#public disillusionment

[trendynewsnow]

The Political Landscape of Japan: Challenges for the Liberal Democratic Party

The Political Landscape of Japan: A Turning Point for the L.D.P. The political dominance of Japan’s Liberal Democratic Party (L.D.P.) has been nothing short of extraordinary. Since its formation in 1955, the party has played a pivotal role in shaping Japan’s governance, showcasing a remarkable ability to maintain power despite ongoing internal rivalries and a frequent turnover of leadership. This…

[elizabro]

right but the depp/heard trial and the resulting spectacle was really so disgusting. like it got me tempted to make it a point of first-date conversation just to screen out the red flags

[rurinnfane]

Last time HR sent employee gifts to my site, they sent paletas (popsicles)… but we were the last delivery on the route and they weren’t stored properly, so we instead received a ziploc bag full of half-molten paletas that later froze into a horrifying amalgam in the office freezer.

This time they delivered us drawstring bags of office supplies while I was on leave, but they also included what I can only imagine was once cotton candy.

That’s at least my theory because by the time I received it, it transformed into a tiny crumb of some bizarre blue sugary thing.

Thank you HR you make me feel very appreciated

[xtruss]

World: A Growing BRICS Bloc Shows U.S. Is Losing the Battle for the Global South

— BY Tom O'Connor | August 22, 2023

South African President Cyril Ramaphosa Delivers a Speech at the 15th BRICS Summit in Johannesburg, South Africa. © Sputnik/Grigory Sysoev/Go to the Mediabank

While Russian President Vladimir Putin's in-person absence due to international legal troubles looms over the BRICS conference attended by the leaders of fellow member states Brazil, India, China and South Africa, the growing interest in expanding the group to include additional countries from across the globe is likely to cement the bloc's future as a force in global geopolitics.

And with no seat at the table for the United States, the three-day summit that began Tuesday in Johannesburg demonstrates how Washington has struggled to project influence throughout the vast, developing Global South.

"The U.S. is trailing countries such as Russia, India and China in the Global South," Akhil Ramesh, a senior fellow at the Hawaii-based Pacific Forum, told Newsweek. "The Global South does not have this special solidarity it has with nations such as China and India. As victims of Western imperialism/colonialism and having faced similar challenges in reconstruction and development, they have a unique solidarity."

"The U.S. approach continues to be one where they use nations of the Global South as pawns in their future, larger cold/hot conflict with China or Russia," Ramesh added. "This understandably has not helped them win friends."

Such solidarity continues to extend to Putin, who has accelerated his country's outreach to developing nations, especially in Africa, in recent years.

Moscow's overtures have been met with ongoing interest, as evidenced by the recent Russia-Africa Summit in Saint Petersburg. The summit was attended by 16 African heads of state and representatives of 25 additional African countries, even as the West has accused Putin of war crimes, resulting in an International Criminal Court warrant, and of weaponizing food by bombing grain infrastructure and allowing a deal that safeguarded the continued export of Ukrainian grains via the Black Sea to collapse.

U.S. warnings about forging closer economic ties with China have been met with even stiffer resistance, as President Xi Jinping presses on with his ambitious Belt and Road Initiative extending across continents despite a slowing economy at home.

Ramesh argued that nations of the Global South simply "do not view Beijing and Moscow the same way the West does," and instead see new opportunities where traditional mechanisms have failed.

"So, when there was a group presenting an alternative to the Western-led world order/vision of the world," he added, "nations were quick to jump on the bandwagon."

Newsweek has reached out to the U.S. State Department for comment.

Still, obstacles to progress exist within a bloc whose core members already have little alignment in their broader geopolitical goals, while some, especially China and India, have active disputes between them. Such feuds have the potential to only grow as the coalition considers taking on new members, such as Iran and Saudi Arabia.

Others who have applied include Algeria 🇩🇿, Argentina 🇦🇷, Bahrain 🇧🇭, Bangladesh 🇧🇩, Belarus 🇧🇾, Bolivia 🇧🇴, Cuba 🇨🇺, Egypt 🇪🇬, Ethiopia 🇪🇹, Honduras 🇭🇳, Indonesia 🇮🇩, Kazakhstan 🇰🇿, Kuwait 🇰🇼, Morocco 🇲🇦, Nigeria 🇳🇬, the Palestinian National Authority 🇵🇸, Senegal 🇸🇳, Thailand 🇹🇭, the United Arab Emirates 🇦🇪, Venezuela 🇻🇪 and Vietnam 🇻🇳, according to the most recent count offered last week by South African Foreign Minister Naledi Pandor.

Brazil, Lula, arrives, BRICS, summit, South, Africa! Brazilian President Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva arrives in Johannesburg, South Africa ahead of the 15th BRICS summit. The leaders of 67 countries have been invited to join the forum led by Brazil, Russia, India, China and South Africa. Ricardo Stuckert/Presidency of The Federative Republic of Brazil

"Those who are there for the day-to-day negotiations, at least from the Brazilian government side, say it is already very hard to come to consensus when you have China, India and Russia at the table," Ana Elisa Saggioro Garcia, a professor at the Pontifical Catholic University of Rio de Janeiro's Institute of International Relations and general coordinator of the BRICS Policy Center, told Newsweek.

But "there's another side of the story," she said. That's the growing view, including from Brazilian President Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva, that "a strong BRICS" is necessary, and a "strong BRICS is also a big BRICS."

South Africa, the current chair, is the only nation to have been added to what began as an informal BRIC bloc, born out of a term coined by then-Goldman Sachs chief economist Jim O'Neill in 2001 to describe emerging economic powers. Russia led the initiative to bring Brazil, China and India together for the first summit in 2009, and South Africa was admitted the following year.

Initially, BRICS was focused on effecting reform within existing, primarily Western-led economic institutions, such as the International Monetary Fund (IMF), in the wake of the 2008 global financial crisis.

"The first common agenda that they had, despite their differences, was the reform of the international financial architecture," Garcia said. "So, international financial institutions, those grounded in the Bretton Woods Conference, in the post-war period, they do not represent the world anymore. Those huge economies don't have enough voice in those institutions, they need to be reformed. They need to reflect the new configuration of the world economic power."

© Russian Ministry of Foreign Affairs/Go to the Mediabank

Gradually, the group became more focused on creating alternative mechanisms, most notably in the establishment in 2014 of the Shanghai-based New Development Bank, which today also counts Bangladesh, Egypt and the United Arab Emirates as members. With this transformation, Garcia explained, "the geopolitical character of BRICS started to be more important and more relevant than only the economic one."

China, in particular, she argued, "has been very clever and very strategic to use this opportunity to advance and to expand another coalition where China is predominant, where China doesn't have to deal with negotiations with Western powers."

But as evidenced by Brazil's enthusiasm for a more active role for BRICS and the growing list of prospective members, it's not all about Beijing.

"BRICS has become this pole of attraction of all countries now who've seen that they can have more power if they ally with a coalition such as BRICS to face measures that the West has been doing for years now," Garcia said, "and also to face these sorts of constraints and repression in terms of worldview and values."

Ryan Berg, director of the Center for Strategic and International Studies' (CSIS) Americas Program in Washington, D.C., also discussed how countries like Brazil were becoming more interested in the geopolitical nature of BRICS as an exercise in "active nonalignment."

"It can heighten the relevance of a country like Brazil, which is sometimes overlooked and feels overlooked and neglected," Berg said in response to Newsweek's question during a CSIS call held in the leadup to the BRICS summit.

"By pursuing this strategy," he explained, "you can basically make it a competition for the affection or for the attention of major world powers or leading world powers that would otherwise overlook Brazil's position on a particular issue."

BRICS, Summit, South, Africa, 2018! (Left to right) Indian Prime Minister Narendra Modi, Chinese President Xi Jinping, South African President Cyril Ramaphosa, Russian President Vladimir Putin and then-Brazilian President Michel Temer pose for a group picture during the 10th BRICS summit on July 26, 2018 at the Sandton Convention Centre in Johannesburg, South Africa. South Africa's most populous city against hosts the BRICS summit in 2023, after each of the other four members hosted gatherings, three of which were virtual due to the COVID-19 pandemic. Mike Hutchings/POOL/AFP/Getty Images

Speaking on the same call, CSIS Africa Program director Mvemba Phezo Dizolele highlighted the importance of the host nation itself, saying BRICS membership "strengthened the position of South Africa among non-aligned countries" at a polarizing time in global geopolitics.

"Non-aligned countries have absolutely been at odds at least with Western countries, particularly ideologically because they do not want to align either with the Russians or with the United States and allies," Dizolele said.

A key goal for the summit's participants "will be discussing their disillusionment with U.S. leadership or at least the U.S.-led coalition around the world and how that world order is affecting adversely the countries of the Global South," he said, noting that "this will be a time when they will be seeking an alternative to that power."

The phenomenon of a competition among major powers to court the Global South was also observed by Mrityunjay Tripathi, a research fellow at the New Delhi-based Public Policy Research Center who previously served as part of India's delegation to the 2018 BRICS Youth Summit in South Africa.

"U.S. attempts to engage the Global South will only benefit the region, as the U.S. will act as a balancing power in the region dominated by China," Tripathi told Newsweek. "This competition will only benefit the developing economies and the multipolarity of the BRICS will ensure that region remains free and open to all."

Here, he said that "the presence of India adds credibility to BRICS and assures the West that India will act as a balancing power in the alliance that consists of Russia and China."

While New Delhi and Washington have strengthened ties in recent years, this does not mean total alignment in their positions. Tripathi argued that the trends apparent in the summit and context surrounding it show that Washington was on the backfoot in this competition over developing nations.

BRICS, Business, Forum, meets, in, South, Africa! (From left to right) Shaogang Zhang, vice chair of China's Council for the Promotion of International Trade, Onkar Singh Kanwar, chair of the BRICS Business Council's India chapter, Sergei Katyrin, chair of the BRICS Business Council's Russia chapter, José Serrador, chair of the BRICS Business Council's Brazil chapter, Busi Mabuza, chair of the BRICS Business Council's South Africa chapter, and Nozipho Tshabalala, CEO of the Conversation Strategist, attend a panel discussion during the 2023 BRICS Business Forum in Sandton, north of Johannesburg, South Africa, on August 22. Gianluigi Guercia/AFP/Getty Images

"The growing interest in BRICS does suggest that the U.S.' attempts to assert influence, particularly across the Global South, have not always produced desired results," Tripathi said. "The rise of BRICS is indicative of a shift in power dynamics from the traditionally Western-dominated world order to a more multipolar global scenario."

A key part of this shift identified by Tripathi was not only expansion, but the vision of "instituting a common currency," something that "further solidifies the group's commitment to long-term sustainable progress of the Global South."

"A common currency will not only boost intra-BRICS trade," he added," but also eliminate the high dollar conversion costs of international transactions."

Shen Shiwei, a journalist and analyst with a background in Chinese business dealings in Africa and the Middle East, argued that "the only thing that can beat the U.S. dollar is the dollar itself, driven by weaponization from Washington."

"The global trend of increasing the use of multiple currencies, instead of fully relying on U.S. dollars, is not a new idea," Shen told Newsweek. "Three decades ago, the euro was created in part because the majority of the EU wanted to move away from its deep reliance on the U.S. dollar."

"The dollar is still essential to global investments and trade," he added, "but the process of de-dollarization is accelerating, mainly because its weaponization has caused an erosion of confidence and alerted emerging economies to take actions to safeguard economic security."

People walk past a banner outside the venue for the 2023 BRICS Summit at the Sandton Convention Centre in Sandton, Johannesburg, on August 20. The BRICS countries, an acronym of the five members Brazil, Russia, India, China and South Africa, meet for three days for a summit in Johannesburg from August 22-24. Gianluigi Guercia/AFP/Getty Images

The U.S. dollar continues to command a significant lead against competitors, comprising some 59 percent of the world's foreign exchange reserves. The euro constitutes around 20 percent, with other currencies such as the Japanese yen, the United Kingdom's pound sterling and the Chinese renminbi in the single digits.

Still, a number of countries, particularly members of BRICS, have called for conducting bilateral trade in their own national currencies, and the idea of a common currency has been increasingly put forth. In April, Lula delivered an impassioned speech at the New Development Bank headquarters in which he railed against the notion that "all countries are forced to do their trade backed by the dollar."

The message has continued to gain traction among existing and prospective BRICS members.

"But that doesn't mean BRICS is anti-West," Shen said.

Russian President Vladimir Putin addresses BRICS summit in South Africa, August 22, 2023. © Sputnik/Grigory Sysoev

He argued that "the zero-sum game narrative developed in the West that the BRICS was created as competition to the G7 or the Global North is very misleading."

The G7, officially the Group of Seven, is a bloc consisting of the world's largest developed economies, including Canada, France, Germany, Italy, Japan, the United States and the U.K., with participation from the European Union as well. The G7 existed as the G8 until 2014, when it was expelled due to its role in the first major outbreak of conflict in Ukraine.

"All BRICS members have important political and economic cooperation with the G7 countries," Shen said. "More importantly, BRICS doesn't want to copy the Western hegemony in mentality and reality, which has brought too many problems to the Global South."

As opposed to the G7, "the BRICS mechanism has met the demands of the Global South, especially marginalized countries, to advance a collective agenda and push the building of a more inclusive, representative, just and fair global architecture," Shen argued.

"BRICS is not an exclusive club or small circle," he added, "but a big family of good partners."

[pirateprincessblog]

prefects and t(h)reats

𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫.: you haven't been lurking the castle at night since the day you cost your house a lot of points and the slytherin prefect scolded you. long enough has passed, and you might want to start doing that again. 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: park seonghwa x f!reader 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 6.6k words 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: harry potter universe, slytherin!seonghwa, hufflepuff!reader, smut, bit of angst (seonghwa being a piece of shit(basic slytherin) towards the reader and her friends) 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: spanking, hair pulling, choking, finger sucking, fingering, oral (f!receiving), voyeurism, unprotected sex, semi-public?

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: idk, cursing i guess 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: something got fucked in the process of posting this so if you see any repeating paragraphs do let me know my eyes aren't working anymore :D !everyone is of age, regardless of the year they are in. also, i may or may not have a finger sucking kink or whatever you call that :) also, i so did NOT use a twd negan reference here. just ignore that.

𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐫: 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐢��𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐰𝐚𝐲.

"ugh! that snape will be the reason i get sent to azkaban, mark my words! i spent ages trying to perfect that mood colour changing sweater, and he just confiscated- wait, what?"

"what, what is it?"

"did our bloody house points get deducted again?"

just your luck, you need to pass by them to get to your next class. you wish you had perfected the disillusionment charm, it would be very helpful right now.

"you."

ignoring the voice that speaks clearly to you, you hug your books to your chest and quicken your pace, attempting to ascend the stone stairs and vanish into the divination classroom. suddenly, your elbows are seized by two familiar pairs of hands, drawing you back to stand before the house points display. indeed, the hourglass under the hufflepuff banner is noticeably less full than it was just the day before. and it may or may not be your fault. again.

"listen to me, honeydukes." wayne, your fellow housemate warns.

"don't call me that!" you still struggle to understand how you acquired that nickname, especially since you rarely visit honeydukes these days. that habit faded after your teeth nearly succumbed to decay from all the cotton candy and chocolate frogs.

"if you keep this up, you are going to be the reason i end up in azkaban. got it?" he points a finger at your face, causing you to stumble back.

"you have a week to get at least twenty points back. if you don't..." the other one, justin, also points his finger at you, "...i'll make your remaining years at hogwarts miserable. we are the lousiest house anyway, why do you have to make it worse?"

"yeah, what do you even do to make us lose house points?"

"i bet she pisses off prefects."

"or bothers professors outside the class, the know-it-all."

"i don't care if you have to duel harry potter himself, you'll get those points back."

"and when you do, you'll get double and triple that, and make sure we win this year."

"it is only fair, since you're costing us so much."

with each accusation hurled at you, you retreat, hoping to flee the verbal attack before tears betray you and worsen the situation. a high pitched noise invades your ears, drowning out their voices. so intent on avoiding their accusing fingers, you fail to notice the brink of the top stair until your foot falters and balance is lost. you gasp, eyes shut, bracing for the impact of cold stone against your skull.

"levioso!"

yet it never comes. your body is stuck in the air, right above the stairs. all the noise and fuss has left the main hall, resulting in you being too scared to open your eyes.

"accio."

but you are forced to open them, ears picking up quiet murmuring, mainly coming from girls. your eyes meet dark brown ones, stone cold with a serious expression. his black swirly wand is directed at you, levitating your body through the air until you're brought back to the top of the stairs. you finally regain control of it, hands hurriedly fixing the robe and covering yourself.

"you fools." he speaks, eyes not leaving yours.

your lip trembles, and eyes well up with tears. park seonghwa is the one person you do not wish to anger and disappoint. your admiration for him hasn't stopped growing since the day he came to this school. park seonghwa, the slytherin prince. slender frame, porcelain skin, high cheekbones, sharp jawline, plump lips, dark eyes, and an immpeccable posture. he walked the castle with such grace, his cloak following him and flowing in the air behind him. whether it was magic or not, you found yourself utterly captivated, not just by his cloak, but by his very essence. he was, in a word, beautiful.

"i'm- i'm sorry-" you stutter, the sentence not yet formed in your brain. is this really how your first encounter with him will go?

"you absolute fools." he turns around, facing the two boys.

wayne and justin are now the ones stumbling back, audibly gulping. "we're sorry, seonghwa."

"all that over house points?" seonghwa scoffs in disbelief, "well, guess what? you just cost your own house fifty points."

the entire great hall gasps, not used to seeing the prefect this enraged and stern. he avoids public confrontations, curious eyes and gossipy mouths, always opting to pull the troublemakers aside to scold them. he also mostly deducts five points, ten at most. but fifty?

"show is over. go to your classes." he orders to the crowd, and they waste no time in continuing their journey to their classrooms.

overwhelmed by the unfolding situation, you find yourself unable to move. your gaze fixes on seonghwa's polished black shoes, unsure of your next action or words. your first encounter with him wasn't supposed to unfold this way. you intended to sweep him off his feet, exuding confidence and the like. embarrassing yourself and struggling to hold back tears while avoiding his gaze was never in the plan.

"hey, honeydukes. are you alright?"

"i'm fi- honeydukes?" you look at him, brows furrowed. "you know about that nickname?"

he tilts his head, chuckling. "i gave you that nickname."

"you... you gave me that nickname?! do you have any idea how freaking annoying it is..."

"okay, calm down now."

"...to be called that all day every day? even when i've stopped visiting that bloody shop..."

"listen to me."

"...it's haunting me! how dare you?!"

your protest is silenced as he steps closer, cradling your jaw in the palm of his hand to lift your face towards his. the way his dark eyes look down on you makes you feel small and fragile, only being safe because he's holding you. you swallow hard, lips pressed tightly together, not yet trusting yourself to speak.

"i gave you that nickname when i first saw you. in hogsmeade, at honeydukes. i had never seen anyone eat cotton candy so cutely, and nobody would tell me your name until recently i heard it myself. so you became honeydukes. not my fault the rest heard it from me and decided to make their own version of it."

"still..." you are stubborn, not willing to let go so easily.

"tell you what..." he reaches into his pocket, taking out something shiny. you notice it is one of those wrapped chocolate balls, and coincidentally your favorite flavour. "accept this as an apology, and stop sneaking around the library at night. you're going to cost your house more points. and us prefects our sanity."

"a candy? you're bribing me?" you scoff.

he chuckles, then puts one end of the wrapper between his pearly white teeth, while his other hand still holds your jaw. he tugs at the opposite end of the wrapper, loosening it and making the treat more accessible. letting the wrapper drop to the ground, the shiny chocolate appears all the more enticing between his slender fingers.

"open up for me."

lips slowly peeling open, you allow his slender fingers to slip past them and place the treat on your tongue.

"that's a good girl." he purrs, eyes focused on the way your tongue swirls around the chocolate and his fingers. he takes them out, and catching you by surprise, puts them inside his mouth. "well, then. you better get to class."

you nod, gulping and hugging your books to your chest. not knowing what to say to that, or what to say at all, you turn around, ready to get to your next class. but he stops you once again, playfulness evident in his voice.

"and i mean it. stop sneaking around the castle at night. not that i hate other forms of punishment, i don't think it's something you'd enjoy. besides, you need sleep, especially with the upcoming exams."

"okay."

"what? didn't quite catch that."

"yes, sir!" you yell, annoyed and already running up the stairs, almost tripping on your cloak.

"atta girl." seonghwa smiles proudly, walking in the direction of his next class.

you used to love hogsmeade. then you hated it. now, you love it again. winter has wrapped the village in a festive mood, with christmas just around the corner. streets are dripping with decorations, lights and christmas trees. enchanted instruments are singing songs on the street, people are rushing to buy presents already, and hermione and ron are bickering as always. harry walks by your side, mesmerized by the amount of lights decorating the balconies of the villagers.

"we always go get stupid butterbeers. let's try something else for once!" the girl complains, growing sick of the habit the four of you have formed when arriving at hogsmeade.

"yes, but... it's butterbeer. what else is there to try?" the ginger says, opting for the simple routine.

"merlin, i don't know! just- ugh. what do you say, honeydukes?"

ever since you told them about the incident at the great hall, they've called you nothing but that. you don't hate it anymore. if anything, it reminds you of the slytherin prefect every time you are called. and you don't hate that either.

"i think..." just as you are about to agree with hermione, your eyes notice a group of slytherins entering the three broomsticks. thus, "...ron is right. i mean, butterbeer is butterbeer."

"so bland. fine, let's go."

upon entering, you realize that you have to fight your way to the seats. it is crowded, as though all of hogwarts has chosen the same time and place for drinks. ron is stubborn, tugging hermione, who tugs you, who tugs harry. the wizard chain somehow makes it through the singing and dancing crowd, reaching the end of the tavern and big table where you usually sit. only to find the place occupied.

"hey, that's our seats!" ron complains, pointing at the slytherin boys.

"oh, no. how dare they take our unassigned assigned seats?" the girl rolls her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest.

"go on, honeydukes. say something."

you look at the boy who remained silent until now, confused. "me? why me?"

"well, it's your little boyfriend sitting there. maybe he'll listen to you."

"harry-!" before you can protest, you are nudged in front of the table, prompting all the boys at the table to halt their conversation and turn their heads to look at you. seonghwa raises an eyebrow, amused.

"what is it, half blood?" draco snickers, glancing over at seonghwa for approval. but when seonghwa doesn't acknowledge him, he settles down, hiding behind his half full glass of butterbeer.

"uh, my friends and i... we were just wondering..." you look behind at the three of them, who stand waiting politely as if you were their mother arranging a play date. "...if you could scoot over and let us have one side of the table? since it is a sharing table... and there's only four of us... and four of you. or not. i mean, if you want to. if you don't, that's fine. i'm not ordering you, i'm just... actually, we don't need it. sorry for bothering you. we'll leave now."

you turn around, cheeks and tips of ears ablaze with embarrassment. the trio looks at you with mouths open wide, wondering just what the hell happened to you.

"what the bloody hell was that?" ron says, eyebrows furrowed.

"i-"

"honeydukes?"

your body responds to his voice immediately, turning around and eyes locking into his. he smiles at you, then waves towards the seats that are now empty.

"ah, sweet!" harry cheers, and the two boys throw their belongings on the chairs and rush to the bar to order.

hermione takes a seat first, choosing a spot as far from them as possible. this leaves you with only one option: the chair next to blaise zabini, the boy who, after Seonghwa and Draco, had the most admirers. he doesn't acknowledge you, nor does anyone else, until you start gossiping with hermione and she abruptly stops mid-sentence.

"he's looking at you."

"what? who is?" your head starts to turn itself before thinking, but hermione is quick to slap your arm. "ow!"

"don't look! that prefect, seonghwa. he's looking at you so intensely. it's scary."

"like, scary scary or hot kinda scary?"

"well, i-" she stutters, not yet used to being this open with anyone yet. "the latter."

the boys arrive, ron holding the drinks and harry holding bowls of snacks. they almost throw them on the table, and ron doesn't even wait to sit before taking a big sip of his drink. harry digs into his loaded chips, not intending on offering anyone a bite or two.

the conversation at the other end of the table ceases, causing ron to set his glass down and harry to stop trying to fit the entire bowl into his cheeks. you look at both ends, the situation looking funny, especially with hermione looking embarrassed next to you. the slytherin boys exude sophistication, taking delicate sips of their drinks, sharing a bowl of spicy chili treats, conversing in hushed tones, and maintaining an overall neat and respectful demeanor. the gryffindor boys are a complete contrast; ron with his butterbeer moustache, harry with sauce smeared on his cheek, both flushed and almost reeking of sweat already.

"wufnt sum?" harry says with his mouth full, nudging his half empty bowl towards the other group.

they all look at the prefect, as if he decides whether they can have some or not. "no, thank you, potter. you seem to be enjoying it too much for me to take it away from you. i'd feel bad."

 the groups snickers, and something twitches inside of you. seeing the prefect's cocky and arrogant smile, your interest in him falters. he's no longer looking at you, not even sparing you glances. entertaining his group and bullying the gryffindor boys seemed to be way more interesting. and you've had enough of it.

"so... nice moustache weasley."

"right, we get it." you almost yell, causing them to stop and turn their heads at you. "you're all so smart, and perfect, and purebloods, and we are just laughing stock. i don't need to listen to this, and neither do they."

"oh, feisty." draco comments, earning a glare from seonghwa.

"right, honeydukes. i apologize for my behaviour." the dark haired slytherin smiles at you, but your face stays the same.

"it's not me you should be apologizing to."

"are you dense? how dare you talk to him like that?" the young boy doesn't give up, wanting to fight you no matter what.

"malfoy, sit back." seonghwa says, putting a hand on draco's chest. "potter, weasley. i apologize for my comments."

"'s alright."

"yeah, no worries." they mumble, gazes locked on the table.

awkward silence swallows your corner of the tavern, with the people only staring at the middle of the table and only breathing. seonghwa then slides the untouched bowl of chili treats in the middle, causing the group to look at him.

"how about a game? you know, that muggle one, never have i ever? for each thing that you did, you need to eat a handful of these. you in, gryffindor?"

eager to prove themselves, they straighten their clothes and backs, and focus. hermione sits back, arms stubbornly crossed over her chest. ron nudges her with his elbow, and she rolls her eyes and joins in.

"hufflepuff?" the dark eyed boy tilts his head.

"sure, whatever."

"alright, then. game on."

it starts with innocent questions, such as cheating on exams and gossips. then, it progressively gets more serious and more...

"never have i ever made out with someone in the astronomy tower?"

sexual.

you are not shocked to see that blaise and seonghwa are taking a handful of the spicy treats, but your jaw drops when ron and hermione do the same, exchanging a single glance before blushing and shoving the handful in their mouths. harry shares his surprise with you, jaw equally hanging.

"well, well. little miss granger." seonghwa teases. "good job, ron boy."

"never have i ever... done more than dry humping in an empty owlery?" harry surprises the table with his question.

"what?! you've done that?!" hermione is almost in his face, surprised how she didn't know this about her best friend.

"i might've..." the chosen one smiles, wasting no time in burning his tongue with the treats once again.

your side of the table seems to retreat after that question, the slytherin boys asking about things you didn't ever think of. things that would have dubmbledore kick you out of the school, through the very same astronomy tower everyone seems to mention. the game eventually grows into a conversation, discussing who their favorite partner was, what their most risky situation was, and who they have an eye on recently.

"what about you, honeydukes?" blaise asks, using seonghwa's nickname for you. it just doesn't hit the same.

"what about me?"

"nothing to share? no risky business, no partners, no bad sexual experiences? i mean, have you had any experience at all?"

"of course i have. i'm not a virgin, if that's what you're implying. i've had more bad ones than good ones. having me jerk someone off under the desk while learning about amortentia wasn't exactly my cup of tea."

"oh, you poor thing." draco coos, mockingly.

they all eventually let go, and when you realize that seonghwa hasn't made a comment about you in a while, you look at him. he is already observing you, his expression unreadable. his eyes roam your face, then your hair, and finally your clothes. you feel small under his intense gaze, and you find yourself squirming on the wooden chair. when his eyes catch yours, he blinks, then looks away.

after a morning of intense studying, practicing flying, and rushing to hogsmeade for potions supplies for the exam tomorrow, you end up sleeping the entire afternoon. when you wake up, it is dark. you hate wasting days, especially because winter ones are so short. you haven't done anything fun for yourself these few weeks, only studying and avoiding the slytherin prefect.

he might've noticed, or perhaps not. you've noticed a few glances here and there, but the hogsmeade encounter made your feelings for him fade. it wasn't a major crush after all, just simple admiration. maybe liking. regardless, he doesn't get in your way. meaning, it might be safe to have one of those late night adventures through the castle. your disillusionment charm has improved, and you'll finally put it to good use.

wearing nothing but your yellow sleeping attire, you slip out of the dormitory and head to the library. the ghosts don't bother you, even if you didn't cast the charm yet. they must've found another victim, especially peeves. that bastard.

no prefect in sight either, which makes you wonder if you're really being that subtle and successful in your late night escapade. perhaps they're toying with you, letting you reach the doors of the library just to stop you and punish you.

yet, it doesn't happen. not when you reach the door, not when you slip past them, and not when you reach the restricted section.

"lumos." you chant, then put the handle of the wand between your teeth so you can see the shelves better.

how sad, you think, sneaking out at night only to come to a library.

mid book browsing, you hear footsteps. hurriedly twirling your wand around yourself, you cast the charm, and crouch.

"nox," you whisper, the wand no longer emitting light from its tip.

the footsteps get closer, with faint whistling being heard. whoever it is, they're either completely oblivious, or they're just keeping you at the edge before revealing themselves.

"little pig, little pig..." the voice sings, and you gasp.

the slytherin prince himself roams the library's forbidden section, each footstep sounding closer to you. you get on your hands and knees, crawling among the shelves in search for a way out. but from this perspective, everything looks different. after all, this isn't your usual view.

"let," step, "me," step, "in."

a hand grabs your hair from behind, pulling your head back just enough to make you yelp. the disillusionment charm wears off, and you groan, defeated.

"well, well. if it isn't the innocent little hufflepuff. no wonder i've been craving sweet since i entered the library."

"will you let go of me?"

"oh, sure thing." he softens his grip, giving you just a taste of freedom before yanking your head again, "what's the magic word? you know, that muggle one?"

"please, please!" you yelp, hands wrapping around his wrist in hopes of convincing him to let go.

he does, then steps back to give you space so you can get up. fixing your sleepwear, you fail to see his amused grin as he stares at you. when you finally look up at him, he has his usual prefect serious face on.

"now, what do you have to say for yourself?"

"sorry, it won't happen again." you should tattoo that on yourself next time you're in muggle world, it comes like a good morning to you. "i'll see myself out."

"oh, no, no." the man stops you, grabbing your elbow. "you don't get away with a sorry. not anymore. remember what i said last time?"

"uh... something about different forms of punishment?" you remember.

"that's right. good girl." his voice seems to drop a few octaves, causing you to subconsciously squeeze your thighs together. "now, how many?"

"what?"

"how many?"

"how many what?"

"spanks, sweetheart."

"you're-" you choke on your spit, "you're going to spank me?"

"oh, would you rather lose points? again?" he tilts his head, fake worry painted on his features.

"well, no, but-"

"deducting points doesn't seem to work on you anyways. i'll have to try a different approach. usually works." he steps towards you, making you step back.

"usually? you uh... you spank other people?" you dare ask.

"why?" he continues his slow steps.

"just asking."

"jealous?"

"why would i be?"

"i don't know." he shrugs, then looks around checking for intruders. "a little bird told me you have a crush on me."

your back hits the shelves, and you gasp. he stops in front of you, still maintaining a small distance. you stutter, not knowing what to say. do you have a crush on him?

"i certainly don't."

"oh." he furrows his eyebrows, "you sure?"

"yes." your voice comes out raspy, and you clear your throat. "yes, absolutely."

"honeydukes?"

"yes?"

"are you trying to convince yourself, or me?"

"i don't have a crush on you, seonghwa." you try to sound as convincing as possible.

"good. then, this interaction won't have any side effects besides teaching you a lesson. now, how many?"

you want to say a small number, like two or three. but if it happens to feel good, you won't have the guts to ask for more. oh how foolish, how can spanking be good?

"tick-tock, hufflepuff. if you don't decide, i will for you. and trust me, you do not want that."

he isn't touching you, hell, he isn't even looking at you. yet he has power over you like nobody ever had before, making you stand still against the bookshelves and wait for his instructions.

"ten," you simply say.

"ten? not one, two?" seonghwa is surprised with your answer, figuring you'd choose a smaller number.

"i didn't think you'd accept one or two. or would you?"

"smart girl. no, i wouldn't. now, what was your favorite subject again? charms, herbology?"

"dark arts," you reply, catching him off guard once again. of course he didn't see it coming. you're sneaking out to go to a library, you're a hufflepuff for merlin's sake, and you stand here in front of him, looking up at him with those wide innocent eyes of yours. who would guess dark arts?

"well, then," he swirls his black wand around both of you, turning you invisible once again, "lead the way, honeydukes."

and you do, having him follow you all the way to the defence against the dark arts classroom. you'd be lying if you said nervous sweat hasn't washed you over three times by the time you reach it. when the door closes, it's like time stops. this is it.

"won't umbridge hear? what if she's still in her office?" you whisper.

"muffliato." he simply casts, sparks flying between the desks, up the staircase at the end of the classroom, and through the doors of umbridge's office. "go on."

you keep walking, all the way to her desk. seonghwa plunges on the comfy professor's chair, then motioned for you to step closer. you barely step close to him, and he pushes you over his lap, causing you to squeak unintentionally. you hold onto his thigh, the position not the most comfortable one.

"count." the slytherin prefect demands.

his big hand lands on your bottom, making you jolt. "one."

his other hand rests on the small of your back, keeping you still so you stop squirming. only three more spanks later, you're already shuffling uncomfortably.

"two, three, four," you say, voice slowly cracking.

"but i'm barely halfway there yet, my hufflepuff princess. don't break on me just yet." he coos, voice soft and comforting, a great contrast to his actions.

you sniff, hand hurriedly wiping a tear that threatened to escape. seonghwa doesn't halt, even if he saw that. instead, he spanks you harder and harder, sparing no inch of your skin of the burning sensation.

"five, six, seven." you shudder, bracing yourself for more. only three more.

"almost there, sweetheart. you're doing so good for me." his other hand caresses your hair, removing it from your face and letting it fall aside. seeing you all teared up and flushed, something new sparks inside of him. "so pretty."

he can't help himself, his hand abusing your sore bottom, exceeding the amount that you both agreed on. you keep counting, not asking him to stop. he lands a final one, deciding it is enough once you let out the first cry.

"t-twenty," you sob, hiding your face in his black slacks.

when his hand touches your bottom again, you expect it to be another hit. instead, his hand caresses it, helping to soothe the pain. it lasts mere seconds, before you feel him raise the top of your pajama, then pull on the bottom. he exposes your red bottom to the cool classroom air, and you can't help but whine at the loss of contact.

"you did so good, my love." seonghwa coos, fingers running through your hair as he waits for you to collect yourself.

once you do, you realize that the burning sensation isn't only on your butt cheeks. you also feel it between your legs, briefs soaked with arousal.

"did you learn the lesson?" his hand finds its spot under your chin, raising your head so he can look at you properly.

"yes." you say, failing to maintain eye-contact with him. maybe it's the guilt, or maybe simply the way he looks at you. either way, you opt to stare at his perfectly ironed and buttoned up prefect attire.

"want me to make it feel better?"

you shrug, not quite sure what you wanted anyway. his hand slips from under your chin to your neck, catching you off guard, his fingers squeezing the sides of it. he presses lightly into your skin, the other hand adjusting your bottom so that it is higher up and your core easily accessible. a moan escapes your lips, feeling his digits find your clit so easily.

"oh, you poor thing. you're absolutely soaked. is that why you're crying? not from the pain, but from lack of attention?"

when you don't reply, he only chuckles, pressing into your neck more.

"i'll take good care of you, honeydukes."

he moves your briefs aside, digits circling your clit softly, before slipping into your aching hole. you bite into the fabric of his pants, but he stops you, instead offering his finger to bite on. he still holds onto your neck with his thumb and the rest of the fingers, his index finger popped into your mouth to muffle any noise you have to offer him.

hearing your own hole squelch as his fingers pump in and out of you makes a new rush of arousal wash over your folds. his fingers are long, very long. he curves them, spreads them, then removes them from your hole, only to spread your slick all over your clit and abuse it.

you're a drooling mess on his lap, eyes turning back at the pure pleasure he is gracing you with. your hips hopelessly push back, looking for anything to fill you up. he notices, removing his hand from your core, before standing you up and pushing you to sit on the desk. with a single motion, he shreds your briefs to bits, stuffing them into his pocket and attaching his mouth to your aching core.

you fall back on the desk, head hanging from it and overlooking the empty classroom. your brain creates various images for you as seonghwa's hot tongue swipes across your folds, imagining the classroom full of students as seonghwa feasts on you in front of them. were you weird for that?

"not at all, princess."

"stop reading my mind, prefect." you tug on his hair, a form of punishment for intruding your thoughts.

"can't help it, not when you're dripping all over my face."

his fingers find their way into your clenching hole again, curling upwards and finding a spot nobody ever had before. a moan escapes you, echoing through the classroom, and your other hand pushes seonghwa's head further into your cunt.

he chuckles against you, his own hands holding your thighs so you don't suffocate him. you feel yourself inching closer, hips desperately grinding on his mouth and nose, eager to feel a proper orgasm. he pulls away once again, making you whine and groan.

"my, i've spoiled you." he raises an eyebrow, amused at the glares you're sending him. he stands up, working on his zipper. he doesn't take his pants off, deciding to keep his prefect uniform on. it only makes the situation hotter, your brain finally realizing just what you're doing.

you're messing with a prefect, in the middle of the night, in a classroom, right under a professor's nose.

"kiss me." you ask, voice small. red paints your cheeks; you wanted to sound more confident than that.

"you want to taste yourself on my tongue, princess?"

"yes, please."

"since you asked so nicely."

he helps you stand again, hands firm on your waist, and lips finally attached to yours. your arms wrap around his neck, hungrily bringing his body closer to yours. you indeed taste yourself on his tongue, seonghwa not wasting a second in pushing through your soft lips in search for your hot muscle. the sound of kissing echoes in the classroom, the setting hotter than your wildest dreams. seonghwa is a dreamy kisser, making you feel wanted, hot and appreciated at the same time. his lips never leave yours, not even when your fingers tangle in his hair and pull at it with ecstasy. he only moans softly into your mouth, giving you a wave of confidence.

your hand slides down his chest, to the button of his pants, and finally to the zipper. you reach into it, pulling his hard cock out, before giving it a few slow pumps. he sighs into your lips, pulling away for a few moments. his forehead rests against yours, his body falling in control of your one hand. your thumb swipes over the tip, collecting the slick and spreading it over him. his hips rock with your hand, whines and moans deliciously filling your ears. it feels powerful to have him tremble in your hands, desperate and yearning for your touch and attention. this must be what he feels on a daily basis. and it must feel fucking amazing.

"you're full of surprises, aren't you?" he teases, and you tease back by squeezing his cock. he gasps, but chuckles regardless. "you're just a little brat, waiting to be stuffed like a bad girl. i know it."

with a swift motion, seonghwa turns you around, your still clothed tits pressing against the hard wooden desk and head pushed on the side. he slides into you without warning or teasing, so easily and perfectly. he wastes no time in holding your hips still, smashing his own into you and burying his cock deep in your hole. your walls swallow each inch he offers you, having both of you moan and groan at the pleasure.

"fuck-" he curses, eyes planted on the place where the two of you connect. "fuck, honeydukes- you're going to be the death of me."

"do you- ah!" he snaps his hips into yours once again, each thrust more forceful than the other, "do you do this with others sneaking out at night?"

"i knew you were jealous. so you do have a little crush on me?" he chuckles breathlessly.

"maybe. and maybe." you groan, hands gripping the edges of the desk.

"no, baby. i don't. you're the only one whose cunt i'm going to fill up, again and again. until you've learned your lesson properly."

it is your turn to chuckle now. "if this is your form of punishment, i might start sneaking around while you're on duty more often."

"oh, my hufflepuff princess. if you want me, you can have me any time you want. all day, every day. all you have to do is ask."

the conversation stops, as do his hips, when the doors on top of the stairs open.

"who's there?"

you try looking back at seonghwa, eyes full of fear. his cock twitches in your hole, the riskiness of the situation arousing to him.

"hush, love." he whispers, hand pushing your head down against the cold wood again.

his hips start moving gently, slowly stretching your hole again. you're in shock, not believing that he'd actually continue as the professor walks down the stairs in her own sleeping attire. her eyes skim over the room, trying to find anything unusual. but the silencing spell seems to be working, just like the disillusionment one, making umbridge unaware of your presence. a very... lewd presence.

"merlin, i can't take it anymore. i'm sorry, love."

not giving you a chance to ask why he's apologizing, you soon learn as his hand pulls your hair back and his other one grips your bruised bottom. his hips snap into yours with speed and accuracy, hitting the right spots and bringing you closer to release.

"seonghwa-" you moan.

"yes, love?"

"i want-" you moan again, then beg, "i want to see you, touch you."

he pulls away, helping your limp body in a different position. the professor is ignored, even when she comes dangerously close to the desk. it sends a new wave of arousal to your core, just in time for seonghwa to slide into you again.

"look at that," he sighs, looking at your belly.

you follow his gaze, seeing the outline of his cock on it. your hands bring his head closer so you can kiss him, with equal hunger as before. he continues pounding into you, chasing his own orgasm.

"right, there better not be anyone. i'm not in the mood for any tricks!" umbridge threatens, causing both of you to chuckle into each others mouths.

"this is kind of hot," you admit.

"as much as it is, i want her to go away as soon as possible. i just can't cum when i see her face."

you laugh, glancing at the professor one more time. as if she heard, she listens, angrily stomping upstairs and slamming the door shut.

"uh, speaking of temperatures, i know this is crazy, but i am feeling a bit chilly." you admit, the winter air entering the classroom and hitting your naked skin. after all, you were only in your thin sleepwear, having heavy covers on your bed that kept you warm. seonghwa wastes no time in taking off his prefect cloak, helping you put it on and planting a kiss on your forehead.

"you look beautiful in green, my pretty hufflepuff."

blush paints your cheeks, his scent enveloping you and sending a fresh batch of butterflies to your stomach. you never noticed it before, but he smells of forest moss and after rain stone, with a hint of potions ingredients. it is intoxicating, entering your organism and threatening to never leave.

"oh, merlin," seonghwa throws his head back, lost in pure pleasure as your hole swallows him, the outline of his cock on your belly adding to it all and helping him get closer to his goal. "fuck- fuck-"

he's absolutely dashing, a thin layer of sweat shining on his face and making his dark locks stick to his forehead. his lips are plump from you biting and sucking on them, slightly parted and letting out little gasps and moans. he unbuttons the first few buttons of his uniform, not having a problem with the cold. you're a moaning mess, just like him, completely letting go of every thought you had until now, simply giving yourself to him and admiring him.

you feel full of him, and just when you thought you couldn't feel fuller, seonghwa hisses, spilling his load in you and creating more squelching sounds as he rides out his orgasm, pushing in and out of you sloppily.

it doesn't take long for you to reach your own, the knot in your stomach exploding as his tip slams mercilessly into your soft spot, making you grip his arms, shoulders, hair, anything you could reach. he works you through your high, not missing a single face or sound you make.

you're exhausted, struggling to catch your breath. the recovery lasts longer than usual, seonghwa having wrecked you inside out. his hands gently remove your hair from your face so he can take a good look at you.

"you're good, love. breathe." he coos, caressing your cheek and blowing into your face to cool you off.

"thank you," you blurt out.

"what for?" the slytherin prefect laughs at your innocence.

"i don't know. this, i guess. i've never enjoyed sex, always saw it as a chore. and i never felt desired, just objectified."

"well," the dark haired slytherin pecks your forehead, then your nose, and finally your lips, "you don't have to worry about that anymore. i've never desired anyone the way i desire you, and i think i just proved it to you how much. you don't have to fear those things with me anymore."

"park seonghwa, are you subtly asking me to be your girlfriend?" you shyly ask, knowing that you might be wrong and embarrass yourself in front of him. to your relief, he pecks your lips once again.

"perhaps. only if you want to. if not, then i'm not asking."

"perhaps i want to."

"perhaps that makes me happy."

"you're crazy." you laugh, and he joins.

seonghwa does one more thing no other partner has ever done for you; he helps you get cleaned, then dressed, and walks you to the doors of your common room.

"if you do decide to sneak off again, please do let me know. wouldn't want other prefects to find you and steal your heart."

you nod, and with a longer kiss, finally part ways with him. he waits until you finish your usual rhythmic tapping on the barrels, until the doors open, and finally, until you disappear into your common room and back to the dormitory.

you notice the sun already rising, and hurry to jump back in bed.

"excuse me? is that a slytherin cloak on you?"

you freeze in your tracks, the cloak ready to slide off you and hide under your pillow. the girl on the bed to your left doesn't give up, now sitting up and staring at you wide eyed.

"and a prefect one too?!" the voice on the right joins, waking up the rest of the room and bringing attention to you.

fuck.

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[httpswritings]

if you were my little girl: the series part 2

alexia putellas x child!reader; this story contains mentions of traumatic experiences as drug addiction, child abuse and similar topics. don't read it if you find those topics triggering.

Silent Guardian

The days blurred into a kaleidoscope of drills, sprints, and the comforting thud of the ball against your foot. But there was a new element to your routine – Alexia. True to her word, she started attending your training sessions, a silent guardian on the sidelines. Your heart would skip a beat every time you saw her, a jolt of encouragement coursing through you with each approving nod.

The facade held. Your parents, wary of an audience, behaved with a semblance of normalcy in public, so Alexia's suspicion of you being in danger faded.

Every goal you scored, every perfectly weighted pass, was a victory not just on the scoreboard, but over the darkness that lurked within your home. Alexia's cheers, a joyful eruption amidst the roar of the crowd, were a balm to your little but damaged self.

Alexia couldn't help but watch you closely. The way you reacted to the world, how certain things seemed to touch you more deeply than others, it tugged at her heart. It wasn't a weakness she saw, but a tenderness that made her want to stand between you and anything that might cause you pain.

Silence Breaks the Bond

The months blurred into a kaleidoscope of drills, sprints, and the comforting thud of the ball against your foot. But on the sidelines of your victories, a different reality waited. Your parents, physically present, were emotionally absent. Empty lunchboxes on the counter remained a daily reminder of their disinterest, a stark contrast to the cheers echoing from the training grounds.

They didn't care about your school life neither did they help you with your homework.

To be fair, they seemed like normal stressed parents worried about work and paying bills.

They were ghosts, navigating their own anxieties, leaving you to navigate yours alone.

You started doing bad at school.

Failed exams, no homework done, complains from teachers, etc.

At the tender age of seven, the world of learning seemed to have lost its allure, replaced by a growing sense of disillusionment.

The once-sparkling curiosity that had defined you was now dimmed, replaced by a veil of melancholy. The vibrant colors of your childhood were fading, replaced by a somber gray that mirrored the turmoil within you, grappling with a burden that seemed too heavy for your young shoulders to bear.

Alexia became a source of unexpected pressure. She'd noticed your withdrawal and failing grades, her playful questions morphing into a worried insistence you tell her what was wrong. You longed to confide in her, but the trauma remained a locked vault within you. Your silence, fueled by fear and confusion, was misinterpreted by Alexia as defiance. The frustration simmered in her eyes, a stark contrast to the warmth you once knew. The unspoken words hung heavy between you, a heartbreaking consequence of your unspoken pain.

Alexia's words hit you harder than any punishment your parents could dish out. Her disappointment, a word laced with hurt, echoed in the empty space where your secret pain resided. The fear you'd been holding back morphed into a suffocating dread. "Letting her down" felt like a betrayal, a confirmation that your silence had pushed away the one person you trusted. The weight of guilt settled on your shoulders. Maybe Alexia was right. Maybe you were just being a brat, making everything worse. But the truth, the darkness you couldn't speak of, felt like an insurmountable wall, isolating you further.

A Sanctuary Built for Two

The midday sun beat down mercilessly on the training field, mirroring the intensity of the practice session. Drills were brutal, pushing you to your physical and mental limits. But amidst the exhaustion, a memory, a dark tendril from the buried trauma, surfaced unexpectedly. Tears welled up in your eyes, blurring the image of the coach barking orders, his voice a distant echo.

The memory was vivid – your mother's hand, rough and unforgiving, twisting into your hair. You tasted salt, tears mixing with the remnants of uneaten food. Your whimpers, a desperate plea, were lost in the chaos of the moment. It was a recurring scene, one you'd desperately tried to compartmentalize, to bury deep within the recesses of your mind.

You stumbled, legs weak, vision obscured by a veil of tears. A hand, strong and steady, caught you before you could hit the ground. It was Alexia, her concern etched on her face.

"Hey, what's wrong?" she asked, her voice laced with urgency. But you couldn't speak. The words wouldn't come, trapped behind a lump in your throat that constricted your breathing.

Alexia didn't need words to understand. Her arm wrapped around your shoulders, a silent haven in the midst of the chaos. She gently held your body on her arms and took you to the coolness of the locker room, a sanctuary away from the prying eyes on the field.

The locker room was a stark contrast to the sun-drenched field. Here, shadows clung to the corners, and the air hung heavy with the lingering scent of sweat and disinfectant. Alexia ushered you onto a bench, its worn leather cool against your burning skin.

For what felt like an eternity, you were unable to speak. Sobs wracked your small frame, your only sound a desperate struggle for air. But Alexia didn't push, didn't force you to talk. Instead, she sat beside you, a silent anchor in the storm.

"Breathe, little one, breathe," she murmured, her voice a soothing balm. "I'm here. I'm here." Her words, a gentle mantra, slowly coaxed you back from the precipice. Slowly, your sobs subsided, replaced by ragged gasps for breath.

Tears continued to stream down your face, but they were different now, cleansed of the initial terror.

Alexia didn't insult you for crying. Alexia didn't hit you.

Alexia was different.

Building a Safe Haven

Alexia, staring at your failing grades and withdrawn demeanor, felt a pang of something deeper than disappointment. It was a dawning realization – a fear that maybe everyone, including her, had been failing you. Here you were, at the tender age of seven, already burdened by a weight no child should carry.

The love she held for you, a love stronger than she ever anticipated, twisted with a fierce protectiveness. She saw the spark in your eyes dimming, replaced by a dull ache of something unspoken. Maybe, she thought, the answer wasn't pushing you harder, but stepping back. Allowing you the space to simply be a child, to rediscover the joy of scraped knees and silly jokes, just like she had done when she was younger.

It was a humbling thought, an admission that her initial approach, fueled by worry, had missed the mark entirely. Perhaps, the greatest act of love wouldn't be pushing you towards some perceived potential, but creating a safe haven where you could just be you.

The smell of betrayal

The final whistle blew, signaling the end of another grueling practice. Relief battled with exhaustion as you slumped against the fence. Alexia appeared with her her usual bright smile, joined by Mapi and Ingrid.

She reached out for her almost daily hug, the one you always cherished. But this time, the familiar warmth was tainted by a sickeningly sweet, fermented odor. It hit you like a physical blow. You pulled back abruptly, your nose scrunched in disgust.

"You smell weird," you blurted out, the words laced with a coldness you didn't recognize in yourself.

Alexia faltered, her smile collapsing. "Oh," she chuckled nervously, "it's just... well, the season's over, and I, uh, had a celebratory sip of beer with the team."

Mapi said something to you but you weren't able to hear it.

It wasn't the beer itself. You didn't know the taste, even if you had witnessed countless nights where your parents drowned their sorrows in amber liquid. But the smell – that was the monster. It was the reeking ghost of countless nights spent huddled in fear, the acrid air clinging to furniture and clothes, a constant reminder of a childhood that was being stolen by addiction.

The love you held for Alexia battled with the rising tide of anger and despair. "Well, you can go so you can keep celebrating," you muttered, your voice flat.

"No! But I...I wanted to introduce you to Mapi and Ingrid! They couldn't wait anymore to meet you!" Her voice trailed off, lost in the chasm that had suddenly opened between you.

You stared at her, the playful glint in your eyes replaced by a steely glint of hurt. Your usual tenderness, the very quality that drew you to Alexia, had vanished, replaced by a wall you didn't even know you could build. The damage was done. The smell of beer had become a cruel reminder that you couldn't escape that substance, because you'll find it in every adult.

The silence stretched on, heavy and awkward. You poked a hole in the dirt with your shoe, the playful glint in your eyes replaced by a frown. Alexia's happy face seemed to wilt under your scrutiny. You didn't want to hurt her feelings, but the yucky beer smell clung to her like a bad memory.

"Maybe," you mumbled, kicking another clump of dirt, "grown-ups aren't supposed to smell like yucky beer. Maybe they're supposed to smell like, like..." you scrunched your nose, searching for the right words, "...like cookies!"

Alexia's cheeks flushed red. You weren't sure if it was from the beer or because you'd caught her in something you considered bad. It made you feel even grumpier. Cookies! That's how grown-ups should smell, not like something that makes your tummy feel poorly, thinking how you always witnessed your parents throwing up.

Suddenly, a lightbulb went off in your head. You puffed out your chest, trying to look as grown-up as possible. "Maybe," you declared, sticking your chin out, "I don't need hugs anymore. Maybe I don't need anyone who smells like yucky beer!"

A big, fat tear rolled down your cheek. You hated crying, but the words just tumbled out before you could stop them. Alexia knelt down slowly, her eyes filled with a sadness that made you feel a tiny bit bad. Alexia realized something must had to happened to you to be so disgusted by beer.

"Hey," she said softly, wiping away your tear with her thumb. "It's okay to be mad. But remember," she held out a finger with a sparkly ring on it, "I'll always be here for you, even if I mess up. Pinky promise?"

You hesitated, wiping your nose on your sleeve. Maybe she wasn't so bad after all. But all you wanted right now was to go inside, hug your stuffed bear, and pretend the bad smells and confusing grown-up things didn't exist.

Taking a deep breath, you looked up at Alexia. "Maybe," you whispered, barely audible, "maybe you could smell like cookies tomorrow?"

Alexia's smile was small, but it reached her eyes. It wasn't the usual bright smile, but it had a spark of understanding. "Cookies sounds delicious," she said, ruffling your hair gently.

The Most Important Match Of All

The car door slammed shut, the harsh sound echoing in the otherwise quiet street. Alexia watched the taillights of your parents' car disappear around the corner, a knot of unease tightening in her stomach. You had left, a small figure dwarfed by the backseat, your face a mask of conflicting emotions.

She turned to Mapi and Ingrid, their faces etched with concern mirroring her own. "I wasn't expecting her to be so upset," Alexia confessed, her voice a low murmur.

Mapi, ever the pragmatist, offered a tentative smile. "Maybe she's just shy, Ale. Kids can be like that sometimes, especially around new people."

But Alexia shook her head, a flicker of doubt clouding Mapi's optimistic facade. “No, this feels different. She was so excited about the idea of meeting you. Then, the second she noticed the smell of alcohol...“ Her voice trailed off, the memory of your sudden withdrawal a fresh wound.

A pang of guilt shot through Alexia. She had been so focused on nurturing your talent on the field, on pushing you towards your potential, on making you her heir to La Reina title, that she might have missed something crucial. Had she been too blindsided by her own ambition, neglecting to see the emotional landscape of your life?

Ingrid, the quiet observer of the group, stepped forward. Her eyes, usually so calm, held a steely glint. "There's something more going on, Alexia. I can feel it in my gut. Her parents seem...well, normal from the outside. Polite, hardworking. But that doesn't mean things are sunshine and rainbows behind closed doors."

Shame washed over her. She had prided herself on being your mentor, your confidante, yet she had failed to see the silent cries for help. The realization was a bitter pill to swallow. Here she was, a celebrated athlete, yet she had fumbled the most important match of all.

"Maybe you're right," Alexia admitted, the words hollow in her mouth. The past few months flickered past her inner eye – your dwindling appetite, the exhaustion clinging to you like a shadow, the plummeting grades that you brushed off as a temporary dip. Signs she had chosen to ignore, attributing them solely to the pressure of training.

Taking a deep breath, Alexia pushed the self-pity aside. You were home with your parents, and that was where you had to be for now. But a fierce determination ignited within her. Things were about to change. She would find a way to bridge the gap, to create a safe space where the mask could finally fall away. The road ahead wouldn't be easy, but for the first time, Alexia wasn't just looking at you as a prodigy with boundless potential. She saw you for who you truly were – a vulnerable child in need of support, a child she wouldn't fail again

The price of cookies

The warmth of freshly baked cookies, a pact between Alexia and you, still lingered in the air whenever she was around. Yet, a subtle transformation had taken root. The once jovial mentor had morphed into a vigilant sentinel. Her gaze, once playful, now held an undercurrent of suspicion, scanning your surroundings like a hawk. Every interaction, every word exchanged with someone new, was dissected with a silent intensity.

The incident from the other day had shattered the illusion of a seemingly perfect world. The realization that normalcy, like a facade, could conceal a hidden darkness gnawed at Alexia. It felt like a betrayal, not just of her trust, but of the haven she'd meticulously built for you – a world where football was a source of joy, not a potential escape route. Memories of scraped knees and goofy jokes now felt like faded photographs tucked away in a forgotten album. In their place, Alexia had constructed an invisible shield around you, a desperate attempt to ward off the world's harsh realities.

What words can't describe

Alexia gnawed on her lip, her stomach a tightly wound knot. Building trust with your parents felt like navigating a minefield. It was essential, she knew, but the thought of putting on a facade left a bitter taste in her mouth. Yet, when your parents invited her over for dinner, a forced smile flickered on her lips as she accepted.

Stepping into your apartment, a wave of conflicting emotions washed over her. It was normal. Two bedrooms, a comfortable living room bathed in warm light, and even a small balcony overlooking a quiet street. Relief battled with the nagging suspicion that had taken root in her mind. Everything was clean and tidy, a picture of domestic normalcy that clashed with the unease she couldn't quite shake.

The sight of you, however, brought a genuine smile to her face. Your eyes held a spark of joy that had been missing for weeks, and a wave of protectiveness washed over her. She followed you to your room, the air thick with the sweet scent of childhood. This was your sanctuary, your safe space. Pink and white walls were adorned with a mishmash of treasures: a menagerie of stuffed animals, a rainbow of storybooks, and a collection of dolls in various states of wear and tear.

One doll, however, stood out. A Nancy doll, the limited edition modeled after the Spanish National Team, held a prominent place on your shelf. Alexia felt a tug at her heartstrings.

"That's you," you said shyly, your cheeks dusted with a rosy blush.

Alexia's heart melted.

She didn't know how she got to the point where she felt an overwhelming love for you.

Glancing at the opposite wall, her gaze softened even more. There, proudly displayed on a corkboard, were your artistic creations. Football pitches in vibrant greens and blues, colorful caricatures of your friends, a self-portrait with a gap-toothed grin, and a collection of drawings that featured a prominent figure – Alexia herself, rendered in all her glory (or at least, your interpretation of it).

"That's also you," you said, pointing at a drawing of her mid-dribble, a determined expression etched on her face.

A warm chuckle escaped Alexia's lips. "I'm starting to feel like a permanent resident here!" she joked, the sweetness of your gesture a balm to her worry.

"I could make you a real one," you offered, tilting your head with a hopeful smile. "A drawing, I mean."

The offer felt like a lifeline tossed in a stormy sea. "I'd love that.”

[bohoteacher]

Navigating Betrayal: Reconciling Admiration with Disillusionment

Like many Neil Gaiman fans this month, I've been shocked and distressed by the news regarding the SA allegations. I won't go over the details, as they're readily available online. I'll start by saying that I believe the accusers, and even the most lenient interpretation of events is still troubling enough to discredit Gaiman. For a long time, I didn't know what to say. I was just shocked and, somewhat naively, felt betrayed. I don't typically idolize actors, authors, or other public figures—I'm here for the characters, they're who I love and believe in. So, how did I end up believing in this man and his rhetoric?

I only had a parasocial relationship with him, which is to say no real relationship at all. But I took his Masterclass on writing, spent hours taking notes, and learned from him. I feel betrayed by someone I saw as a beloved teacher. I know this is insignificant compared to what the women who came forward experienced, but it's a valid feeling, and I needed time to process it. My initial reaction was to throw out and discount everything he’s ever written or done—of course it was.

This isn't just about my love for Good Omens, although how can it not be? I learned so much from this man—about writing, about not being too hard on myself, about the creative process. I read his books to my middle school classes, and we all learned how to be better people from them. Today, I saw and bought Instructions, a children’s book by Neil Gaiman illustrated by Charles Vess, from the used bookstore where I volunteer. It was a used copy, so no royalties will go to him. It’s a beautifully illustrated book where the main character walks through a land that clearly symbolizes life, learning lessons like saying please and "if any creature cries to you that it hurts, if you can, ease its pain." How could someone write this and then do what he did? I asked myself. "What an evil hypocrite," was my first thought. But then I recalled a line from another author, Stephen King. In The Stand, a character is described as "awake at the lectern, but asleep at the switch," meaning they know the right thing to do and can talk about it, but in the moment of choice, they act without integrity.

I don’t know if I’m making sense, but I think it’s too easy to label Gaiman as simply evil, as if he intentionally manipulated us by saying the right things just to make us read or watch his creations. The reality is likely far more complicated. Within this man is the amazing, thought-provoking, life-affirming wisdom that many of us have tried to live by, but also the hard, thoughtless, selfish cruelty that led him to abuse young, vulnerable women. The wisdom does not justify the abuse, and the abuse does not nullify the wisdom.

I think it's too simplistic to say Gaiman is despicable and always has been, hiding it from us all along. This doesn't acknowledge the complexity of human nature—that there is potential for both good and bad within us all. As it’s said, possibly by Terry Pratchett or possibly by Neil Gaiman, “It may help to understand human affairs to be clear that most of the great triumphs and tragedies of history are caused, not by people being fundamentally good or fundamentally bad, but by people being fundamentally people.”

Gaiman is a man who has done some fundamentally good things and some fundamentally bad things. I can’t forget either one.

This is just my opinion. I know some people want to cancel him, while others want to exonerate him. You do you. As for me, I will continue to love Aziraphale and Crowley. I will continue to read and create fan-fiction. I will continue to find comfort and wisdom in books that have meant so much to me over the years. But I will also remember that they were created by a very flawed man whom I can no longer trust.

I understand that opinions on this matter vary widely. I know some people might feel that not discarding everything associated with him is wrong, but this is where I stand. I’m not looking to debate this or be told how I should react. I just needed to process my thoughts in writing and move forward in the way that feels right for me.

[remusmoonbaby]

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ PROVOKING: DRACO MALFOY

ᥫ᭡。draco malfoy x afab! reader; you just love to provoke me don't you?

༘⋆ warnings: not proof read, reader feeling bratty due to the fact she is simply bored, reader teasing draco while on an errand in diagon alley, draco getting fed up and teaches reader a lesson, Draco uses the pet names; my love and my pet/pet and reader calls him dear throughout the fic, close proximity, reader's hands being bound behind her back by draco, neck kisses, f receiving fingering, edging/orgasm denial, promise of the punishment being continued at home.

༘⋆ author's note: hello! if you guys know who the creator of this wonderful draco art is please let me know so i can give them their credit!! i hope you enjoy my first draco fic on my blog! :) i'm currently hyper fixating on him (and anything dramione...) so here is a product of it! this was so much fun to write! i hope you enjoy my loves 💚

༘⋆ word count: 1.5k

ᥫ᭡。if you wish to see more of my works make sure to check out my m.list!

You felt yourself let out a sigh for what felt like the umpteenth time while you walked along side draco on an early morning errand run in Diagon Alley.  

Currently you were both between two bookshelves to which Draco was scanning the many isles looking for the books he needed for his case at work.  

"Draco..." you called out softly as you tried to gain his attention.  

"Yes, my love?" he said as he continued to scan the spines of the books.  

You huffed lowly as you felt yourself start to get a bit frustrated with him. But that's when you suddenly get an idea.  

Trying to hold in a giggle so that Draco didn't hear you, you wrapped your arms around his waist and squished yourself against him.  

"I’m bored..." you said sounding muffled as you had the side of your face mushed against his back. 

You could hear a low chuckle from Draco as he gently placed one hand on top of yours while giving them a soft caress. "I'm almost done here, just be a little more patient my pet."  

Letting out a small moan of protest, you waited until draco let go of your hands to go into action with your small plan.  

You gently traced small patterns with the tip of your finger on his lower stomach while slowly traveling to the waist band of his black colored slacks.  

"My love." Draco let out a low warning as he started to feel you pushing in your fingers through the waist band, and slightly playing with his happy trail.  

"Hmm, yes Draco?" you said innocently as if you weren't sure as to what he was warning you about.  

"What in Merlin's name do you think you're doing?" he said as he felt his breath hitch slightly at the end of his sentence when the tips of your fingers grazed just the top part of his base.  

“Oh, just entertaining myself dear.” you said with a small giggle as your other hand started to slowly descend downwards to trace small enticing patterns on his clothed bulge. 

Draco stopped looking at the damned books in front of him as he looked down at your hands that were trying, and doing their best, at rousing him just because you were bored.  

Wanting to get more of reaction out of Draco after feeling him tense up completely, you pushed yourself against him more where you had much better chance of taking hold of his base entirely with the hand inside of his pants.  

Just the feel of your wondering hands was enough to make Draco start to become semi-hard, but it was the fact that you were doing this in public, which was not very much like you but nonetheless unsurprising to Draco that you are doing this for attention.  

Once he felt that you fingers wrap around the base of his cock, he knew he needed to intervene.  

You felt Draco take hold of your hands, to which he took your chance of being surprised he took hold of your hands and pinned them behind your back as he pushed you against the bookshelves.  

“Muffliato.” Draco said as he casted the muffling spell harshly while also casting a disillusionment charm, concealing the two of you from wondering eyes in the shop.  

“Draco-!” You said with a gasp as you felt the air in your lungs leave you a bit when Draco pushed you into the bookshelves.  

“Tell me dear, do you enjoy teasing me in such a public space knowing you will be punished for it?”

he said into your ear as you felt his free hand grip your hip. 

You knew this is where it would land you, but at least you had his full attention now. “Y-yes.” you softly responded as you also gave him a small nod.  

“Such a disobedient pet.” he tsked as his grip on your hip tightened causing you to arch your back slightly and to press into his hardening length.  

The sensation of you pressing into him caused Draco to groan as it brought a stir at the base of his spine. The grip on your hip increased even more, that you knew it would leave a wonderful bruising of his fingertips for you to marvel at the next morning.  

“Must I teach you a lesson here pet?” he said sensationally causing goosebumps to form along your neck and arms.  

“Please...” you whimpered as you pressed yourself against him fully as you tried to tugged on your wrist that were being held onto tightly by his other hand.  

“You’re dirty pet.” Draco purred into your ear as he slowly moved the hand on your hip down to your upper thigh and circling it to travel underneath the length of your skirt.  

You felt his thumb start to trace the edges of your laced underwear causing you to shift your feet side to side as you started to feel impatient. The sensation of his silver signet ring biting into the skin of your wrists was a silent warning for you to stop moving.  

“Be patient.” Draco spat out as he cupped your clothed mound.  

“Draco please I can’—” you cut yourself off with a startled gasp at the sensation of Draco of him inflicting a slap onto your throbbing clit.  

Draco moved your sopping underwear to the side as he started to mess with your wet folds. “So, wet already, are we? I haven’t even done anything to you yet.” he teased as he chuckled while his fingers circled your entrance.  

Shivers of pleasure coarse throughout your body as Draco simultaneously played with your folds and placed open-mouthed kisses on the side of your neck.  

A sharp gasp that soundly remotely close to a startled moan escapes through your lips as you felt Draco insert a finger up to his first knuckle inside of your awaiting entrance.  

“Mm, so eager inside of you.” Draco said in a teasing tone as he slowly pumped his finger inside of you while he traced lazy circles on your clit.  

Slowly you felt the sparks of pleasure travel from the base of your spine course down your legs, causing you to curl your toes in pleasure.  Sensing your growing pleasure due to you tightening your walls around his finger, Draco inserted another finger to join in pleasuring you even further.  

“Are you enjoying yourself my love?” Draco said in a husked tone as he started to quicken his pace with his fingers.  

“Ah—y-yes Draco!” you moaned out as you arched your back into him making the top of your head to touch his chest, giving you the chance to see the lust clouding his gray eyes.  

“Good—” he said as he let go of your wrists and took hold of your lower jaw as he smashed his lips onto yours.  

You gasped into the kiss, giving Draco access of inserting his tongue inside of your mouth. The two of you fought for a moment of dominance before you let Draco take the reins completely which created a messy, wet kiss that was absolutely dirty but prefect giving the moment the two of you were in.  

Draco picked up the pace even faster with his fingers as his thumb took charge of creating quick tight circles on your clit, causing you to squeal into the kiss as you felt yourself start to shiver with you impending orgasm coming in hot and fast. 

Just as you started to feel the tightening feeling in your abdomen, every sensation of pleasure was halted which caused a moment of confusion cloud your pleasure-seeking brain.  

“What—” 

“I’m glad you were feeling good my love but—” Draco said as he looked down at you with a smug smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “—this is only the beginning of your punishment pet.” he said as he straightened his back out, seeming more composed than you were.  

“Draco, no! Please, I was so —” you were cut off mid complaint by Draco taking hold of the back of your neck and bringing your faces close to one another.  

“Cease your complaining pet, you’ll receive more of your desired punishment at home where I know there isn’t pervs lurking about the corner.” He said in a low growl as he gently caressed your flushed cheek with his other hand.  

“O-okay.” you said deferentially as you bit your lower lip in anticipation.  

“Good, I’m glad you came into an understanding my love.” Draco said sweetly as he placed a kiss on your slightly damped forehead before he reached behind you and grabbed the book, he was looking for behind you.  

“Come my love, our business is done here for the day.” Draco said in an endearing tone as he looked over his shoulder to give you a loving smile that left you flustered on the spot.  

Quickly, you casted a silent charm over yourself to compose yourself to look more presentable before you caught up to Draco at the counter where the elderly wizard checked out the book Draco got.  

With everything done, you both walked out of the store hand in hand as anticipation and excitement coursed through you as you couldn’t wait to side-along appariate back to your home at the Malfoy Estate.

[astroa3h]

lilith through the houses ✨🥀

Lilith in the 1st House: Here, Lilith influences your self-image and personality. It’s like having a shadow self that’s rebellious and defiant, constantly challenging the way you present yourself to the world. You might struggle with anger or impulsiveness, feeling like an outsider even in your own skin.

Lilith in the 2nd House: This placement touches on your values and possessions. Lilith can manifest as an intense, sometimes destructive relationship with material things and self-worth. You might experience deep-seated fears about security and survival, or find yourself obsessing over possessions as a way to fill emotional voids.

Lilith in the 3rd House: Communication gets a Lilith twist here. Your words might carry a sharp edge, often veering into taboo or controversial territory. Misunderstandings can be frequent, and you may feel like your true thoughts are too dark or intense for everyday conversation.

Lilith in the 4th House: In the realm of home and family, Lilith can stir up deep, unresolved issues. This placement often points to a tumultuous home life or unresolved trauma from the past. You might feel like an outcast in your own family or struggle with a sense of belonging.

Lilith in the 5th House: Lilith’s presence here can bring intense, sometimes tumultuous experiences in love, creativity, and pleasure. Romantic relationships might be fraught with obsession, power struggles, or taboo elements. Your creative outlets could also be a source of inner turmoil, expressing the darker aspects of your psyche.

Lilith in the 6th House: In the house of work and health, Lilith can manifest as a rebellious attitude toward daily routines and responsibilities. You might find yourself in constant conflict with authority figures or grappling with issues around control and perfectionism in your work or health routines.

Lilith in the 7th House: Relationships are a battleground with Lilith here. Deep fears of abandonment or betrayal might surface, or you could find yourself drawn to partners who bring out your darkest qualities. Relationships may feel like a power struggle, where intimacy is intertwined with control.

Lilith in the 8th House: This house is already about transformation and deep bonds, but with Lilith, it goes to another level. You might have an intense fear of loss or betrayal, or find yourself drawn to dangerous or taboo aspects of sexuality and intimacy. It's a realm of deep psychic wounds and transformational healing.

Lilith in the 9th House: Beliefs and higher learning take a dark twist with Lilith here. Your belief systems may include taboo or unconventional elements, and you might feel a deep sense of alienation in your quest for truth. There's a potential for fanaticism or an obsession with dark, forbidden knowledge.

Lilith in the 10th House: In your career and public image, Lilith can manifest as a fear of authority or a desire to rebel against societal expectations. You might feel misunderstood by the public or struggle with a public persona that feels inauthentic or oppressive.

Lilith in the 11th House: Your friendships and social circles may be impacted by Lilith’s darker energy. You might find yourself drawn to social groups that are unconventional or taboo, or feel like an outcast among your peers. Your hopes and dreams could also be tinged with Lilith’s intense energy, leading to a sense of disillusionment.

Lilith in the 12th House: In the realm of the subconscious, Lilith can bring up your deepest fears and insecurities. You might struggle with feelings of isolation or be haunted by fears that you can't even articulate. This placement often indicates a deep need for inner healing, as Lilith brings to light the darkest corners of your psyche.

xox astro ash

Get your own Lilith Reading @ astroash.net

(Find Under Single Placement Reading)

TikTok - astroa3h

[ghoulsbounty]

The Unexpected pt 1

DBF! Wade Felton x Fem!Reader

Warnings: smut (18+), car sex, cowgirl, semi-public sex, heavy flirting, p in v, bad dates, mutual pining, angst, age gap (reader is early 30's, Wade is 48)

Word Count: 6.3K

A/N: Anon! ALL the love for Wade Felton! There isn't enough for him and I've loved writing this. Yes this gif did inspire the first half. Here is the first part, I hope you enjoy! I’d love to know what you all think to this, and feel free to send me more requests 💌

The anticipation had been building all day, excitement bubbling up within you like a shaken soda bottle ready to burst. You'd meticulously chosen your outfit, practiced your smile in the mirror, and rehearsed witty conversation starters in your head. After weeks of chatting online, you were finally meeting him in person—the man who seemed to check all the boxes, the one who promised to sweep you off your feet and make your heart race.

But as you sat at the cozy table near the window of the trendy restaurant, watching the world outside blur by in a flurry of raindrops, you couldn't shake the sinking feeling in your stomach. Time ticked by slowly, each passing minute punctuated by the clinking of cutlery and the murmured conversations of other diners. You checked your phone for what felt like the hundredth time, hoping for a message, a sign that he was on his way. Yet, there was nothing.

When he finally walked in, you tried to mask your disillusionment with a forced smile. He shrugged off his navy sports jacket with casual indifference, his eyes darting around the room as he muttered excuses for his lateness—a familiar refrain of traffic jams and inclement weather that did little to appease your growing unease.

As he settled into his seat opposite you, his gaze flickering over the menu without so much as a glance in your direction, you couldn't help but feel a pang of disappointment. This wasn't how you had imagined your first meeting—a whirlwind of laughter and chemistry, a spark igniting between you from the moment your eyes met. Instead, there was only awkwardness, an intense strain in the atmosphere between you.

You tried to make conversation, to salvage what little remained of the evening, but his responses were curt, his attention already drifting elsewhere. The giddiness you had felt in suspense of this date had long since dissipated, replaced by a sense of defeat and heavy regret. As he snapped his fingers to get the waiter's attention, you realized with a sinking feeling that this was not the beginning of a grand romance, but rather the end of a fleeting fantasy.

Your mom had been relentless in her encouragement to dip your toes into the dating pool. "You need to get out more," she'd insist, her voice a blend of exasperation and eagerness. "Don't spend every weekend holed up with your old folks." Though her intentions were good, her words often felt like a gentle push tinged with a mother's anxious plea.

At first, the idea had appealed to you—a chance to break free from the familiar routine, to explore new possibilities, to embrace the thrill of romance. The thought of being wined and dined, engaging in lively conversations with potential romantic interests, had sparked a sense of excitement within you. It all seemed infinitely better than the quiet evenings spent at home.

However, what you hadn't bargained for were the rollercoaster rides that awaited you in the tumultuous world of online dating. Each date often began with high hopes and slight apprehension but ended with you feeling more disheartened than before. The profiles rarely matched the personalities, the conversations fell flat, and the chemistry was frequently non-existent. The thrill of romance quickly turned into a series of awkward encounters, leaving you longing for the predictability of Scrabble nights with your parents.

Throughout your twenties, your focus had been singular: advancing your career. You'd packed your bags and moved across the country, chasing opportunities that promised to elevate your prospects. Along the way, there were relationships, some fleeting, some more substantial, and your fair share of dates. But whether it was the adjustment to life back in your hometown, or the distinct pool of available men in Raleigh, dating since your return had been anything but smooth sailing.

As you swept your gaze across the bustling restaurant, a familiar figure caught your eye. There, perched on a stool at the bar with an air of casual confidence, sat your dad's best friend. His presence seemed to command attention, and when his eyes met yours, there was a knowing glint that passed between you. With a hesitant lift of his fingers, he offered a greeting, and you responded with a subtle flick of your hand before discreetly returning it to your lap. A small smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you acknowledged him, a wave of nostalgia mingling with a hint of embarrassment.

Memories flooded back—summer barbecues filled with laughter, late-night advice sessions during tough times, and the unspoken bond that had grown over the years. It had been a while since you'd seen him, since you'd returned to your hometown. Despite the warmth of these memories, you'd kept your distance, declining invitations to join your parents at his recent back-yard cook-outs. A sense of failure and shame had held you back, the weight of unmet expectations and dreams unfulfilled lingering in your mind like a stubborn shadow.

Wade Felton sat at the bar, his casual confidence an anchor in the sea of strangers that surrounded you. His eyes, a mix of concern and curiosity, held a spark of recognition that sent a ripple of reassurance through you. It felt oddly comforting, the familiarity of his face amidst the unfamiliarity of the restaurant.

As you glanced his way, Wade raised his glass of bourbon in your direction, a subtle quirk of his eyebrow accompanying the gesture. It was a small but significant moment. Was it an invitation to join him in a drink, or perhaps a silent acknowledgment of the less-than-ideal situation unfolding at your table? You couldn't be sure, but the gesture warmed you nonetheless.

The evening had not gone as planned. Your date, Tom, was self-absorbed, endlessly droning on about his workout routines and expansive vinyl collection, without so much as a pause to engage you in conversation. You felt trapped, a prisoner of your own politeness, listening to him with feigned interest while your thoughts drifted to the man at the bar.

But now, with Wade's gaze fixed on you, you felt a spark of defiance. You'd had enough of enduring dismal dates out of sheer courtesy. His mere presence ignited a desire to reclaim your evening.

Summoning your courage, you interrupted Tom mid-monologue. "Can I stop you?" you said politely but firmly. "This isn't going well, I think you'd agree."

Tom looked taken aback, his expression shifting from confusion to resignation. He nodded slowly, his eyes dropping to the table. He reached for his wallet, extracted a few notes, and placed them on the table. "You're right," he admitted bluntly, "you were much more interesting when we talked on the app."

You seethed inwardly but maintained your composure, offering a tight-lipped nod as you retrieved your share of the bill from your purse and placed it on top of his contribution.

"I'm taking this," Tom declared, grabbing the bottle of wine as he rose from his seat. Snatching his jacket, he glanced back at you. "Good luck," he added curtly before exiting the restaurant, leaving you alone at the table.

With a heavy sigh, you gathered your purse and the plate of food you had ordered. Determination fuelled your steps as you navigated the crowded restaurant, heading towards the bar where Wade sat, his sturdy frame dominating the space. As you approached, the soft glow of the overhead lights cast a warm halo around him, illuminating him like a beacon in the dimness of the bar.

Setting the plate down on the polished counter, you pushed it towards Wade with a gentle yet purposeful motion. With practiced ease, you hoisted yourself onto the stool beside him, the worn leather creaking softly beneath you. Leaning in, you met his amused gaze with a playful twinkle in your eyes.

"Did you order the Korean tacos with a side of a woman who is apparently more fun on a dating app than in real life, Mr. Felton?" you quipped, your words laced with a touch of self-deprecation. A small smile tugged at the corners of your lips as Wade's laughter filled the air, his easy-going demeanour a welcome contrast to the tension of your failed date. With a casual grace, he turned to face you, one arm resting on the bar as he met your gaze with genuine warmth.

His laughter was like a balm, soothing the sting of the evening's earlier disappointments. "I don't like to pry, but it didn't seem like you were getting a word in edgewise," he remarked, shaking his head in amusement. He signalled to the bartender and ordered you a glass of white wine. "White, right? If I remember, red gives you headaches," he added with a knowing smile.

You nodded appreciatively, a wide smile spreading across your face at his thoughtfulness. The way he remembered such a trivial detail about you struck a chord, touching you in a way you hadn't expected. It wasn't just the wine; it was the recognition, the familiarity in the gesture that made you feel seen.

As you brought the glass of wine to your lips and took a sip, a sense of calm washed over you. The crisp, cool liquid steadied your nerves, the taste familiar and soothing. The ambient noise of the restaurant faded into the background, leaving just the two of you in this unexpectedly intimate bubble. The warmth of the moment wrapped around you, making this unfamiliar yet oddly comforting situation feel like a safe haven amidst the chaos of your evening.

This felt like a decisively grown-up situation, and while you knew you were perfectly capable of handling it, there was still a sense of novelty to the experience. Normally, around your dad's friends—people you had essentially grown up with—you couldn't help but feel like a child, forever relegated to the role of the kid tagging along. But here, sitting at the bar with Wade, it felt different. Two adults, sharing a drink and engaging in conversation as equals. You couldn't help but wonder if he felt the same way, or if perhaps this was just a figment of your imagination, a fleeting moment of perceived maturity.

"Are you waiting for someone?" you asked, your curiosity piqued as you tried to manoeuvre yourself gracefully through the conversation with the older man. 

Wade's gaze drifted for a moment, his eyes flickering briefly to his phone before returning to meet yours. "I was," he admitted with a sigh, the faintest hint of disappointment colouring his tone. He lifted his phone from the bar to check a message. "But not anymore. Seems like I got stood up."

You noticed a flicker of frustration in his eyes, a brief moment where his façade faltered before he shrugged it off with a nonchalant gesture. The soft glow of the bar lights bathed his face in a warm, amber hue, accentuating the contours of his features and the subtle lines that spoke of a life rich with experiences.

"That's rough," you sympathized, your voice soft as you raised the glass of wine to your lips, offering a brief reprieve from the tension in the air. You savoured the taste, allowing it to linger on your palate as you considered the shared sense of defeat you felt with him. "Seems like we're both having a night of disappointments," you remarked, the words carrying a weight of understanding between you. 

Wade chuckled, a deep, reassuring sound that made you feel at ease. His eyes crinkled at the corners, reflecting the light. "Yeah, it looks like it. But hey, at least we can keep each other company now."

You couldn't help but silently thank the woman who hadn't shown. Since you were old enough to appreciate the opposite sex, you'd harboured a secret admiration for the older man. In your awkward late teens, you likely made it painfully obvious, your infatuation spilling over in clumsy gestures and stammered words, until your first experiences with boys taught you the nuances of approaching them with an air of sensuality.

But even as you matured, your admiration for Wade remained steadfast, a silent longing that lingered beneath the surface. You'd often caught yourself stealing glances at him during family gatherings, marvelling at the way his laughter seemed to fill the room and the easy confidence with which he carried himself.

Now, as you sat beside him at the bar, you couldn't shake the thought that fate had intervened in the form of a missed date. The anticipation of what could unfold between you hummed in the air, mingling with the soft murmur of conversation and the clinking of glasses. Despite the unlikelihood of him ever seeing you as anything more than his best friend's daughter, you couldn't resist the urge to inch closer on your stool until your knee brushed his, a subtle yet deliberate gesture that spoke volumes of your unspoken desires.

"So, what were you looking forward to more, the company or the food?" you asked, your tone light and playful.

He leaned back slightly, the leather of the bar stool creaking under his weight as he considered your question. "A bit of both, I suppose," he said, his voice low and thoughtful. He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture that betrayed a hint of vulnerability beneath his usually composed exterior. "But if I'm honest," he continued, his gaze softening as it met yours, "good company always trumps good food."

There was a sincerity in his words that made your heart flutter, a comforting heat enveloping you you at the genuine sentiment behind them. With a thoughtful expression, you pursed your lips, considering his response. "I agree," you finally replied, a playful glint in your eyes, "but you haven't tried these tacos yet."

With a mischievous smile, you slid the plate over to him, the aroma of the savoury dish filling the space between you. Wade chuckled, a deep, resonant sound that reverberated through the air, his laughter infectious as it mingled with the ambient noise of the busy bar.

"You're right," Wade agreed, his tone light as he picked up a taco and broke it in half with a satisfying crunch. He held out a piece to you, a twinkle in his eyes as he willed you to accept it with a smile. "I can't be too quick to judge, can I?" he added, his expression teasing.

You accepted the taco from Wade, feeling a rush of excitement as his fingertips brushed against yours, sending a shiver down your spine. His eyes remained locked on yours, a silent exchange of understanding passing between you as he brought the food to his lips and took a bite, a soft hum of appreciation escaping him.

Following his lead, you savoured the explosion of flavours from the taco, each bite a delightful symphony of spices and textures that danced on your tongue. "Damn, that's a good taco," Wade remarked, a satisfied smile spreading across his face as he turned his attention back to you. His eyes held a warmth that matched his smile, and there was a subtle yet unmistakable longing in his gaze. "Still prefer the company, though," he added, his words laced with sincerity and a hint of something more, leaving you with a fluttering sensation in your chest.

The moment felt unexpectedly intimate, the simple act of sharing food creating a connection that seemed to transcend the confines of the respective roles you held in each others lives. With each bite, the initial awkwardness of the evening melted away, replaced by a growing sense of ease that you hadn't felt in a man's company in a long time. 

When Wade finished with a lick of his fingers, a jolt of electricity shot through you, igniting a flurry of thoughts and emotions. You inwardly scolded yourself, urging restraint and reminding yourself of the countless reasons why anything beyond what you had with Wade was impossible. After all, there were too many factors to consider: your dad, the significant age difference, the intricate web of familial and social dynamics that bound you both.

"So, tell me," Wade continued, pulling you from your thoughts as he leaned back slightly against the bar, his expression relaxed yet curious. "What have you been up to since coming back to town? Besides enduring disastrous dates, of course."

"Well," you began, fingers idly tracing patterns on the stem of your wine glass as you mulled over your response, "besides dodging the pitfalls of modern romance, I've been navigating the murky waters of post-grad life and a floundering career." You paused, allowing the weight of your words to settle before continuing. "Moving back home has been... an adjustment, to say the least. But I'm slowly finding my footing again."

Wade nodded, his gaze gentle and attentive as he listened to your words. "I can imagine," he replied, a hint of empathy in his voice. "Transitioning back to small-town life after being away for so long must be quite the challenge. But it sounds like you're handling it with grace."

You couldn't suppress the smile that tugged at your lips, appreciating his understanding and the fact that he always knew what to say. "Thanks," you murmured, feeling a heat rise to your cheeks. "And what about you? What's been keeping you busy these days?"

"Work, mostly," he chuckled, his eyes gleaming with a hint of amusement as he reflected on his daily endeavours. "And trying to keep up with my girls. I was not prepared for teenagers," he confessed, shaking his head with a wry grin, "but your dad's been a real help, keeps me on my toes."

"I bet he does," you replied, the mental image of your dad as the lively and enthusiastic accomplice in Wade's parenting adventure brought a smile to your lips. "He's always been good at that."

Wade nodded, then with a playful wave of his hand, he dismissed the topic. "Enough about him," he added with a laugh, and you felt a wave of relief wash over you, grateful to steer the conversation away from your father. It felt odd, almost wrong, to talk about him while your leg was pressed against Wade's under the bar, a contact he made no effort to break.

"So, what are your plans now that you're back?" he asked, his eyes searching yours with genuine interest. "Any grand ambitions?"

Resting your chin on your palm, you observed the dance of light on the surface of your glass, captivated by the intricate patterns it wove. "Honestly," you began, your voice soft yet tinged with a hint of vulnerability, "I'm still figuring it out." You glanced up, meeting Wade's gaze with a mixture of uncertainty and resolve. "I had these grand plans for my thirties, you know? But I guess the universe had different ideas."

The weight of your words hung in the air, yet, despite it all, a small, determined smile graced your lips. "But hey," you continued, a flicker of energy lighting up your eyes, "if I'm a grown adult now, living under my parents' roof, I might as well make the most of it, right?" You chuckled softly, the sound carrying a hint of conviction. "So, I'm getting out and trying to have a little fun, seeing what else the universe has in store for me. I guess I'm just taking it one step at a time."

Wade's eyes gleamed with a sense of prideful understanding as he listened intently, nodding along in affirmation. "That's a good approach," he remarked, his voice carrying a comforting resonance. Each word seemed to wrap around you like a reassuring embrace. "Sometimes, taking it one step at a time is the best thing you can do. And hey," he added, a smirk tugging at his lips, "there's nothing wrong with a little fun along the way." 

The seemingly innocuous exchange between you in the intimate ambiance of the bar carried implications that sent shivers of excitement down your spine. With his gaze locked onto yours, brimming with sincerity, you felt a newfound boldness surge within you. "Sometimes, the best things can happen when you least expect them, right?" you posed, your voice laced with a hint of playfulness, yet underscored by a genuine curiosity, eager to explore the depths of this burgeoning connection.

He chuckled softly. Glancing down at his drink, he lifted the glass and met your gaze once more. "To the unexpected," he said, his voice low and inviting.

You brought your glass to his, the crystal clinking together in a toast that felt like a promise. "To the unexpected," you echoed, a smile spreading across your face as the moment hung between you.

As you both took a sip, the background noise of the restaurant seemed to fade even further, leaving just the two of you in your shared bubble. The possibilities of the evening ahead had your heart pounding against your chest, your mind reeling with the idea that perhaps your fantasies were about to come true. You glanced at Wade, noticing the way his eyes sparkled with a mixture of amusement and curiosity.

The buzz from the wine spread through you, mingling with the excitement of the moment. You set your glass down, your fingers grazing his on the bar top, sending a jolt of electricity up your arm. He didn't pull away; instead, he leaned closer, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that made your breath catch.

"Can I take you home?"

The drive was silent except for the blues that crooned lowly on the radio, the tension between you palpable. Each glance, each accidental touch, only heightened the anticipation. When he finally pulled into his driveway, the reality of what was about to happen hit you with full force.

Wade turned off the engine, and for a moment, the only sound was the rain tapping softly against the roof, creating a cocoon of intimacy around you. He turned to face you, his eyes filled with a mix of desire and uncertainty. "I think I should walk you to your door," he conceded, his voice laced with sincerity.

A wave of disappointment washed over you at his words, the excitement you previously felt now ebbing away as you contemplated the end of the evening. Your gaze shifted to your house, standing in quiet solidarity beside his under the silvery glow of the moon. Every window remained veiled in darkness, the roar of the engine hadn't woken your family or his.

You hesitated, reluctant to let the evening come to such an abrupt end. With a fleeting glance back at Wade, you searched his eyes, hoping to uncover any clue about his true desires. The unspoken tension between you seemed to thicken, casting a heavy, almost suffocating atmosphere around you. Summoning your courage, you finally voiced your question. "Is that what you want?"

Wade sighed deeply, his hands sliding over his jean-clad thighs in a gesture of frustration. He looked up at the ceiling, the muscles in his jaw tightening. "No, it's not," he admitted, his voice a hushed murmur. "I want you, but I can't have you."

Your heart soared at his confession, a thrill coursing through your veins. Your fingers tingled as you unbuckled your seatbelt, turning inwards to face him. "Says who?" you challenged, your voice soft but steady.

He looked at you then, truly looked at you, as if seeing you for the first time. The rain outside intensified, drumming a steady rhythm on the truck roof, making the interior feel even more intimate. The raw intensity of his gaze made your breath catch in your throat. The dim light from the streetlamp cast a soft glow over his rugged face, highlighting the conflict warring within him.

"Says everyone," he finally replied, shaking his head as if trying to clear his thoughts. "Your dad, our families... It would be wrong."

"Does it feel wrong?" Your question hung in the air, charged with uncertainty. With a tentative touch, your fingertips traced a path along Wade's thigh, the fabric of his jeans rough against your skin. His breath caught in his throat, a flicker of surprise dancing in his eyes, mirrored by the vulnerability in your own. In the dim light of the truck cabin, every detail seemed magnified—the furrow of his brow, the intensity of his gaze, the subtle quiver of his lips. "Does it feel wrong?" you repeated, your voice steady, yet laced with a newfound determination. "I know what I want, and I think you do too."

His eyes darkened with a mix of desire and hesitation as reached out, his hand trembling slightly as it cupped your cheek. His thumb brushed lightly over your skin, sending a shiver down your spine. You leaned into his palm, closing your eyes for a brief moment, savouring the warmth of his touch.

When you opened your eyes again, the uncertainty in his had given way to resolve. He leaned in slowly, his breath hot against your lips, filling the small space with an intoxicating air. "If we're doing this," he whispered, his voice filled with raw emotion, "we're doing it right."

You weren't sure what  he was alluding to but nodded regardless, your heart pounding as his lips finally met yours. The kiss started tentative, sweet and gentle as if testing the waters, but quickly deepened into something more urgent and demanding. His other hand released him from his belt before finding its way to your waist, pulling you closer. The rain outside continued to pour, but all you could feel was the heat of his embrace and the electrifying connection that surged between you.

His lips were soft but insistent, exploring yours with a hunger that mirrored your own. The taste of bourbon lingered on his tongue, mingling with the sweetness of yours. You threaded your fingers through his hair, pulling him closer, losing yourself in the moment. You slid the hand still on his thigh higher until your palm laid flat over the growing bulge in his jeans. You gave him a firm squeeze, and he tore his lips from yours as he eyed you warily. 

"We can't, not here," he said, glancing behind you, his eyes flitting between your house and his.

You followed his gaze over your shoulder, taking in the proximity of both houses, each window still dark and quiet. Turning back to him, you asked softly, "Are the girls home?"

"Yes," he sighed in defeat, his body still tense under your touch. "I can get us a room."

You shook your head. "I don't want to wait any longer," you told him, voice laced with persuasion as you leant in to plant a soft kiss at the corner of his mouth. "I've needed you long before tonight," you told him.

"Gotdamn," he breathed, hand leaving your waist momentarily to adjust his seat, sliding himself back to make more space between him and the wheel. "Hop on, baby," he commanded, his voice rough with need as he pulled at you towards him. You climbed over the console, your dress hitching up as you straddled him, knees pressing into the worn leather seat on either side of his thighs.

His hands settled on your hips again, fingers digging in slightly as he looked up at you, his breath coming in shallow, ragged bursts. The raw hunger in his gaze sent a thrill through you, his need for you evident from the hardness pressed between your thighs. You leaned in, your lips finding his once more, the kiss deep and consuming as your tongues battled for dominance. 

The sensation of his hands roaming over your back, holding you tight to his firm chest, was exhilarating. His touch was both demanding and gentle, a mix of urgency and care that made your pulse race and nerves fray as he explored your body.

He kissed down your neck, his lips trailing hot and wet against your skin, leaving a path of shivers in their wake. His tongue flicked out, teasing the sensitive spots that drove you wild. When he reached the dome of your breasts, you hooked a finger around the fabric of your dress and the bra underneath, pulling them down to expose yourself to him. The sudden rush of cool air made your nipples harden instantly, standing erect in anticipation. Wade's eyes darkened with desire as he took in the sight before him, and a soft growl escaped his lips.

He took one nipple into his mouth, his tongue swirling around it with expert precision, each flick sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core. The delicious graze of his teeth added an edge to the sensation, making you gasp and arch your back, pressing yourself even closer to him.

His hands roamed over your back and sides, exploring every curve and contour, as if he couldn't get enough of you. The combination of his mouth on your breast and the possessive grip of his hands on your body was overwhelming your senses with a heady mix of pleasure and lust.

As he switched to your other nipple, giving it the same exquisite attention, you tangled your fingers in his hair, holding him close. The cabin of the truck seemed to shrink around you, the rain outside a distant, rhythmic backdrop to the heat building between you. The world outside ceased to exist, leaving just the two of you in this moment of raw, unfiltered passion.

Your hips began to move of their own accord, grinding against the roughness of his jeans, seeking more friction, more contact. Every nerve in your body felt alive, tuned to the frequency of his touch and the sensations he was eliciting from you. The tension that had been building all evening was finally coming to a head, and you hoped that this was only the beginning.

His hardness was unyielding against your thigh, the heat of it sending a thrill through to your core. You smiled, the excitement electrifying as you slid a hand between your bodies, fingers deftly working to unbuckle his belt. The metallic clink echoed in the confined space of the truck, adding to the charged atmosphere. You released him from the constraints of his jeans and underwear, feeling the weight of his cock in your hand, heavy and pulsing under your touch.

Wade's breath hitched, his teeth grazing down on your swollen nipple with just enough pressure to make you gasp. The flat of his tongue followed, soothing the bite with a heavenly lick that prickled your skin with goosebumps. He kissed up your jaw, his lips soft and warm as he grinned against your neck, mumbling a promise not to leave any visible marks on you this time. 

Before you had a chance to contemplate the significance of his words, you shifted, aligning yourself over him and using the leaking tip of his cock to slide your panties aside. The feel of his smooth head against your wet folds made you both moan softly. Wade's hips pushed upwards instinctively, seeking more of you, but you held back, teasing him by running his sensitive tip through your slickness.

His eyes were dark with lust, the intensity of his gaze almost too much to bear. "Please," he murmured against your skin, his voice raw with need. The sound of it made you ache for him and you felt your wetness seeping down your thigh as you dragged him back and forth.

You couldn't resist any longer. Slowly, you lowered yourself onto him, the head of his cock parting your folds and sliding into you with delicious resistance. He filled you completely, stretching you in a way that felt both familiar and new. Wade groaned, a deep, primal sound that resonated through his chest and into yours, his hands gripping your hips as if to anchor himself.

You started to move, setting a slow, deliberate pace that allowed you to feel every inch of him. Each thrust, each slide, sent waves of pleasure through your body. Wade's hands roamed over you, caressing and squeezing, his fingers digging into your flesh with every rise and fall as he guided you expertly on top of him, your own fingers gripping at the meat of his shoulders.

"W-Wade," you mewled, eyes rolling into the back of your head as he hit that sweet spot inside of you over and over.

The car was filled with the lurid sounds of your fucking —the soft moans, the wet squelches of your cunt taking him as began to bounce you on his cock, the occasional squeak of the leather seats. It was raw, it was real, and it was everything you'd secretly desired.

"You feel so good, baby," he murmured, pausing to tenderly nip at your chin. "So unbelievably good, wrapped around me like this." His words, laced with admiration, echoed in the intimate space between you.

Wade's lips found yours again, capturing them in a searing kiss that conveyed everything words couldn't. His tongue danced with yours, the kiss deepening as your pace quickened, the need to reach that ultimate crescendo becoming overwhelming. You rode him harder, faster, the friction building, the tension coiling tight within you.

When his hand slid down to where your bodies were joined, his finger pressed against the tight bundle of nerves that had you seeing stars. You tore your lips from his, seeking solace in the crook of his neck. Inhaling his bewitching scent—pine mingled with a faint hint of tobacco—your mind numbed, surrendering to the overwhelming sensations as you gave yourself to him completely.

Your body tensed, every muscle locking as waves of ecstasy washed over you, leaving you breathless and trembling under his touch. He muffled the cry of his name from your mouth with a fiery kiss, continued to use his grip on your waist to bounce you on top of him as he fucked you through your orgasm and chased his own. When he followed, he groaned into your mouth as he pumped his load inside of you, bit your bottom lip as your greedy pussy took all of him.

You broke the kiss and collapsed against his chest, feeling his strong arms envelop you as his chin rested gently on your head. He traced soothing patterns on your back, and for a moment, you stayed like that, intertwined, with the aftershocks of pleasure still rippling through you. Slowly, you ran a trail of soft kisses along his jaw before resting your forehead against his, both of you struggling to catch your breath. His large palm caressed the exposed skin of your ass, sliding back and forth between your behind and your thighs in a tender attempt to soothe and comfort you.

"Well," you breathed, your eyes gleaming with a teasing light, though a hint of vulnerability still shone through. "Did it feel wrong?"

He chuckled, leaning back against the seat as he considered you. "No, darlin', it did not," he said, his smile matching yours.

You rose on shaky legs, took him from you and tucked him back into his jeans before reluctantly moving away from him. The ache for more of him already tugged at you, but you knew your time together was limited tonight. As you shifted back to return to your seat, you misjudged the space and accidentally pressed against the horn of the truck. The sudden blare shattered the night's silence.

You jumped in surprise, and Wade's hands immediately grasped your hips, steadying you both. His gaze quickly scanned over your shoulder, looking for any sign that his daughters had been awakened by the noise. You mirrored his concern, your eyes darting to your parents' home. The windows had fogged with the tell-tale signs of your act, but you managed to peek through a clear spot to see. After a few tense moments, you sighed in relief when everything remained still.

Looking at each other in disbelief, you both laughed as you sat back in your seat, adjusted your dress to cover your breasts and thighs as you smoothed the down the fabric. A wave of nerves washed over you, unsure of your next move until Wade turned to you with an endearing smile. "I'm gonna walk you to your door now, before you wake the whole neighbourhood."

He left the comforting warmth of the truck, and for a brief moment, you felt adrift, alone and lost. But then your door opened, and there he stood, extending a hand toward you. You smiled, placing your hand in his as he gently helped you down from the truck.

As he walked ahead, he kept your hand clasped behind him, positioning it between you both as if to shield you from any prying eyes that might intrude on your moment. The gesture touched you deeply, a silent reassurance that he was still connected to you even after leaving the intimate cocoon of the truck.

You followed him up the steps to your porch, the familiar creak of the wooden boards beneath your feet grounding you in the present. When you reached the door, he reluctantly let go of your hand, allowing you to rummage through your purse for your keys. The rain had stopped and the night air was cool against your skin, filled with the subtle fragrance of blooming flowers and the distant hum of nocturnal creatures.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his gaze brimming with worry as he peered down at you. "You'd tell me if you weren't, wouldn't you?"

Your lips curved into a smile, moved by his genuine concern for your well-being. You held you keys in your hand, the metallic clank loud in the silence of the night. "I'm perfectly fine," you reassured him, warmth infusing your words. "Actually, more than fine. Thank you for turning a disastrous evening around, Mr. Felton," you quipped, a smirk tugging at your lips.

Grinning, he casually leaned against the porch banister, hands snugly tucked into the pockets of his jeans. A mischievous glint in his eyes, he winked, reigniting a spark of need within you. "Hope to catch you at the next cookout," he teased, before pushing off the banister and descending the stairs with easy confidence.

You nibbled on your bottom lip, silently watching as he made his way to his own porch. Pausing at his door, he cast a lingering glance your way, offering a final wave before disappearing inside.

Entering your home, you kicked off your shoes and dropped your purse, leaning back against the door with a contented sigh. Your heart overflowed with joy, and your mind stubbornly refused to dwell on anything but the exciting possibilities awaiting you with Wade. You weren't quite sure what this was between you yet, but one thing emerged crystal clear: your dad was to never find out. 

[jessamine-rose]

⋆˚♱ଘ Red Sky at Night, Shepherd’s Delight ଓ♱˚⋆

*slides in with more Church AU ideas* May I interest y’all in Priest! Arlecchino x Devotee! Darling?? Do enjoy this sweet story ໒꒰ྀི´ ˘ ` ꒱ྀིა

Tw:: yandere, manipulation, psychological trauma, stalking, blood, violence, death, religious abuse, self-flagellation, harassment, MDNI, pls take note of these warnings

Note:: FICTIONAL depictions of religion

♡ 3.7k words under the cut ♡

♡ As with most nations, the Church is the highest authority in Fontaine. This is especially true for the Court of Fontaine, a city that boasts a strong faith in God. However, it is this same faith which has been corrupted by the Church to spin a web of lies, prejudices, and hypocrisies. Still, there is hope for that city, as provided by its head priest Arlecchino.

♡ Not much can be said about her previous life. In the past, she was known as Peruere, a quiet orphan from the House of the Hearth. Raised by her predecessor Crucabena, Peruere followed in her footsteps and claimed to have felt a calling to priesthood. There was a beauty to it, the idea of a child giving back to the Church by bringing its followers closer to salvation. At least, that is how the public perceived her vocation.

♡ In truth, Peruere’s motivations were different. Shortly after her ordination, Crucabena disappeared under mysterious circumstances and her authority was passed on to Arlecchino. Immediately afterwards, she began to reform the Church and the House of the Hearth. She challenged the Church’s falsehoods, eliminated the other corrupt priests, and preached a more compassionate form of worship.

♡ Despite her efforts, however, scars run deep within the city. The children weren’t the only ones harmed by Crucabena; her influence spanned the entire Court of Fontaine, from religious schools to devout families. In the latter’s case, it can be difficult for Arlecchino to reach out to individuals and correct their beliefs. But some have taken to her like a moth to flame, actively seeking out her enlightenment. One such moth is you.

☾⋆｡ ๋

“Excuse me, Father!”

The Church is silent in the wake of mass. Footsteps and voices echo as believers depart to go on with their daily lives. The children are walking through the exit connected to the House of the Hearth, their solemn demeanors giving way to laughter. Only two people remain.

As always, you linger behind Arlecchino, head bowed.

“Ah, ______.” She turns around to face you. “Is something the matter?”

You look the same—shy expression, modest clothing, rosary in hand.

In a quiet voice, you tell her, “I am in need of your guidance. Yesterday, I…can we discuss this in your office? I’ll try to keep it short this time.”

“Ah, of course. Follow me.”

By now, it has become routine for you to approach Arlecchino after weekly mass. She leads you down a hallway and into her private office, her confident gait juxtaposed by your meek footsteps. A few words are whispered to a passing nun—orders to prepare your favorite tea and desserts.

In the meantime, she takes a seat on the sofa and gives you a polite smile.

“Go on. You have my undivided attention.”

☾⋆｡ ๋

♡ If Arlecchino’s trauma led to her disillusionment with the Church, then yours brought you “closer” to God. Technically, there is nothing wrong with your devotion—you pray daily, treat people with compassion, and derive a sense of solace from your religion. The harm lies in your blind faith, your total dependence on Arlecchino’s guidance.

♡ While you’ve accepted Arlecchino’s stance on religion, you still abide by Crucabena’s doctrine when it comes to your own religious life. You abstain from all vices. You repent for actions which barely count as sins. You are in a constant state of shame, guilt, paranoia, confusion. She can only imagine just how traumatic your meetings with Crucabena were.

♡ Still, you make for enjoyable company. It is common for Arlecchino to see you in the House of the Hearth bearing gifts for the children—and she can tell the difference between performances and your genuine acts of charity. When you aren’t confiding in her, you inquire about her hobbies, her favorite things, her life before priesthood. There is something so pitiful, so precious about your trust in her.

♡ Which is why Arlecchino is quick to notice a shift in your attitude. It begins with you sitting in the middle pews during mass, rather than your usual spot in the front row. During communion, you avoid eye contact and accept the wafer from her with trembling hands. There is a decrease in your private meetings. Fortunately, there is no need for her to investigate; rather, you provide the answer on a silver platter.

♡ Confessions are a wellspring of valuable information. Be it a direct admission or small details, such encounters have aided Arlecchino in punishing those who commit evil under the guise of virtue. Neither is it difficult for her to deduce one’s identity through their voice and mannerisms. So when she recognizes you beyond the screen, she wonders why you opted for the confessional rather than your usual face-to-face confessions with her.

☾⋆｡ ๋

“Bless me, father, for I have sinned. My last confession was one week ago.”

That is the first thing you tell her. From the center compartment, Arlecchino can imagine you doing the sign of the cross. The ritualistic gesture lends a short-lived grace to your movements, your hands honed by years of practice.

A pause. “Pardon my insolence but I must know: I am not speaking to Father Arlecchino, am I?”

Oh?

“You are not,” is her swift response, spoken in an altered voice. “And why do you ask? Does your confession concern the head priest?”

What secrets could you possibly be hiding from her?

She hears a hitched breath. “No! I just don’t want her to know. So please, what I’m about to tell you…don’t breathe a word of it to anyone else.”

“But of course. And what do you have to confess, my child?”

There is the sound of beads clicking together—your rosary, an old violet-and-black set designed by Crucabena. Arlecchino owned an identical one up until her death.

“These past years,” you whisper, “I have been consumed with carnal desires.”

She sits up straighter. “Desires?”

“It’s complicated,” you mutter. “There’s this person I’ve known for years, and I’ve always looked up to them as a fellow believer. Yet over time, I’ve been plagued with…impure thoughts of them. They captivate me. Their attention brings me joy and anxiety in equal parts. They haunt my thoughts in debauched fantasies. Yet we aren’t even married, much less lovers.”

Who are they?

A spider has taken up residence in a corner of the ceiling. It sits in the center of a silvery web, waiting for its prey.

She clears her throat. “And what is the matter with that? It is true that many view lust as a sin. But carnal desires are natural and not evil as to warrant eternal damnation.”

Silence. Most likely, you are mulling over what she just said; discernment isn’t your strong suit.

It’s just like you to fret over an ordinary crush. But who is this person that ensnared your heart? Do they know you as well as her?

Arlecchino continues speaking. “Moreover, no human is immune to temptation. From what you told me, it is clear that you have made active efforts to suppress your lust. So is it not possible for you to resist this so-called temptation, if not distance yourself from the object of your desire?”

“But how can I resist temptation when its very source lies in the Church?!”

Even Arlecchino is caught off-guard by your outburst. It is followed by your horrified gasp.

“What do you mean?” she asks.

Your next words are spoken in an even softer voice. “It’s Father Arlecchino. She is the one I desire.”

A fly buzzes through the latticed screen of the confessional. It briefly hovers around Arlecchino before she swats it away.

“Ah, now I understand.”

“She hasn’t done anything to me!” you add quickly. “I swear, it’s purely one-sided. And that is what distresses me most of all. She is a woman of God, dedicated to the salvation of His flock, yet here I am making a mockery of her righteousness.”

“And what do you see in her?”

“Where do I even begin? She’s kind. I know there are people who speak ill of her, claiming she preaches falsehoods, but I’ve witnessed her compassion with my own eyes. The orphans love her. The Church is warmer, more welcoming under her authority. And…”

The fly has taken a liking to the spiderweb. Spying its prospective prey, the spider begins its crawl towards the edge of the web.

You take a deep breath. “She knows of my religious struggles yet has never given me reason to fear her judgment. She is the one who helped me discern my vocation. She is the one who put a stop to my self-flagellation, even though that penance was assigned by Mother Crucabena. She is the one who has reassured me, time and time again, that I am worthy of God’s love. She…”

That is when you burst into tears.

For the next few minutes, the only sounds in the confessional are your choked sobs and rosary beads. Arlecchino herself remains silent but her thoughts are just as discordant.

Her gaze drifts to her necklace. It is a far cry from Crucabena’s rosary, a long chain from which hangs a silver cross adorned with ornate engravings and crimson jewels. When she presses down on a specific jewel, the pendant separates to reveal a hidden blade.

How long has it been since she struck Crucabena with that false symbol?

“I’ve tried so hard to be good,” you continue between sobs. “All my life, I’ve done my best to resist temptation and abide by the Church’s teachings. So why…? What I feel for Father Arlecchino—it’s disgusting, it’s not normal, it cannot be called love. But I…”

Your voice trails off. In her mind’s eye, Arlecchino sees you kneeling with your head bowed and your rosary looped around your clasped hands. If only she could wipe your tears.

“And I am truly sorry for all my sins,” you sniffle. “Now please, Father, what is my penance? If you tell me to distance myself from Father Arlecchino, then I will do so at once. If anything, I think she’d prefer it; I’ve wasted enough of her time.”

“Hush, my child,” she says sharply. Then, in a gentler tone, she adds, “Give me time to think.”

The fly is caught in the spider’s web. From her seat, Arlecchino watches as the spider bites down on the struggling insect and wraps it in silk, sealing its unfortunate fate.

Well, this was an unexpected answer, but not an unfortunate one.

In truth, she cares little about her vow of chastity. It is but a minor offense compared to those of her fellow priests. As for your attraction towards her, it doesn’t bother her at all. Her own sentiments require further reflection but for now…

“Why not put your desires to the test?”

There is the sound of beads hitting the floor. “Excuse me?”

In a calm voice, she explains, “There is nothing inherently sinful about falling in love with a priest. Rather, the fault should lie in the priest who cannot commit to their vow of chastity. But that, too, can be put into question—after all, nowhere in the religious texts is it explicitly stated that God demanded celibacy from His shepherds. It is for this reason that other denominations allow their priests to marry and procreate.”

“I see,” you mutter. “Though I doubt our Church would permit that anytime soon.”

“Who knows? As for the matter of your penance…like you said, it is impossible to escape the object of your desire. So why don’t you continue your usual interactions with Father Arlecchino? It will enable you to discern whether what you feel for her is truly lust or love. And should you ever confess your feelings to her, she will be the one to instruct you on what to do.”

“Is that all? Surely, there must be another—”

She cuts you off. “That is the only way. It is my belief that you need only desire something with sufficient intensity and God will answer. Or are you doubting my words as a priest?”

Your fearful “no!” puts an end to your confession. Thus, you recite your prayers and leave the confessional. After a while, Arlecchino makes a stealthy exit.

Just as she expected, you are still praying inside the Church. With your dried tears and tightly clasped hands, you make a perfect image of repentance.

Shaking her head, she walks down the hallway and into her office.

The tea table is empty. That will change tomorrow; she already has the perfect choice of desserts in mind. Cakes, tarts, macarons, all of your favorite treats.

The next day, an invitation is delivered to your doorstep. The envelope bears the official seal of the Church of Fontaine.

☾⋆｡ ๋

♡ Since then, Arlecchino has treated you differently. In the past, her religious counsel took the form of reassurances, open-ended questions, and reminders that only you can discern your own fate. But now she finds herself giving you more specific lessons and instructions. She invites you to more tea parties and private events in the House of the Hearth. 

♡ She is also more…physical these days. During mass, she puts the communion wafer in your mouth, a gloved thumb brushing against your lip. On your walks to her office, she places her hand on your back, forcing you to match her pace. At one point, she even pulls you aside and tells you to disrobe so she can see if you are wearing your scapular properly. There is a moment of silence when your scars are exposed, followed by the warm sensation of her fingertips tracing your skin.

♡ However, it doesn’t take long for another issue to arise. One mass, Arlecchino notices that a certain individual has moved to the front pews to sit next to you. This continues for weeks, with him speaking to you before and after the service. You’re clearly uncomfortable around him, and it reaches the point that you mention it to Arlecchino during a tea party.

♡ Quietly, you explain that you are being harassed by one of your coworkers. For weeks, he has been bothering you at work, walking you home from mass, showing no signs of accepting your blatant rejections. Even worse, no one is taking your distress seriously due to his popularity within the Court of Fontaine. Normally, Arlecchino would be quick to eliminate him but she decides on another solution which would kill two birds with one stone.

♡ Her suggestion is that you stay in the Church for a few weeks. It is a convenient arrangement on both sides—the children are already familiar with you; the House of the Hearth has no shortage of rooms; and in the worst-case scenario, it can serve as a trial period for nunhood. In the past, Arlecchino did deem your personality fitting for a life of religious service, though you disagreed on the basis that you weren’t “worthy” of such an important role.

♡ It doesn’t take long for you to adjust. The House of the Hearth is quiet, secure, shielded from outside disturbances. The children are friendly to you, and they all agree that you’d fare well as their caretaker. Best of all, Arlecchino has more excuses to spend time with you—barbeque parties, walks along the sea, meetings with the other priests and nuns, nightly conversations in your room. It feels like home.

♡ One day, you are fitted into a nun’s habit. It looks perfect on you, with a few embellishments to suit your style preferences. Arlecchino personally helps you into the outfit, fixing the buttons and smoothing out imaginary creases. The final piece is a cross necklace identical to her own; she casually reveals the hidden blade and claims it is a self-defense mechanism. When you cast your gaze upon your shared reflection in the mirror, a flustered smile adorns your face.

♡ Still, you are undecided on your “true” vocation. Eventually, you decide to return to your job and think it over. Arlecchino personally escorts you to your house and insists that you keep your cross necklace, if only to replace your “missing” rosary. Once the front door is shut, she casts a harsh glare upon the figure across the street. Later, her children are assigned to keep watch over you and your stalker.

♡ For the next few days, all is well. Your daily life resumes. Arlecchino keeps a close eye on you through her children’s reports and her own inspections. After mass, the two of you enjoy another tea party, and you make no mention of your stalker. When the news reaches the city of an upcoming celestial phenomenon, you eagerly accept Arlecchino’s invitation for a viewing party.

♡ The crimson moon rises, bathing the world in a blood-red glow. While the children gaze at the moon, Arlecchino waits for you in front of the orphanage. Strange, punctuality is one of your virtues yet you’re late. Just as she is about to leave for your house, Freminet frantically approaches her and leads her to the Church.

♡ Red. It’s all over you, and not from the moonlight. The first thing Arlecchino sees is you curled up on the floor in a state of shock. In the heart of the Church lies a familiar figure—your stalker, writhing on the floor as blood pools from his chest. Lynette stands over him, ensuring that he won’t escape, while Lyney tries and fails to console you.

♡ All three of her children are wearing their crosses. Yours is on the floor, its blade exposed and tainted with blood. Lyney is the one who explains the situation to Arlecchino: They heard a commotion in the Church and by the time they arrived, you had driven your cross into your stalker’s heart. He had attacked you and paid the price.

♡ Calmly, Arlecchino tells Freminet to bring you to the orphanage. Once you are gone, she walks up to your stalker and stomps on his head, piercing his skull with her stiletto. Lyney and Lynette are told to dispose of the body, clean up the church, then return to the party. The crimson moon serves as a silent witness all throughout.

☾⋆｡ ๋

“Father, your face…”

As soon as he sees her, Freminet leaves your room and closes the door behind him.

“Freminet.” Arlecchino wipes the blood off her cheek. “That sinner has been dealt with. You may return to the party.”

“Oh? Okay.” He nods, casting a worried look at your door. As he walks down the hallway, one of his hands comes up to touch his cross pendant.

With that, Arlecchino enters your room.

Even in your change of clothes, your visage is painted crimson by the moonlight. Your body is slumped against the bed, knees on the floor. No sounds leave your lips save for short breaths. Tiny crescents mar your arms—a coping mechanism or an attempt at penance?

Wordlessly, she sits next to you and pats your head with a gloved hand.

“Father.” You are the one to break the silence. “What just…”

“That man is dead.” She says it plainly, her tone void of judgment. “He won’t be able to torment you any longer.”

You immediately look up, eyes glossy. “Are you sure?! Did I…?”

In the blood-red moonlight, your anguish is clear as day. Your hands tremble, nails digging into the mattress, before clasping together in a graceless effort to steel yourself. But the familiar gesture does little to calm you, all prayers futile in the wake of your sin.

“This is it. I’m really going to burn in Hell,” you sob. “I didn’t mean to—what should I do, Father?”

This time, Arlecchino spares no warmth in consoling you. She adjusts your body so that your head rests on her lap, letting your tears drip onto her cassock. Her hand remains on the back of your head, stroking your hair.

“There is no need to fret,” she says gently. “Before the moon sets, the Church will be purged of that man’s filth and it will be as though he never appeared tonight.”

You shake your head. “Even then, you…God knows what I have done.”

“Listen to me.” She tilts your face upwards, her expression firm. “All you did was use your cross necklace for its intended purpose—to save yourself from harm. And yet even in the face of evil, you claim to be the one who sinned. None of this is your fault, ______.”

Her other hand caresses your cheek, wiping away your tears.

“Perhaps it is all part of God’s plan,” she muses. As she speaks, she kneels to your level and holds your hands, intertwining your fingers. “We live in a cruel world and it is only in places such as my Church that safety can be promised. Should you take the veil, no other sinners would dare to violate your virtue.”

Your next words are soft, hesitant, filled with disbelief. “Are you saying that I can still become a nun?! That you…you don’t mind keeping me around?”

“And for what reason would I deny you sanctuary?” she asks, her expression shifting to a frown. “As a priest, it is my duty to shepherd God’s flock. And as a person, it is my desire to protect those I cherish. Everything I do is for your own good.”

For once, you are rendered speechless. All you can do is stare at your lap, at your hands clasped together.

When Arlecchino leans towards you, her grip prevents you from drawing back.

“All you must do is listen to me,” she whispers. “Until our mortal deaths, I will be the one to lead you away from true temptation and deliver you from evil. Does it seem agreeable to you?”

“I…I guess so,” you whimper. Nervously, you meet her gaze, your eyes alight with a glimmer of hope. “If it’s you, I can believe it.”

“Good. And remember this always, ______.”

The crimson moon shines brightly, casting a blood-red halo around your savior. And as Arlecchino pulls you closer, your lips a breath away from a kiss, a secret is divulged with the fervence of a sacred prayer.

“God still loves you. As do I.”

♡

More Church AU here!! Dottore ๑ Capitano ๑ Pantalone ๑ Pierro ๑ Dainsleif

Note:: Please do not send me any Church AU asks/ requests involving other characters or dynamics who are not listed in my masterlist.

…Don’t ask me how many times I broke down over Priest! Arlecchino. Just don’t. To all of the Arle simps out there, I hope I did your wife justice. And may you all suffer from brainrot bc I refuse to be the only one in pain (⸝⸝ᵕᴗᵕ⸝⸝)

Lastly, lots of love to @diodellet for beta-reading this fic and my mutuals for indulging my brainrot. I hope this was worth the wait <3

Tag an Arlecchino enjoyer!! @navxry @leftdestiny-posts @beloved-blaiddyd @ainescribe @vennnnn-diagram @stickyspeckledlight @harmonysanreads @ddarker-dreams

[sugar-grigri]

analyze the ball kicking scene 🫶🏼 (out of joke, love your posts <3)

Yes, even kicking balls has symbolism in Chainsaw Man

You're joking, Anon, but I wanted to do a post about it yesterday, and now you've given me the opportunity. Everything in this chapter is about the symbolism of kicking balls, yes, even the beginning!

Haruka Iseumi flicks through several TV channels, rather blasély, until he comes across a woman whose speech seems to resonate with him, a woman who seems to feel betrayed, disoriented like these teenagers who have been put in danger by an institution that has never seen their good, the church. But this girl only talks about her disappointment following a scandal surrounding over-mediatized stars.

What Haruka is going through right now is disillusionment, believing that his problems would have been taken seriously, his situation as an escaped high school terrorist, would have interested the public. But people prefer not to face up to these kinds of problems; an epidemic of people turned into demons is as commonplace as wars. To avoid jeopardizing personal comfort, people prefer to focus on other problems. Because people literally don't have the balls to face reality.

But contrary to what Haruka thinks, he's not so different: he's also an angst-ridden child who had totally surrendered to his idol, Chainsaw Man, to the point of convincing himself that he was bound to him, even pretending to be him for a semblance of trust. What the chapter seems to show is that Haruka is more down to earth than that girl on TV, but what it really shows is that he's exactly like that girl, but no longer admits it to himself.

No, Haruka, you're not dreaming, or rather you have been until now and now you can't do it anymore.

Because you've reached his idol, you have literally reassembled his image, you've seen the boy you have no interest in behind that reassuring mask.

What this chapter is about is the illusion into which we accept to insert ourselves in order to better resist our fears and existential ills.

Denji doesn't have to exist to shatter the illusions he needs to survive; even his awakening and his speech are too much, as his image no longer matches the one he wears as a universal puppet. He's literally cuter when he's inanimate, because that's what he's made for. At least, that's the only way we accept him. He's made to fill your person, and it's impossible for Chainsaw Man to be a person in his own right.

As proof of this, when Denji wakes up, his first reflex is not to discover that he's complete again, for he exists only to fill others, hence his question to Asa as to where her arm has gone. Unknowingly, Denji has accepted his role.

For Katana Man and Yoru, Chainsaw Man is a goal, a dream to be achieved. Seeing the person behind it, the other half, disturbs them. Considering it might even make them reconsider their choices.

Katana Man has deluded himself into believing that Denji no longer has the heart of a man, that he was his grandfather's tormentor and not the child who was the victim. He needs this revenge to move forward, just as Yoru, as a war demon, needs to fight an unattainable adversary to continue wreaking havoc.

But what's that got to do with it? What does this have to do with beating Denji's balls off?

Who kicked Katana Man in the balls? Aki and Denji. If Chainsaw Man is the metaphor for the comforting illusion of others, Aki is the symbol that revenge (often impossible) is a long-term, survival goal for hearts scarred by resentment. Beating the balls off? The meeting of the two.

When Aki and Denji beat up Katana Man, the illusion of a proud, virile, traditional man who swore by his honor had been shattered. What Katana Man represented to himself and to the readers, this formidable adversary, had been dismantled.

But above all, this was a gentle, more accessible form of revenge, one that would allow us to survive, a way for Aki to avenge Himeno in her own way, without actually avenging her. It's about beating your opponent while admitting you've lost in some way.

Similarly, when Katana Man and Yoru defeat Denji, they lead to a renewed desire to dismantle Chainsaw Man's image. To bring it together as their long-term goal of revenge. But despite this balance of power, this gesture symbolically demonstrates that they are not certain of their victory.

Above all, the important answer in this chapter is once again in the background.

Fami continues to eat undisturbed. She eats all the time, but in this chapter, she seemed almost to be regaining her strength.

Why was that?

Her plan was clear, to make people fear Chainsaw Man as well as the war, to make Yoru and Chainsaw Man champions. But what about the media? They prefer to do what's most profitable, keeping viewers entertained for as long as possible, so that they forget about the real issues.

People prefer to delude themselves, to dream dreams, rather than focus on reality, so will Chainsaw Man and Yoru have their strength increased to the point where they'll be potential opponents for death?

because people are already escaping the fear of death through entertainment, which is even the best champion.

Instead of thinking about our existential crises, we flood our brains with unimportant information.

As the philosopher Pascal would say: "Since men have not been able to cure death, misery and ignorance, they have decided, in order to make themselves happy, not to think about them. Notwithstanding these miseries, he wants to be happy, and only wants to be happy, and cannot not want to be happy".

But let's close this loop of questions: if Chainsaw Man allows this comforting disillusionment, Denji is the opposite, something we refuse to see, if Chainsaw Man is a dream, Denji is reality. Let's get back to our main subject: beating up balls.

When Aki first beat Denji up, he wanted to disgust him enough to prevent him from signing up as a public hunter. Literally, he preferred to spare Denji from reality, by killing the symbol that is Denji (did you miss the headaches I caused?). But when Denji retaliates, to insist that he wants to enlist, it's the other way around: it's the harshness of reality that Denji fully accepts that will prevail over Aki's attempt to protect him.

When Katana Man and Yoru beat Denji's balls off, in reality they're trying to fight the reality of what Chainsaw Man is, this mixture between a boy, reality, and the bloodthirsty enemy, the dream, Chainsaw Man. Beating up Denji is an attempt to avoid the harshness of life. It's that illusion.

So when Denji helped Aki beat up Katana Man, he allowed him to escape his survival mechanisms, his revenge, his illusion, by enjoying the present moment, pure reality. But when Denji defeated Aki, it was also the announcement of the reality of Aki's fate, which would outweigh this illusion - the success of his revenge.

That's why Pochita, the dream and illusion, prevents Denji from opening the door. When Denji sees reality, he can't help opening it. Just as Makima concentrated on her Chainsaw Man dream without seeing reality, Denji right behind it. Just as the dream allows Denji to escape reality, the contract between Denji and Pochita has allowed Denji to become someone else, escaping from himself, himself a victim of the dream without being able to know exactly what he is.

But don't forget, beating the balls off is Denji's tactic.

Why is that? Because no matter how hard you try to escape it, reality will always prevail.

[writinggremlin]

Ok, here's interesting concept for ya'll to chew on for a bit:

Mind control/hypnosis, but it's so subtle that barely anyone realizes that there's been a change. It's nearly imperceivable. Anything that is noticeable can easily be chalked up to normal character development.

Anyone who grows suspicious can easily be seen as paranoid, even to other unaffected people. There's no tangible proof, there's no evidence-- sure they're acting a little different, but a lot can happen in a week. Nobody's the same on Friday as they were on Monday.

It's all in your head.

You're overthinking things.

It's fine.

They're fine.

Everything's fine.

Here's some medicine to help with your anxiety.

So many ways this could be applied though. As a virus trying to stay under the radar, a cult with a leader who has these powers, hell I can see applications for vampires or other species that relies on enthralling humans too (they could let their thrall be out in public, unsupervised, and nobody would even be suspicious enough to try to break them out of it. And if they did it would make them seem like a weirdo.) (There's also the whole idea of vampires being able to be more public a little more safely because obviously mind control isn't real! That's all fictional, Hollywood nonsense! These people want to be fed on, and they're willingly offering themselves up of their own volition, because they like it. They can refuse at any time and I'll respect that, isn't that right?).

It's not disillusionment, it's not denial, it's literally just the tiniest of changes on the surface, that have more noticeable impacts the deeper you look at it.

And for those who realize, who become obsessed and paranoid, spiraling into topics that are nothing more than illusive myths and conspiracies, one day they will wake up and realize just how irrational they've been. Believing so deeply in something with so little evidence and so many gaps to jump just to reach those conclusions, it's silly, really. God they've wasted so much time being so scared over nothing.

Does the power even exist at all?

That question is where the horror lies. And I love it.

(Movie inspiration: Little Joe, a movie about a plant that makes people happy. What could ever go wrong with that?) (Warning: if you go to watch it, there's a reoccurring audio motif that sounds like this very loud, shrill, piercing tone. It is a little painful to listen to, and can easily get overstimulating. Be prepared to adjust your volume accordingly.)

[animasola86]

The Ghost under the Table

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x gn!reader

Word count: 2.3k // [READ ON AO3]

Warnings: nsfw! mdni! public oral sex (m!receiving)

Synopsis: a bj in the library (just a more explicit smut writing exercise really)

Last warning: there will be smut under the cut! Read at your own risk. I was not holding back this time! (Enjoy!)

“What are you doing down there?” you heard him whisper.

He sounded equal parts surprised and irritated – and you snickered to yourself as you crept closer, hidden under the Disillusionment charm, before you settled right between his legs under the table in this corner of the library.

Of course he had noticed you, he had taught you that spell almost two years ago to the dot, he knew what to look for. Or perhaps he had smelled you. He'd told you before that your scent was making him weak – his words, not yours, because at first you found the idea of you smelling a certain way a little weird and would frequently check with an inconspicuous sniff to your clothes. But apparently he had the nose of a dog, and whenever you would try to sneak up on him for a surprise hug, he'd already know you were coming.

And today, as you decided to surprise him with something else, he also already knew you were there. You sighed deeply, but quietly, because he was still the only one knowing you were hidden under the table.

“Surprise?” you whisper-laughed and put your hands on his thighs as you looked up at him. He obviously couldn't see your eyes, and he didn't even try to as he focused more on his surroundings now. You could see a tiny splash of red on his cheeks, and you smirked at the sight.

After two years of dating and making out in the weirdest of places and most certainly also in public, he still felt at least a little apprehensive when it came to your displays of affections. Or perhaps it was the library setting that made him wary. Madam Scribner still had her eyes out for him – and you now as well as you certainly tried to make out in the library before, but were rudely interrupted by Peeves – just like you were two years ago on your first excursion into the Restricted Section together, minus the making out part.

As you were now crouched under the table, albeit hidden under the Disillusionment charm, you became quite aware of how quiet it was in this haven of knowledge. There were a few other students about, but all of them were so concentrated on their reading and studying that even the slightest creak of the wooden floor boards beneath you echoed rather loudly through the room.

And that made it all the more exciting for you.

You watched Sebastian squirm a little under your invisible touch. “Are you... sure about this?” he asked in a low voice, still looking around.

“Yes. I woke up feeling naughty today,” you whispered back and leaned closer to his crotch. “Will you let me?”

“Was I ever able to stop you before?” he hissed back, and you saw a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You moved your hands up his thighs and squeezed them lightly in response. You saw and heard him inhale sharply.

“Try to hold it in, Sallow,” you teased quietly, and he threw a dark but amused glance into your direction before his eyes focused on the book that lay open in front of him.

You made quick work of the buttons of his breeches, and your fingers eagerly freed the object of your desire from its constraints. He was already quite excited to see you, and you smiled to yourself as you let your fingertips graze over his warm skin. You felt him shudder under your touch and looked up quickly. He was biting his lip, really trying to keep it down.

Fortunately the library desks were wide enough and as he was sitting in one of middle seats, there was no way someone would see what was going on underneath the table. Unless Peeves came floating through the ground... but that would be the worst case scenario, and you wouldn't cloud your mind with those. You were fixated on that deliciously tender piece of flesh and skin and muscles (though of course you never thought too much about its anatomical properties, more on what it was able to make you feel).

Your fingers closed around his base gently while your eyes stayed on his reddening face the whole time. You moved even closer towards his crotch, really nestling between his legs now, your shoulders pressing against his thighs. While you kept one hand on his growing erection, you let your other hand slide beneath his shirt, feeling the muscles of his stomach tensing up when you did so.

You inhaled deeply and licked your lips, then started to move your hand up and down his length slowly, lightly squeezing and teasing him. By now he had given up on trying to study while you worked on him, and he leaned back in his chair, relaxing under your touch, his hands wrapped around the armrests almost a little too tightly. With this new angle, he was now watching you, or rather watching how his cock was massaged by invisible hands. His brown eyes were almost black and caused you to shiver pleasantly.

He certainly had a knack for looking very dramatic, especially when he was looking down, and when there was even the tiniest hint of a smirk playing around his lips like there was now, you could already feel your legs trembling. Fortunately you were on your knees already and settled safely between his legs, so swooning was out of the question.

You watched him, chewing on your lips, and kept working your hand up and down those inches that you knew had given you so much pleasure in the past. Today you wanted to give back. You'd tasted him before, of course, countless times, but this setting seemed new and exciting, and the thrill of being caught or even heard was making your own body shake in excitement.

Inhaling deeply, taking in his scent, you leaned closer now, and as your fingers tightened around him, you brought your lips to his tip and gave it a soft and gentle peck. You felt him twitch lightly. Your eyes remained on his face as you parted your lips and planted more kisses on his sensitive skin, kissing all around his tip and then down the shaft, gently sucking on the slightly protruding veins. You felt him harden under your touches and continued your journey with a smile on your lips.

Your hand moved lower and your fingers curled around his balls, gently squeezing and massaging the warm skin. You felt him intake a shuddering breath as your mouth kept exploring his slowly growing girth. If you weren't in the quiet library, you knew he'd be way more vocal by now. But he was doing a really good job at keeping it down. You knew for a fact that if it were the other way around, you'd be a whimpering mess already.

As you moved your mouth over him, your free hand remained pressed against his stomach, feeling the shudders of his body right beneath your palm, even more so when you let your tongue in on the action. At first you just teased him, poking the tip of your tongue against his warm skin here and there, until you wanted to have a real taste and swiped it from his base all the way up to his tip, where you swirled it around as if he was the tastiest lollipop you've ever tasted (spoiler alert: he was).

You looked up at him and saw that his gaze was even darker and his cheeks were thoroughly flushed, but other than that he didn't show any sign of what he was experiencing at the moment. Although the knuckles of his hands were turning white as he gripped the chair tighter. You smiled to yourself and continued what you were doing as you slowly lapped at his hardening flesh.

As you raised yourself on your knees a little, you tilted your head down and slowly closed your lips around his tip, flicking your tongue against it playfully. You could already taste his excitement as his precum coated his skin, and you took a few more laps at him, humming softly against him as you did so. Another twitch ran through his body. Your eyes darted up, and you saw that he had closed his eyes and was breathing a little heavier now. Still quiet and contained, but surely not unaffected by your touches.

You hollowed your cheeks and gave his tip a soft suck, before you opened your mouth wide enough to take him in. Your own body shivered in anticipation as you lowered yourself onto him, your tongue firmly beneath him as you guided him in further and further, inch by inch, your lips tight around his girth, and you had to close your eyes as he started to occupy more than just your thoughts at this point. You let out a quiet whimper as his crown hit the back of your throat, and you felt your nose almost buried in his dark hairs.

You held him there for a moment in which you focused on the reactions of his body, and the restrained shudder that vibrated through his core made you lean back slowly, eyes flying open again and moving up to his face, and he was staring down at you intensely, pressing his lips together as he held back a moan.

You moved back all the way and let him slip out of your mouth with a wet pop. You swallowed your saliva and breathed deeply, before moving back in right away, repeating your movements until he was again fully submerged in your mouth – and then you started to slowly bob your head up and down.

He was breathing loudly through his nose while you kept your steady rhythm, hollowing your cheeks with every upwards motion and pressing your tongue against his length when you pushed him back in. He was getting harder and harder, and your lips strained around him.

With your eyes closed you couldn't see him any more, but you sure as hell felt him. His legs were twitching around you, clenching against your shoulders, keeping you right there between them. His body was shuddering and the muscles in his stomach tightened under your palm. He was fighting the sensations with all he had, probably all red and tense, gripping the chair – until you felt his hand in your hair, and he was really grabbing you, holding you in place, pushing you down onto him hard until he hit the back of your throat, and you let out a surprised whimper that was certainly way too loud for this quiet setting.

He immediately let go again, and you relaxed, moving your head back as you looked up at him. He was breathing heavily, his lips parted, his eyes moving around the room, before they looked into your direction again. You were but a trick of the light under the Disillusionment charm but it still felt as if he knew exactly where to look – and his dark stare gave you shivers all over. You moved your hands to press them left and right of his cock and continued your up and down bobbing, slowly increasing your pace.

You could taste him already. Inhaling deeply through your nose, you closed your eyes and kept your rhythm, until you felt him stiffening up. His hand was on your head again, and he held you tightly in place as he started bucking his hips into your mouth. You held back whimpers, clawing your fingers into his skin as you tried to stay steady on your knees. Tears burned behind your eyelids as he kept hitting the back of your throat forcefully.

And then he froze, his entire body going rigid, and a tiny, suppressed moan escaped him as his length twitched inside your mouth, pumping feverishly – spilling his seed, emptying everything he had into your mouth and down your throat. You squeezed your eyes shut at the sensation, gripping his thighs in support. Eventually he let go of your head and leaned back again, breathing hard, while his cock slipped out of your mouth, leaving a trail of cum strands on your tongue, lips and chin.

He filled you up good, and it took you several hard swallows to get it all down, before you started licking your lips and wiped the rest off your face with the back of your hand. You were breathing just as hard as he was, your heart pounding inside your chest. It took you a few moments to regain your composure and as you watched him, he had slumped down in the chair a little, his eyes closed, chest rising and falling fast – with a wide smirk on his lips.

When you moved in and licked the rest of his release off his length, his eyes flew open, and he watched you with a tilted head. You smiled an invisible smile. Once he was cleaned up, you gently put him back behind the constraints of his clothes, buttoning his breeches with shaking fingers until it looked as if nothing happened.

“Thank you, friendly ghost,” you heard him whisper quietly as his hand found your cheek under the table and caressed it softly. You leaned into his touch and then turned your head to place a kiss on his palm before you slowly moved back from between his legs and out of his reach again, smirking to yourself.

Notes:

Like our mc here, I woke up feeling naughty today and just had to write this scene. And I did so with the help of the amazing smut thesaurus by @prurientpuddlejumper - as a non-native English speaker it's always fun to add to my vocabulary and this guide (and also The Ultimate Guide to Writing Smut Fic) helped me so much. Can only recommend when you struggle to find words to describe anything really!

Also there is another part to this where the roles are reversed: PART 2 - The Sweet Revenge!

The Ghost under the Table (Part 1 and Part 2)

The Ghosts on the Table (Part 1 and Part 2)

Pictures credit:

(I have to be honest, I've saved so many screenshots of lover boy here and if there's no copyright on it, I really have no idea who I "borrowed" it from, so please forgive me and accept a list of my favorite screenshot providers of this fandom! <3 If you recognize your screen and are not on the list, please tell me, I'll add you right away!)

@dingdongdick @phinik @hogwartslegacypics @deathlysallows @purindaimaou @sinty2ek @shadesofgaunt

Thank you for your continuous services to fuelling our Sebastian obsession! I salute you!

[fafnir19]

Swimmer

Liam grinned mischievously as he drilled a tiny peephole into the wall of the girl's locker room at the public indoor swimming pool.

He couldn't resist the temptation to catch a glimpse of the water ballet team changing. Little did he know, his voyeuristic adventure was about to take an unexpected turn. As he peered through the hole, admiring the graceful movements of the girls, a sudden gasp echoed through the room. Liam's heart raced as he realized he had been caught in the act. Before he could even react, a group of stern-faced water ballet team members stormed toward him. "You little creep!" one of the girls exclaimed, her hands on her hips. "You've invaded our privacy, and we're not letting you get away with it. You owe us big time." Liam's cheeks flushed crimson with embarrassment as he stammered apologies, but the girls were having none of it. They demanded revenge, and their revenge took an unexpected turn. "You better make it up to us," one of the girls said, a devious glint in her eye. "And we know just how you can do it. We want a strip show, right here, right now." Liam's eyes widened in shock as he realized the gravity of the situation. Reluctantly, he began to comply, feeling a mix of shame and resentment bubbling inside him. As he started to undress, he found his arousal fading, replaced by a sense of disillusionment. What had started as a voyeuristic thrill had turned into a humiliating spectacle.

The girls, however, seemed to revel in their newfound power over him. Once Liam had finished satisfying the girls' demand, they presented him with a curious item: a shimmering, sleek, and magical speedo. "Put this on," they instructed, exchanging knowing looks. "It'll teach you a thing or two about being objectified." Although he was skeptical, Liam obeyed as it was better than being naked and putting on the magic speedo. To his amazement, his body underwent a breathtaking transformation.

His once unremarkable physique was replaced by a chiseled, muscular form, and his features became sharper and more defined. His body hair vanished, replaced by flawless, smooth skin. As he stood before the girls, their eyes widened with desire, but his own feelings were far from reciprocated.

Clad in the enchanting Speedos that had wrought a profound change in his physique, he strode into the bustling indoor swimming pool, acutely aware of the admiring glances that followed him. His newfound physique, sculpted and alluring, drew the attention of both men and women, who watched in awe as he approached the pool. The coach, a stern-faced man with a grizzled beard and a keen eye, greeted Liam with a nod. "You're the new recruit, I take it," he said, eyeing him appraisingly. "I must say, you certainly come with quite the buzz surrounding you." Liam shifted uncomfortably under the coach's scrutiny, trying to ignore the way his every movement seemed to attract unwavering attention. "Yes, I, uh, I guess so," he muttered, feeling more conspicuous than ever. The coach's lips quirked into a wry smile. "Well, welcome to the team. We'll see how well you swim with all those eyes on you," he remarked, before ushering Liam towards the pool deck. As the swimmers dove into the water and began their rigorous practice, Liam hesitantly followed suit, attempting to blend in with the rest of the team. The sensation of the water caressing his skin, the rhythmic pulse of his muscles as he propelled himself through the pool – it all felt remarkably foreign and yet undeniably exhilarating.

Liam joined the team for practice, and as they headed to the showers, he became acutely aware of his altered state.

The steamy mist enveloped the showers, and the air hummed with the sound of water cascading against flesh. It was in that moment, as his eyes trailed over the sinewy forms of his teammates, that a startling realization dawned upon him. His arousal, once sparked by the sight of the water ballet team, had now shifted. No longer did the female form hold the same allure. Instead, it was the sight of his fellow swimmers – their sculpted physiques, the way droplets of water glistened on their taut skin – that elicited an unexpected and undeniable response within him. He tried to ignore it, but he just shuddered and his cock twitched, suddenly showing a remarkable hard-on.

He tried to hide his boner, but one of his teammates, Jeff, saw through his facade. "Hey, dude, it's cool," Jeff reassured him. “We won’t judge you for checking us out. In fact, it's kind of flattering. You should just be yourself.” Before Liam could respond, Jeff leaned in and planted a soft, lingering kiss on his lips. In that moment, everything became clear to Liam. His sexuality had shifted, and he was gay now.

As he headed toward his locker, Liam was met with another surprise. His clothes had been replaced with form-fitting, preppy attire, a stark contrast to his usual wardrobe. Little did he know that this would trigger the final stage of his transformation.

He put the clothes on, confusion swirling in his head as he tried to piece together his fragmented memories, but everything about his past seemed to fade away as his identity shifted, and he turned into nothing more than a cocky, captivating gay swimmer - a far cry from the shy and unassuming young man he once was

Before he could fully process his thoughts, the swim coach approached him with a scrutinizing gaze, taking note of the bewildered expression etched on Liam's features. "You've transformed quite remarkably, Liam," the coach remarked, a glint of satisfaction in his eyes. "Not just a swimmer— now, you've become a jock." Liam's lips curved into a complacent smile as he eagerly nodded. "Yes, Sir," he replied, a newfound sense of obedience coloring his words. In that moment, it dawned on him that he had indeed become a willing participant in a world he had never imagined before. Without missing a beat, the coach extended an offer that sent shivers down Liam's spine. "Would you like to live in the apartment above the swimming pool and become my obedient jock boy, Liam?" Liam's pulse quickened as he responded with a fervent nod, excitement bubbling within him. "Yes, Sir. I'd love that," he exclaimed, his newfound disposition embracing the prospect of total submission.

 And so, the apartment above the swimming pool became Liam's new home—a nexus of desire and command, where he was perpetually available for the eager gaze of the swim team but out of reach for the girls who had once captivated him.

Days turned into weeks, and the personal transformation that Liam had undergone continued to unravel before his eyes. His once-ordinary life had taken a surreal and unforeseen turn, as he became a figure of virile allure, captivating those around him with an effortless charm and a magnetic presence. But while his outward appearance had evolved into that of a magnificent male specimen, inwardly, Liam was wrestling with a torrent of conflicting emotions. He found himself experiencing a surge of excitement and thrill at the attention he garnered from the members of the swim team, yet beneath the surface, a sense of disquiet gnawed at him.

One day, as he lounged by the poolside, basking in the admiring glances and flattering remarks directed his way, he caught sight of the water ballet team. Their longing gazes bore witness to a desire that he was no longer able to reciprocate. Liam couldn't help but notice the frustration etched on their faces, a stark reminder that he had become an unattainable object of desire—a truth that left them wanting for more.

As he attempted to navigate the labyrinth of his newfound existence, a pivotal moment arrived during a private conversation with the swim coach. "You’ve developed quite well, Liam," the coach began, his tone laced with a potent mix of authority and affection. "Your prowess as a jock boy has transcended mere physicality. Now, you've become a jock toy, offering yourself up for the pleasure of others. How does it feel to embrace this role, to be a mere toy?"

Liam's eyes glimmered with a sense of fervor as he responded with unwavering certainty. "It's exhilarating, Sir. I thrive in this role," he declared, a fervent zeal infusing his words. The coach's gaze bore into him, acknowledging the transformation that had taken hold of Liam's very being. "I'm pleased to hear that, Liam. You've embraced your true nature as a jock toy with remarkable grace. It’s clear that this life suits you," the coach asserted, his approval evident in the affectionate gleam of his eyes. From that day onward, Liam embarked on a newfound journey, fully embracing the role that had been bestowed upon him. He reveled in the adoration of the swim team, eagerly responding to their every desire with unwavering obedience and an insatiable willingness to please.

Meanwhile, the girls from the water ballet team found themselves at a loss, struggling to comprehend the enigma that Liam had become. As they watched him cavort with the swim team, their longing gazes reflected the bitter realization that they could no longer capture his attention—his newfound preferences lay elsewhere, leaving them in a state of longing and dejection. In the end, Liam had transcended the boundaries of his former self, stepping into a world that was at once beguiling and strange. He had become a captivating enigma, a docile jock toy at the beck and call of the swim team and a testament to the perplexing nature of desire and transformation.

[hughgrants]

at this point it almost feels like joe alwyn was the one kept locked away for 6 years because the man couldn't fill up his car or get a haircut without getting stalked. the photos coming out now are at events where he has an opportunity to know it's coming, select his clothing and styling, wear a pin representing a cause that's important to him. he has control of his appearances now instead of gritting his teeth during pap walks for backgrid.

we know how ts feels when she feels the narrative is being pulled out of her control ("gaslit by an entire system"). a sense of control over one's own life seems essential for sanity and i don't think it's fair for people to gloss over the part where she agreed to the level of privacy he needed and publicly endorsed it during some of her media statements made during the relationship (which i applaud for being unusually restrained and mature at the time). extreme extroverts and extreme introverts can try to make it work but neither is wrong if it doesn't work (if the breakdown is specifically about that difference between them) and it's kinda crappy to couch it in terms of "being locked away" now. especially since some of the locking away was due to a global pandemic.

joe alwyn wasn't on my radar for most of the 6 years except 1) i felt her music entered a new era of relationship contentment and grown up sensuality that reflected late 20s/early 30s womanhood and then transitioned into a more literary set of albums (folkmore) that had a broader focus thematically and 2) i heard little about him and there was effectively zero romantic drama for 5 full years. what a break for her (and us!).

now i'm more impressed by him than ever. he's quiet in the wake of it all, focuses on his industry commitments and the work he's doing, and absolutely glows with newfound relaxed joy. i absolutely do not think women shouldn't be entitled to have strong, deep emotions and write about those experiences. her work is perhaps the strongest ever in terms of conveying a feminine quixotic, idealized romantic viewpoint and then the flipside of idealizing (it's giving BPD!!!) which is devaluation/disillusionment/disenchantment, resentment, feelings of being deceived or let down ("maybe this thing was a masterpiece 'til you tore it all up" being the early and best example).

the way joe has handled this, though, has made his status in my mind go from "just some guy" to an example of stability and fortitude that interests me. I personally believe that not publicly suffering is not necessarily a sign of callous lack of empathy - sometimes it means maturity and perspective. sw*fties harassing her exes want/ed to see a public mea culpa/punishment/expression of suffering that they feel equals their idols' - it's giving fatal attraction from those fans. maybe we don't need our past partners to suffer. maybe processing feelings involves personal reflection and doesn't require another party.

i'll leave off with this to support idealization/devaluation (the classic bpd trend):

Devils roll the dice, angels roll their eyes

'Cause I can't help it if you look like an angel

Say you're sorry, that face of an angel

And I damn sure would've never danced with the devil

Dear reader, when you aim at the devil

He looks up, grinning like a devil