#Another Birth and Other Poems

[rootbeerworshiper]

Under the Table

Reader x Matt Sturniolo

summery: you’re left with no choice but to tutor the star hockey player, Matt Sturniolo, but as much as you pride yourself on not being into hockey players, not even you can resist.

warnings: smut!!!! fem!recieving, unprotected sex (reader on birth control), dumification kink if u squint, dom!matt, male!receiving, slight aftercare, fluff, yeah guys idk

love, sienna <3

being an english major at Boston University was no easy feat.

you were constantly engulfed in numerous amounts of homework, from essays to poetry analysis, you were swamped.

money wasn’t something that you grew up from, and with the large amounts of school work piling up, you didn’t have time for a job.

so when your professor mentioned tutoring, you were sold.

english was always something you were naturally good at and you prided yourself on keeping the same grades you had in high school while in college.

tutoring can’t be that hard right?

wrong.

you had put out a few flyers that offered your services and the one person who took you up on that offer was none other than Matt Sturniolo.

although the two of you went to the same high school you had never spoken outside of a couple class assignments—this was more than okay with you.

Matt fit the description of a dumb popular jock to a tee, and you considered the fact that he got into the same college as you unfortunate.

after hours of hard work and effort went into your acceptance, the last thing you needed to see was a post from your highschool congratulating the Matthew Sturniolo on his D1 scholarship to the school.

hockey was a pretty big part of New England but it was never a sport that spoke to you, well not that most sports did.

the entire atmosphere of hockey boys was enough to give you the ick and yet here you are, sat alongside the schools top player, trying to get him to form an essay.

“you have to have an argumentative statement, something to base the whole essay off of and interest the reader” you state, trying your best to not get annoyed at the clueless boy.

he stares at the blank google doc. “well what am i arguing?”

you sigh. this was harder than you thought. “the main theme of this essay is supposed to be on complexity. you chose ‘Beartown’ as your independent novel so you have to argue how the text is complex, or what makes it so complex.”

it was like talking to a toddler, the information going in one ear and out the other. “i can’t write the essay for you Matt”

he groans. “why not?”

you think for a second, once again attempting to not get frustrated. “the story is told from multiple perspectives right?” he nods. “why might that be more complex than a story just told from one?”

it’s clear he’s thinking, and you just hope what you said made sense. “well adding more perspectives would make it like complex because it builds a story that has layers”

subconsciously you smack his arm out of excitement. “yes! there you go. in better words you have your statement to build this essay off of”

you’re heart melts at his smile in response.

sure, you hated his guts, but you’d be lying if you said he wasn’t incredibly hot.

it’s difficult to peel your eyes off of him as he maintains eye contact with you, but you have work to do, and you won’t be yet another girl who grows infatuated with Matt Sturniolo—you just won’t.

the next few sessions were as normal as they could be.

it wasn’t easy to keep him on topic, he was always distracted by something.

sometimes he just looks at you, and you weren’t entirely sure how to feel about it—often diverting the conversation to something else.

trying to get him to understand poetry was a whole new headache.

you had spent hours in the library at this point after finally completing the dreaded essay, now crafting an analysis on different poems.

if you hadn’t picked such a comfortable outfit for this session you’d probably hate your life right now—so you mentally thank yourself for choosing a sweat suit.

to say you were both exhausted would be an understatement.

trying to teach a hockey boy the importance of the placement of words on a page and why capitalization can help emphasize certain points was tiring—you could tell he was tired too by the way he buried his face in his hands periodically.

“maybe we should just call it a night” you say, closing your laptop and yawning.

the last thing you expected was for him to disagree. “no wait i really need this done for tomorrow’s class it can’t be late. if i fail this class i can’t play in playoffs”

right. how could you forget the beloved hockey player will miss out on the big game if you don’t help him.

“i’d stay and help you but the library closes in ten minutes so there’s not much more we can do” you reply, already defeated.

Matt however has more ambition to complete this assignment than you expected. “we can go to my dorm”

you give him a look of slight disbelief. “your dorm?”

he just nods excitedly. “yeah my roommates out of town right now and we only have like 2 more poems left. it’s perfect”

“i don’t know Matt i’m tired” you sigh. not only were you tired but the idea of being in a college boys dorm was not the most appealing.

the eyes he gives you might be the death of you. “please?” you rub your forehead with your hand as if to release tension. “i’ll buy you red bull”

you smile at this. “fine. but i can’t be out for forever”

“you won’t be i swear. i’ll be so dialled in” he smiles. a sight that you are more than okay with seeing.

the walk to his dorm is short, with a stop at the campus confectionery for two sugar free red bulls.

not a lot is said as you enter the main building, walking through the halls as you near Matt’s room.

he goes to open the door but pauses. “don’t judge the decorations in here”

you smile at this, expecting something along with lines of hockey sticks taped on the walls. but what you were met with was much different.

there’s white christmas lights strung on the wall and shelves filled with numerous books and journals. all the furniture was a cohesive shade of brown and alongside the hockey posters were different vintage prints.

in the least weird way possible, you were jealous of his dorm. “this is not what i was expecting” you gawk as he shuts the door behind you.

it’s visible how embarrassed he is so you do your best to shut that down. “i love it actually, if you showed this to any of my friends they’d assume that i decorated it”

he smiles now but doesn’t touch on his ‘girl english major’ room decor tendencies. “uh i’ll just clear off the desk here and then we can get to work, you don’t want the overhead light on do you?” he asks, immediately earning a shake of the head from you.

so now you’re sat next to him, opening your laptop in the midst of the dim lit room as you sip on the red bell purchased by the brunette. “okay where do you want to start? you have two more poems to analyze”

he just rubs his eyes. “you pick”

getting him to focus would be an impossible task “if you’re too tired we can stop or-“

he shakes his head immediately, as if to wake himself up. “no i’m good to keep going, just need a sec to wake up” he defends.

“okay we’ll start with this one then, do you wanna read it?” you look to the tired boy.

“can you? i’ll listen i swear” you groan but agree, it’s been a long day and you don’t want to push him too much.

so you begin reading. “you must not wonder, though you think it strange” he places his hand on your thigh almost immediately. “Matt”

“keep reading, don’t worry about me” he leans into you slightly more, looking at the words on the screen over your shoulder, his breath hot on your neck.

“to see me hold my louring head so low” you continue, his hand inching closer to your centre.

normally you’d be against this—you’d be standing up and telling him off.

but something about the way his hand covers majority of your upper thigh and the smell of his breath has you insane.

so you try your best to focus on the words, not the pooling wetness in your underwear. “And that my eyes take no delight to range” he places a kiss to your neck—so incredibly gentle it could make your skin crawl.

you let out a sigh, trying to avoid throwing your head back as his hand makes contact with your clothed clit. “keep reading baby cmon”

you do as you’re told. “About the gleams on which your face do grow” he kisses down your neck now as his hand increases his gentle pressure.

subconsciously you buck your hips up—eager for more stimulation. “yeah you like that?” he whispers in your ear as you fight back a moan, instead just nodding. “i need words” he takes his hand off, still keeping his face close.

“fuck Matt yes i like it, i need more” you whine, shutting your eyes as his hand toys with the hem of your sweats.

“can i take these off?” he asks, tugging slightly.

you nod eagerly. “please” you lift our hips up and he slides your sweats off, leaving you in your underwear.

his hand roams your lower half, his palm placing pressure on your clit as his fingers explore your clothed entrance. “god your soaked. i knew you’d fall apart under my touch”

there’s the cockiness that normally you hate, right now though? it only turned you on more. “keep reading cmon pretty girl”

you open your eyes to look back at the screen. “the mouse with one hath-“ you let out a breath as his fingers go back to toying with your clit. “broken out of trap”

“not so smart now huh?” he whispers.

you’re a whimpering mess now with the way his thumb rubs small circles on your clit as his mouth places sloppy kisses on your exposed neck. “Matt please i need you”

this must have been enough for him to stop teasing because he immediately stands up, placing your hands on his shoulders as he grabs you legs to pick you up—finally placing his lips on yours.

it’s messy and it’s desperate but it’s also fucking hot.

he leans over, letting your back fall on his bed as he hovers over you.

wasting no time he signals for you to lift your arms as he brings your hoodie over your head, revealing your bare chest. he smiles at this. “such a fucking slut tutoring me without a bra on”

he hovers back over you now, whispering in your ear once more before his fingers begin to toy with your already hardened nipples. “couldn’t focus when i saw your nipples poking out of your hoodie, begging to be touched”

you can’t even reply with words, too focused on the way his thumb grazes your sensitive nipple.

you’re a mess and he’s barely done a thing, already arching into him, but you try to gain focus—if he gets to see you like this you deserve the same.

without words you reach for his shirt, struggling to lift it up as you’re overcome with pleasure.

he knows exactly what you want through, taking his hands off of temporarily, now hovering over you once more.

you can’t help but gawk at his physique. it’s hard to focus on the tattoos when your eyes are drawn to his abs that are extenuated by the dim lighting.

“gonna make you feel so good baby” he begins to make his way down. “you’ve spent so much time on me, gotta make it up to you, yeah?” he kisses your clit through your underwear.

at this point your throbbing. “yes” you spit out.

he pulls down your underwear, leaving you completely exposed for him as he stares at you once more, fully taking in the sight in front of him.

you hide your face with your hands, too embarrassed at the mere vulnerability. “let me see your face baby” you shyly remove your hands, looking up at the boy now—you’re practically begging with your eyes.

“you’re so fucking perfect” he leans back down to give you one more kiss, this one more intimate than the last few. “so much better than my imagination” you giggle at this but before you know it he’s back down where you want him, pushing your legs open as he spits on folds—mesmerized by the way it slides down.

before you can complain again he finally makes contact, licking up the wetness his voice has caused before focusing on your clit.

you’re already incredibly turned on, the feeling of his warm tongue on you causes you to let out an almost uncontrollable moan.

he lifts off, kissing your clit. “shhh baby, i have neighbours” he brings his hand to your mouth and you waste no time sucking on them to muffle your moans.

almost immediately he gets back to work, as if he’s starving for you—and to be fair he might be.

his constant flicking of his tongue on your clit has you whimpering and moving around under his touch—you’re already incredibly sensitive.

it’s like he’s in a trance, giving you his full attention, until momentarily he backs out for air. “wanna cum on my fingers?” you practically moan at his words, nodding frantically. “what’d i say about your words”

his hand continues working on your clit at a slow pace while he speaks. “yes- fuck wanna cum on your fingers” he smiles at this and immediately brings two finger into your entrance, if it weren’t for his hand that immediately covered your mouth the neighbours would be sick of you.

he goes slow at first, hitting your g-spot with every curl of his long fingers. “you’re so good Matt” you moan as he speeds up. “so fucking good”

it’s clear he liked the praise by the way he dips his head back down, his tongue making familiar contact with your clit.

you’re gone. absolutely spent under his touch.

his pace quickens when he feels you clench around him, his tongue forming small teasing circles on your clit while his fingers dig impossibly deeper into you.

“fuck” you throw your head back. “i’m cl- fuck i’m close” his already fast pace quickens, his tongue now applying a pressure to your clit you didn’t know was possible.

before you can even warn him your legs close on his pretty brown hair as you arch your back. it’s practically impossibly to stay quiet, his pace not slowing down at all as you rock your hips through your orgasam.

eventually he pulls back, not wanting to overstimulate you too much.

your practically out of breath from holding back your moans but his face comes to meet yours once more. “you did so good for me” he kisses you before you can reply, the rhythm of your lips together is comfortable.

as great as it is, you can’t help but feel his buldge through his pants on your thigh, so you do what you’re sure he appreciates and you reach your hand down—immediately wrapping your hand around the outline.

he stops kissing you and immediately drops his head to your shoulder and you fingers continue. “you gonna take your pants off or am i making you cum in your underwear”

he chuckles softly at this, but nonetheless gets straight to work sliding off his pants and leaning in to kiss you once more.

you decide to take initiative, flipping him over and immediately straddling him—the look in his eyes is priceless.

if you could take a picture you would. never in your life has someone looked so incredibly fuckable, but here was Matt Sturniolo, laying beneath you with his messy hair and eyes full of lust.

you waste no more time, grinding your hips on his clothed bulge and kissing along his collarbone—the poor boy practically shivers at your delicate touch. “if you don’t do something i swear to god-“ you grab his bulge now, looking at the boy who’s eyes have just squeezed shut.

“what was that?” its unlike you to be dominant, but it’s also unlike you to fuck a hockey player so really all cards were on the table.

you give in though, crawling down to lick his pre cum through his boxers, teasing slightly more before pulling them down all together—the sight is mouth watering.

he’s a mess beneath you as you look at him, his dick is a good size, longer than it is thick, the way his wetness practically glistens on his tip is enough to have you flustered. “cmon pretty girl stop teasing” he says from beneath you, his hands behind his head as he watches you.

you pull your hair back slightly as you place your flat tongue on his tip, making him hiss above you as he uses his hands to keep your hair out of your face.

almost instantly you get to work, taking as much of him as you can, letting your saliva drip down on his length as you slowly lift your head up and down.

his whimpers go straight to your core, your body already begging for more as you swirl your tongue on his tip.

you pop off almost unexpectedly, and speak before he can even say anything. “i wanna ride you” you wipe the saliva off your mouth as you look at the shocked boy who’s smile grows slowly.

“yeah?” he asks, furrowing his eyebrows, unsure.

you nod your head sitting up more now to face him. “yeah” you smile and before he can fully reach for his bedside table you stop him. “i’m on birth control” you begin to crawl down leaving kisses on his stomach.

“and i.”

kiss.

“wanna.”

kiss.

“feel.”

kiss

“you.”

his breathing immediately increases as you line yourself up, his hands making their way to your waist to assist you as you lower onto his length.

you let out a breath as you adjust to the size. “fuck you feel so good around me” Matt practically moans out.

it takes a moment for you to adjust fully, but you begin moving up and down and the boy beneath you is a moaning mess.

you rock your hips a little faster, leaning forward now he places his mouth on your nipple and you can feel the way he moans into you—it’s hot as fuck.

it doesn’t take long for you to feel close, and it’s like Matt can tell because he immediately places his hand in between your bodies and places a familiar touch to your throbbing clit.

you pick up the pace, chasing your high. “Matt fuck i’m so-“ you just moan again, unable to speak.

through his many heavy breaths he replies. “me too pretty girl”

a few more rocks of your hips and you feel his warmth fill you up as your stomach feels the familiar clenching feeling, his hand moving quickly beneath you, causing your second orgasam of the night.

by now your both exhausted, tired from doing so much school and well, from fucking too.

you basically plop down beside him, the two of you out of breath.

“i like that form of payment” you joke, causing Matt to nuzzle his head into the crook of your neck while your fingers begin to play with his hair.

you feel his smile on your collarbone and his hand makes its way across your stomach. “guess i’ll have to get tutored by you more often” he sighs, standing up and placing his boxers back on. he walks to the bathroom and you’re confused for a second, but he comes back out with a damp cloth, and begins cleaning the mess the two of you made.

Matt may be a dumb hockey player, but his pros definitely outweighed the cons.

he offers you one of his shirts which you welcome with open arms as you slide your underwear back on. it’s safe to say this is the giddiest you’ve ever felt after a hookup.

now that he’s back in bed you immediately lean into him, as tired as you are you still want to me close to him, wrapping your leg over his waist.

he rubs your bare thigh as he unplugs the lights and kisses the top of our head. “goodnight baby”

you nuzzle yourself impossibly closer to him. “goodnight Matt”

and with that the two of you pass out. the day completely drained both of you, and with the comfort of each other you were gone.

the next morning came by quick, the sun immediately waking you up. the boy next to you is still sound asleep and as cute as ever but the new day means his poetry analysis needs to be completed—for once you weren’t opposed to cheating.

you get up as slowly and quietly as you can, grabbing the laptop off of his desk and bringing it back into bed with you.

it doesn’t take long for you to complete the last two poems, you make sure to use less big words and get a couple things wrong so as to hide your actual identity.

just as you finish writing the last sentence Matt wakes up, tossing and turning slightly before his eyes meet you.

you smile at the sight of the sleepy boy. “good morning, how’d you sleep?”

he brings his arm to your waist, pulling you into him as you place the laptop to the side. “i was knocked the fuck out. what are you up to?”

“may have just finished your poetry analysis” a grin enters your face at the shocked expression Matt shows instantly.

“holy shit really?” he sits up now, hands still on you.

you play with his fingers. “it didn’t take that long or anything”

he scoffs. “i forgot you were a genius” you just kiss him in reply.

“you need to get ready, you have playoffs to train for” you say, you had noticed his calendar had a practice today when you were analyzing his room last night.

a few minutes later and Matt is ready, it really doesn’t take long at all to be a man.

you sit at the edge of his bed, putting on your sweats from last night.

he walks over towards you, hovering over you as he brushes through your hair with his fingers. “i’ll see you tomorrow night yeah?”

you furrow your eyebrows. “what’s tomorrow night?”

“playoffs” he smiles. “figured you might wanna watch your boyfriend score a few goals”

his confidence never fails to amuse you. “boyfriend huh?” you tease and he just nods, looking for confirmation. “guess as your girlfriend i’ll stop by for a bit” he misses you immediately, a smile still on his face when you pull back. “but don’t expect me to be screaming for you, that’s really not my scene”

“i’d expect nothing less”

a/n: this literally spawned out of mid air but omg so cutesy i want hockey matt in my life rn

taglist: @lolasnoww-blog @tastesousweet @ivypoison @1hvrrington1 @disturbedwoodelf @sturnswift

@junnniiieee07 @ellie-luvsfics @flowernoemie @sturnified @alicejwebster @s7urnfilms @queenofawkwardfangirling @madsdogst @justlivinglive @safara05 @k-312-xx @sluttycupsworld

#sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #sturniolo #matt sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo fluff #matt sturniolo oneshots #matt sturniolo fanfic #matthew sturniolo #sturniolo smut #sturniolo triplets smut

[aelenavelaryon]

Daemon Targaryen x Targaryen Reader

Summary: Daemon finally finds love

Aella Targaryen was nothing like the rest of her family. She couldn't be. Many would often said she was a sweet girl whose only mistake was to have Valyrian blood cursing through her veins. House Targaryen had been on the Iron Throne for over a hundred years, she could remember the throne, it was rather beautiful she would admit. But, House Targaryen was a cursed lineage. Aella thought it was because they were all related. Brothers married sisters, uncles married nieces, cousins married cousins.

When Aella was brought to court she was nothing but a babe. Only one perhaps two moons old. Daughter of Saera Targaryen and her brother Rhaegar Targaryen. Rhaegar and Saera had both been wild and untamable. The two ran away after Saera escaped Old Town and they were never seen again until now. Aella Targaryen was born in the year 105. Rhaegar brought his daughter to court, to present among the realm. Saera had died in her birthing chamber. Viserys, who had lost his wife a nearly two years prior welcomed them both. Aella grew up beside Alicent’s children and Rhaenyra's children.

Aella although growing up with her cousins she preferred to be alone, sitting in the gardens or her room and reading a history book. Her father wondered where she had gotten all of that, she was not like her mother or him. But, there were things he did like singing, poems and song writing much like his daughter. Aella had the basic training, in case she had to protect herself but the young girl no matter the circumstances could never and would never bring herself to hurt anyone. It wasn't in her blood no matter how much her father tried. But Rhaegar would protect his daughter no matter the cost. She rode Meraxes, queen Rhaenys dragon, the princess died that day but her dragon lived.

As the years passed, Aella Targaryen grew into a beautiful maiden. "The Realm's Angel" or "The Realm's Desire" surpassing her cousin Rhaenyra in beauty and everything else. Aella had reached her ten and five name day and was yet to be unmarried. Her father was the reason for that, although he was no king he saw that no one was fit to marry his only child. No one would ever be good enough. Alicent thought it would be a good idea to marry her to Aegon or Aemond if she wished. Rhaenyra thought she would be a great match for Jacaerys or Lucerys. Rhaegar Targaryen refused, once again. But, a few moons later he passed from a swollen belly, leaving his only child at the mercy of her family.

Aella didn't know who to choose as her family had given her the choice to marry who she wanted between the four boys. She was dutiful, whoever her uncle had chosen she would have married but she did not want to disappoint anyone by choosing wrong. The council knew that Aella marrying either of her nephews was a tragedy waiting to happen, so the young girl offered a marriage between another house but Rhaenyra, Alicent and the king denied her. Daemon who had recently lost his wife asked her to marry him, to unite themselves and protect each other. Aella was young, only fifteen summers old what did she know about love. She knew more about duty than love.

So, to stop any family issues or more drama she agreed and secretly married Daemon, consummating their marriage, now it could not be broken. The news reached King's Landing the morning after, creating chaos in the court. The king was fragile in health so he did nothing, besides they were married and they had consummated there was no breaking anything. Rhaenyra stayed in King's Landing, while Daemon, his wife and two daughters remained in Dragonstone. Nearly a year after their wedding Baelon Targaryen and Rhaegar Targaryen were born. Strong boys. On their second named day, their sisters Rhaella and Visenya had been born. When the boys were five, their sisters three Aemma and Viserys were born.

Baela and Rhaena quickly accepted Aella as she had this motherly warmth the girls loved and she had glady taken the role as their mother, not that she would try to replace the girls mother but she did her best to love and care for them as she did for her own children. Aella with Daemon's approval let the girls ride their dragons to Driftmark to visit their grandparents. Rhaenys and Corlys were grateful that the young girl allowed them to visit their mother's family as much and as often as they could. The six children had been kept a secret through out the years. Aella was near her one and twenty name day. As a result, the king had invited her and her family to celebrate as a family.

Her arrival had been expected, Aegon was now married to Helaena and had two children, twins. Jaehaerys and Jaehaera. Aemond was unmarried but as far as she knew he was bethroted to a Baratheon girl. Jacaerys was to marry soon but his mother and father were looking for a suitable match. When she arrived, Daemon and the girls were waiting as her and the children had sailed there due to the young kids. Rhaenys and Corlys who were there watched their granddaughters run to their new mother. They saw the love the two girls had for her. King Viserys recovered and went back to being the peaceful king he was. He waited with his family as he watched Daemon help his wife.

She had turned into a beautiful woman, everyone could agree. She seemed happy with Daemon. And she was, he treated her good and with respect. "My king, my queen" she  greeted with a nod. "Princess Rhaenyra, Laenor" she said with a smile. She greeted everyone. "Now, may we present our children?" she asked and everyone turned to her. They were surprised. The king nodded and Daemon signaled the maids to bring them. "Baelon and Rhaegar, our oldest. Visenya and Rhaella out second oldest. Viserys and Aemma our youngest" Daemon introduced as the four oldest made their bows to the king and queen. The youngest were only one.

"May I?" the king asked as he took Aemma, she had her eyes. Rhaenys took Viserys. "Baelon looks like our father, and Rhaegar looks like Aemon" Rhaenys nodded in agreement. Everyone cooed over the Aella'a children and all she did was smile. During the feast for her nameday, Daemon and his wife could see the tension between Alicent and Rhaenyra. "I would like to propose an alliance between our families" Aella began. She had spoken with Corlys and Rhaenys, and of course her husband. "A bethrotal between Jacaerys and Baela. And Rhaena with prince Lucerys" she said with a smile. Rhaenyra smiled. "I think that is a great idea" Daemon held her hand and nodded. "In addition, if Aegon and Helaena agree Jaehaera could marry Baelon and Vinseya Jaehaerys" the table was quiet but Alicent smiled. "I think that is magnificent idea" the king nodded in agreement. "Our house will be united" she smiled happy with the outcome.

Aella Targaryen was a woman many remembered, she had given her family peace but that peace nearly broke when Otto Hightower deemed her dangerous, sending for someone to kill the princess. The princess perished on top of her dragon as a scorpion hit the beast right in the neck, killing it instantly. She received the same fate as queen Rhaenys. The lady didn't survive the fall. Daemon Targaryen never remarried but once he found out who killed her, the Hightowers, more importantly Otto, he was killed soon after. Alicent was pardoned as she didn't know anything. Rhaenyra was crown queen and the princess match's were honored as Baela married Jacaerys, Rhaena Lucerys, and once older Baelon and Visenya married Aegon's children.

The Sweet Summer Child died but her memory remained throughout the years. Aella Targaryen iii married her brother Rhaegar, giving him the heirs he needed. House Targaryen didn't end with Daenerys Targaryen, it went on. It prospered. From Aella Targaryen the first, came the prince that was promised and the realm lived in peace.

#daemon targaryen x reader #jacaerys velaryon x reader #game of thrones x reader #house of the dragon x reader #rhaenyra targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen x reader #house of the dragon #harwin strong x reader #alicent hightower x reader #daemon targaryen #daenerys targaryen #daenerys stormborn #rhaegar targaryen

[strangerdangerwrites]

the art of lies | t.s. (fantastic beasts) - chapter one

Summary: all your life you had been handling the dirty truth, and here he comes presenting you with his sweet lies. 

Pairings: Theseus Scamander x Fem!Reader

genre: romance, mature audience intended

warnings: mature themes, implied sexual content, sexworker protagonist, pleasure house (brothel), smoking

the art of lies masterlist

IN THE ABSENCE OF DAYLIGHT, Paris comes alive, after all, it is known as the City of Love.

Love in the form of freshly picked flowers from the florist.

The sweetest chocolate that tickled your taste buds.

Hand-written poems that rivaled world-renowned poets.

A love so sweet and tender that it caresses you gently in the night

But that certainly wasn’t the truth, it never was. Love wasn’t like that. 

Love was the thorns that hid beneath the roses.

Love was the bitter taste that lingered in your mouth after your first dark chocolate.

Love was the letter from lovers that had written goodbyes instead of ‘I’ll stay’.

Love was the harsh tug of your hair, the rough hands that hold your wrists, saying the words ‘You are so beautiful’ only when you are in the middle of the bed, spread willingly to the desires of man. 

Here, in Paris, is nothing but filled with nights of debauchery where all senses are thrown out the window. The sickening smell of expensive perfume and wine drowning you in the world of sins. And Paris was notable for it, here you are free! Or so they say.

Truth be told, you could never be free, always staying in hiding from the Non-Magiques. And here you were indebted to your handler, Madame Blanche, the owner of the renowned luxurious Maison close ‘Amour Délicat’. 

Like her name, the whites in her hair and the sharp look in her eyes tell her story. She was a former courtesan before and when the first war of the non-magiques happened there she learned something that would give birth to her only child, the Amour Délicat. When she shared the truth of what was happening in the world of the non-magiques to the Ministère des Affaires Magiques de la France (Ministry of Magical Affairs of France), Madame Blanche was greatly compensated, and there from the ground up, she built her history. 

Madame Blanche is far from the harsh and ruthless handlers in the non-magiques world of prostitution; she is commanding and ruthless. When she saw the reality of the world, it opened her mind to do whatever it takes to protect herself, and that is by being well-known that you create a sense of security in being seen. Here she opened her doors to those willing to work for her, at first, many were wary as to join and take employment, the look of disdain and gossip were indeed not for the faint of heart. 

And you who had nothing to lose, took the first bite and jumped straight into death potion. 

You, who only had your name and the clothes you wore on your back crawled straight inside Pandora’s box. 

Madame Blanche had saved you, she had given you a roof, food, clothes, and the protection that you needed. The life you formerly had was long gone; it was all in the past, thrown into the sea to be forgotten.

And here you learn to be a great witch. She first-hand, had taught you how to be a legilimens, as her first courtesan, she has taught you how to traverse the mind easily, to learn secrets, and how to use them to your advantage.

“The most powerful of witches and wizards can all be defeated by the secrets they hide.”

While the other courtesans were only taught surface-level legilimency, you were a natural. Not only can you do it nonverbally and wandlessly, but you can also communicate with others telepathically. Madame Blanche had opened you to all possibilities, and with that, she entrusted you with the highest position of being her right hand.

And your skill at legilimens always comes at night when you bed another clientele. And in the middle of pure ecstasy, they reveal the truth unwillingly. Here in the dimmed candlelight, you walked through the halls of their mind unlocking every door with a skeleton key of your abilities. No matter how many layers, or how many locks they keep, trust you could open it with ease. Secrets like marital affairs, financial debt, graft and corruption, illegitimate children, crimes, enemies, first love, their favorite color, the last thing they ate, their thoughts at that very moment… you can see and feel. An out-of-body experience, stripping you naked from yourself, from what you are and who you were. Here you forgot you were even breathing.

You didn’t realize you had been lying on the bed still for the last few minutes, the house elf, Bernadette, had been looking at you worriedly, and in her hand was your dressing robe, colors almost like the blinding light.

“Was the man harsh on you today, Miss?” She asked, placing the mulberry silk robe on your hand. You gave her a small smile and shook your head. The faint marks of rope were the clear sign of your lies, yet you were accustomed to it.

“It is alright. Run my bath for me?” With a wave of her hand, the bed took itself towards the laundry room and came in a small golden tub that fit your frame. Muttering a spell it filled the tub with bubbles and water, you stood before it before hitting it with a wave of your wand. The gramophone in the room suddenly erupted into soulful jazz music. With a scrub and a bar of soap ready at hand, Bernadette tried to assist you but you declined. Stepping foot into the warm bubbly bath.

“I would like a moment alone.” You waved your hand as soon as the words left your mouth, the house elf knew to leave you to your own devices. You were a grown woman, a woman who has been doing these for the last decade. And whenever you tried to look into your future, all you could see were the grand walls that painted your very eyes, the moving wallpaper depicting fields of various white flowers, you were stuck in Amour Délicat for the last moments of your life. This was the only thing you will ever know. You were indebted and grateful to Madame Blanche, and that led to your loyalty. She protects you and everyone in the Maison close. Outside these walls was uncertainty.

In the hot water, you submerged yourself trying to wake yourself up to the fact that this is your life. Yet when the warm glow of the city, fireworks erupted the skyline, muffled by the water you sat straight to peer at the noise. Without even looking, you knew families were in their own homes, enclosed with the scent of pastries and the warmth of their own fireplace. It was just a few minutes before New Year's Eve, and here you were working. Alone, staring into the distance, craving the sense of a warm home. 

Holding your knees close to your chest, you stared at the skyline as Muggles and Magical people alike celebrated the night with a bright display of fireworks. 

Unbeknown to you, Clarice, the receptionist had been preventing the members of the British Ministry of Magic from stepping foot towards the quarters an hour before the new year would start.

“You cannot go inside; this is a private and respectable property,” Clarice spoke, her accent rushing the words as panic littered her veins. Her arm at ready with her own wand. The lounge was filled with thick air as the British aurors pointed their wand at the girl, not understanding a word she shouted. 

Click-clack! Click-clack!

With every slow step, Madame Blanche descended the stairs. 

“And what do you English want? Here to close Amour Délicat? You don’t have the right.” Madame Blanche boasts, looking at the men below with her chin pointed upwards. Looking at them one by one, the Madame could not read their minds, the British aurors have been trained in occlumency. Remaining calm, she stood on the balcony, overlooking the whole crowd below.

“We were looking for one of your workers. I believe they have the answers to the disappearance of one of the assistant delegates of the British Department of the International Confederation of Wizards.” Torquil Travers claimed, holding a photograph of a man in his middle 30s-40s. 

Summoning the paper in the grasp of the Madame, she looked at the photograph intently, racking up all the lists of their clients. Without even showing hints of recognition, Madame had thrown the paper back into the hands of the aurors.

“I believe you must have a permit before we further your inquiries. If not, then leave.” Turning around, she waved a hand to open the large doors.

“We have it, signed and approved by your own Minister.” Stopping in her tracks, the auror walked up to the steps and held it right in front of the Madame’s face. Now a hint of annoyance was painted on her pointed brows.

“Come to my office, only I can accommodate two of you. Choose wisely.” Madame Blanche said in a cold tone, not even bothering to wait for aurors as she walked straight to the lift.

“Scamander! Come with me.” Travers could upon the young man, the older auror respected the young man’s abilities and thinking, after all, he was a respectable war hero.  

Stepping into the lift, the walls were decorated with moving painted white flowers, the madame touched the button to the highest floor, and the black lining of the lift showed its elegance. As the Aurors stood behind her, eyes darted across each other in nervousness. The Brits showed no sign of anxiety, even if that was far from the truth, the Madame held an air of regalness suffocating them with the scent of floral perfume. As soon as the doors of the lift parted for her, the room was quite the luxury and beauty with its eclectic interior, engulfed with knick-knacks from travels, moving statues, paintings from famous muggles, and the large glass pane showing the night sky. 

In the middle of the room was a velvet green chair, a large glass table, and a lone flower sitting in the golden vase.

“Sit.” She pointed toward the chair in front of her, while she remained standing encircling the room looking at the Englishman that disturbed her home. 

“Our clients value discreteness, we simply could not disclose it easily… yet since you presented me with a hand-written note by our minister I must oblige to your request. Then talk, what is it that you want?”

“We are looking for Charles Moore. He has been in charge of communications with the French Ministry as a part of assistant delegate for our Ministry, he asked to be assigned here after the Muggle World War. The day he was posted to return, he didn’t. And we believe that in his letters to his sister, he claimed to be…”

Madame Blanche raised her eyebrow at Torquil Travers waiting for him to spit it out.

“In love.” Theseus replied. “He claims that he has found the love of life here in Paris and was planning to buy off her indenture. Or so we believe.” 

Madame Blanche scoffed.

“There are many dames in Paris, and he chose to settle with a courtesan?” Madame Blanche laughed, making Travers find it humorous as well. In the keen eyes of Madame Blanche, he saw Theseus's brows turn into a frown before shifting back to biting his cheeks.

“Are you certain that it was in Amour Délicat?”

Theseus answered with a nod. 

There were three letters in total from Charles Moore to his sister. And for the past few days, Theseus had been assigned to look for the exact description of the building. He alone took the time of the day, looking at details of every establishment and brothel in Paris, from the world of the muggles to hidden alcoves of the French Wizarding World. After 2 days, he had seen the exact description of the magnificent-looking walls lined with silver and the sweet nauseating scent of flowers, that’s when he knew this was it.

First Letter:

Dearest Ange,

I believe I have found the love of my life! No one is ever as beautiful as her. No amount of theatrics on the show could ever take my eyes off of her. She sat there like a flower, waiting for me.

As soon as the play was over, I tried to approach her. Tell her to take my hand and run away with me. Oh, Ange! I never felt something like this. This must be what love is. Yet, my heart turned to pieces when I saw her taking the arm of another man, walking together side-by-side as they left the theater. I trailed behind them, and saw the most luxurious of buildings, sparkled with silver linings and flowers decorating its walls. Then I stopped and stared, and the man left her there. That’s when I realized what it was… I know this might sound ridiculous, but she is working in the red-light district and with that, no amount of apprehension could hinder me. I know you would flip the whole house upside down, but Ange this is love. I am certain of it. No amount of your denial could keep me away from this.

                                                                                                             From your darling brother, Charlie.

Second Letter: 

Dear Angelique, 

With the amount of your reply, I take that your silence was your approval. 

Today, I took liquid courage to go ahead and talk to her. But the only way was that I had to pay a fortune. I walked to the receptionist with high hopes, and with her assistance, she immediately gave me a room. With flowers in hand, I waited for her only to get my hopes up when another girl walked into the room. I was filled with disappointment. I asked the lady of the night for the description of my love, and she claimed that she was part of the ‘bouquet de blanc’. First-time patrons' pocket money is not enough to gain an audience. And me being an assistant could only lead me to certain places, yet I will persevere. 

 Give me a few more days and I’ll be able to, no matter the cost.

                                                                                                             From your brother, Charles.

Last Letter:

To my Darling Sister,

I hope this letter finds you well, I could not disclose to the ministry the cost of my expenses… but I found another way. Worry no more. Today, I will finally be able to talk to her.

The day that I return home is when she is with me.

                                                                                                             From your loving brother.

Placing the letters right in front of the Madame of the house, with a lifted finger her smile faded into a scowl. Someone from the inside was spreading information about her courtesans; Bouquet de Blanc was valued in secrecy. This was a catalog of their courtesans that had regular high-paying patrons, and this was not open for viewing so easily. Patrons that were deemed valuable to her and her Maison close were accommodated, the pure-blooded noble families, higher ranking officials, royalty even. And someone from the lower ranks of her courtesans had their tongue quite willingly.

Waving her wand, she summoned a large logbook. There inside was information such as names, professions, ages, nationalities, and ranks of their patrons, of course, the courtesan they were assigned to. Whispering the name Charles Moore, it skimmed through the pages with ease, and there in bold letters was the name of the auror the Brits were looking for. Travers tried to peer at the other listed names, his curiosity taking the best of him.

“Curiosity is the lust of the mind, Mr. Travers. Why don’t you sit still, and I’ll call upon her.”

Closing the book harshly, Madame called upon Bernadette. Apparating next to her mistress, Madame Blanche whispered to call the girl. Nodding the house elf disappeared within a blink of an eye. Behind them, the elevator dinged, while the Madame tapped on the book with carefully manicured nails. 

“It is New Year’s Eve; would you like to avail of our services? It can easily be arranged. I know it’s a long journey and your work for your ministry is greatly appreciated, it wouldn’t hurt to take the night off— to indulge yourself in your sensual desires.” 

The older man shifted in his seat uncomfortably. Suddenly they were interrupted when the elevator doors dinged, signaling the arrival of the courtesan. Turning around a slender figure stepped foot in the room, She wore a long flowing green nightgown.

“Come in here and greet the Brits, Maeve. They would like to talk to you about Charles Moore.” Madame Blanche pointed to the aurors in front of her, the back of the courtesan’s neck grew in a cold sweat.

“I–I do not understand Madame Blanche. I didn’t do anything wrong! The man asked– and I swore that was the last of it, I told him what he wanted to hear.” The girl's pleading cries fell on deaf ears as the aurors could not understand what she was crying about. Theseus' eyes darted between Madame Blanche and the girl’s tear-stricken face. While Torquil Travers stood to show his authority, ready to apprehend the girl.

Within just a few seconds, Madame Blanche had already seen the inner linings of the girl’s mind. The fear registered in her thoughts while she traversed doors upon doors to look for the memories of the missing delegate, and right there she found what she was seeking.

In just a few quick strides, Madame Blanche towered over the girl with a look of disdain painted on her red lips. The old mistress, jaw held tightly as she wiped the tears of the girl. Only to hold the young girl’s face tightly, her long nails pierced through the delicate skin while she stared straight down into the young woman’s eyes with an intense look, unblinking. 

“You may leave, pack your bags, and look for work elsewhere. I do not take it kindly to those willing to open their mouths willingly to my secrets. Bernadette, escort her out of here. I have found what I’m looking for.” 

The girl refused as the house elf dragged the wailing girl back to the elevator, screams of ‘no’ echoed through the walls. 

Travers, who was far too confused, shouted for the house elf to stop as the girl was a key witness. Even pointed his wand threateningly at the old mistress, ready to cast a stunning spell within the tips of his lips. The madame disarms him with a flick of her wand, his wand went flying right off his grasp and cluttered on the hardwood floor. Madame shook her head no when the auror Travers tried to pick it up. 

“You’re a legilimens.” Theseus muttered; Madame Blanche turned around to face the man giving them a tight-lipped smile and nodded. 

“Would you like to view the girl’s memory and be done with it? I need to run my business after all.” Offering to perform legilimency to project the memories to the aurors, they declined. They knew not to, after all, they too have secrets that protect their ministry. 

“We decline. We, Aurors value our minds and do not open them so willingly.” Travers stated, still apprehensive of Madame Blanche. “But the girl needs to be questioned, we have to have her testimonials as to Moore’s disappearance.”

“Then you must trust my word because I too have my secrets to keep. That girl didn’t kill or cause his disappearance. He came in here one night, to question about the catalog of my courtesans and that was it–”

Cutting off the handler of the brothel, Theseus insisted; “Charles Moore stated in his letters about a ‘bouquet de blanc’. I hope that might ring a bell, after browsing through your catalog in the lobby earlier. I couldn’t find traces of this list, is this a secret that you are hiding from the ministry?” 

Madame Blanche’s eyes narrowed at the young auror; her piercing ice-blue eyes almost looked like they could kill.

“No, of course not. My bouquet de blanc is the Amour Délicat trade secrets. I could not easily say it out loud for fear of our competitors copying what I built from the ground up. If you would like to browse that catalog, then let me— although I must say, we do not easily offer our services freely.” Walking towards a dark oak cabinet grabbing a large book with golden linings. Placing right back at the table, Madame Blanche flipped through the pages with images of different courtesans, and right on its last page was a picture of you. 

“I believe she is the one he is asking for.” She pointed with a manicured finger, right before your name was a title given to you. 

Queen of the Night; Night-blooming Cereus

You were smiling, looking right at the onlooker like it was destined. While others bashfully hid their eyes, sultry looking to get admirers, you didn’t need to do that. You had your charm, something that allures the onlookers to choose you. Madame Blanche tried to flip the page to show them another photograph of you leaving nothing to the imagination to the spectator, but Theseus stopped her.

“I think that is enough, could you summon her to talk to us.” Theseus declared with a cough, standing up to close the book and stepping right in front of Travers' line of sight. “Please.”

Madame Blanche smiled, this time it was far different. “I believe your permit only limited you to talk to one of the key witnesses… And since Mr. Moore was not a benefactor of bouquet de blanc, I know because I am the only bookkeeper of that catalog… you must pay a hefty price.”

Now, the Aurors were stuck in the beginning, only pieces of blocked paths. If Charles Moore was not on the list of high-ranking patrons, then they could only comply with the demands of the authority and right now it wasn’t them who was holding the winning cards. When Travers' authority gets threatened, he scoffs, ready to drag Theseus out of the old woman. Madame Blanche truly was a businesswoman, she played them a fool. Whether they get out of the establishment empty-handed, or with empty wallets was their choice. They could simply not arrest the old woman, this was out of their jurisdiction, they were out of their element and far from their own country, and they simply couldn’t do whatever they wanted. 

“Either you pay full price, or you will tell me why such a simple assistant is being hunted down by the best Aurors of the British Ministry. Pick your price.” She sat arms folded right in front of her face, holding her chin while she grinned at the standing men.

Within a minute of no one budging, Travers' patience wavered. With a deep sigh, he faltered. With one last glance at Theseus, he held his head low. 

“Charles Moore stole 4,000 galleons. We believe that he tried to buy her indenture and convince her to come to London with him.” Travers confessed. That was the half-truth, Theseus’ senior took out the part that it was from the subsidy for international affairs. And the way he stole it was undetected like he had some insiders to help him, they were now battling an unseen threat. They only noticed it was missing after 3 months, when Theseus looked at the accounts and noticed that something was awry.

Madame Blanche started laughing, “He believes he can buy off her indenture for 4,000 galleons. Oh, what a joke! That’ll only cost him half an hour at most”

When Madame Blanche stopped laughing, she pointed back to the lift doors. “Head to the floor below. I’ll tell her I sent you.” The aurors nodded and headed to leave only to be held when the Madame halted them to stop.

“You endanger my investment; I’d rather you stay here than be near one of my priceless courtesans.” She stated, pointing at the older auror. Theseus can see his senior jaw tightened, and the veins on his neck grew red in anger. Not only was the older auror disarmed, but he was also being held under surveillance in fear that he might endanger you, now his patience and authority wavered on thin ice, and his eyes clouded with anger.

“I’ll talk to her and I’ll find what we need.” Theseus whispered as soon as he stepped foot in the lift. The doors closed slowly; he saw Madame Blanche’s eyes watching the other auror like a hawk. 

When the doors for the lift opened, what greeted him was a vast hall painted like the night sky. With a slight shift of his eyes, he can see the tiny freckles of stars that decorated a lone white door. Unlike the outside of the establishment, this seemed out of place with the flower motifs of Amour Délicat. Here he can feel the cold breeze of the winter night. Knocking on the white door, he called out to the name he had seen written on the catalog. 

You who had been preoccupied with your thoughts; wishing to know the feeling of stepping out of your body, floating, freely, like the ghosts that linger down the dark alleys. Right outside the window, the streets erupted in cheers as they all greeted each other another happy new year. Drinking down the champagne that was given to you by a patron, noting a taste of toast and coffee and a subtle spice drowning out all your other senses. When the fireworks ended, you lay there looking at the skylight as the only glow of the light left was the moonlight.

A subtle knock started you as you let Bernadette waltz her way in. Her company and the cup of tea are greatly appreciated when your water has now gone cold. But instead of the house elf, what replaced her was someone far taller than her; there he stood only the silhouette of his slender frame seen. 

Theseus didn’t expect what he saw, a lone woman basking in the golden tub, a melancholy look written in her eyes.

Sad. You looked sad. 

The only sound that could be heard was the faint hum of the gramophone across the room and the muffled cheers that erupted right behind the glass windows. With the faint sparkle of light, you saw a slight frown on his face. Realizing your predicament, you went back to wearing the mask when you were at work.

“Would you like me to keep you company?” You asked, turning around delicately, careful not to show another ounce of skin. Tilting your head to one side and smiling at him, the same one he has seen in the photograph earlier.

When Theseus realized what you were implying, he held his hand and shook his head, showing you a metal badge indicating the words ‘auror’. You had a fair share of French aurors that came to you for a night, often playing the role of the captive and captor. What a lack of imagination, if this is the role he wants to play then so be it.

“You would like to play that role? I, the convict, and you the detainer. Would you like that darling?” You asked, ready to approach him when he realized what was happening, he turned around not to face your naked form. The tips of his ears went red in embarrassment. 

“I didn’t come here for your service; I was sent here by Madame Blanche to question you. My name is Theseus Scamander, I was sent by the British Ministry of Magic.” He announced. 

Ahh… A British Auror. You hummed and stood to grab the white robe and placed it on your body. Hearing the sound of faint footsteps, Theseus waited until you gave him a signal. 

“I see… talk I don’t have all night to entertain you.” This time you put your weight and one foot, crossing your arms across your chest. Your hand laid steady on your wand.

Turning around, you pointed toward the chair that sat across from you, and he agreed to your request. As soon as he did, you went and grabbed the champagne you had been drinking earlier and procured another glass to pour him one. Placing it next to him, you stood in front of him and drank yours, waiting as he did too. Theseus eyed it suspiciously, but you continued to drink it on your own accord.

“A gift… something lighter than the fire whiskey.” You replied as you down the glass in one gulp. He nodded and carefully took a sip of his. You sat in front of him and grabbed the bottle to pour more down into your glass.

When he exhaled in satisfaction, you knew it tasted amazing. Theseus knew what you were doing, trying to lower his guard, not sitting to show you were in control, and intoxicating him to vulnerability. Yet, he remained calm, showing no signs of threat to you. If Madame Blanche was a legilimens, there was a high chance you were too, all he needed to do was throw you off his scent.

And just like he had predicted, right at the moment you tried to pry his mind. A knot on your brow formed when you stared intently at him.

‘You looked sad.’ Those were the thoughts that circled his mind, like a mantra. You can feel it. Feel him. It made you nauseous, the bile in your throat rose as his thoughts engraved into yours. No one had looked at you and thought you were sad; it was always beautiful. Sadness and you were never to be put in a sentence, and when his thoughts did it terrified you. 

To be seen broken makes you fear. To be seen feeling sadness made the feeling of being stripped naked for the whole world to see. All your life, you had built these walls that made you stand on your own two feet. The ache in your mind becomes unbearable, you weren’t beautiful… underneath all the expensive clothes, and pearls that glittered your skin— you are crooked, battered with bruises, wrecked by time, your skin filthy with sin, you were a tragedy… a rotten work.

“Stop.” With gritted teeth, you fail to look at his eyes and his mind. A slip of the tongue made you realize what you had said out loud, that was all Theseus needed to know that you too are a legilimens. “State your purposes.”

Right in the pockets of his coat was the photograph of Charles Moore, he carefully placed it on the table in front of him waiting for you to pick it up.

“Do you recognize him?” He placed the picture within your line of sight. Pausing he tried to scope for your reaction. “It’s Charles Moore, an assistant delegate of the British Department of the International Confederation of Wizards.”

“He has been missing for months and the last contact we had from him was a letter to his sister, trying to have an audience with you.” 

Your eyes examined Moore’s photograph. And minutes passed your silence almost became too heavy to Theseus's dislike, but he needed to thread your waters carefully, you were already agitated for unknown reasons.

“I believe I do not know who this person is.” You smiled and stared at Theseus, the first time you met his eyes after your outburst earlier.

He pointed out another slip of your strong facade right at its mark. “Yet you do not deny that you do recognize him.” 

“Maybe I do… Maybe I don’t. It is possible he is one of my long lists of admirers, doesn’t erase the fact that I do not know him at all.” 

“I highly doubt that. You’re a legilimens, and I am not; that is true. I need to know if you have met with him once, and if you are proven to be telling the truth then I would leave this room. But I can tell you’re lying. Skilled legilimens can procure memories into another person, and all I needed was the time and date, any people that were trailing him. Your truth is all I need.” He proposes.

“Or would you rather we do this the hard way? The choice is yours.” He leaned forward as his head rested on his knuckles.

“You give me the illusion of free choice when all you want is to pry my mind. Is there something you are not saying, Mister Scamander? Tell me the truth, what is in it for you? What would you get to look into the inner workings of my mind? You expect me to believe that you honestly want nothing else? Just my memory? I hardly doubt that.” Challenging his proposition, you leaned forward as your palms hit the glass table harshly with a loud slap, not before rebutting his claims. “Surely it could not be just you are looking for a testament, you wouldn’t work hard on that, all you needed is a vial of the strongest veritaserum and it would be done. Then why are you pushing hard to look into my mind?”

“You play a cruel game of trust.” He sighed, making you scoff. “Mr. Moore had said in his letters about how he will get the currency to meet you, his means to getting it is unsaid. And that was a clear sign that he needed someone to work with him to get that from a subsidiary of international affairs, you are simply a madman to be able to work alone. And all I need is— you. All I need is you.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion. 

“I need you to work with me. You knew better than just mere rumors, you knew everyone and could see their thoughts.”

Working with the British Ministry, consider it treason. Yet, you never were loyal to this land. Your loyalty lies elsewhere, it stays to those who have given you a sense of protection. Your loyalty is within Madame Blanche’s hands. Hands that remained choking you to stay. 

Still, you let Mr. Scamander entertain you with his words.

“It would have to take you a valuable price, Mr. Scamander. I am an expensive woman, yet, I am considerate. Give me leverage and I will give you what you want.” That’s when he stopped and stared at the photo, avoiding any eye contact. “What could you possibly offer Mr. Scamander, tell me.”

You grinned as you took a sip at the champagne, just like a war, both of you had been disarming and hurting each other for the kill. Breaking down every barrier with a small slip-up of each other, both of you were professionals at your trades. He is an Auror, he knows how to spot lies and negotiate, give you the feeling of support to make you break down your armor. Meanwhile, you pride yourself on being a great liar, you know what to say to appear compliant, and you know how to adapt and play the games to your tide. Every word and sentence uttered until one of you would lose the battle of wits, one slip and the fallen would crash and burn.

Leaning back you gave him a smile, your wand procuring a cigarette that lay on the table. Placing it gently on your lips, the tip of your wand lit up a flame. With a deep inhale, you knew you were already winning the battle. You didn’t need to look into his mind, to know that he was fighting a losing war. His occlumency was far useless when the knot on his forehead and the jaunt of his chin told you he was conflicted.

“I have been offered riches that could fill De Nile, clothes that were woven from the rarest of silks, jewels that shone brighter than the sun, houses that housed thousands of rooms, paintings of the most beautiful landscapes, songs and sonnets about my beauty, the most exotics of creatures that lay hidden within the government’s grasp… Pray tell, what could a simple auror like you have that can overthrow all those proposals?”

He was silent, expression never changing. And no matter how hard you try to pry to look into his mind, it remains still like he is right in front of you. 

“Safety.” Your smile faltered. “I offer you safety.” 

You blinked and blinked. Trying hard not to show that your jaw was slack in silence; the timeliness of the gramophone hitting its ending notes was fitting. His words lay heavy on your mind.

Amour Délicat had always offered you protection, but never safety. Safety was a word often associated with emotional aspects that were never visible in your job, safety offered you the sense of never needing to keep your secrets in this line of work or needing not to utter a word that would be your downfall in these walls. Protection kept you free and sheltered from physical aspects and threats, like the two guards that trailed you whenever you needed to do outside work, or the walls that shielded you from the rain. Safety is a foreign word, way too foreign that it burns you with curiosity. A thrill you never experience on a silver platter. It gives you hope— and hope gives you greed. A greet that surpasses all material things known to man. You want to take it all, consume your being until all is left is the safety that you wanted, the safety of being able to walk free, to run away, the security of not needing to know that this is the place where you would meet your demise. 

You knew how Madame Blanche worked, she took pride in knowing secrets and that is her leverage. And right now Madama Blanche would be none the wiser when you will take his deal. And there is one thing in the world that the Madame hated, and it is to not know anything at all. 

“Give me your hand.”

“What?” 

You held your hand to him and stood up, apprehensive he stood up as well taking your hand in his. Looking up into his eyes, you called upon the house elf. Bernadette immediately appeared right beside you.

“Don’t promise me empty words.”

“I won’t.”

“Then you wouldn’t mind if we made an unbreakable vow.”

Your hold on his palm tightens, only to travel into his wrist. Without breaking eye contact you give him a minute to decide what his choice would be. Does he trust you enough to do it at the expense of his life, or would he rather fear being the one to dictate his actions?

His palm pressed tightly into your wrists, not like the rough hands that occupied your wrists hours ago, his hold was gentle, not imposing. Nodding at Bernadette, a thin tongue of flame issued at the tips of the house elf's fingertips and wound its way around both your and Theseus’ hands. It felt like a burning wire, keeping your skin aflame.

“Will you, Theseus Scamander, promise to provide my safety, as he and I work together?”

“I will.”

“Will you, abide by our oath, to only tell the truth to me?”

“I will.”

a/n: dialogue that is formatted like this “dialogue” is in French. i tried hard to make it one-shot i really did, buT I SIMPLY CANT SO HERE I GIVE YOU WORLD BUILDING AND MORE LORE UPON LORE ON THIS FIC.

#theseus scamander #theseus scamander x reader #theseus scamander x y/n #theseus scamander imagine #theseus scamander oneshot #theseus scamander fic #theseus scamander smut #theseus scamander x you #fantastic beasts fic #fantastic beasts imagine #fantastic beasts one shot #callum turner

[yoshida-chiyo]

Enhypen reaction when fans start a dating rumour between you and another idol

pairing: bf!enhypen x fem!reader

genre: fluff, humor

disclaimer: No images or GIFs used in this post belong to me. All credits to respective creators. Contact for credit/removal. Your work is valued.

𖠗 이희승 | Lee Heeseung:

catches you browsing TikTok with another idol and dramatically throws himself onto the couch 😩

sends you a giant "NO" emoji when he sees fan comments suggesting you have a secret handshake with the other idol

insists on being your personal TikTok coach to upstage the other idol's dance moves ���

𖠗 박종성 | Park Jongseong:

gives you a suspicious look when you mention you and the other idol practiced your lines together, imagining an intense script showdown

threatens to start a fan club for your pet just to distract fans from the dating rumors 😡

develops an over-the-top, imaginary rivalry with the other idol, complete with imaginary wrestling matches

𖠗 심재윤 | Sim Jaeyun:

sends you a selfie with a cardboard cutout of himself and the other idol, captioned "Three's a crowd."

organizes a protest with other Enhypen members, waving signs that say "Justice for Solo Shirt-Wearers!"

seriously considers hiring a fake Dispatch photographer for a surprise expose on your next date 😇

he's so cute in this GIF i wanna cry (⋟﹏⋞)

𖠗 박성훈 | Park Sunghoon:

reacts to fan comments suggesting you and the other idol have matching hairstyles by considering a drastic, ridiculous hair change

suddenly declares himself the president of the "I'm Dating Myself" fan club to throw off dating rumors 😓

proposes a joint reality show with the other idol titled "Love Triangle in the Spotlight," complete with cheesy theme music 😑

𖠗 김선우 | Kim Sunoo:

photoshops himself into all the pictures of you and the other idol, posting them with captions like "Third Wheel Level: Expert."

starts a rumor that he has a secret twin who is dating the other idol, just for the sake of confusion

creates a PowerPoint presentation proving that you and the other idol are actually long-lost siblings separated at birth 😊

𖠗 양정원 | Yang Jungwon:

stages an elaborate "coincidental" meeting with you and the other idol at a convenience store, pretending it's a random encounter

tweets a series of melodramatic poems about the tragic love triangle, complete with overly dramatic readings on V Live 🤧

considers writing a fanfiction where he, you, and the other idol embark on a quest to find the legendary "Friendzone Crystal."

𖠗 西村力 | Nishimura Riki:

expresses his displeasure by creating an elaborate dance routine that symbolizes his emotional turmoil 😣

designs custom t-shirts with slogans like "I'm Just Here for the Snacks" to divert attention away from the dating rumors

convinces Enhypen members to start a viral hashtag campaign like #RikiDeservesBetter, making fans question their shipping choices

Copyright © yukimura-chiyo - All Rights Reserved

Note: Please refrain from reposting my work. If you appreciate it and would like to share, kindly link directly to the original post. Thank you for respecting the effort and creativity put into this content.

ty @666booklover

#enhypen reactions #enhypen x reader #enhypen imagines #enhypen fic #enhypen fluff #enhypen members #enhypen fake texts #jungwon x reader #lee heesung x reader #park sunghoon x reader #park jongseong x reader #jay x reader #sunoo x reader #sunghoon x reader #riki nishimura x reader #sim jake x reader #jake x reader #kim sunoo x reader #yang jungwon x reader #sim jaeyun x reader #enhypen niki #enhypen heeseung #enhypen jay #enhypen jake #enhypen sunghoon #enhypen sunoo #enhypen jungwon #enhypen #trending #viral

[small-sinclair]

Musical Muse

Vincent Sinclair x reader

House of Wax Slasher band!au

Tw: Vincent was in a fire (he’s okay), some hints at sex but nothing graphic described, let me know if I missed anything!

A gift for @im-his-druidess and au by @arkunder

It was Vincent’s first night home for a 7-month-tour around North America. Late night FaceTime calls, texts messages, postcards, poems— it was good to see him home. The penciled in a two-week break for Lester’s doctor appointments and for a mental break. It was good to rest and sleep in for a moment. All three of them needed to recover from the accident—

He takes a deep breath and let it out slowly. He won’t dwell on it. Not now at least. Lester is safe and Bo’s hands were healing. That’s all that matters now.

Vincent tried to be quiet when he entered. He hung his base on the hook and stopped to look at the photos of you both. One of you two in the studio, another in a band shirt, and a lovely one of you and him at the alter, saying your vows.

As soon as he heard your footsteps flying down the steps, he felt his heart pull. “You’re home!” You shouted smiling, leaping up.

He threw his duffel bag on the floor in the doorway just in time to catch you. He spun you around in the air, smiling under his half wooden-plated mask. He blushes as your kisses littered his half-shown face.

“I missed you!” You yelled, giggling as he lowered you back to the floor. He rests his forehead against yours and held your hips just memorize you once more. “I really missed you, Vincent.” You lift your hands and hold his face. “You were gone forever.”

He nods in agreement. He didn’t want to sign anything, not just yet. Vincent didn’t want this moment to be over. Having you back made his unwritten melodies complete and he could hear notes play as he takes you in. You are his muse for most songs after all.

He took your hand and guided it to his mask, gesturing to you to take it off. Your feather-like hands took off his mask slowly and he closed his eyes, shivering at the cool air. His mask hung in your hand, and you smiled when you saw his face. He’s just as beautiful as the day he left you. Your free hand held his scarred cheek, his head leaning into your touch, while your eyes tracing every bit of him. He leaned down and kissed your forehead, your hand, then ending with your lips. He pulled away before holding you close to deepen his kiss.

He has time to make up. Seven whole months without your touch, your embrace… he is a sinner. Your sinner. His deity. He has to find forgiveness.

With ease, he lifts you up, carries you with his arms under your legs, and heads for the bedroom down the hall.

~~~~~~

As you slept on his chest, Vincent held up his song book, writing silently, as a watched eye on you. Your shoulders were bruised with his love and affection like his. He only wanted to be closer to you and more. What praise can he give but love for you?

A song will do.

A song just for you so others can sing praises of you, be followers of you, but none will ever be as faithful and loyal as him.

He hummed the chorus one more time before closing his book just in time for you to wake up. He sat his book aside and laid flat on his back. You nuzzled into his neck and left a small kiss over his adam’s apple. A relaxed sigh escaped his throat as he threw his head to the side.

“Did you miss me?”

He nods, tracing his answer in your skin, ‘Yes.’

“Bed was too cold while you were gone,” you noted, his thumb gently making circles in your back. “But sleeping in your shirt’s comforted me.” You drew a heart in the center of his chest. “I took care of the plants, too. The cactus gave birth so there’s baby cactuses. Guess that makes us grandparents or something.”

He smirks and chuckles.

Silence was warm and comfortable between you two. The soft thumping of his heartbeat made house feel like home again. “…I really missed you,” you murmured. You felt Vincent’s lips in your hair as he pulled you closer to him. In a way, that was him showing that he’s here and you’re safe. “For a while, I went crazy thinking you weren’t coming home. I saw the fire at that wax museum you and your brothers were playing, the wax falling Lester’s back, and they got a video of your mask melting…” your voice trailed as he stiffened at the memory.

If the silence is too loud, he can still hear his baby brother’s voice screaming in pain and agony. Bo and he made dirt out of the inferno, but Lester was trapped, scared and alone. He remember he took off his mask before running back on Bo’s heels; his mask felt too heavy to wear that night. He still sees how bright the orange and yellow flames were as Bo moved wood and metal off his back. He ended up burning some spots on his hands but he doesn’t care. He was just as desperate as Vincent to get their brother out. Each twin took an arm and raced out with him before the museum’s gas could explode. Bo and he cradled their brother then paramedics rushed to his side and took him to the hospital.

He remembered how the world of heavy rock and metal was quiet for the night.

That’s why Bo canceled two weeks of interviews that night, 16 days ago, so they can recover from everything.

He gripped your body tighter and held you closer. You figured he must’ve been scared because he didn’t give you room to wiggle or move. Your hands held his arms and closed your eyes. “I’m happy you’re okay and safe. I’m happy and thankful.”

Vincent made a soft noise, agreeing with you.

“Just want to stay like this and cuddle,” you said, not asking. Luckily he nods in agreement, lifting the blanket up higher over your shoulders.

He didn’t want anything else but this. Vincent wanted you in his arms, in his heart, engraved into his mind. He’ll finish the song and draw a picture of you to put up in the bus. For now, he’ll focus on you and the reality of this feeling.

The sunset over the town like a dream.

#vincent sinclair #vincent sinclair fanfiction #house of wax #house of wax 2005 #house of wax (2005) #house of wax fanfiction #house of wax fanfic #vincent sinclair imagine #vincent sinclair x reader #vinny sinclair #vincent sinclair house of wax #vincent x reader #vincent sinclair x y/n #vincent sinclair x you #vincent sinclair headcanon #sinclair band!au #slasherbland! headcaons #slasher band!au #slasher band au #house of wax imagine #house of wax imagines

[aaknopf]

In the prologue to Spectral Evidence, Pulitzer winner Gregory Pardlo’s new collection, he writes, “This book is about the legal means by which fear is used to rationalize the persecution of people imagined to be in league with the possessed of supernatural forces. This book argues that the logic used to rationalize the prosecution of witches is the same logic that rationalizes vigilantism and police street justice.” He goes on to consider that both Black men and white women are “similarly pressed into service as both muse and monster in the Western cultural imagination,” while, at their ghostly intersection, the patriarchy is haunted by “the omnipresent but rarely named” Black woman. 

One iconic example, brought forth in these shimmering poems of the self as shaped by (and shaping) American history, is Tituba, the only woman of color to be accused in the Salem witch trials.

Occult

Zero your scales to the burden of a lash, Dear Justice, but let Tituba clumsy the Magistrates’ minds with a wag of her wizened index. A flight risk near forests of the Wampanoag where Christians savaged Queen Weetamoo’s corpse, what else might Tituba, nonwhite and woman, haunt but a margin of error? She’s a catbird’s song trapped in the chimney. She’s egg whites in water, she is the tumescence of smoke. Dear Mami Wata, let Tituba prove to be the stone that splits the stream of their vision. Let her renounce sight and be unseen. Let her cough ground coral in the shedding of a pewter moon, that she, of all the innocents, should live. Dear Three-headed Hecate, replace her, the unthought thought, with wax, twigs, horse hair and straw. Let her not appear as a witness. Nor as evidence. As with the talking dog, let her be the hoodoo that speaks through their mirrors. Let a hang-thread skein of yarn ghost the floorboards tempting a red cat—his familiars, the devil and his counsel, the canary. Let her conjure the man in black they fear who charms pilgrims on the road to paradise, disguised as a harmless birdwatcher. Dear Nemesis, let her feed the court a few names from his register—a taste of her truth, her mise en abyme, her one hell that calls forth another. With no standing on her own behalf, let her sit in judgment. Let this power invested of gavel and oath help her give birth through her mouth like a god.

More on this book and author:

Learn more about Spectral Evidence by Gregory Pardlo.

Browse other books by Gregory Pardlo and follow him on Twitter @pardlo.

Click here for a special NYPL recording of Imani Perry and Gregory Pardlo in conversation about Spectral Evidence. 

Visit our Tumblr to peruse poems, audio recordings, and broadsides in the Knopf poem-a-day series.

To share the poem-a-day experience with friends, pass along this link.

#poetry #knopf #poem-a-day #knopf poetry #national poetry month #poetry month #knopfpoetry #poem #Pardloaudio #Gregory Pardlo #spectral evidence #occult

[feral-ballad]

Forugh Farrokhzad, tr. by Hasan Javadi & Susan Sallée, from Another Birth: Selected Poems of Forugh Farrokhzad; "Let us believe in the beginning of a cold season"

[Text ID: "After you, we who were each other's killer"]

#forugh farrokhzad #love #sadness #pain #memory #remembering #rememberance #longing #excerpts #writings #literature #poetry #fragments #selections #words #quotes #poetry collection #typography #poetry in translation

[gatheringbones]

[“Pop culture tells us that a real woman knows how to use her body to get what she wants, wielding the power of attraction, seducing with her animal magnetism. But I ask, how much power is there in being a carrot on a stick that is dangled in front of someone? And I can’t help but notice that when men try to flatter us, they often use words like “enchanting” and “mysterious.” But to me, those words seem like a subconscious attempt by them to place some distance between us.

So it bothers me when I hear women buy into a similar mysticism, as they try to empower us by proclaiming that we are magical, that we are mother earth with the ability to give birth, bearing life cycles that follow the moon like the tides of the ocean. But don’t they see the danger in buying into the idea that we are supernatural beings? For if we call ourselves “goddesses,” then there is no need for anyone to treat us like human beings.

I believe that this is where second-wave feminism came to a grinding halt: When we got caught up in the myth that women are special because of our biology. Because when we take pride in how fundamentally different we are from men, we unknowingly engage in a dangerous game of opposites. For if men are big, then women must be small. And if men are strong, then women must be soft. And it becomes impossible to write a loud and proud poem about what it means to be a woman without either ridiculing men or else pulling the rug out from under ourselves. And being a woman is contradiction enough without being both a transsexual and a dyke like myself.

I often feel like the monkey in the middle: On one side of me are older lesbians who insist that I am still a man, as if being born male was some awful disease that has infected my blood and my bones permanently. On the other side of me are younger dykes who are infatuated with trans men and tranny bois, yet secretly confess to friends that they are disturbed by trans women because we act so “effeminate.” I wonder how they can be so oblivious to their own arrogance, for anyone who admires trans men but dismisses trans women is simply practicing another form of sexism. I used to think it was a contradiction that some dykes abhorred me for my masculinity while others hated me for my femininity, until I realized that being a woman means that everyone has a stake in seeing what they want to see in me.”]

julia serano, from excluded: making feminist and queer movements more inclusive, 2013

#julia serano #bi literature #trans literature #gender stuff #currently reading

[sukunasbabygirl]

What do you think are Yuuji and Sukuna’s greatest personality strengths and weaknesses? Why? What do you love about their dynamic?

A little bit of a late reply because it took me a while to gather and organise my thoughts which I have many of! I love talking about Yuji and Sukuna, especially the two of them together, and even moreso with the fact their strengths and weaknesses are so intertwined, which makes sense, considering they’re foil characters.

In regards to personality, I’ve spoken a lot about Sukuna’s end of things, and his flawed hedonistic mindset. The idea of change is something he cannot accept, and he, as the supposed pinnacle of Jujutsu, represents the old ways - the past - and Jujutsu Sorcerers in the past notoriously rejected their humanity to be stronger, as though some twisted form of enlightenment. Sukuna is an extreme of this, the most inhuman looking of all.

His strengths I think mostly lie in his thoughtfulness and consideration, the way he’s always planning and analysing the situation, never mindlessly swinging. He’s very good at measuring his opponents skill, rarely underestimating anyone (this is what makes his treatment of Yuji ever the more interesting). However, this thoughtful mindset is often held back by his rejection of humanity and change, and I don’t think that’s something he realises at all. His view on life is narrowed, he believes that humans live for pleasure and seek to avoid pain (hedonism), and he makes no room for any other belief. Anything that challenges his mindset is a threat to him (Yuji), and he’s so deep in this way or thinking that he just can’t comprehend that fact. His rejection of humanity is what supposedly makes him strong, yet it is also his greatest weakness - how ironic is that?

Then, there’s Yuji, his polar opposite. Yuji, who is unbreakable, who pushes through despite the suffering he’s undergone, who has such a strong sense of humanity and compassion, all these are his greatest strengths, though sometimes his compassion is also his downfall. The fact he also accepts change, and grows throughout every encounter, unlike Sukuna, is also another key strength. As a whole, Yuji is someone I’d call selfishly selfless, which sounds like a contradiction, but what I mean is he acts outwardly selfless on internally selfish principles. Truly, he wants to help people, he doesn’t want others to die horrible deaths, and he will act without reason if it means he can do that, life on the line and all. This is selfless. However, there’s always that selfish motivation, that desire to be known, to die surrounded by others, to have purpose. Yuji, despite how he seems, is a very lonely person, and it’s easy to forget this. He knows so many people, but very few truly know him, and he loses those that finally start to.

Yuji’s biggest flaw in my eyes stems from this loneliness, for a lonely person will often seek some kind of reason, of purpose, and will centre their life around this: Sukuna’s vessel, the only one who can save Megumi etc.

Yuji needs purpose, Sukuna needs no purpose: these are both flaws in context of their characters. I’m hoping this makes sense.

I think this Leads well into why I love their dynamic. They’re designed to complement each other, to be villain to the other’s hero. They are narratively cut from the same cloth: where one is the kind, the other is cruel, and where one is unbreakable, the other is fragile. You could say that neither could exist as they do now without the other, I mean, Yuji’s birth is connected with Sukuna somehow, and Sukuna could not have been incarnated without Yuji. They both drive the narrative because of this fact.

I think about that one Cain and Abel poem a lot in regards to them, I think it sums it up perfectly. “I want to kill him sometimes. I think sometimes he wants to die.” especially makes me think of them.

Apologies if this is messy, I’d usually try and structure something like this but I’m just passionately gushing here for the most part!

#asks #JJK #jjk spoilers #manga spoilers #Jujutsu kaisen #yuji itadori #itadori yuji #Sukuna #ryomen sukuna #they are so brothers to me in the WORST way

[aishabbbb]

The set up

I can't find the requesters comment so sorry TT Also sorry to the requester, I had exams all of last week so this is VERY late but I hope you enjoy

Gojo Satoru

What was there not to say about this man? He was the strongest sorcerer. The only person to have been born with six eyes in 100 years. How his birth changed the balance of Jujutsu society. But the only thing you can think of when you hear his name is how much of a dick he is.

He was your senior, being a grade above you. But being a senior doesn't give him any of your respect. Though you didn't have to see him as often since you were in seperate classes, whenever you would be forced to stay in the same room; it was war.

This man LOVED to make fun of everything you do. Do you have a weird walk? Mentions it in front of everyone. "Why do you always stomp, Y/N?" Make a tiny mistake pronouncing a word? "What the hell is Conmusion??" He makes fun of the way you fight in combat, uses his six eyes to see if you are lying in conversation and announces if you are in front of the person you are lying to.

He basically makes your life at school hell when he is around. But this goes both ways. You make fun of his pronounciation on words a lot more since he is prone to slurring his speech. You steal his belongings and spread them throughout the schools grounds(the school is HUGE) so he has to spend time searching for it. You make fun of his HORRIBLE posture and how he sits. "You know how Mothers say they are eating for two, well you sit for two Gojo with your big ass legs."

The worst thing you do is becoming Geto's biggest cheerleader. "Omg Get you are so strong!" "Wow Geto, I didn't know you were this intelligent!" "Geto, can you help me with this, since you're so good." This normally wouldn't bother him too much, but you ALWAYS compare him to his friend. "God, why can't you be more like Geto? He is so nice!" "Geto is WAAAY cooler than you." "Geto is so smart, I thought you would pick up on some of that smartness too since you're friends. But I guess not."

For all anyone knows, you two HATE eachother. But not Gojo.

________________________________________

He felt somwthing weird when he met you for the first time. At that time he didn't really seem to care about it, but throughout the next few months, that feeling just grew. What was it? He didn't have an answer and neither did you. He thought at first it was his hate for you. Whenever you entered the room, he felt it. When he heard of your name in conversation, he felt it. It came to him in his thoughts, dreams, and every picture he saw of you.

But if it was hate, why was he so mad when he saw you getting close to another person? When you hugged Haibara or Nanami. When he saw you being friendly with Geto. He felt anger grow. But not to you. To the other person. He wanted no one to be that close to you- at least any guy to be that close. He never felt jealous over how close you and Shoko are. So why was he this mad at the guys?

He didn't recognize these feelings until you forced him into watching this romance movie(You never asked him, you wanted to watch it with Haibara only but Gojo invited himself) called 10 things I hate about you(my favourite romcom) and this movie changed him. The poem made him realize what that feeling in him was.

It was love. He was in love with you.

"Oh god..." he sighs out as he comes to this realization. What kind of hole did he dig himself into? You HATED him with a burning passion, the same he thought he felt. But Gojo being him thought you might feel the same.

________________________________________

"I love you Y/N."

"What...?"

You two were having your daily banter session, when he decides to tell you his true feelings. He was confident that you loved him as well. I mean, who wouldn't?

"I said I love you? Are you deaf? Go out with me." He pratically demands. He put a finger flicked your forehead while leaning over you. He was grinning down at you.

"I'm not deaf!" You say, pushing him away. "And I will not go out with you."

"...what?" He barely says back. This makes you smile a little. "Are you deaf? I said I will NOT date you." You are now smirking.

Gojo looks at you with a look of suprise. No? With this expression, you decide to continue to patronize him "Listen, I know you are so used to getting whatever you want, but that will not happen here mister. I don't care if you are so strong or rich, none of that is enough to get me." You finished.

He couldn't say anything, so you end up just leaving him standing. ________________________________________

Something felt weird. After that day, you couldn't help but notice it. He was on you mind. All the time. At first, you thought it was because of his sudden confession; of course you'd think of that! But the thoughts just kept flooding in your mind. They never appeared until after he left on a mission with Shoko for 5 days. It was insufferable. Everything reminded you of him. You couldn't eat or sleep with a thought of him interupting it.

But why were you thinking so much of him? Did you miss him? You think to yourself that you can't be, but you know you are. Normally, any thought of him made you feel annoyed, but now you just feel sad and lonely. You truly missed him.

You wanted him to comeback quickly from whatever stupid mission Yaga had sent him on.

As you pranced in the courtyard doing nothing in particular, you saw from the corner of your eyes a familiar silhouette. Shoko Ieiri, your upperclassman and best friend. "Shoko!" You yelled hugging her. She moved back a little as she was startled, but she eventually returned the hug. "What's gotten into you girl?" She says through the cigarette in her mouth. "I missed you, that's all. You two have been away for almost a whole week! Am I not allowed to miss my friend?" You say teasingly.

"Anyways.....wheres Gojo? I thought you both came back today." You barely speak out. It was embarrassing to even think you were worried about that guy. Shoko had a strange look on her face before turning away completely so you couldn't look at her. "He's......in the infirmary." She states. 'Odd. Why would he been there?' you thought. Before you could ask anything else, she continued her sentence, "He got Injured." She says.

You couldn't believe what you heard. He got injured. THE Satoru Gojo. The strongest? Even though normally, you wouldn't believe it until you saw for yourself, plus why would shoko be here if he was injured, wouldn't she be helping heal him? But right now all of your logic was blocked out by a flood of emotions filling you with paranoia.

"H-how bad?" You barely whisper out. Shoko faced you, but looked away, morose looking towards the distance behind you. "Very badly." She said. Not turning her gaze she asked, "But that sounds like good news to you. Since you hate him, right?" She says in a sarcastic tone. She knew you liked him, before either of you guys realized it. She knew, and she was very annoyed right now to have to be egging you on to realize your own feelings. "No it's not! And I do not hate him...." You trailed off.

"I actually missed you guys. Both of you, but mostly him." Shoko looks you in the eyes. "Really?" she asked. You nodded shyly before continuing. "I feel sos stupid for rejecting him before. I should have just said yes! I am an idiot." Shoko looks over your shoulder and nods. "Yeah you are. Maybe you should tell this to Satoru when-" "I don't know why, but I can't stop thinking of him! He invades my thoughts when I am in class, training, and on missions.'' You weakly say. "That's nice an all but you should really save this for later when you see him." She attempts to shut you up, but you don't pick up on the hints. "God I even think of him when I am sleeping. He is sooo annoying!"

"Wouldn't you say I am the man of your dreams then?'' A smug voice calls from behind. You knew whose voice that was, but you still couldn't believe it. ''G-Gojo?'' You say, as you turn around to meet him. He was standing directly behind you, towering over you. Your faced heated up as embarrassment flooded your senses. This is why Shoko kept trying to stop you from continuing. "The one and only." He sweetly says, sticking his tongue out. You feel like fainting from embarrassment.

"How long have you been standing there?" You ask, trying to save your dying dignity. "The whole time." He killed the rest. "Hey it isn't eavesdropping if you speak loud in public." He chuckles. You felt the urge to punch him, but you stopped. Fuck him. "But I can't say I wouldn't have listened in even if it was in private." He smirked. Normally his dumb faces would fill you with irritation, but now it made you happpy and a little shy.

"Well I guess I'll accept your confess-"

"Sorry but no." He interuppted. You stare at him puzzled. "No....?" You quietly said. "No. All transactions are final and you already purchased a no." He said with a laugh. It felt almost cruel how he was so calm. You felt your eyes water up a bit as you turned to leave.

He grabbed your wrist. "Where are you going?" You looked at his sunglasses cover his eyes. "Why do you care? You already rejected me, so let me go in peace." You try to pull your hand away, but he's too strong for you to succed. "I never rejected you. I just won't be the one asking this time." He said pulling you closer to himself. You can't help but feel flustered by this action. "You can confess to me though." He leans over and whispers in your ear.

You couldn't tell if it was because you were so flustered or if you just wanted to get it over with, but you swallowed your pride and began to mentally prepare a confession. "I like you." You whisper. "What? I can't hear you." He says faking a confused face. You knew he heard you cause he was only a ruler away from your face. "I LIKE YOU! There can you leave me alone now?" At those words, he wrapped his arms around you and leaned you backwards. Instinctively, you straddled your arms around his neck to stop the fall. You wanted to day something to him, but before you could, you felt a pair of lips on your own. The kiss was short but felt dizzing and almost hypnotic. As quickly as the kiss started, it ended and he pulled away from you and let go of his grip on you.

"I accept your confession Y/N. But I can't accept your request to leave you alone since we are now dating." He winks at you. You wanted to respond but you felt so dizzy after his assault on your senses.

"Ewww get a room." You both looked back at Shoko who was standing there starting another cigarette. "You two have been talking for so long I finished my cigarette pack. "Ah Shoko don't worry I will keep my promise." "What promise?" You looked between the two. "You know, I'd buy her cigarettes for the next ten years if ahe lied to you about me being injured." When he said that It made you realize he was completely fine, no injuries. Sensing the building anger, Shoko quickly ran away while you turned to chase after her.

"Shoko you witch!!! You set me UP!!!!"

#gojo x reader #jjk fluff #jjk x reader #gojo satoru #gojo fluff #gojo x you #gojo fanfic #jjk gojo #satoru gojo

[slowtides]

Interviewer: Why do you write poetry, and what do you look for in poetry?

Forugh: First of all, this "why" does not go properly with poetry. I cannot explain why I write poetry. I think all those who are involved in creative work have as their motive or at least one of their motives, a sort of need to struggle with and stand in front of annihilation. These are individuals who love and understand life more, and likewise death. Creative work is a kind of struggle to maintain existence, or else to perpetuate "self" and negate the meaning of death. Sometimes I think it is right that death is one of the laws of nature, but it is only in the face of this law that man feels humiliated and small. This is one dilemma about which nothing can be done. One cannot even fight to eliminate it. There is no use; it must be. It is good, too. This is a general interpretation, which may also be foolish. But poetry for me is like a friend to whom, when I go, I can freely unburden my heart. It is a companion that completes me, satisfies me without disturbing me. Some people compensate for their shortcomings in life by taking refuge in other people. But nothing is ever compensated. If it was, wouldn't this relationship itself be the greatest poem of the world and of existence? The relationship between two people can never be perfect nor perfecting, especially in this age. But still, some people take refuge in these kinds of things. That is, they create and afterwards mingle with their own creation, so then they no longer have any shortcomings. Poetry for me is like a window that opens automatically whenever I go toward it. I sit there, look out, sing, shout, cry, merge with the image of the trees, and I know that on the other side of the window there is a space and someone hears me, someone who might live two hundred years hence or who lived three hundred years ago. It makes no difference--it is a means of connection with existence, with existence in its broader sense. The good thing about it is that when someone writes poetry, that person can say: "I too exist," or "I too have existed." How can one say, "I too exist" or "I too have existed" except through this form?

فروغ فرخزاد | Forugh Farrokhzad, from "An Interview with the Critic, Cyrus Tahbaz, and the Novelist-Playwright, Gholam-Hosein Sa'edi (Spring, 1964)," as published in Another Birth: Selected Poems of Forugh Farrokhzad (1981), tr. by Hasan Javadi and Susan Sallée

#Forugh Farrokhzad #فروغ فرخزاد #on poetry #on writing #creativity #quotations #readings #the artist's way

[ava-does-dumbassery]

Egyptian pharaoh names but I’ve turned them into ancient cat names

1. Tutankhbastet (Tutankhamun)

This is the most obvious name on this list because literally all I’ve done is change out the name of one god for another god. I’m not doing that for any of the others I promise.

King Tutankhamun is the one pharaoh everybody knows about, which is ironic since his birth name literally means “the living (ankh) image (tut) of the Hidden One (Amun).” (“Tut” can also be translated as “likeness” or “statue.”)

Amun was the Egyptian god of, uh… stuff (he’s hidden. His whole deal is that he’s hidden). Bastet was the Egyptian cat goddess. Sometimes she was portrayed as a lady with a cat head, but sometimes she was just a cat. If you switch Amun’s name out for Bastet’s, it becomes “the living (ankh) image (tut) of the Cat Goddess (Bastet).” Truly, a name that only the most dignified and elegant cats deserve.

Transliteration: twt-anx-bAstt

You could also say it “Tutankhbast” if you prefer.

2. Hatmiushepsyu (Hatshepsut)

Hatshepsut’s name means “the foremost (hat) of noblewomen (shepsut),” and it turned out to be really good name for her, since she became pharaoh and all. If you want to change it to “foremost of noble cats” it becomes Hat-miu-shepsyu, “miu” meaning “cats” and shepsyu meaning “noble.”

Transliteration: HAt-miww-Spsyw

3. Nedjestiti (Nefertiti)

I am aware that calling Nefertiti a pharaoh is controversial since there’s a chance that Neferneferuaten might have been her daughter and not her. But finding names of pharaohs that you can do this to and are also popular enough to be recognized is hard so shush.

Nefertiti was supposedly the most beautiful woman in the ancient world (although we can’t confirm that because Nefertiti and all the other ancient women are now dead). Her name fits this, because it means “the beautiful one (nefert) has come (iti).”

“Nedjes” is a word meaning “small,” so changing the name to Nedjest-iti makes it mean “the small one has come.”

This is a good name, because if your cat is bad then you can use it in a derogatory sense to call them a penniless little beggar. Unfortunately, it only really works for girl cats, because the masculine version is “Nedjesiu,” which loses the pun quite a bit.

Transliteration: nDst-ii.ti

4. Miumer (Narmer)

Narmer was the first pharaoh to rule over all of Egypt, and like other early pharaohs the only name used for himself was his Horus name instead of his throne name or birth name. (You know that TS Elliot poem about how cats have a bunch of different types of names? Pharaohs are like that too). Because Narmer was his Horus name, it was written inside an enclosure called a serekh instead of a cartouche.

The name itself means something like “striking (mer) catfish (nar)” or “fierce (mer) catfish (nar).” To change it to “striking cat” or “fierce cat,” you need to change nar to miu: Miu-mer. (Yeah the English translations of this one are stronger wordplay than the Egyptian versions, sorry.)

If your cat is a girl then the name should be Miutmer instead.

Transliteration: miw-mr

5. Bitokris (Netiqerti/“Nitokris”)

Queen Nitokris was either a cunning murderess, whose name lurks in the shadows of history… or she was a 3,000 year old transcription error. The only potential record we have of her name in hieroglyphs is the name of a pharaoh called “Netiqerti” on the Turin kings list. This could be Nitokris, or it could be a mistake made by a scribe while trying to copy the name of the name of another, completely different pharaoh.

If Netiqerti is Nitokris, then her name means “Neith (Net, a goddess) is excellent (iqerti).” Bit-iqerti/Bitokris would mean “honey (bit) is excellent (iqerti).”

Transliteration: bit-iqr.ti

#Ancient egypt #egyptology #ancient languages #This list ending up having more girl pharaohs than boy pharaohs on it which is neat (even if one of them probably wasn’t real) #A lot of the famous names of male pharaohs I first thought of using are things like ‘the justice of Ra is strong’ ‘Thoth is born’ #Or some other combination of god name + religious meaning #And just switching another god out for Bastet gets very repetitive so I was only willing to put one version of that on this list #And the king Tut one works the best because Tut and Bastet are both well known enough that some non-nerds will probably be able to get it #Also because ‘The living image of Bastet’ is just a great name for a cat #The Nitokris one also follows that format but I was able to think of something that wasn’t just another god without completely changing it #And I’m so proud of myself for thinking of that. Bitokris is a great name. #I put this list in order of which of the pharaohs on it are most well known. If it was in order of the best names Bitokris would be first #and Tutankhbastet would be second #Ava has thoughts #Id in alt #ancient egypt stuff #Long post

[uwmspeccoll]

The Ballad of the Brown Girl

The Ballad of the Brown Girl was Harlem Renaissance writer Countee Cullen's (1903-1946) first major poem, and this is the first edition of only 500 copies, published in New York and London by Harper & Brothers in 1927, with illustrations and page decorations by the unrelated Art Deco artist Charles Cullen (1887-?). Brown Girl is Countee Cullen's revision of a 17th-century English ballad based on a folk tale featuring two women with different color hair. Cullen's revision alters the descriptions to suggest they are of different races, establishing tensions between romance, segregation, and social hierarchy.

The white Charles Cullen grew up in Brooklyn and was living and working in Manhattan when he met the Black Countee Cullen around 1926 and illustrated four books for the writer: Copper Sun (1927), The Ballad of the Brown Girl (1927), an illustrated second edition of Color (1928), and The Black Christ and Other Poems (1929). It seems a significant coincidence that the two would share a last name, but the stars seem to have been aligned. For example, Countee Cullen's birth name was Countee LeRoy Porter and Charles Cullen was born in LeRoy, New York. Coincidence? We don't think so.

View another work by Countee Cullen.

View another book illustrated by Charles Cullen.

View other Black History Month posts.

#Black History Month #Countee Cullen #The Ballad of the Brown Girl #Harper & Brothers #Charles Cullen #poems #African Amerricans #African American writers #illustrated books #Art Deco

[delta-pavonis]

Drabble: Red Dress

Dreamling (vampire!Hob/AFAB trans!Dream AU) || Rated E || just under 1k words || complete

Alternate Universe - Magic, vampire!Hob, trans!Dream, AFAB Dream, established relationship, oral sex, cunnilingus, menstrual sex, graphic descriptions of blood, discussion of breeding, discussion of fertility, discussion of a trans man getting pregnant, kissing with menstrual blood on face and lips Read on AO3 or under the cut

NOTES: First, I was trying to figure out a title for this drabble and stumbled across the poem at the start. While I know that the title of the poem is "What Do Women Want?" and that clashes with AFAB trans Dream, I just loved the sentiment in the latter half of the poem so much that I needed to include it. Second, no, stopping one's menstruation via pharmaceutical means does NOT make the flow heavier. I made that up here for plot purposes.

I want that red dress bad. I want it to confirm your worst fears about me, to show you how little I care about you or anything except what I want. When I find it, I’ll pull that garment from its hanger like I’m choosing a body to carry me into this world, through the birth-cries and the love-cries too, and I’ll wear it like bones, like skin, it’ll be the goddamned dress they bury me in. from “What Do Women Want?” by Kim Addonizio

When Hob brings his head up from between Dream’s legs the image is a new definition of obscene. 

His face is smeared with fluids from his cheekbones down, everything from pearly delicate pinks to the deep sensual red of a rich cabernet sauvignon. It crosses the arch of his nose, just below where cartilage meets bone, and reaches almost back to his ears. Bits of his short beard clump together into red-black wet points and crimson drips from from the teeth of his open mouth to color his panting tongue scarlet and rose-pink. 

Hob’s eyes are so much darker than usual, burgundy irises glinting with the shine of a ruby. He smiles and licks his teeth, emphasizing the pointed canines, then also cleans his lips. “Exquisite,” he purrs.

Dream falls back into the pillows with a whimper, “Holy fuck.” He flings an arm over his face, even the meager light from the candles on the table beside the bed too much additional stimulus. “Hob, please.”

A couple gentle licks between Dream’s folds make him tremble before he gets a response. “Yes, dearest?” How such a creature can sound so innocent Dream will never understand.

He realizes that he doesn’t know what he is begging for, he just lets his legs fall a little more open with a plaintive whine.

Hob’s kisses leave a wet trail on the inside of his thighs. “Oh, I know, sweet thing. I know,” he practically coos. “Do you even know what it is like to come without my bite anymore?” He nips at Dream’s skin but not enough to come close to breaking it; Dream sobs in frustration. “It seems that I can get enough blood this way to manage an erection. You have used your magic to hold static your moonphase for so long that you are bleeding profusely. You have prepared your body for me perfectly, my sweet sorcerer. I will have no problem drilling your cunt into screaming submission.”

Dream moans at the thought. “Then why now? Why wait until now to ask me to stop taking my potions?” he gasps. It has been almost a year since Dream found the emaciated vampire chained up amongst the other ‘oddities’ in Burgess’ collection, freed him along with the others who he was actually there for. Matthew had declared him insane for even going near the vampire, Lucienne had decried his willingness to risk the safety of the Dreaming for a vampire could learn much by taking one’s lifeblood. 

But Dream had been captivated even then. The vampire’s dull, almost lifeless gaze, had called to him. Desire had written him off as enthralled. Perhaps he was.

Hob doesn’t answer immediately, sucks and licks until he has taken at least another three mouthfuls and Dream’s eyes have started to fill with tears in his frustration with the lack of consistent attention to his clit. “I was waiting for a special occasion.” He hums, kissing below Dream’s navel. “It has been a long recovery from my imprisonment. I had been damaged more than I was willing to tell even you, dear one.” 

That gets the sorcerer’s attention and he is up on his elbows so that he can look at Hob properly. “Hob?”

Hob doesn’t meet his eyes at first, too busy nuzzling into the lowest part of Dream’s abdomen, kissing it reverently, smearing bloody fluids there and then licking them up. When he looks up to Dream his eyes are dark pits of vicious hunger, fully black from one end to the other. “I am healed completely. Now. I can fill you,” he bites, harder but still not hard enough to break skin, “with my seed.”

“What?” Dream gasps, breathless. He cannot possibly mean…

“I would breed you,” Dream interrupts Hob with a high-pitched cry, “my sweet sorcerer. If you will it. You could carry our children. Not turned against their will, but born to the night.” He nuzzles Dream’s belly again. “And most likely daywalkers as well, given your magic. How powerful it is. How it reaches out for me.” 

Dream never thought… never in his wildest fantasies that it could… that he… “Fuck.”

Hob crawls up his lover’s body and looks down at him, expression fond. “Only if you wish it. But you would be resplendent,” he presses their stomachs together, “rounded with child.” He slides down and nuzzles the pectoral muscles modified with magic long ago. “And never would you need feel lacking for not coming into milk, for our children would take to blood without hesitation. Either yours… or mine.”

Oh God. An image of Hob, infant in his arms – their child in his arms – taking nourishment from his body, sustained by his body as much as Dream’s. It is surreal. It is fantastical. It is everything.

Dream pulls Hob up by his hair and kisses him, uncaring that he is tasting his own menstrual blood. A squeak of surprise catches in Hob’s throat, but it is only a moment before he groans and curls around Dream’s tongue with his own. 

“I don’t know,” Dream pants into Hob’s mouth, both their lips darkened with blood now, “if I am even still fertile.”

Hob smiles, which is most certainly not the reaction Dream expected. “Well, it will certainly be fun to find out.”

#blame the Mr Sadman server #they made me do it #Dreamling #trans Dream #vampire Hob #Pavonis writes

[but-thats-idiocy]

Crowley and Dionysus

I was reading Aleister Crowley's poem 'Dionysus' (the real A. Crowley) and I wanted to do some research on the god Dionysus. The similarities are interesting:

The snake was closely associated with Dionysus; one of his forms was a snake.

God of Wine

With the intervention of Zeus, Dionysus had to turn into a goat to save himself.

The name of Dionysus in Roman mythology is "Bacchus", the god of plant growth.

Dionysus rides a wild beast. The ancient Greeks believed the panther was one of the favored mounts of the god Dionysus, which emphasizes his wild, carefree nature.

In his other works, Aleister Crowley talks about the creation of Jesus of Nazareth through Dionysus. Dionysus came first, he is the "True Christ" and Jesus was derived from the corruption of myths. Both Jesus and Dionysus have stories associated with miraculous or divine births. Jesus turned water into wine, which is exactly what Dionysus does. Both figures are associated with miracles and transformations. Both Jesus and Dionysus have narratives involving suffering and death followed by some form of resurrection or return. Both figures are associated with the symbolism of sacrifice. Therefore, during the Second Coming, we might expect Dionysus to come forward. *wink*

Dionysus is called "twice-born"

Dionysus is the son of Zeus, a wielder of lightning.

Dionysus is the grandchild of the Titan Cronus. Since the Renaissance, Titan Cronus has been consciously identified with another character, Chronos, the primordial God of Time, due to the similarity in names. The fact that this identification became more widespread during the Renaissance gave rise to the iconography of 'Father Time,' aka. the bearded and winged Time deity, who carries an hourglass and a timekeeping device, similar to Crowley's watch.

Dionysus is known as an earth god who has the grace of a woman.

Ampelos, a pretty satyr boy, also the personification of the grapevine, is the lover of Dionysus…and he dies. We can ignore the last part eh.. It's a bad omen not a good one.

Excerpts from Aleister Crowley's poem Dionysus, decorated with cosmos and fire:

I bring ye wine from above, From the vats of the storied sun; For every one of yer love, And life for every one.

…

I kindle a flame like a torrent To rush from star to star; Your hair as a comet’s horrent, Ye shall see things as they are!

...

Your loves shall lap up slaughter, And dabbled with roses of blood Each desperate darling daughter Shall swim in the fervid flood.

…

My life is bitter and sterile, Its flame is a wandering star.

Ye shall pass in pleasure and peril Across the mystic bar That is set for wrath and weeping Against the children of earth;

But ye in singing and sleeping Shall pass in measure and mirth! I lift my wand and wave you Through hill to hill of delight :

… I lead you, lord of the maze, In the darkness free of the sun; In spite of the spite that is day’s We are wed, we are wild, we are one.

#good omens #good omens 2 #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale #meta #Aleister Crowley #ajb

[hwajin]

#!! - 𝐓𝐖𝐈𝐍 𝐅𝐋𝐀𝐌𝐄 — 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐧𝐞 ; ʙᴏʏ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ sᴛᴏʀᴇ

— 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞 : soulmate au, non idol au, angst (in this chapter)

— 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 : chan x fem!reader, hyunjin x fem!reader

— 𝐰𝐜 : 2.6k

— 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 : a nameless stranger, an urgent force that seemed to pull you towards him. and as wrong as it was he left you curious and wondering.

— 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 : I'M SO HYPED TO BE FINALLY POSTING THIS if it won't get any feedback i will cry so if you like this PLEASEEE please tell me!!! ENJOY READING <333

series masterlist | next chapter

You never much believed you'd be one to find real love, no matter how much you might be wishing, longing for it. Various of your playlists filled with songs about a certain someone, about this giddy and youthful feeling, your bookshelves stacked with writings and poems about the greatest feeling of them all. Your heart skipping a beat whenever a kiss appeared on the cinema screen before you, and lovers in public, whether holding hands or pecking, swelled up your chest, without you being the one loved. Because ironically, and much to your dismay, you alone felt like the odd one out. Spending Valentine’s Day alone year after year, barely knowing how it feels to have your lips on someone else's. Wondering if the books and songs talked about realness after all, or if everything you've thought to know about love was simply put, a delusion, not fit to be experienced outside of fiction and people's minds.

And still, your wish for that certain someone, your longing to feel the loving touch of a soulmate, of a passionate lover, never fully seemed to leave you, despite knowing it was naïve and childish thinking. And surely, it had to be too good to be true, altogether. The touch of a soulmate that was supposed to bound two people together – how did that work, anyway? It was an old myth you nothing but adored as a young teen, growing to despise it the older you got, and the more relationships happened to disappoint you. When you’ve thought you found your supposed twin flame – another person, whose soul was a part of your own and got separated from you at birth, only meant to reunite again by a simple touch – that same person ended up leaving a gash right to your heart, for you alone to heal and fix. So how could you possibly continue to believe, to hope? How were you supposed to not grow acceptance that maybe, just maybe, no one walking this planet had a designated someone, that each and every person simply had to love semi passionately, never as carelessly and freely as they did – pretended – in the arts? In books and movies and poems and songs?  

Strolling around the supermarket a couple streets down your block you didn’t look for anything in particular, only hunting for some snacks to accompany the movie night you had planned with Chan a little later in the day. From the get-go, you had to admit that you weren’t too hopeful in terms of your boyfriend’s availability, neither for tonight nor any other day you might have planned to spend together for the rest of the year. The last time you had an actual date, one where the two of you actually ate and talked together, actually ended up cuddling and making out back at home before fucking the whole night, seemingly unable to get enough of each other, of the closeness and intimacy, of the passion and love – that was ages ago, you could barely remember. Recalling, it must have been a birthday or anniversary, Valentine’s Day, maybe. Because under normal circumstances, on a usual and regular day, Chan barely ever had the time to go all in for a simple date. Which admittedly, you’ve been fine with at the very beginning of your relationship. You knew what you were going into, knew that he was a hardworking man, always busy, his future and career prioritised. And you admired him for it, for as long as you could remember – until you didn’t, almost out of the blue. Until suddenly the loneliness you felt due to his absence at nights became unbearable, leaving a cold hole next to you on the bed and right at your chest, and until his texts and phone calls got shorter and shorter, always promising for a later but never keeping word. You never blamed him, never painted him as the bad guy – you were two people with two packages filled to the brim with duties and jobs and problems that you carried around while trying to simply get by, and that alone was hard enough, you knew and understood. Yet, you couldn’t help but wonder if any of it was worth it, truly. You knew you loved Chan, maybe not the same you did when you first met but the adoration towards him was something you were sure of. There has been a time you'd called him your twin flame, even – he was the one partner you never doubted from the very first start, the one partner that seemingly fit to you like a puzzle piece, neat and even and perfect. You’ve surely never felt any initial spark, any indicator that he might have been your twin flame after all – no indicator that the myth held truth. But then again, you never much believed in that part of the saying after all – you weren’t supposed to feel sparks, sensations when touching another human’s body; that’s not how it worked biologically and that’s surely not the way to make out your ideal significant other. A myth remained nothing but a myth after all, and certain things were simply not bound to happen to people in everyday life.  

That time, the blooming and warm days when you had set your mind on Chan and the pure staunchness that he alone must be the right one, that you would spend your remaining days with him and only him were long gone though, and it got you thinking. It got you thinking because you’ve been oh so sure of Chan, so determined that he must be the one, until those feelings changed, which you’d never think possible. So, what if twin flames, you thought while grabbing a pack of Chan’s favourite chips and throwing them into your bag, ended up falling out of love as well, just like any other couple could? What if the old tale overlooked a crucial detail in its storytelling and simply forgot that people were still people nevertheless, and that the lives they lived and the way they loved only called for accidents to happen, for feelings and emotions to change and for relationships to deepen, or drift apart? And what if Chan has truly been your twin flame at some point years ago, but it simply never worked the way it should have, the way the both of you would have wanted it to? Twin flames; didn’t the name alone call for the end of all? Wasn’t the name the one and greatest indicator that said flames, the fire, the burning and passion – the love – could run out, be gutted and leave a cold space right where your heart sat? Was that the truth and end of the myth that everyone who knew was simply too cowardly to speak of?

You grabbed a bag of your own favourite snack and slowly made your way to the cash register. Then what was love all about, anyways? If people fall in love as quickly as they fall out of it, if the flame dims down with time and leaves you with memories of a past life, the only question is whether or not people are brave enough to leave those memories, or if they stay buried in them, buried with the one whom they once called their everything. If they’d stay simply for the sake of convenience and habituation, out of fear. Because surely, a person wasn’t bound to have multiple twin flames, after all. If there is only one person, one soul that knows you all, inside and out, this one twin flame you burn with until there is nothing left to burn, until the embers simply start gnawing at you without love and passion left; if there is only this person for you that is able to deify as strongly as this, even if temporary and not forever – you wouldn’t leave that person, would you? Because what was it worth, after all; even if the love ran out, and even if nothing was left to give – you’d only find the same lacking feelings in another lover, because that’s what the myth called. Because there’d be no one else to give you devotion so grand a second time.

You put your groceries on the checkout belt, fishing for your wallet at the very bottom of your bag. You cursed under your breath, finally feeling the soft material of fake leather right before the cashier told the price you had to pay. It was ironic – because surely, which price would you pay? You couldn’t possibly imagine ever leaving and wandering around, searching for something that would never be, so the only other option, whether you wanted it or not, was to endure loneliness in a relationship that once bloomed fields of flowers. The option that meant a never-ending empty space next to you on the bed, forever cancelled plans and nothing of the once known tenderness that you oh so adored and believed to be something permanent, something you’d never have to fear of losing.

You shuddered at the thought of it, at the thought of that being your future, of it being the destiny that’d wait for you, and with a quick shake to the head, as though that would clear your worries, you started packing the food and drinks into your bag, messily, without much system. You couldn’t care less if your other stuff laid atop of the chips, or if the cookies you decided to get for the date night would crush down under the weight of the rest of your groceries. Though Chan would sulk at you for it – there was seemingly nothing he hated more than crushed down chips in a plastic bag. You scoffed at the thought alone, earning an unreadable look from the cashier before he smiled and bowed a polite goodbye, wishing you a good week. He looked almost nervous, blush accentuating his cheeks and ears as though caught red handed when you noticed him staring at you. He must be in school still, probably a part timer. You quickly wished back a nice day, wondering if he ever worried about the things that seemed so all destructive to you. If he ever, as young as he was and only a student after all, spent sleepless nights questioning himself if he’d ever have the chance to die happily with another person by his side, or if life simply wouldn’t grant him that wish. Though, you didn’t know if that was his wish after all. It was yours, but that didn’t mean anything. Maybe, you thought, only the fewest people had the wish to die with a partner by their side anyways and therefore couldn’t care less about soulmates, let alone twin flames – maybe that was a wish only for the foolish, simply for people stupidly blinded by the delusory picture of love. To your dismay you were one of them, led astray by something that was cruel and gruesome behind closed curtains, and led to heartbreak and shed tears more often than not. And yet, you were hopeful. You depicted yourself with someone that would be with you, not only physically but in every form possible, that would love you without running out of patience to show you every single day anew. Yet perhaps, that same hope was the stupidest thing of all, the thing that would destroy you from inside out.

Your phone vibrated in your back pocket, and a quick look at the display showed your boyfriend’s name. It was saved with a heart right to it, and it made you chuckle, reminisce almost about when you first got his number, and then when you added the heart later on. You felt so dumb back then yet so stupidly in love that you couldn’t possibly not change his name in your contacts after your very first kiss, and you haven’t had the mind to go back to a plain old “Chan” ever since. Though it’d seem more fitting now, his name without a heart. You faintly wondered if Chan still had a heart next to your name in his phone before picking up the call.

“Hey, where are you?”

His voice was almost monotone, giving you no clue of the reason he called you while you were out for groceries. You expected bad news, and you felt guilty for it, almost.

“At the store, I bought snacks and drinks for later-… why? Did something happen?”

A sigh on the other end was all that you needed to know your expectations were to be true. And it scared you how cold it left you, unbothered and untouched by the words Chan was about to say, while the weight of the bag around your shoulder dragged you down further by the minute.

“Listen, I- I’ll sound like the shittiest boyfriend, but I have some work left I have to finish. It was super last minute, just got a call from Changbin to come and help him in the studio. I’ll try to not be too late, alright? Maybe- we can like… I don’t know when you’re free next time…”

Chan's voice suddenly got quiet, faintly distanced from you as you felt a cold breeze, a sensation, you might say, wash past you, almost pulling you back into the store again, fully disorienting you and shaking up the ground beneath your feet. You looked back, checking if someone had walked past you and into the shop and accidently pushed you, though it wasn't a touch you had felt – yet even then, the seeming force that drove you back, that completely took you out of your body even for short felt so unnatural, too strong to be caused by a person crossing your way. It was beyond physical, the feeling of it – somehow it felt deeper, an urge you’ve never come across prior, and before you knew it you met eyes with a stranger. He looked just as shaken up as you, pupils wide and brows slightly scrunched, creasing in the middle. He was stopped in his tracks, body as though moving forward yet held back by something he seemed unable to control, something that was pulling him your direction, just like you got pulled towards his. And then you simply smiled, after eye contact that felt like it lasted for ages on end, and he smiled back, a pretty smile that made you wish for that eye contact to hold on for just a little longer. But Chan's voice suddenly sounded in your ears again, and the boy in the store disappeared behind shelves, continuing his business.

“Babe, you there? I asked if you’re free next week sometime to make up for tonight?”

Your boyfriend's voice, though having all your attention now, was still far away to you, as though you muted it out to focus on your surroundings better, to have his words play only in the back of your head, behind glass.

“Yeah sure- we'll see... take care.”

Your own voice sounded almost abnormally clear to you, and your head felt the same. The worries that occupied you just moments prior – the disappointment yet general indifference to Chan cancelling on you, the fear of your future with him – or without him, therefore – the feeling of monotony creeping its way into your everyday life – it all felt so strange now, almost absurd that you ever even wasted a thought on it at all. Chan brabbeled a chain of excuses into the phone that you accepted with only hummed yeses, not actually listening, simply waiting to hang up on him. And while you couldn’t possibly imagine the stranger in the store to be the cause for all of it, for his eyes to be the reason you forgot about Chan and his smile to be the trigger for your calmness, you didn’t understand why your body turned around yet again, though not expecting to catch a look at him, still hoping you would maybe find his dark eyes one more time, nonetheless.

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