heterosexually-awed stares. It’s a perfectly measured concoction of being the most beautiful girls in the whole school but not doing it for the guys. Jo and Claire simply aren’t like other girls, and so all the other girls want to be like them. 

So animal skin, pop-punk listening habits, and blonde hair. Paired with the incomprehensible fact they are two sapphic best friends who aren’t in love with each other, the whole school is pliant under their sweet and unbothered thumbs. Claire even had the incredible idea to glue Biker Barbie in pink rhinestones to the backs of their matching leather jackets. They are an inseparable gang of two and they rule the school, stomping past lockers and lesser students in matching black leather jackets, ripped jeans, and gleaming Doc Martens.

And it’s a fucking difficult life.

That’s Jo, right there, the protagonist of our Riverdalian love story. 

Yeah, hi, it’s me. And let me tell you, the pressures of being the lesbian leader of hundreds of high school aged monstrosities are pretty near infinite. Firstly, I’m 16. I’ve never even kissed a girl, and somehow being one of the first kids in my grade to come out means I’m some dykey messiah. It’s a pretty impressionable age to be seen as a sexuality first and a person second. 

Secondly, everyone in this place is like, stinking rich. Yachts and lawyers and mansions abound and so nobody can ever know me and mom scrape by living above a literal bar. All the rich kids have aloof, only vaguely invested parents, so they can do what they want, but I’m cursed with a mom who loves me and so is ridiculously interested (read: controlling) in my life. It’s just a shame my dad makes up for this by not being interested enough, in that he is dead.

Finally, amid the other infinite reasons why maintaining my monarchal image is hellishly hard, I’m not obliviously iconic like Cher from Clueless. I’m not just some dumb box bleach blonde—I’m the girl who’s making ‘freak with the knife collection’ work for her. That’s a hard line to walk. It’s a fucking tightrope. And I’ve been walking it for years. 

On the topic of walking, another of our story’s featured cast is now strutting into view. We’re alongside Jo and Claire in the cafeteria at lunch, gazing down on the masses of normies from the heights of the exclusive Royal Banqueting Table. Popularity is performance, and so the Royal Banqueting Table is the only one in the cafeteria on a raised bit of floor. It’s a stage, essentially; it’s like sitting in the royal box or the back of the bus. 

And through the maze of tables, past the nerds and the basketball team and the theater kids—this is a high school, after all—Meg Masters and The Rubies are winding their way towards Jo and Claire. Jo’s hackles raise at the sight of them, and she points them out to Claire with a nudge and a roll of her eyes. 

Meg Masters is just like the other girls. She wears tight dresses and little tops and buys all-natural avocado shampoo which has the word ‘organic’ on the bottle but which her daddy flies in from Hawaii. She is rich rich, with the kind of house so big her parents keep their sailing boat in the front garden. But with the hordes of hell hounds baying for blood at the grand entrance of the passcode protected gates, it’s not like anyone at Midwest High has ever gotten the chance to really see it. 

Well, anyone at Midwest High apart from Jo. 

Because Jo and Meg had been best friends once upon a time, back in kindergarten and elementary school, in that squishy age where time isn’t real but friends are. They had been everything to each other, vowing solemnly at sleepovers never to lose the friendship which was blossoming so pure between them. 

It wasn’t pure, Meg dropped me the second she got the chance to. The instant we reached high school, the ties were cut. 

Jo doesn’t remember exactly how their friendship ended, she just knows it hurt her more than anything else ever has.

Shut up, I remember it. Meg was a bitch. I guess some girls are just built different: she went out shopping with her flaky new rich friends, and me and Claire built a small empire.

It is perhaps pertinent to mention here that while Jo is a very self-aware lesbian, she hasn’t quite mastered the art of feminism yet. She is only 16, after all. 

Meg has equipped herself with new friends since the disintegration of her friendship with Jo, and these new friends take the form of The Rubies. If Meg keeps hell hounds at home, The Rubies are the demonic little chihuahuas who cling to her heels at school. Ruby 1 and Ruby 2 are essentially indifferentiable apart from the fact that Ruby 1 is blonde, with mean little bangs, and Ruby 2 is a pissy brunette. Underneath the skin they are both the same: shallow, devilish girls who delight in igniting chaos and looking good while doing it. So while the words Meg and The Rubies sound like a spunky indie girl band, the reality is that they are beautiful, invulnerably rich teens who love nothing better than making everyone else’s life hell. 

“Meg and The Rubies at 12 o’clock,” Claire announces to the table.

The royal court of Bela Talbot, Rowena MacLeod, and Billie (nobody knows their last name, in the same way nobody knows Adele’s or Madonna’s—you simply don’t need to) chorus a sympathetic sigh. They are staples of the Royal Banquet Table, being more loyal to the power of The Table than to the current monarchy itself, and so Jo and Claire tolerate them. Rowena’s basically a witch, and Bela’s English, and Jo is pretty sure Billie could strangle her with their bare hands and she’d say thank you, so. It’s not like they’re unattractive company.

Besides, there’s another member of the table Jo is more concerned with.

Dean Winchester leans over to Jo, and in a rarely captured example of sensible advice, says, “ignore them, Jo, they’re not worth your time.”

Dean Winchester is different to Bela, Rowena, and Billie. He makes Jo’s very lesbian brain come to an unwilling and baffling stop. She looks into his dewy green eyes and she hears white noise. He’s a senior, and he exclusively wears his dad’s too-big leather jacket because he thinks it makes him look cool (it kinda does) and Jo would die before admitting that sometimes it feels like no one else’s opinion of her in the whole world matters apart from his. 

Hey, fuck off! My feelings about Dean Winchester are perfectly normal.

“Yeah, you too,” Jo replies to Dean. And conversation is a subjective artform, but that is not the correct response to Dean’s previous statement. 

Dean smiles at Jo anyway, like she’s somehow fun to be around, and she’s glad that if being the Teen Queen of the school gets her anything, it’s this. Dean hangs out with them some days, when he feels like it. Mostly he hangs out in the school’s garage working on cars, and more recently he’s been spending time in the gardens with the new transfer student Clarence. 

My gaydar senses something is up there, by the way.

Jo is at least right about that. 

Noice.

But as much as Jo tries to take Dean’s surprisingly sensible advice to ignore Meg and The Rubies, this is proves a lot more difficult than expected when Meg stalks over to the Royal Banqueting Table, steps up on the bench and onto the table itself, and lands the heels of her two inch stilettos right into the bread of Jo’s sandwich.

Jo peers up past the ankle—plump and solid—up the shin—shaved smooth and speckled strawberry—to the thigh—soft and fleshy—and then almost but not quite up her teeny tiny silky skirt.

“The fuck are you doing? Get your weirdly impractical shoes out of my sandwich stat, Masters,” Jo growls. 

“Sorry, Josephine, no can do,” Meg says, her dainty lips curling maliciously around her words.

“You know that’s not my name.”

“Oh, is it not? That fact must have walked out of my brain the day you walked out of my life.”

Jo scoffs. “The day I walked out on you?”

“Okay, Meg, get off the table and stop making a scene,” Dean cuts in, trying to stench the flow of petty words before the drama dam bursts. He is unsuccessful.

Meg smiles. “Sorry, Deano. I have an announcement to make, and this table is my stage.” Her voice is rich as honey but dangerous as dart frog venom.

It is then that Jo sees the Gucci megaphone clutched in Meg’s perfectly manicured hands. 

This is so not groovy. 

“Hear ye, hear ye,” she begins before Claire can swipe the megaphone out of her hands and Dean can try and defuse the situation further. The Rubies are now standing either side of the Royal Banqueting Table like femme-fatale bouncers, effectively immobilizing the royal court. 

The whole cafeteria falls obediently silent. Somewhere among the fringe groups, a phone buzzes, and is quickly stifled.

“I know we’re all obsessed with Jo and Claire, our Biker Barbies. They’re the reigning queens of our little high school, right? And what do we love them for? Their cutesy little rhinestone jackets, their perfectly blonde hair? Their lesbian swag?” 

Jo and Claire exchange perturbed looks. Around the cafeteria, students are nodding affirmatively; if this is Meg trying to start a Les Mis style anti-monarchy rebellion, she’s gonna have to go a little more opera.

“But what if I told you that having matching Hobby-Lobby jackets isn’t the flex you think it is? What if I told you that they bleach their hair to make it that color?” 

An uneasy muttering sweeps across the hall, and Jo suddenly realizes: Meg is working up to something. 

What if she tells them about how I live above a creepy bar? What if she tells them about the dusty-ass van mom drives me halfway to school in? What if she tells them about how invested my mother is in my life and wellbeing and how weird it is that there’s only a twenty year age gap between us and that sometimes I feel more like I’m living in a documentary about troubled young women rather than a chick-flick movie?

“What if I told you that little Joey here isn’t a real lesbian?”

Jo almost spits out her water, the laugh comes out of her so hard. “What? Come on, jello-head, I’ve been averting my eyes from lingerie stores since I came out the womb.”

“Is that so, Harvelle?” Meg sings, and her eyes flash obsidian. “Because I have it on good authority that you, self-proclaimed cowgirl and lover of posse, have a crush on Dean Winchester.”

Suddenly everything about the situation is a lot less funny. The room erupts riotously, screeches of jeers and laughter echoing across the hall. Jo feels the blood rush to her face hard and fast, much like how she imagines an erection might feel if it was brought on by intense shame. Next to her, Dean’s minty eyes are wide and staring. She flinches away from him like his touch might corrupt her all-important lesbianism. 

“No, I don’t!” Jo cries. Her voice goes unheard over the chaos of the hall.

“Awh,” Meg sighs, pouting down patronizingly at where Jo is now shaking with rage in her seat,  “that’s exactly what someone with a massive crush on Dean Winchester would say.”

“You can’t just say she’s not a lesbian, only she can say that!” Claire screams indignantly. She scrambles up beside Meg before The Rubies can pull her down and wrestles the megaphone from her hands, giving her a solid elbow to the nose as she does so. Meg’s head ricochets back and her nose bursts, bloody in her hands. 

“Shut up!” Claire bellows into the megaphone. Her cry rebounds across the far wall of the cafeteria at such a volume several kids covered their ears, and the hall falls sheepishly silent a second time. A few whispers snake across the air, though, and Jo feels her kingdom slip a little further from her grasp. “Use your brains, boneheads. As if Jo would lie about being a lesbian. Where’s the fun in that? This butt-crazy bitch just wants what we have and you can’t let her lap it up.”

“You can’t call me a bitch, that’s misogynistic!” 

“You can’t call Jo straight, that’s homophobic!”

“You said it yourself that being lesbian has novelty value! So it is a popularity move!” Meg shrieks. With blood smeared across her face and eyes wild with the power of standing on a table in two inch heels, she looks demonic. She looks incredible, Jo thinks. She looks like royalty. “We are being QUEERBAITED.”

Oh, fuck. As much as I like to channel Taylor Swift, I don’t think I can come back from the Q word like she can.

And so that is the day that Jo and Claire lose the Teen Queen crown; that is the day the Biker Barbies’ heads feel the cold sharp cut of the guillotine. Meg and The Rubies are the new reigning monarchs of Midwest High. 

[inheartofwinter]

The Potion Master's Ingredient List

Chapter 7: Dragonfly Thoraxes

Severus Snape is Satan incarnation. Never mind that Sirius doesn’t know who Satan is.

“Get rid of it!” Snape yells, pushing Sirius towards a red haired woman. One of her green eyeballs falls out of blood dripping socket. Snape screams. “Now!”

Sirius stumbles forwards and comes face to face with the woman.

The woman stares at him curiously. Then, she morphs into a man. A tall man with messy dark brown hair and a pair of glasses. 

Sirius takes a step back.

“Sirius,” the man smiles. And he collapses. Blood pours out from his mouth. His face is as pale as a ghost.

Sirius’s world freezes. 

A beam of blue light from behind him throws the corpse back. Sirius blinks. He looks back.

Snape is standing at the furthest wall, wand pointing forwards. His heavy breaths indicate a panic attack on the way.

Like a puppet with its string cut off, Snape’s body slides down the floor. Sirius hurries to catch him.

“I asked you to get rid of the Boggart, not to ogle Potter!” Snape sneers. The effect of the gesture, however, is neutralised by how much he is shaking.

“I wasn’t ogling James!” Sirius yells back. His heartbeat is slowing down. It’s kind of bastardly that seeing Snape miserable calms him down. But Snape seems calmer at Sirius’s panic, too, so it’s fine, right? “Also, how the heck have you managed to survive amongst the Death Eaters this far if you get spooked so easily?”

“Excuse me?! Who just stopped breathing at the sight of James Potter?!”

“It’s not every day that you see the corpse of your best friend!”

“So do I!”

"Aren't you supposed to be a master of Occlumency?!"

Their shouting match is cut short by a rattling sound. The men gaze up fearfully.

James’s corpse is struggling up. It stares at them and frowns. (Godric, even its frown is exactly like James's!) Then, the Boggart changes into Lily, and then James, and Lily again, as if it cannot decide who to scare first.

Snape whimpers.

“Time to live up to your House's name,” Sirius thinks and shouts. “Riddikulus!”

A beam of red light shoots out of his wand but fizzles off half way. Sirius swears.

“You useless, halfwit idiot! You have to mean it! Where is will that helped you survive the Dementors for 12 years?!” Snape hisses, clutching at Sirius’s arm.

“Don’t you have anything that can help?!” Sirius tries the spell a few more times but they all fail.

“Girding Potion may help but I ran out of dragonfly thoraxes last week!”

“We are doomed,” thinks Sirius. His arm hurts and his head hurts and his heart hurts and...

“Riddikulus!” 

The Boggart shrinks into a green eyed, black haired teenager with a big pair of glasses. The boy pokes his tongue out cheekily before disappearing into a small box.

The two men turn their gaze towards the doorway.

A man with honey brown hair, scarred face is frowning at them. “What’s going on here?”

For @microficmay Day 8 Prompt: Will. Rating: T. Warnings: mentions of gores.

[katelynnwrites]

i’ve decided to write three more bonus chapters for you were bigger than the whole sky so i guess the monday updates will continue :)))

[kokoch4n3l]

You guys @ Chifuyu while reading chapter 4 (since I’m doing a double update this Monday)