#Golds and Glisters

[teapartywithmadhatter]

Have you ever wondered?

Why Tywin Lannister who,

respects his mother, Jeyne Marbrand,

defended his sister, Genna Lannister,

and even gives her enough leeway to be most of her time at the Rock,

and to say whatever she likes, 

adores and respects his wife, Joanna Lannister,

and gives her all the reins of his life, 

NOT being kind and respectful to his own flesh and blood, the daughter of his own making, Cersei Lannister,

even long before she grows up?

Something doesn't add-up!

[fieriframes]

[All that glisters is not gold.]

[saintsenara]

author self-recommendation

thank you so much for the tag [quite a long time in the past...] @ashesandhackles!

when you get this, reply with your five favourite fics that you've written. then pass it on to five other writers. spread some self love.

did i laugh at self love? the answer is yes.

these are my five [and by five i mean six] favourite complete fics - obviously i’m sufficiently fond of my wips to keep coming back to them, no mean feat for someone with attention deficit hyperactivity disorder! - and i’m hyped to get to showcase them.

bookbinding

tom riddle/myrtle warren teen | 35k words

lord voldemort and moaning myrtle in a rom-com - and especially a rom-com with a happy ending - may not appear to be the instinctive response to a prompt from @ladiesofhpfest asking for heartthrobs and heartaches. and yet, when i started writing it i couldn’t stop.

my profound affection for dear old tom marvolo riddle is well known, but i’ve also always been very fond of myrtle, and i really dislike the way she’s treated in the canon narrative - especially, as i’ve said before, the fact that she is one of the worst victims of jkr’s tendency to use a lack of conventional physical attractiveness [and, in particular, fatness] to indicate characters the reader is not supposed to root for. 

i like the fact that the glimpses of myrtle we see in the series - when she’s not shrieking [behaviour, may i say, i find relatable] - show someone who has lots of admirable traits, which are only poorly expressed because she’s forever fourteen [can you imagine]. she’s kind, she’s perceptive, she’s strong-willed, she’s sensitive, she’s assertive. on the other hand, she’s clearly very lonely, she can be extremely clingy, she’s unhappy at hogwarts, she’s insecure. she’s also someone with a bit of a cruel streak, who clearly understands the impulse to externalise one’s own self-loathing onto other people.

in other words, she’s tom’s dream girl. once she’s worn him down a bit.

i loved writing this, i made myself chuckle self-indulgently on multiple occasions, i have teared up at dozens of the comments i have received about it [someone made a reddit post recommending it at exactly the moment i was leaving a horrendous day at work and i was on the train howling like myrtle in her u-bend], and i like to imagine the two of them are still happy nonagenarians in some universe somewhere.

everlasting ink

harry potter/ginny weasley teen | 6k words

this was a gift for @whinlatter, because she is a sweetie-pie. it was also a gift for me - not only because it was lovely to write, but because it enabled me to indulge in one of my favourite emotions: spite.

i am on the record as not being a fan of hinny. there are several reasons for this, some sillier than others, but one major one is that harry’s idealisation of ginny within the seven book canon into a place of comfort and safety is pretty fucking condescending. harry never acknowledges in the text that ginny spends deathly hallows as a resistance leader in her own right; he's constantly trying to direct her away from the fighting despite acknowledging generally that she's a talented duellist; he associates her primarily with the safe-space of the burrow; he breaks up with her "for her own protection" without offering her a choice in the matter; he doesn’t welcome her into his intensely co-dependent relationship with ron and hermione, and - and i think this really is the kicker - he's incredibly dismissive of her experience with tom riddle. indeed, harry separates the voldemort of canon out into two people: there’s tom, who is an orphan, and is hot, and whom harry pities; and there's voldemort, who has red eyes, no nose, and killed his parents. but ginny can’t have these two separate people in her head. the horror she experienced came at the hands of the pretty, charming, sympathetic voldemort - and harry really doesn’t get that. and sure, by the epilogue harry and ginny appear to have ended up in a happy, equal marriage. but the text never shows us how they get there, and i think it’s perfectly plausible to write stuff in which they don’t.

which is to say, i published an extremely tongue-in-cheek post saying this, and several hinny fans were amusingly passive-aggressive about it. undoubtedly they thought my position as a tomarry defender had scrambled my brain and i couldn’t see the beauty with which the complex parts of their favourite ship could be written.

so i did it. six thousand words on ginny and harry learning to function as a couple among the dust of war and grief, featuring ginny’s complicated feelings on how harry sees her, voldemort, being a daughter and a mother, relating to ron and hermione, heredity, love, and what being a family really means. i enjoyed writing it, and the chance it gave me to think from the other side about what hinny would need to work, how the characterisations of harry and ginny [and voldemort!] i typically write could be nuanced, and what trauma looks like in the immediate aftermath of the battle of hogwarts. and i also enjoyed writing it to prove that i could.

that i have received no reciprocal tomarry in return has been noted…

leather

nymphadora tonks/multiple explicit | 3k words

this was something which spiralled out of a conversation with @evesaintyves around the blind-spots many of us have as authors when thinking about sexuality and gender identity - and especially how those blind-spots become particularly pronounced when they come up against canon compliancy. initially, we were talking about hinny - and the fact that keeping them as end-game has absolutely no reason to prevent either of them identifying as queer, either of them exploring their sexuality or gender identity within their relationship, or, indeed, either of them still understanding themselves as cisgender by the time the epilogue takes place - but we then moved on to talking about tonks, and how the readably queer aspects of her canon characterisation [at least in order of the phoenix] are treated within many of the popular ships which feature her, and, in particular, how both her and lupin’s [potential] queerness is sometimes obscured within end-game remadora. there are numerous reasons for this, and the vast majority are - of course - the result of gentle, human fallibility rather than maliciousness, but it set me to thinking…

so here we have a canon-compliant look at tonks looking at herself, exploring her sexuality, becoming comfortable with her gender, and thinking about how her metamorphing would impact how she understands both of those things, shot through with the hedonistic paradise of the lesbian bar and the tight hold of leather. 

lux aurumque

sirius black & james potter teen | 3.5k words

sirius’ last days of normality, before he is betrayed by wormtail, haunt me. the idea of this poor lad, who is absolutely convinced he’s pulled a blinder which will keep the man he loves safe - even if it results in his own death - having that certainty pulled out from under him is just devastating. no wonder he couldn’t stop laughing at the grim absurdity of it all as they carried him off to azkaban.

one of the things i find most fascinating about sirius as a character is how he embodies the value of choice - and, above all, how he does so far more than james, whose brief appearances in canon set him up as someone with a much more self-righteous certainty about the path he will take than his best friend. sirius chose to leave his family, and fight, and protect the potters, and he also made a choice which would prove to be disastrous and lives with the consequences. 

so, here we have seven dawns which change sirius black - or, red and gold for the man who chose those colours and earned them several times over - featuring harry being a mashed potato fiend and maybe the tiniest bit of prongsfoot if you squint. 

there’s basically no lupin though, because he is - i fear - irrelevant.

nor all that glisters gold

sirius black & bellatrix lestrange teen | 9k words

i am definitely a committed james & sirius [or James/sirius] girly, but another dynamic i love to explore is sirius’ relationship with his cousins, bellatrix chief among them. in fact, i always think that sirius’ choices become all the more impressive when we consider that he’s - let’s be honest - quite a lot like his dear and deranged relative. they have a shared arrogance, a shared ruthlessness, a shared capacity for jealousy, a shared dogged loyalty, and a shared complicated relationship with their role in their family, which i can see leading to an incredibly intense and codependent friendship, despite their age gap, when sirius is a child.

but this, of course, is then utterly torn apart when sirius enters his teens. this piece asks why. is it just the inevitable drifting which happens when one of you is married and the other is in gryffindor? or is someone else the cause? the dark lord, perhaps?

remus lupin is once again irrelevant in this. sorry to him.

the shack at the end of the lane

merope gaunt & voldemort general | 4k words

death is something i think about a great deal. not because i’m unusually morbid - nor, at the risk of protesting too much, because i’m a killer - but because i’m a doctor, in a speciality where death - and often death in traumatic circumstances - is ever present. obviously, one way of coping with this involves quite a lot of dissociation from what’s in front of you, but another is trying to treat the dead with as much dignity as possible, which is often more dignity than they had when they were dying. the cadaver is a colleague, as one of my professors was fond of saying.

spending so much time trying to offer this fundamental dignity is the cause, i think, of my fondness for attempting to write meaningfully about people who are in no way the heroes of pieces. the violent, the sad, the lonely, and the unlikeable appeal to me far more than the good. our star, merope gaunt, and the combined forces of the horrifying things she did to tom riddle sr. and the horrifying things she endured herself within a world which didn’t give her the tools to know any better, is all four of those things. and i have built her an [after]life here where she can try to make up for what she did on earth by acting as the ferrywoman for a procession of other lost souls on the other side of the veil...

i have taken so long to bother doing this that i’m sure everyone’s done it. if not, please consider this a blanket tag.

[my-timing-is-digital]

"Can I have this dance?" ;)

A most unanticipated and unusual request, especially when he took the Lieutenant’s interests into account; she did not appear to be someone who would voluntarily engage in nor subject herself to such obsolete occupations. In his eyes, she was someone whose interests aligned with daredevil activities, putting her life unnecessarily in jeopardy simply for the thrill of it, and the well-being of the animals. Apparently, his assumptions were erroneous and required correction. Astonished, the android raised his head and looked at her over their ⸺ well ⸺ her replicated dinner, which was situated in the middle of the oval table in his personal quarters.

‘Dance?’ he iterated with a slight tilt of the head and a pearlescent white eyebrow levitated.

He was aware that the setting and ambience were appropriate for an old-fashioned slow-dance. The classical music that was dispersing its dulcet melodies in every direction of his quarters, the luminosity which had been reduced to a minimum so the artificial candlelight would be more pronounced in the tenebrous surroundings, the food he had selected to agree with her preferences. Everything was in accordance with what humans would consider an intimate rendezvous.

Over the course of several months ⸺ 6 months, 2 weeks, 5 days, 18 hours, 37 minutes, and 4 seconds, to be exact ⸺, Data’s mental pathways had developed a profound attachment to his old friend. He had spent a considerable amount of time ⸺ more than was necessary ⸺ in her presence, relishing in her company. When he was with her, the sensation of homesickness diminished and it felt like he was back aboard the Enterprise, with his family. He had formulated astute excuses to be around her, the excuses did not differ significantly from the ones he had utilised to spend time with his best friend, Geordi, in main engineering.

Data’s yellow eyes glowed with inquisitiveness while he proceeded to observe Avyra, wondering why she had suggested to dance, but who was he to dismiss such a request? He had some experience ⸺ however limited ⸺ with dancing, and he would gladly take her up on her offer.

‘It would be my honour,’ he replied, setting his orange tabby on the carpet before rising to his full height.

Graciously, he extended his right hand for Avyra to take and offered her a warm smile.

‘If you do not possess an adequate prowess with regard to waltzing, I could lead; Beverly has taught me the set of variables that are employed in order to establish that particular style,’ he notified her.

[blockbenching]

HELLLOOOOOO THOSE GOLD TEXTURES ARE SO SO GOOD and I'm so curious what all it changes?? it's. so pretty. omg,. it would work excellent for piglin/blazeborn/nether based modpacks and im just. zoo wee mama this is excellent. thank you so much. (it would be super cool to see some netherite tweaks that add this kinda shiny gold to the armor; not a request as much as like, i love this so much it kinda makes me wanna try retexturing netherite??)

hello!! the pack changes the gold block, gold ores, raw gold block, gilded blackstone, gold tools, gold armor model and item textures, raw gold, gold ingots, gold nuggets, gold food (except the melon rip), and the totem of undying :D the pack also changes the heart, armor, and xp bar as well as the crosshair

i actually meant to make a netherite pack at some point! i'd probably make several different netherite packs, one with shiny gold like you said

[zorosdimples]

pairing ⛧ yandere!diavolo x f!reader x barbatos

warnings ⛧ minors: please do not interact! i will block you. this is a doozy… implied toxic relationships, inhuman anatomy, monsterfucking, breeding, knotting, cervix fucking, dubious consent, pregnancy mention, lots and lots of cum, passing out, neglect (kind of), bondage and restraints, implied nonconsensual acts at the end. reader has a vagina and is referred to as “my little human” and “little one.” please let me know if there is anything i missed!

word count ⛧ 1129

notes ⛧ this is the first installment of the garden of earthly delights! i apologize for the wait; i hope everyone enjoys <3

you have never looked more beautiful—more his—than in this moment, diavolo thinks. the demon prince has one massive hand encircling your ankles, pressing your knees flush to your chest. his other hand cradles the back of your head with adoration, forcing your teary gaze to remain on him, a clawed thumb hooked between your swollen lips. his amber irises are nearly subsumed by his pupils, jet as the moonless night.

black spots cloud your watery vision as you slobber all over the digit, broken whines the only sound to leave your lips; the golden tips of his horns flash in your periphery. you’re on the verge of losing consciousness.

diavolo has been breeding you for hours. his long, thick cock—gilt, ribbed, impossibly large, and complete with a knot—has already stuffed you so full of seed that your stomach is distended. the viscous liquid, a rich cream with an otherworldly sheen, spurts out of your abused cunt with each of his powerful thrusts. the rest of it tingles hotly in your core.

“you can take one more, can’t you, my little human?” diavolo coos, breath unnervingly steady given the force of his movements. he leans down to smear a gentle kiss against your damp hairline before dropping your head and sliding his hand down to rub your puffy clit, plenty slick with the fluids coating your flesh.

“c-can’t,” you whimper. your nerves are fried and the overstimulation has your head pounding and your legs shaking as diavolo’s cock batters your cervix. your hands scratch and scrape at his chest in an attempt to get him to slow, to stop—anything—but your nails do not even pierce the prince’s thick flesh. the demon chuckles at your pathetic protests and his pace quickens in response.

hasn’t he taught you that you are not as fragile as you think?

“you can,” diavolo asserts, pulling out entirely. his crimson strands hang past his forehead and obscure his eyes, the glistering gold almost menacing as he leans over you. he strokes himself lazily, grazing his flared knot with a shiver, ready for his high. ready to see your womb swell with his heir.

“and you will,” he punctuates by plunging his cock and knot inside you in one fluid motion, a guttural groan rumbling from his heaving chest. your mouth stretches to accommodate a scream that never passes your lips. your body is aflame, dripping with sweat; the room fades into nothingness as diavolo’s hot cum pumps into your pulsing cunt.

the room is dusky when you awaken. your lover is gone, his warmth and ever-present touch absent, stillness in his place. the slippery silk sheets cling to you and glide along your curves as you sit upright. you clutch your forehead and curse the dull thump in your skull, a wince breaking the quiet. you feel a trickle of sticky cum ooze from you to join the wet puddle you slept atop like an animal.

the demon prince’s little pet.

a rustling sound draws you from your thoughts. a looming figure swathed in shadow floats toward the bed; you squeak in fright as you yank the sheets up to your neck in an attempt to shield your nude form.

“there you are,” barbatos, who you can now see as he emerges from the darkness, says. “i apologize for disturbing you. i am here on behalf of the young master.”

you breathe a shaky sigh of relief—the demon butler is your only friend in the lonely castle. “you scared me, barbatos. where’s diavolo?”

barbatos turns on the bedside lamp, bathing the room in a faint glow. his eyes, emerald in the low light, shine eerily as his gaze meets yours. “the young master had to run to an impromptu meeting, but he did not wish to disturb your rest. thus, i am here to aid you in his stead.”

you furrow your brows. a meeting. you were once a member of the student council, privy to conferences and other social functions—until diavolo’s devotion to you got the better of him. (as a human, you are far safer being completely removed from lesser demons. and there is no one better to care for you than the prince of the devildom himself.)

you suppress your memories. “thank you. i can manage myself.”

instead of bowing and leaving, though, barbatos stands still. his forked tail sways at his feet and his skeletal horns gleam resolutely. after a few moments of deathly silence, you rephrase your dismissal: “i don’t need any help, barbatos. i appreciate you checking on me.”

the demon takes a step closer to the bed, his knees nearly knocking against the frame. “you do not seem to understand me,” barbatos muses, gloved hand delicately resting beneath his chin. if you were less disoriented, you would notice the hint of mirth in his tone. “lord diavolo ordered me to assist you, as he had to leave unexpectedly. i shall honor his wishes.”

the corners of the butler’s lips curl into a faint smirk, but no humor marks his visage. in fact, there seems to be a primal hunger lurking in the dark, verdant depths of barbatos’s irises. fear beams through your body. it starts in the pit of your stomach and spreads its icy tendrils out through your limbs, biting your fingertips. headache forgotten, you now feel faint; your heart skitters like scared prey. unconsciously, you pull the sheets around you tightly, temporarily shielding yourself from the humiliation that is sure to come.

“there is nothing to fear, little one,” barbatos soothes, smoothing a hand over your hair, matted with sweat and his master’s cum. the act is more patronizing than it is comforting.

the demon snaps his fingers and the sheets wrapped around you disappear. you scramble to cover yourself with your hands, but barbatos is infinitely stronger and faster than you are. his forked tail—cold and wet—coils around your ankles and pulls you to the edge of the bed. another snap of his fingers, and your body is bound with invisible restraints. your arms are stretched above your head, almost painfully so. your legs are spread wide and bent at the knee; no matter how hard you try, you can’t move. there’s even a gag in your mouth to muffle your cries and force you to suck oxygen through your nose.

crouching between your open legs, the butler tsks. “oh my, what a mess.” his tail slithers up your leg and settles atop your womb. the slightest pressure from the appendage causes a stream of diavolo’s cum to rush out of your bruised hole. the demon’s snakelike tongue darts out and tastes the semen that is now pooled beneath your ass.

bartabos’s eyes meet yours and he smiles something wicked. “let’s get you cleaned up—shall we?”

[thomas--bombadil]

All that glisters is not gold. Sometimes it's just a shiny green bee, covered in pollen.

[hamlets-ak]

it’s still early in this world, do you hear me ? ༊*·˚

m.list ◦ askbox

synopsis: in which timothée wants you to stay

*18+, minors DNI, sexual themes & references, romantic dynamic, established relationship, consent

Orion’s gold sword scattered and spilt aloft dust from your dreams as your senses became conscious of the present.

The slow, steady beats of his heart echoed through your ears, spreading an incomparable sense of warmth and safety to your unsettled mind. You buried your head deep in the crook of his neck, refusing to face the blinding morning sun rays, and sank into the person who consumed your dreams and reality.

White auroral lights swam between tangled bodies, caressing any uncovered parts. You had to flutter at the feeling of your eyes drinking the day. Your cheek nuzzled closer, asking for refuge until your lips slowly found his soft skin.

Timothée was still lost between dreams, his eyes sealed, too tightly to let the light in, and his lips parted, breathing in the day. Sprawled out on his back, he had one arm around you, fingers resting on your shoulder, holding you throughout his sleep, afraid you’d dissolve into the night.

As you watched him sleeping, with his head tilted to your side and his chest rising and falling to the sound of his breathing, you wanted nothing more than to lick the sleep off his eyes. But he looked so serene, so peaceful and unbothered, you couldn’t help but keep staring at him like he was the most beautiful landscape.

The colours of the sun reflected on his face - and you wondered whether or not he could feel the light piercing his skin. A smile curled up on your mouth and you brushed a kiss on his neck before detaching from his body. Balanced on your elbow, with head resting on your shoulder, you observed him as time went by, drinking in every little detail.

You brought your fingers to his forehead, fiddling with a stubborn curl that concealed his eyes. Slowly, your gaze slid lower and you let your finger run gently to the small bump of his nose, tracing all the way down to his Cupid’s bow, and then lined the soft curves of his mouth.

Timothée grinned and his lips tried to catch your finger.

« You’re always doing that, » he rumbled from the deepest parts of his throat, bringing you a small smile.

« Because I know that’s what wakes you up, » you whispered and he peeked his eyes open.

« And you wanted to wake me up ? Cruel. » A wolfish grin appeared on your face as Timothée tilted his head and pressed a kiss on your mouth, the first of the day. « Good morning… », he murmured, voice still groggy and sleep-filled.

« Mornin’… » He turned around on his stomach and hugged you, burring his face close. « Slept well ? »

« Mmm... Better. »

« Better ? »

« Yeah... Because you’re here. » You laughed, truly happy chortle as he covered his smile on your pillow.

Hypnotized by the warmth, you stayed there for a while, feeling the sun gliding and soaking in your skin. Timothée simply gazed at you in silence.

With his breath against your skin, you fell into the heavy air your bodies erected. You held his shoulder tight and rubbed the smooth, glistering skin, fingers tracing the curves of his muscles and the slope of his nape.

« Timmy, » you said softly and tried to catch his cheek with your lips. As if knowing what you were about to say, he snuggled closer, bringing one leg between yours to keep you there. « Tim, I should get going. »

« I think you should stay, » he mumbled, his mouth falling on your neck, leaving wet traces on everything it touched. He idly cupped your cheek and turned your head in his direction to kiss you.

« I can’t. »

« You could… »

« I can’t. »

Timothée looked at you for a moment and then hovered over you, trapping you between his arms. He stared at you under a pair of furrowed brows.

« No ? » You shook your head as Tim pressed his lips on yours. « Come on, stay… »

Your hands sank into his hair and he leaned into your touch, letting his eyes seal in delight when you pulled back curls that were still tangled with the night. You smiled, pressing soft kisses on the edge of his mouth and Timothée bent his head for you, allowing your lips to explore his chin, his jaw, his neck. 

« I really can’t... », you whispered. He lowered his head to catch your lips.

« Come on, it’s nice... And snug... And you look pretty in the morning... », he mumbled as mouths merged and blended into one. « Just stay. »

Your fingers held him back for a moment. Maybe it was the way the sun lit his face at that partucular moment causing his eyes to squint, or his skin that felt so warm against yours and softer than usual, but suddenly he was very convincing.

A smile stretched on your face at his attempts to catch your lips and he chuckled, his breath coming out heavy, once you let him reach your mouth.

Still having you in a mock wrestling position, Timothée leaned down and bit the side of your lips, slowly following the tilt of your neck and your collarbones. His mouth dropped lower and lower on your sternum giving it soft-mouth bites.

« I want you so bad. »

He breathed in your aroma, tongue swirling over your chest, overwhelmed by your scent. Your neck stretched back by his kisses and you closed your eyes as Tim brought his lips to yours again, this time deeper with fevered, blazing desire.

« You want me ? », your tongue lolled out on a salacious kiss. « At 7h ? »

« Yes... Want me to prove it ? », Timothée murmured softly, a small grin hanging from his mouth as you stared at him.

His fingers moved to the crook of your neck and tipped your head on the mattress. He kneeled lower on your body, hot breath panting against your skin. His hands slid to your sides, as if trying to memorize every inch of you.

A ghostly smile appeared on his lips as he bit your navel and placed wet kisses over your stomach, letting them one by one vanish in the air. He held your hips tightly, squeezing every part of you helplessly while his fingers slowly wandered between your thighs making your whole body tense and your breath hitch in anticipation.

« Stay ? » You pulled his hair back, chest rising and falling heavily.

« Okay. »

« ‘Okay,’ you’ll stay ? », he bit his lips and lightly raised his brows. You nodded.

Timothée grinned at you all flushed, diabolically angelic looking, as he settled between your legs, shoulders rubbing your knees.

He kissed the notch of your thighs, lips going higher on the apex and you smiled, stretching your head to the side. Tim let out a sly chuckle, breathlessly bringing his fingers to his mouth. His head lowered to your skin and fingers slid inside you, slowly finding their way. You hushed out a moan, letting your hand fall from his hair to his shoulder, gripping the skin.

His lips trailed lower, following the traces of his fingers. Your mouth agape in a silent scream, feeling his breath so close, his tongue licking and sucking eagerly on everything it touched.

Timothée smiled at the soul-capturing sound of your quiet moans, hearing his name come out as a plea, a prayer, a curse. His hand shaped the path of your lower stomach, fingers dripping silver honey, before his tongue slid inside you, teeth biting softly layers and layers, and brushing soft kisses.

Between the obscene sounds of his tongue, you shut your eyes, too dulled to lift them, giving in to the feeling. Your back arched to the bed and he had to grip your waist to keep you down. You held his shoulder and gasped desperately.

The room suddenly turned too heavy and his groans surged electric bolts through you.

For a moment he stopped and you sucked in a sharp breath. He panted against you, his kisses coming out gentle and slow as he rested his mouth on your stomach.

« Why you stopped ? », you asked breathless. He giggled boyishly, hovering on top of you.

Tim touched the edge of your mouth with his fingers, sketching it, drawing it, and your lips parted with bated breath. He licked his fingers and kissed you. You licked his fingers and kissed him again, barely holding your tongues in your teeth, playing in corners where air comes and goes.

« And you wanted to leave… », his lovely silken murmur echoed through your ears as he rubbed his mouth to yours smearing kisses that made you smile.

« Don’t stop, » you inhaled him, tangling his fingers with yours and dragging them lower to your body.

He chuckled again, bringing his tongue to your lips and you tried to catch it, before he kissed you, softly and tenderly, no pressing further just soaking into each other.

You glided his fingers down as he lingered on your neck and your jaw. One leg wrapped around him, bringing him impossibly close.

Timothée touched the inside of your thigh and you let out a sigh of pleasure, as sun-kissed mouths chased one another. His fingers clenched deep in you, eyes measuring with utter acclaim and pride the way your head bent back and your mouth fell loose. He continued his ministrations with his fingers eliciting soft whimpers from you until he couldn’t breathe.

Timothée pulled out his hand, soaking and glistering, and slid it down to himself desperately. You pressed your mouth on his and he let a small whine as your fingers slithered replacing his hand with yours.

He groaned against your mouth with lips tasting like ripe fruit as you slid lower your fingers. You watched his blissful expression full of longing and pleading, the way his Addam’s apple moved while his hot breath fanned your face with struggle. He tilted his head back and your lips touched his neck, giving it small mouth bites.

A loud gasp abandoned your mouth and Timothée groaned hard when you brought him close, until you sank into each other’s warmth, until all the parts of your bodies were touching. He buried himself deep in you, tender skin brushing against the other.

With jaw clenched and teeth grinding, Tim brought his face to yours. He held your cheek lovingly as you smothered each other under the heavy mist of stimuli.

You merged into one, blending as you breathed, your mouths brushing in gentle struggle. Timothée lunged into you, every move full of reverence, every thrust sinking deeper and deeper with an irresistible momentum.

Your head tipped back on the mattress, face disfigured by the throws of passion as you slid your arms to his back, cradling his shoulder.

Bodies scraped the white sheets as you shifted and pushed at each other, knowledgable in the pleasure of the other, working together in perfect harmony.

Strained moans elicited in the air through lively movements and dark fragrance. Tim held onto you dearly, swallowed by the ambition to drive you off the edge. His fingers clammed your face tighter, lips desperately trying to catch your skin.

Your head fell back and chest expanded, demolished, drunk on pleasure. You revelled in his touch, in the feeling of his naked skin against yours, absorbing him whole as he sank into you.

Until tremors shook your body, until you trembled against him like a moon on water, and he as well reached the peak of his pleasure, the sweet feeling of suffocation wrapping its arm around his throat, and in unison, you climbed and lunged into the climax.

He collapsed on top of you, both still fogged-up, sweaty and in total disarray, sucking in together your breaths with an old perfume and a silence.

Timothée pressed his mouth to the side of your head before rolling off your chest to his back.

Panting heavily, you stared at the sun painting the ceiling, creating shadows that trembled above your heads.

Timothée twisted his neck and looked at you with a grin plastered on his face. You smiled feeling his eyes on you and smoothened your hair back before turning to him.

« Stay now ? » You chuckled breathlessly and streched your head to press a kiss on his swollen lips.

« Can’t. »

[mingi-s-dimples]

weird request..? ( kinda ) it’s me lis😚 i love your work bia and i really REALLY want a demon hongjoong fic 🪦 maybe add some praising and choking kink as well…🤭🤭 i recently saw a picture of him that added to the “joong demon agenda” AND OH BOY 🫠🫠 love you 😚❤️

Crimson Nights - Hongjoong

REQUEST BY: @mingleshine (or how y'all might know her, my lovely Lis) she also made the banner 😋😋 had to use it for my love.

pairing: demon/incubus!hongjoong x fem!reader

rating: 18+

genre: romance, demon x human, love not necessarily filth (but a little bit cause I love writing filth hihi)

summary: the sillhouette you've always been dreaming and painting about finally finds it's way in your room, giving you what you've been longing for.

WC: 3.5k

warnings: demon au, incubus!hongjoong x human fem!reader, choking kink, neck marking, marking, a sprinkle of praise, pet names (sweetie, darling, princess), ramming (if this is even a warning), hard deep and needy longing love (joong appeared in reader's dreams for years), choking, huge dick!hongjoong, slight belly bulging (he was a big guy hihi), eyes glistering with lust and changing as soon as they're finished, sharp nails (said marking + hickeys), biting, a little bit of cnc maybe from his perspective reader was all down for it, possesiveness, claiming reader (you/re mine/I already claimed you), completely consesual, unprotected (WRAP UP IRL!), slapping/spanking, orgasms (both m&f), fluff (if you squint but I promise there is fluff cause wdym Hongjoong has waited years for reader to be ready to invite him in her world and how he talks to her at the end ansadka I'm blushing), probably forgot something !

Author's Note: I loved writing this one. The description in the beginning made me absolutely looooooooooooooooooove writing this fic, I've always loved to describe nice, vintage/retro like things/rooms. Tysm love for the request andddd can't wait for another one from you hihi <3 love you always, enjoy this one ^^ also I love when u call me bia it makes something in me go insane nshdajkndsma

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction & does not represent in any way the reality of the member.

The room was a sanctuary of warmth and color, tucked away in an old manor where the whispers of time lingered in the wooden beams. As you stepped inside, the scent of aged wood and crackling fire filled the air, mingling with the faint aroma of dried leaves that had drifted in through the slightly open window. The walls were adorned with paintings of every size, each one a vivid portrayal of autumn’s embrace. Rich hues of amber, gold, and crimson spilled from the canvases, capturing scenes of forests bathed in the gentle light of a setting sun, of fields where goldenrod swayed in the cool breeze, and of paths carpeted in a mosaic of fallen leaves.

The floor, covered in a thick, russet-hued rug, creaked softly underfoot, adding to the room’s rustic charm. A grand oak table sat in the center, its surface cluttered with brushes, palettes, and jars of paint that seemed to mirror the fiery shades of the season. On a nearby easel, a half-finished painting depicted a lone maple tree, its leaves a brilliant cascade of oranges and reds against the backdrop of a fading twilight sky.

Outside, the trees rustled softly in the wind, their branches bare save for a few stubborn leaves clinging to their last moments of life. The windowpanes rattled gently, as if echoing the sighs of the season, and through them, the distant cry of a flock of geese could be heard, their silhouettes barely visible against the dusky horizon. The room, bathed in the soft glow of a nearby lamp, seemed to pulse with the rhythm of autumn itself, a place where the beauty of the season was captured and eternalized within the frames on the walls.

You’ve been having some weird dreams lately. The dreams were always drenched in shadows, where reality blurred and the world seemed suspended between night and twilight. In them, you found yourself standing in a vast, moonlit field, where the air was thick with an unspoken tension. The only light came from a ghostly crescent moon, casting long, eerie shadows that danced across the landscape. It was in these shadows that you first saw him — a silhouette against the silver light, imposing, with a presence that sent a shiver down your spine and yet held your gaze captive.

He was not like any man you had ever seen. His form was humanoid but dark, almost as if he were carved from the very night itself. Yet, it was his eyes—those glowing embers hidden within the depths of shadow—that drew you in. They were the color of molten gold, burning with an intensity that made your heart race, eyes that seemed to see right through you, into the deepest corners of your soul.

Despite his demonic appearance, you felt an inexplicable pull toward him, a magnetic force that defied all logic. Each night, the dreams grew more vivid, more intense. You would find yourself standing just a breath away from him, feeling the heat of his presence and the chill of the night air against your skin. His gaze would meet yours, holding you in place, and in that moment, you felt a strange mix of fear and desire. It was as if his eyes were speaking to you, whispering promises of secrets untold, of passions that could only exist in the world of dreams.

Sometimes, you could hear his voice—a deep, resonant sound that echoed in the silence, filled with both menace and allure. He would reach out, his hand almost touching you, but the dream would always end before you had made contact, leaving you waking with a longing you couldn’t quite understand. The sensation of his gaze lingered among you, haunting your waking hours, making you yearn for the night when she would see him again.

In these dreams, you were not afraid. The darkness did not frighten you, nor did his otherworldly form. Instead, you felt drawn into the mystery, consumed by the curiosity of who he was and why you felt such a strong connection to him. Each night you slipped into the sheets, so willingly, eager to return to that shadowy place where the lines between fear and desire blurred, and where you felt more alive than you ever did in the daylight.

The air in the room was thick with anticipation, the kind that made every breath feel heavy. You stood in the center of the old, dimly lit room, the flickering candlelight casting long shadows that danced on the walls. The atmosphere was charged with an electric tension, a sensation you knew all too well from your dreams.

You had been here before—in those haunting visions that gripped you in the dead of night, where the lines between fear and desire blurred into something irresistible. But tonight was different. This time, you were awake. This time, it was real.

The temperature dropped suddenly, and a shiver ran down your spine. The shadows in the corners of the room seemed to coalesce, gathering into a single point of darkness that deepened until it was almost tangible. Your breath hitched as the air hummed with an otherworldly energy. The shadows twisted, taking form, and your heart pounded in your chest as you watched.

Slowly, he emerged from the darkness—a figure of impossible beauty and terrifying power. His skin was pale, almost luminescent against the darkness, and his eyes glowed with a deep, unnatural fire. They were the eyes that had haunted you in your sleep, eyes that saw through you, into you, but you yet had a desire to meet him. His presence filling the room, cloaked in darkness that seemed to cling to him like a living thing.

His lips curled into a knowing smile, one that sent a jolt of both fear and longing through you. It was the smile that had always made you feel like you were teetering on the edge of something dangerous, something thrilling. His voice, when he finally spoke, was a low, velvety rumble that seemed to reverberate through your very bones.

"So, we meet at last," he said, his tone laced with a dark amusement. "You've been dreaming of meeting me, haven't you?" 

You tried to speak, but the words caught in your throat. It was as if the reality of his presence had stolen your voice, leaving you with nothing but the rapid beating of your heart and the heat that flushed your skin.

He stepped closer, his movements fluid, almost serpentine. Every step he took seemed to pull you in, your body betraying you as it leaned towards him, yearning for the touch you knew would burn but also ignite something within you.

"You've been calling out to me, every night," he continued, his gaze never leaving yours. "And now, here I am." 

He was close enough now that you could feel the cold radiating from him, mingling with the warmth of your own body. The scent of him was intoxicating, a mix of something dark and forbidden, like smoke and spices you couldn't name. It made your head dizzy, your thoughts tangling with desire and dread.

He reached out, his fingers brushing against your cheek, and the contact sent a shockwave through you. His touch was cold, but it sparked something deep within, a fire that you had only ever felt in your dreams. It was a sensation that bordered on pain, but also pleasure—a perfect, terrifying balance.

"Why do you fear me?" he whispered, his breath ghosting over your skin. "I am what you desire most, am I not?"

You swallowed hard, finally finding your voice, though it was barely more than a whisper. "Who are you?"

His smile widened, a flash of sharp teeth that should have frightened you, but instead, it only made your heart race faster. "I am everything you've ever feared, everything you've ever wanted. I am the darkness in your soul, the fire in your blood. I am yours."

The words wrapped around you like a spell, binding you to him in a way that felt both inevitable and inescapable. You knew, deep down, that this was what you had been searching for, what your soul had been yearning for in those lonely, desperate moments between sleep and wakefulness.

“W-what’s your name?” you said, your head dizzy from what he made you feel deep inside you.

“I’m Hongjoong.. nice to meet you, princess.”

His hand slid from your cheek to the back of your neck, pulling you closer until there was nothing between you but a breath, a heartbeat. His eyes burned into yours, and you felt yourself falling into them, into him, as if you had always belonged there.

"You have nothing to fear," he murmured, his lips hovering over yours, close enough to feel their coolness. "We are one, you and I. And now, you will never be alone again."

As his lips finally met yours, the world around you seemed to fade, dissolving into darkness. All that remained was the heat of his kiss, the cold fire of his touch, and the knowledge that you had finally found what you had been seeking all along—him.

He stopped kissing you, a heady silence falling between, thick with the weight of what was about to happen. His hands, cold yet searing with an undeniable heat, trailed down your neck with a slow, deliberate touch, making you shiver. His eyes locked onto yours, burning with an intensity that made your knees weak. You could feel the pull, the magnetic force drawing you closer, deeper into him, and you knew there was no escape—only surrender.

With a fluid, almost predatory grace, he lowered you onto the bed. The mattress yielded under your weight, and the cool sheets sent a shiver through your body. He hovered over you, his presence overwhelming, his gaze never wavering from yours as he gently eased you down, guiding your back to the softness beneath. The world outside seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you in a bubble of darkness and desire.

His lips found your throat, pressing soft, lingering kisses that ignited every nerve in your body. The sensation was intoxicating, a mixture of warmth and cold that made your skin tingle with anticipation. His kisses were like whispers against your flesh, trailing down to your collarbone, each touch a promise of more to come. His sharp teeth, grasping your skin, receiving some whines out of you. 

You gasped as his hands slid under the fabric of your shirt, his fingers cool against the heated skin of your waist. His touch was slow, sensual, exploring every inch of you as if committing your body to memory. He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear, sending another shiver down your spine.

“Do you feel that?” he whispered, his voice like velvet, dark and rich. “The way your body responds to mine? The way you tremble under my touch?”

His lips traced the curve of your shoulder, then continued their journey downward, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. His fingers followed, brushing against your sides, your hips, as he moved lower. He was taking his time, savoring every moment, every reaction you gave him.

When his lips reached the edge of your shirt, he paused, his gaze flicking up to meet yours. There was a question in his eyes, one that didn’t need to be spoken aloud, and your answer was in the way you arched your back, pressing your body into his touch, craving more. A satisfied smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he pulled your shirt higher, exposing more of your skin to the cool air.

He kissed along your stomach, his lips lingering on every inch of bare flesh he uncovered, each kiss sending a jolt of pleasure through you. His hands were everywhere, caressing, teasing, and you couldn’t help the soft moan that escaped your lips as he continued his exploration. The sound seemed to please him, a dark glint of satisfaction in his eyes as he looked up at you from beneath his lashes.

His mouth moved lower, his kisses growing more insistent, more demanding, and you could feel the tension building within you, coiling tighter with each passing second. His touch was like a drug, addicting, overwhelming, and you were helpless to do anything but give in to the sensations he was pulling from you.

When he finally moved back up to capture your lips again, it was with a hunger that took your breath away. His kiss was deep, consuming, as if he was trying to devour every part of you, to claim you as his own. You could taste the darkness on his lips, the promise of something forbidden, something you had craved in your dreams but had never fully understood until now.

He pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against yours, his breath mingling with your own in the small space between you. “You are mine,” he whispered, the words more a declaration than a question. “Every part of you, every breath, every heartbeat. Mine.”

And as he kissed you again, slow and deep, you knew that he was right. There was no turning back, no escape. You were his, body and soul, and the thought of it sent a thrill through you that was equal parts fear and desire. As his hands continued their exploration, as his lips found every sensitive spot on your skin, you surrendered completely to the darkness, to him, knowing that you were lost and yet finally found.

Your hands found their way through his hair, rubbing the nape of his neck. He took that as a challenge and as one of his hands was travelling around your body, all touchy on your thighs and waist, the other one went for your neck, putting pressure, almost like choking you. It only made you yearn for more as you squirmed under him, his gaze never leaving your needy eyes.

“I can see it in your eyes, princess. How much you want me, how much you need me. Do you want me to let you give in or… will you let me make you mine?” he said as he pressed down on your neck, hovering his lips over your collarbones, leaving soft, sloppy kisses, waiting for your response. 

But as you didn’t say anything, only moving underneath him, in wish of some friction, he understood your movements and manhandled you on your back, pressing your face into the mattress. 

“See, darling? Your body language is everything to me. The way it speaks to me… in no way you’d be able to portray by words” he whispered, his eyes glistening with lust and desire, eating you as a whole. 

“Joong- i- “ you mumbled, trying to get ahold of yourself, his dick struggling inside the rough fabric of the leather jeans, creating a prominent tent. All of this mess caused by you and your little dreams formed a loop of stroking his cock for a few seconds before rubbing his thigh up and down, all through the tightening cloth. 

His calm, yet lustful, twisted expression gave you an understanding on how much he wanted you, how bad he craved putting you on all fours, head buried in the mattress, holding your hands and pounding into you like the demon he was. 

Trembling hands gripping the silk sheets, your bottom lip quivered involuntarily as breathless pants left your mouth, Hongjoong behind you, squeezing and occasionally slapping your ass. It was already red… at how much he fondled with it.

“So… should I.. finally claim you, princess?” he said as he turned you over to face him. He started undressing you, slowly but surely getting rid of everything. You were now laying bare in front of him, goosebumps visible on your entire body from the cold yet inviting touch he had.

He pulled you into him by your waist, making you gasp once you felt his hard erection press against your thigh. "Feel that, princess? Gonna fill you up nicely" he whispered, his breath stuttering against your face, like he was a feral animal wanting to destroy you. 

As he unbuckled his leather pants and got rid of them, unveiling his already dripping cock, you were left amazed by the size. You expected.. the size.. cause he was a demon, after all, but...

"Oh, fuck" you exhaled when he went between your thighs, his red angry tip pressing and slowly moving up and down on your folds.

"You good, darling? he grunted as he pushed himself inside you, no warning. You softly moaned at the sensation, but as you realised he put only his tip in, you braced yourself on the mattress and when he pushed himself just a little bit more, you whined and tears started forming at the corner of your eyes. As he wiped them soflty, he let you adjust to his size but you never quite completely did.

Pain and pleasure hovered over you, heavy mist in the air and breathing. He lifted you up, still bouncing slowly on his cock, holding you close to his chest. It was it you were making love to your demon.. this was exactly what was happening. Slow, lustful, desireful thrusts, moves and touches, soft kisses from your neck to your collarbones, sucking dark spots on your fair soft skin.

You suddenly moved and twitched as he bottomed down, to which he pushed you down even further, feeling how a small bulge was forming in your belly, almost visible.

"Princess, stop moving. I might actually hurt you if you move without warning" he said as he dug his sharp nails into the flesh of your waist, leaving soft bleeding marks on your skin. You whined at the pain but damn... it turned you on so bad, arousal dripping on his balls, from below you as you bounced on him more forcefully, not caring about the pain anymore, which had turned into utmost pleasure.

Hongjoong was all touchy with you, he was like this... maybe because he was longing you how much you were longing to meet him? All of these years you've seen him in your dreams... all of the paintings and stories you've made up of him, all because you wanted to meet the mysterious entity in your dream and... you were over the moon for him. How he fucked you so good, how he took you under his influence, his voice, his fangs, as he dug them suddenly in your neck, getting soft choked moans out of your rapidly rising chest.

Only sloppy sounds could be heard from between the two of you, soft and slow stuttering moves, arching your back with every thrust of his. It's true.. he was basically ramming into you, feeling like he could destroy your insides any moment. But at the same time.. there was some kind of slowness, caring to it, deeply pounding into you but making sure you slowly take every single inch of his length, while he gave you soft kisses. One of his hands found it's way to your breasts, playing with your nipple as he received a whine out of you. You were already close, your head getting dizzier, cloudy with the thought of the dirty things you've done with your... demon.

His hands all over your back, leaving scratches and his lips leaving spots on your skin. This is how fucked up you were.. but you were close to finishing, and as he rammed into you a couple of more times and felt how your core bursted, you creamed on his cock, leaving out moans and cries of arousal, tears falling down your cheeks. He fucked you through your orgasm, overstimulating you. He later came inside your aching and throbbing pussy, slowing down his thrusts and then finally comming to a stop.

"Such a good girl you are... such a good girl for me. Is that right?" he whispered.

Both of your fluids were dripping down your legs and on his thighs as he let you fall slowly on the ruined bed sheets. He could feel... even smell how your blood boiled for him, how aroused you were.

"Everything good, darling?" he said as he wiped down your tears, rubbing your trembling thighs slowly. "Mhm? Are you feeling okay?"

"Uh, yes, Joong. It was incredible... " you said and he gave you a kiss on your forehead.

"You know.. y/n. I've been longing for this moment... for years. Ever since I first appeared in your dreams... but I had to wait until you finally wanted it to happen. Now I'm here, sweetie. I'm here.. I'll stay here forever. You're mine and I'm yours.. remember?" his eyes changed colours, from a deep red that appeared when he pushed you on the bed... to a soft hazel-like colour.

"You can't escape my grip anyways. I already claimed you before inviting me in your life..." he said and hugged you thightly.

"Hongjoong... I've always wanted to meet you.. the mysterious entity haunting, appearing in my dreams. I was so eager to meet that sillhouette... you won't ever understand." you said and gave in, curling up into a ball in his grip.

"Don't worry.. I'm here and I won't ever leave, as I said" he reassured you, stroking your hair slowly and biting your neck again, marking his terittory once again for the night.

[butchhamlet]

i said i was going to arrange a list of my favorite articles/criticism about shakespeare, so here’s my first little roundup! obligatory disclaimer that i don’t necessarily agree with or endorse every single point of view in each word of these articles, but they scratch my brain. will add to this list as i continue reading, and feel free to add your own favorites in the reblogs! :]

essays

Is Shakespeare For Everyone? by Austin Tichenor (a basic examination of that question)

Interrogating the Shakespeare System by Madeline Sayet (counterpoint/parallel to the above; on Shakespeare’s place in, and status as, imperialism)

Shakespeare in the Bush by Laura Bohannan (also a good parallel to the above; on whether Shakespeare is really culturally “universal”)

The Unified Theory of Ophelia: On Women, Writing, and Mental Illness ("I was trying to make sense of the different ways men and women related to Ophelia. Women seemed to invoke her like a patron saint; men seemed mostly interested in fetishizing her flowery, waterlogged corpse.”)

Hamlet Is a Suicide Text—It’s Time to Teach It Like One (on teaching shakespeare plays about suicide to high schoolers)

Commuting With Shylock by Dara Horn (on listening to MoV with a ten-year-old son, as modern jewish people, to look at that eternal question of Is This Play Antisemitic?)

All That Glisters is Not Gold (NPR episode, on whether it’s possible to perform othello, taming of the shrew, & merchant to do good instead of harm)

academic articles

the Norton Shakespeare’s intro to the Merchant of Venice (apologies about the highlights here; they are not mine; i scanned this from my rented copy)

the Norton Shakespeare’s intro to Henry the Fourth part 1 (and apologies for the angled page scans on this one; see above)

Richard II: A Modern Perspective by Harry Berger Jr (this is the article that made me understand richard ii)

Hamlet’s Older Brother (“Hamlet and Prince Hal are in the same situation, the distinction resting roughly on the difference between the problem of killing a king and the problem of becoming one. ... Hamlet is literature’s Mona Lisa, and Hal is the preliminary study for it.”)

Egyptian Queens and Male Reviewers: Sexist Attitudes in Antony & Cleopatra Criticism (about more than just reviewers; my favorite deconstruction of shakespeare’s cleopatra in general)

Strange Flesh: Antony and Cleopatra and the Story of the Dissolving Warrior (“If Troilus and Cressida is [Shakespeare’s] vision of a world in which masculinity must be enacted in order to exist, Antony and Cleopatra is his vision of a world in which masculinity not only must be enacted, but simply cannot be enacted, his vision of a world in which this particular performance has broken down.”)

misc

Elegy of Fortinbras by Zbigniew Herbert (poem that makes me fucking insane)

Dirtbag Henry IV (what it sounds like.)

Cleopatra and Antony by Linda Bamber (what if a&c... was good.)

[summerwages]

“All that glisters is not gold”

Shakespeare..

[teapartywithmadhatter]

Golds and Glisters;

Chapter 4: From The Underworld

Tyrion, –the son Tywin abhors and feels guilty about the most,– kills his father without giving him the courtesy of leaving the world gracefully. Now Lord Tywin Lannister has been given a second chance to get back unto the past and to right his wrongs, but this is not the chance he craves for all that glisters is not gold. Warn:Won't be a Tyrion! Sorry!

Chapter 4: From The Underworld

Tywin asks for his resignation, but it does not go as he desires…

[fieriframes]

[But the food is a symphony of flavor. All that glisters is not gold. Are you ready now? Yes.]

[saintsenara]

My favorites of yours are absolutely, hands down, are Nor All That Glisters Gold, Ecclesiastes 3, and Inhuman Resources.

I just love the way you write, it's so descriptive and moving, and I love the characterization of the Black sisters when you write them. They're incredible.

And I just love how everyone hears Umbridge in "inhuman resources." Everyone despising that women is my jam.

thank you very much @thecasualauthor18 - this is lovely and i really appreciate it.

nor all that glisters gold was a fic for @womenofthehouseofblack fest on the basis of a prompt about what sirius and bellatrix's life growing up together would have been like.

i'm extremely fond of the idea that - whatever he says to harry - the two of them were close when they were young. they're very similar, particularly in the contradictory fact that they're both incredibly cruel and incredibly loyal, and they provide one of the better examples of the harry potter series' central thesis on the importance of choice, and how choice transcends things like blood or background.

so we see here how the two begin to drift apart, as sirius realises he can't maintain a relationship with someone who seems hell-bent on being a terrorist. his decision to choose james - which i hate seeing undermined in fics which opt to portray him as a drawling aristocrat - is extremely brave of him, but once he makes it there's no going back.

we also see an area of bellatrix's radicalisation that i'm convinced of, but is quite oblique in canon - that the pureblood world's obviously restrictive gender roles led her into voldemort's path, since he is one of the few men of her acquaintance who are willing to offer her the (relative) freedom she desires. poor rodolphus gets a bad showing here, as in so many of my works, and so do cygnus and orion black, and their desire to keep the three sisters confined within the gendered expectations of their mothers and grandmothers. it ends badly...

then, to ecclesiastes three

as anyone who follows me will be aware, i hate characterisations of sirius which focus on him feeling more comfortable around his 'own class' - i.e. those which have him tense at having to mind his tongue about wizarding traditions around lily, but perfectly at home with lucius malfoy or the lestrange brothers.

i feel the same about andromeda. there seems to be so often in writing about her the idea that she would regard her life with ted as a downgrade from what she would have had if she'd chosen the same path as her sisters (or, at least, as narcissa, i think we can all agree bellatrix shouldn't be anyone's standard for a fulfilling life...), and that - always missing the world of her birth - she would easily forgive the sisters who cut her off for the crime of falling in love the moment the war is over.

that really annoys me - not least because, as per canon, the estrangement is something both bellatrix and narcissa enthusiastically agree with, and i don't see why andromeda should have to get over that the minute narcissa is rattled by the fact her other sister is dead and her husband's very probably going to prison - and so i wanted to give andromeda a story in which she very much does not regret her life, in which ted is a total dilf, and in which her rage at her sisters does not subside just because narcissa would like it to.

of course, there's some complexity - this fic explores one of my favourite headcanons: that bellatrix asks voldemort to leave ted and andromeda alone - but andromeda still manages to be spectacularly pissed off throughout all of it. and good for her.

[i've written about inhuman resources here. the tl;dr is that everyone despising umbridge is my jam too.]

[my-timing-is-digital]

@heartfledged continued from [ x ]

Cognisant that the alteration regarding the conversation’s focal point could negatively affect their amicable banter, Data decided to proceed. Lal deserved some form of commemoration, and the only way to perpetuate her existence, her legacy, to keep the memories alive, was to talk about her.

‘No, it is all right; I am more than happy to tell you about my daughter,’ the zealous tone in his voice, hopefully, terminated any tinges of doubt, reluctance or disquietude that might incarcerate her in anticipation of the answer to her request for additional information concerning Lal. ‘After my return from a cybernetics conference in 2366, I decided to construct an android with the latest technological advancements that were available to me. I duplicated my own positronic brain and neural net; they functioned as a template for my daughter. Initially, I succeeded in my endeavour to create another Soong-type android, and named her Lal ⸺ which means “beloved” in Hindi. I granted her the opportunity to choose her own gender and appearance and assisted her in the development of her motor skills, cognitive and heuristic processes, and received significant help and support from Wesley, Deanna, Beverly, Guinan, and even Captain Picard. However, when Starfleet Command was apprised of my work, Admiral Haftel, a cyberneticist, voiced his disinclination to my undertaking; he demanded Lal to be transferred with him to a Daystrom Institute that housed scientists who, he claimed, had more “expertise” in providing care and assistance to a newborn android. Lal demurred and the Captain declined the Admiral’s orders on my behalf, and iterated that the Enterprise was the ideal place for a young android to reach maturity, in the presence of her creator and father... Unfortunately, she succumbed to a complete cascade failure in her neural net, which I was unable to rectify, before any of those measures could transpire... No matter how fast I worked to prevent it — I simply was... not fast enough... She was shutdown at 1300 hours after which I transferred her memories and experiences into my own brain, to keep her legacy alive. In her ephemeral existence, Lal exceeded my original programming: she had acquired the ability to perform verbal contractions and in the terminal stages of her life, she could even generate and endure emotions such as fear, sadness, and love.’

His yellow eyes darted up the find hers; should she require an encapsulation that was less compendious and more comprehensive, an elaboration on his personal relationship with Lal, he would happily accommodate her with such an account.

‘Despite her absence, I will continue to be proud of her accomplishments, and I sincerely hope we could be reunited in the future, to coexist as a family and engage in recreational activities and share our mutual interests, to fortify our familial bond,’ he concluded his evocations and wishes on a hopeful note. ‘I believe you would have liked her; she was much like myself during our time in the Academy.’

[r-riri]

'if i could get out of this place' - red haired shanks

(credits to @strangergraphics-archive for the divider)

word count 1,496

fluff mixed with angst

the glistering water reflected the deepest shames a pirate could have. they sparkled and shimmered with warmth and comfort like a siren begging the man to join her. though he couldn't, he made an oath to his crew, his friends, his chosen family.

this is how she felt staying behind on the ship whilst the men on board disbanded and explored the island that claimed to be the best makers of the richest rum. y/n had no interest in silly rum that could ease her stresses, no, y/n was a woman at heart in a ship of men so instead of drinking her sorrows she looked them dead on with a clear mind.

y/n peered over the sturdy railing into the depths of the shallow water, studying the small fish who wondered under the surface. y/n felt a pit grow in her stomach not at the water but it was a twisting feeling shes only ever felt once during her whole life. that one time was the desperation of begging Gold D. Roger to let her join his crew so she could learn under the greatest pirate known to man. that desperation and willingness to do anything needed to ensure that y/n got the one thing that she believed made her heart pound.

so why was she feeling that again? Nonetheless why was she feeling it while staring at the small yellow fish swimming ignorantly though the warm water that welcomed the fish with encouraging arms. why did she feel sickly at the though of this fish.

"ive happen to grow to like you so you better not jump" a cunningly smooth voice said from behind her, she glanced over her shoulder having gotten used to the men on this ship trying to take the chance at scaring y/n.

"shanks? why am i not surprised" she smirked seeing his laid smile that was strung along his lips like god himself took the time to craft his face until he deemed it was perfection.

shanks trotted the space between them and laid his torso over y/ns back leaning all his weight onto her "omg you disgusting man get your unwashed self off me" y/n laughed between her words wilfully ignoring the heavily deepening feeling down in the pits of her stomach that grew bigger the longer she stayed

"carry me woman" he groaned into y/n's neck to which her eyes rolled in amusement before shrugging him off and he crashed to the ground wheezing, y/n stepped on his torso and over him away from the railing "why must my true love wound me so" he coughed

y/n snickered but never responded and walked into the dinning room in search for a glass of water to maybe drown the green feeling growing inside my body, that grew like a fungal infection.

y/n downed a glass of water but felt the same feeling clutch her lungs squeezing them tightly with desperation to be acknowledged. y/n rubbed their eyes hoping that maybe she may have caught a cold and thats why she may be feeling ill, though deep down she knew exactly what she was feeling, she knew the cause and she knew the solution to what would make this feeling dissipate.

y/n left the kitchen seeing the deck empty, shanks must have left to god knows where, instead she beelined to her own quarters, it may have been small and compacted in comparison to the mens roomy quarters but at least it didn't stink as if 10 dead bodies died in soured milk. instead the compact room laid pictures of people she once met, the memories of the girl and her old life the one she yearns- no no, y/n does not yearn for that life, she is happy sailing the seas, she loves the people. yes she makes comments that they stink, but these people chose her for their family.

even if y/n is happy the books that laid open with messy handwriting of different words that can only exist in the scapes of her mind, the words written were once poisoned with heartbreak and wishing now strung into beauty of the lives she writes for people she can only imagine herself in.

y/n sat on the neatly dressed bed that fit the facade that y/n put on herself each day pretending to not yearn for a life where she could see her name highlighted positively about the books she yearns to be writing and and the stories she yearns to tell to the children who grew the way she did but never got the chance to explain.

y/n pulled out a small grey box from under her bed and uncapped the box revealing 4 letters with four different names written in a neat font from a fancy feathered ink pen,

shanks buggy roger Rayleigh

the four people that she held close during her time upon this ship, each letter contain a scripture about her love and adoration for each of them uniquely dictated to each person and their individual tendencies.

she grabbed a small bag and stuffed it with her brimming books and small nicknacks that she kept from people who gift them to her and laid the letters along the dressed bed and made her escape.

she disembarked from the boat and walked along the coast of the island searching for a unmanned boat to use to leave her second life behind and as she found a small rowboat unmanned she boarded it and soon she sat there writing the end of her book that she lived with her favourite family.

as the sun hid from the people and the moon stood proudly in its place shanks roamed the ship looking for y/n, he had news to tell her, he needed to have a discussion with her but he failed to find her, finally he ventured into unknown territory and he stepped into her room and laid small letters with names, he grasped his letter and he ripped it opened hastily,

he stood there after reading the letter and felt a droplet down his cheek, cold and wet, it was a singular tear, shanks gripped the letter and left the room running off the ship and screamed her name until his voice was bare and dry

that was the day shanks lost someone he deemed to be important to him.

25 years later

y/n laughed as she sighed a copy of 'love lost' a book that she wrote 7 years ago, she smiled at the girl who raved about the book and how it helped her though a moment in her life.

"thanks kid" y/n smiled kindly as she handed the book to the girl again and gave her a hug as the girl asked for "this book meant a lot to me when i first wrote it so i'm glad it helped you" y/n smiled as she slowly bid her goodbyes and left the area and walked along the uneven cobble stone she admired the stone work of this small island that invited me to do a book signing.

"so this is where you've been hiding" a voice cold as ice rang though her ears, this voice shot y/n through the heart as she recognised the owner of the voice, she felt her throat close up at the fear of being confronted of a character from her past life as a pirate, the irony of 25 years ago she had been admiring (more like loathing the freedom of a fish) when shanks approached her. now 25 years later she was admiring stone work when shanks again approached her.

"now you wont even turn to look at me" shanks mused trotting the fine line between the two people "you left without even a goodbye y/n, a letter? a letter was all that had been left in your wake" he leaned down to her level to which y/n finally glanced behind and looked at his missing arm

"see you've made changes" she attempted to joke to which he leaned back

"and you've become an author" he countered back at her "see we've both changed"

"shanks i'm sorry but i had to leave, if i ever left it would have eaten me alive, i'm sure i would have been a author if only i had left that place, and i left and now look at me. i've written 3 books and 2 miniseries' i did what i dreamed to do" y/n explained in a melancholy tonal voice

y/n watched shanks nod "you did what you needed to do, buggy cried his eyes out the crook" he shrugged as if he wasn't also affected "i'm glad your'e smiling the same way you did back then" he wrapped his arm around her "big nerd" he teased

she smiled "stinker" she teased back

taglist - @flusteredmoonn