#or like that time i was invited to come sing in the choir at a church where both my voice teacher and my choir director were involved

[queenlucythevaliant]

Why can't the churches with choirs and pipe organs and stained glass windows have a bit more theological rigor??

[wndaswife]

(fic request) pls write this w nun!wanda (if you want) 😵😵😵

to worship and submit | wanda maximoff & fem!reader

Being the daughter of the man that leads the church choir means attending the services when you run out of excuses to be anywhere else, but a young woman who's recently joined the parish to become a nun has begun to make your time there worthwhile.

Word count: 7419

Tags: smut, fluff, humour, sacrilege, quite literally fucking in front of a crucifix, even i feel slightly guilty for writing it, strap-ons, rough sex, spanking, slapping, spitting, degradation, praise, daddy kink, mentions of masturbation, sub!wanda maximoff, dom!reader | MINORS DNI

A/N: SO... i did do some research for this fic... but only SOME... meaning some of the info may be incorrect fyi!!!

gif credit to evilly

Every Sunday since your dad joined the church as their choir leader, you’d been making yourself busy in advance just in case he’d ask if you wanted to come to the services. 

You were proud of your dad — really, you were — because he loved music and loved the community the church brought him, and the church was closeby to where your mom worked as an elementary school teacher, so your parents were able to work together when there were community events that involved both the school and the church.

Though, being happy for your dad didn’t mean you also had to be happy when he invited you to the services.

Sometimes you’d attend special occasions like Easter and other holidays and church events wherein your dad prepared his own assortment of music and such for the choir to play, but only because you were there to support him and what he was passionate about — music and community and his family.

Such events were big deals at the church he volunteered at because it was well-known for its large community; the church itself was closely connected to a nearby convent where it had close ties to the nunnery there, as well as having one of if not the most ornate architecture all preserved within a historically-significant religious landmark.

But for the last few weeks, he hadn’t asked you to go with him because he was so busy with the new influx of students joining from the Catholic elementary school your mom worked at; they were all there singing on the weekends for their volunteer hours, but at the very least, your dad said they were still enthusiastic and friendly kids.

So on the morning of one of the very rare occasions in which you hadn’t had anything planned for the Sunday because you weren’t expecting him to invite you as he hadn’t for the last while, your dad invited you to the service.

You could’ve truly made up an excuse and flat-out lied about being busy, but it’d been a while since he asked and you knew he’d been working hard with the new students in his group, so you supposed it wasn’t so much trouble to accept his offer, even if you did groan it out in a superficial fit about having to get out of bed earlier.

It wasn’t that you not being religious had anything major to do with avoiding going to church, because you didn’t entirely mind when your religious parents brought you to the services for special occasions, but rather because you didn’t very much have the patience or sufficient concern for the readings and worship to attend the nearly-two-hour services.

That was truly your most pressing issue with attending the Sunday services with your dad, but today was different, with an unexpected experience to make you dread going even more than you did previously.

“Excuse me?” a timid, unfamiliar voice chirped from behind you.

You turned to see a young woman standing by the doorway of the back hall where the entrance to the choir balcony was. 

Typically, you sat around there when your dad was conducting because you weren’t very involved in the church enough to sit at the pews nor were you part of the choir. 

But from where you were sitting, you weren’t entirely uninvolved as you could still see and hear the services — it was the perfect spot. 

“You aren’t allowed to sit here,” the young woman told you, running the pads of her two fingers along the edge of her sleeve. 

Her dark brown hair was neatly pulled back into a conservative bun and she was wearing a black plain dress with a modest plain scoop neckline to show the buttons and collar of the crisply-ironed long-sleeved white blouse underneath that all of the church’s nuns wore, but the simplicity of her outfit and the uncovering of her hair meant to you that she was presently studying at the church to become a nun. 

“I’m the choir dude’s daughter,” you said with a polite smile and looked away, expecting for your response to be all the elaboration she needed. 

In a way that was subtle with the intention not to be offensive but in that very manner was offensive in itself because of how irritating her caution was, the woman cleared her throat. 

“I-I know,” she pressed, “but this area isn’t open for seating. For anyone.”

When you didn’t answer for a moment as you stared at her, she quickly said, “I’m sorry. They told me to tell you.”

“I’ll find a spot in the pews,” you answered and collected your things. 

From the corner of your eye, it seemed that she wanted to offer a seating alternative just to make up for what she was forced to tell you, but there wasn’t very much else she could offer. 

That Thursday, you were back at the church to pick up an ironed uniform for your dad; it was for a special event set for the upcoming Sunday, and the church pressed it for him and everything. 

It was a nice gesture.

They were nice people.

On Thursdays, there were only morning services and events for children in another spacious room where they could colour and play with the church’s team leaders and nuns. 

But in the afternoon — which it now was — there wasn’t anything going on. 

When you arrived, the church was still and warm with gentle sunlight shining through the stained glass windows and casting a myriad of colours against the pews. 

You looked over your dad’s text again and walked through the directions he told you to take to get to the back halls of the church, just a few turns from the stairway that led up to the choir balcony. 

The room where you were to pick up the uniform was as pretty as the rest of the church; it was a small prayer room with a pedestal and stained windows and red carpeting, but it was much cozier and probably hadn’t been used for prayer for the group size it was designed for in a little while.

You could see through the glass door the folded uniform for your dad on the windowsill behind the pedestal with a name tag placed on top of it ready for pick-up along with a few other clothes for some other church volunteers. 

Upon entry, you closed the door quietly behind you and stepped into the room where you could now see a small table by the window and a familiar young woman sitting with a notebook, jotting a few things down from what looked like a leather-bound book. 

“Can I just get my dad’s uniform from there, or do I need to sign it off or something?” you asked, announcing your presence. 

She looked up from the notebook and at you then to the uniforms on the windowsill. 

“Oh, you’re…” She paused and thought for a moment. “The choir conductor’s daughter?”

“Yeah.”

“I can sign it off for you,” she replied and smiled. 

She stood from the table and walked around it to the uniforms, where a piece of paper was set beside the line of neatly-folded clothes.

You watched as she jotted down a few things onto the paper with a pen before carefully picking up the packaged uniform and turning to hand it to you.

“Thank you,” you answered. 

“Of course. Have a good day,” she replied and bid you a goodbye before heading back to the table by the window. 

You were on the way to leave the room, but you couldn’t, for some odd reason, take your eyes away from the way she lowered herself into her seat and resumed her notetaking. 

She didn’t notice when you changed your direction and walked towards the table she was sitting at until you were perhaps just a metre away from her, when she then looked up from her notes and up at you. 

“Did I give you the wrong uniform?” she asked, worried and now standing up from her chair. 

“No,” you answered quickly and waved your hand.

She stayed standing, curious as to why you walked back. 

“Hard at work?” you asked, pointing at her notebook. 

Confused for a moment, perhaps by your curiosity in speaking with her, she looked over to her notebook and then back at you with a friendly smile, “Yes, a little. They gave me something to study from. I’m just taking notes.”

Carefully, you reached forward and spun her notebook around so you could read it. 

Her curiosity seemed to spike when you leaned forward to read her notes, and she looked at you with a small smile. 

“Um,” she started awkwardly. “I want to apologise for earlier this week. For making you move seats.”

“Oh, it’s fine,” you replied and looked up from her notes to smile at her reassuringly. “I know they just made you tell me because you’re new.”

The young woman seemed reassured, her shoulders even relaxing a bit when you said it. 

“You’re still… What do you call it? Like, you’re studying to be a nun here? Not fully one yet?”

She shook her head. 

“Yes, I’m in the study period before becoming a novitiate,” she answered. 

Your fingers ran over her delicate handwriting, feeling the indentations of her pen against the paper.

“To worship and submit,” you read aloud from the notebook. “Fascinating.”

She caught onto your twinge of sarcasm but approached it with humour, laughing a little and conceding, “It is a bit medieval, but an important quality, I’d presume.”

Reflecting suddenly on how young the woman seemed much younger than the other nuns, you asked her, “How old are you?”

“Twenty-four.”

She was a bit older than you, but still quite young.

Her hair was down now, though still neatly brushed and free of frizz and tucked behind her ears. She was wearing a white long-sleeved shirt and an ankle-length black skirt patterned lightly with gardenias. 

“How did you get into wanting to be a nun, anyhow?” you asked and moved your attention away from the notebook and towards her. “You don’t seem like the type.”

“I-I don’t?” she inquired, almost sounding nervous at the implication that she wasn’t training herself properly. 

“I mean, pious and submissive — sure,” you said, referring to her notes, which made her seem a bit flustered, “but not like a nun.”

She questioned curiously, “More like…?”

After humming aloud in thought, you turned to her with your hip laying against the edge of the table and suggested, “Elementary school teacher. Vet. I don’t know, something like that.”

She was pretty — truly. 

Cute, even. 

“When I was younger, I wanted to be a vet,” she told you, smiling sweetly. 

“Changed your mind?”

“Younger as in quite young, perhaps around ten,” she recalled. “My parents are both rather religious and ever since I turned fourteen it’s always been their intention to have me join a congregation.”

Interest piqued, you asked, “And your intention for yourself was…?”

“For myself?” she repeated as if taken by surprise. 

You nodded once. 

She paused for a moment to hum thoughtfully before saying, “I was happy to follow whichever path my parents intended for me.”

“You find passion in nunnery?” you asked. “Genuine question — not judging.”

“Of course,” she answered. 

Your phone buzzed in your pocket and you quickly checked it to see that your dad had messaged asking if you were able to pick up his uniform.

“I’m sorry. I’ve been holding you back from something,” the woman apologised and stepped to the side to allow you to leave.

Sliding your phone back into your pocket and adjusting your dad’s uniform in your hand, you replied, “No, not at all. My dad’s just impatient. I should get going now though, since here’s a few errands I have to run before noon.”

She nodded in understanding. 

“It was nice being able to talk with you,” she then said. “I haven’t been able to talk with very many people since I came here. It’s all just been about studying and the church.”

Before you left, you made sure to ask for her name, to which she replied telling you it was ‘Wanda.’

Cute name.

It’d been quite a while since you ever attended the services two weeks in a row. The last you did was during the last half of August the first year your dad started conducting the church choir, during which you had nothing else to do but wait for classes to start — so you went to the services.

This time, because the church was celebrating something special, your dad asked both you and your mother to attend the service because he’d been working on preparing a set of songs for the occasion.

Under the guise of being a supportive daughter, your parents didn’t second guess why you were so willing to attend the service this week, nor did they ask if there was a certain individual you were perhaps a bit excited to see again.

Truthfully, you couldn’t stop thinking of Wanda since you last saw her a few days ago. There was much to her you felt laid dormant and sleeping, awakened only just in the slightest during the conversation you had with her. She was kind and curious, but also painfully naive. 

She was a few years older than you but knew far less about the truth of her own ambitions and strayed perhaps not even a foot’s distance away from behind her parents’ shadows.

Wanda was interesting, but intrigued you for far too long for her to be only that. Though you couldn’t very well figure out what it was about her that made her bounce around in your head like a pinball until an unassuming evening.

It was sincerely an unrelated act when you first started, travelling your hand down between your legs in the silence of the evening to relieve yourself of the pent-up stress from classes that’d come over you during the last few days.

Truly, it was completely unrelated to Wanda and anything and everything about her when you started, and even during, until you reached your peak of release and found your imagination flashing with curiosities about what she looked like under her garments, how she’d squeal if you spanked her ass and if she’d like it, or how she’d cry out in sheer pleasure if you forced her down and made her take her spankings regardless.

For a moment afterwards there was guilt, but every day onwards there was curiosity, wondering for hours about what you’d seen when you reached that point of pleasure during which Wanda was your only muse.

You’d like to tell yourself it was only that curiosity that guided your willingness to attend the service with your parents, but it was something else entirely too — something completely carnal.

For the first hour of the service, Wanda was still nowhere to be seen. Because of the church’s connections with its convent, the nuns had a large role in some of the day-to-day happenings, but mostly during important church events like what you were presently attending.

Wanda wasn’t a nun yet; she was yet to be even a novitiate as she had mentioned, and so perhaps she just didn’t get to attend events like these. 

Though you personally found that counter-productive, you weren't one to complain about the convent’s decisions, but you did wish you got to see Wanda.

If she wasn’t one to be able to attend such events, when would you see her next?

After coming to the realisation that you probably just weren’t going to see her today or perhaps even for a little while, you excused yourself after having been present for nearly all of your dad’s song arrangements and with enough time to be able to be back from the washroom with well-enough time to catch the rest of his songs.

To your surprise, you saw the very woman who’d been on your mind for the last hour was sitting in the hall by the stairway that led up to the choir balcony. She was wearing the same outfit as she had been the first time you met her, with her hair done up in the same way too.

“Excuse me, but you aren’t allowed to sit here,” you teased, approaching from the right and walking into the hallway.

She quickly swiped at her eyes and began to apologise before she raised her head and saw it was you who had spoken to her, and you who now stood beside the bench she was sitting on.

Though she smiled and seemed relieved and happy to see you, you could tell that she’d just been crying — alone in this hallway away from the service and the nuns and sitting at the far end of the bench so as not to be seen by the people attending the mass.

Wanda stood, running her palms down the sides of her dress with a friendly smile while saying, “You’re here.”

“Yeah,” you answered distractedly as you focused on the slight redness of her eyes and the tip of her nose. 

You then asked once you were sure she’d been crying, “Are you okay?”

Suddenly feeling self-conscious after realising it must've been obvious that she’d been crying, Wanda carefully wiped under her eyes again and even tried making herself seem less dishevelled by tucking her hair behind her ears before you took her hands away from her face and made her stop fidgeting with her appearance.

“Seriously, what’s wrong?” you pressed.

Dismissively as to not bring any more attention to herself, she told you, “It’s really nothing. It’s nothing to bother you with.”

“I wanna be bothered,” you answered lightheartedly. “Come on.”

Wanda smiled at your gaiety and you urged her to tell you what was wrong once more before she finally exhaled in surrender though she didn’t sit down before speaking, implying that in spite of the fact of giving in to you, she wasn’t very well planning on delving too deep into what had been bothering her.

“Earlier today, I had accidentally misplaced the leather book I’d been studying from — the one you saw me with a few days prior, if you can remember,” she said. “And I was scolded terribly for it. It was quite deserving as it was an important collection of notes and such, so I do not question from where my scolding had come, but it seems to me that all I’ve done since I started here is get myself in trouble with the other nuns.”

Here, you tried taking her hand and urging her to sit down, but she wouldn’t, and slipped her fingers out of your hold.

“They found the book in one of the small prayer rooms I’d been studying in, so at the very least it was not a mistake of ruining the integrity of the book by losing it completely, but rather the very principle of having been given something so important and misplacing it,” she continued.

Wanda swallowed and seemed to be contemplating whether to go into more detail, and you could tell that there was something else that had been bothering her that didn’t exactly have to do with misplacing the book.

Before she had the chance to make a decision, there was a passerby who came from the service in search of the restrooms, which interrupted Wanda’s train of thought as she and the man exchanged a brief hello.

“We can go somewhere else,” you offered, taking her hand and heading down the hallway with her. She didn’t take her hand away from you this time, but instead told you that she only needed time to be on her own and that she was fine now. 

The only other place you knew was the prayer room you picked your dad’s uniform up in, and fortunately it was unlocked.

You ushered Wanda into the room and she smiled at you from behind and you led her forward to one of the front seats in front of the altar, regarding you with admiration for the effort you put into wanting to express your concern for her and make sure she felt heard. 

The early morning beams of light shone through the stained glass like they had that afternoon you’d come here a few days prior, but the room was far less stuffy now, familiar and almost reminiscent of something nostalgic. 

The feeling could easily be because of the fact that you’d been envisioning what you could remember from it nearly every hour since that past Thursday, with the room in the background of your mental portrait of Wanda. 

She settled down in the seat beside you, feeling encouraged more so because she wanted now to be closer to you rather than solely to sit and talk about what had been bothering her. 

But she could partake in the latter if that was what you asked of her — and it was. 

“I know that I hardly know you, but I’ve been here for nearly a whole month and you are the person I feel closest to,” she confessed.

You felt flattered, though you knew telling you that she felt close to you wasn’t exactly the point of why she said that. 

Wanda further reflected aloud, “I’m getting nowhere I’m supposed to, not finding the call to God like both my parents and the nuns told me about though I have even given it plenty of time. I studied English in college and yet can find not even a little interest in my religious readings.”

While she thought in silence for a moment, you didn’t interrupt her. 

When she found the words to verbalise what she’d been meaning to say, she began with a question: “Do you remember when you asked what my own intentions were for myself? On Thursday?”

You nodded. 

“It’s ridiculous, but I can’t even recall the last time I sincerely asked that to myself, but perhaps in shallower terms, such as wondering where I might be in a few years or what I might do with my time in the convent.

“But never what I wanted — never who I wanted to be.”

After a moment, when you were sure she wasn’t trying to find words to express herself nor contemplating whether to say something, you asked, “And do you know who you want to be?”

For a brief moment — half of one, really — Wanda looked thoughtful, and then she said and gestured to her clothing and the prayer room, “Not this.”

“So then, what?” you inquired further. 

You teased, “A vet?”

Wanda giggled and sat back a bit in her seat. “Perhaps if I were ten,” she said. 

Then more seriously, she added, “But now, I’m not very sure.”

“How did you come to realise what you were interested in?” Wanda asked. “For example, your studies. What are you studying?”

She was talking fast, obviously very invested in your conversation together and also rather curious about you. 

You thought that was cute; you liked Wanda. 

“I’m studying philosophy,” you told her to which she straightened and was eager to hear more about. “But with studies, it’s different, because you’re talking about more personal matters. Academics are far different from personal paths.”

Wanda seemed a bit disappointed because she was looking for a definite answer, but what you explained certainly made sense to her. 

She pondered about something then instead asked, “So about personal matters, then. What about those?”

“What about them?”

“Give me a principle to follow,” she sought. “Something I might be able to apply here. Something as general as you’d like it to be, but applicable.”

Her steadily growing smile made it clear that though she was certainly looking for advice, she also thoroughly enjoyed exchanging quips with you and exploring more about you. 

In a way, she was as eager to learn about you than how to help herself, if not more so. 

You hummed thoughtfully and Wanda watched as you were deep in thought. 

“A principle for you,” you said, “could easily be that it’s okay to be selfish, to think only of yourself when you’ve spent so long doing anything else.”

Wanda asked, slightly amused but far more curious, “You recommend hedonism?” 

“To you?”

She nodded. 

You replied, “Indubitably.”

If you hadn’t already been thinking of Wanda in painfully great amounts before that morning, then you certainly were afterwards. 

The third week came around and by then Wanda was banging against every square inch of your skull like an intruder, necessitating the need to be seen and thought of every other minute in any way you could.

Perhaps the relationship you developed with her thus far was one of friendship and nothing more, yet her persistence that never strayed too far from your mind seemed to you that she had become reminiscent of something greater than a platonic figure. 

In any case, you had to muster the ability to ask your dad in the most nonchalant manner you could if it were possible for you attend Sunday’s service. 

You did it in a way that did not make it seem to him that you were about to become a familiar face in the church, but rather that someone had simply happened to ask you for help during the last service and wondered if you might be able to attend the next — which is quite literally what you told him. 

It wasn’t a lie. 

Not even when you said that it was a young woman who was studying to become a novitiate at the convent that was curious about the choir and the other volunteers and had asked you about it last week, because Wanda did truly ask about the choir and the other people who volunteered at the church once. 

But that wasn’t at all the reason why you wanted to attend the service that Sunday. 

“Y/N,” a voice called in a hushed tone when you passed the hallway leading up to the choir stairway where your dad had already walked up towards. 

You slipped away from the people filing into the pews and quickly came to Wanda’s side. 

“Don’t you have places to be aside from fraternising with the guests?” you teased as she took your wrist and led you towards the room you both seemed to like talking in the most. 

“After last week’s ordeal with the book, I’ve been put on some kind of probation from participating in the services so I have more time to study independently,” she told you, not seeming particularly worried.

She added, “On Sundays, the convent is rather empty, so they wouldn’t notice that I’m off not studying. Though I could very well say I chose to study in one of the extra prayer rooms here.”

“And I’m sure they remember how much you love the prayer rooms here,” you said, wiggling your eyebrows at your reference to her having lost the book in one of them. 

Wanda faked a laugh in the driest manner you’d ever heard and you nudged her arm to which she told you to stop joking around with her so she could tell you something important. 

She closed the prayer room door and sat you down beside her. 

From a small bag on the chair to her left, she pulled out a small dictionary. 

Here, you were tempted to make fun of her and ask why she was carrying around a dictionary so tiny, but you recalled that she had wanted to ask you about something serious. 

She flipped open to a page she had bookmarked. 

“Hedonism,” she read aloud. “In philosophy, the belief that pleasure and the absence of pain is the most important principle in determining the morality of an action.”

Wanda looked up at you from the dictionary. “This is what you meant?” she asked. 

You nodded. 

Curiously, you inquired, “Do you agree with it?”

She looked back down to the page in which had written three definitions of hedonism, the third being the one defined by philosophy. 

The first two you could not quite read upside down. 

“I have never heard of it in such detail before the time you mentioned it last week,” she said, running her eyes over the words in contemplation, “but it’s interesting.”

“What would be your first endeavour to pleasure, if you had to make a guess?” you asked her.

Wanda ran over the words of the definition again with her eyes, perhaps still deep in thought about it or absently doing so while she contemplated an answer to your question. 

“My first?” she repeated. 

You looked down at the dictionary page now that she was holding it at a slightly different angle that oriented the letters better for you. 

The first definition read, ‘Pursuit of pleasure.’

And the second — you had to tip your head to the side a bit to decipher it — read, ‘Sensual self-indulgence.’

During your deep concentration, Wanda had come to an answer to your question, and it wasn’t until she leaned forward and kissed your unsuspecting lips that you realised she had even stopped looking at the page. 

It was the uttering of her muffled words against your lips that triggered something deep within you, perhaps equally as restrained as her own. 

An unfinished sentence, but one on its own nonetheless. 

‘I want…’ she had uttered, breathless and with one hand cupping your cheek and feeling with the pads of her fingers the softness of your skin. 

With that, you hastily reached forward and grasped at her ass, lifting her from her seat and stripping her down so she was in nothing but her undergarments. 

The paths of your nails streaked red against her pale skin while you devoured her every step of the way, your lips following every inch of skin that became exposed to you while your hands made quick work of unzipping her dress and unbuttoning her blouse. 

She sighed when you kissed her breasts and squeezed your hands around her waist and hips, taking her selfishly and finally spreading her legs and sitting her down in your lap. 

“Are you…” you began between breaths, pausing to figure out your wording and sitting back in your seat to look at her. “Have you had sex?”

Wanda giggled, finding your question amusing. “Of course I have,” she replied and took your hands and placed them on her hips again. 

“Cocky,” you jested, hooking your thumb under the clasp of her bra and releasing it so it snapped against her back, causing her to arch her body into you with a soft gasp. “Thought you might’ve been abstinent or something.”

“I don’t mean to be cocky,” she said in a low voice. “But I am certainly not abstinent.”

“Should I be jealous?”

“Only if you choose to be.”

“I choose to be,” you said with conviction. “So for whom should I be jealous, then?”

“College students.”

You gasped superficially.

“You fuck college students? Exclusively?”

“No!” she laughed. “I mean I haven’t been very active since my time in college.”

“Haven’t had sex since college?”

She corrected, “I didn’t mean that either.”

“So what did you mean?”

“This conversation is like pulling teeth.”

“Why? You want me to fuck you hard against this floor right now, baby?” you asked. The very crudeness of your words, albeit teasing, made Wanda’s breath hitch, and so within that reaction you found her first tell. “No foreplay or anything?”

“This isn’t foreplay?”

“Hardly.”

“Then what is?” she asked though sounding slightly pouty about it. 

“Oh, don’t tell me you’re all turned on and impatient from just that. Teasing gets you off?” you pressed. “Didn’t even have to be told how I wanna see your gorgeous ass bruise when I fuck your cunt from behind like you’re my sick little fucktoy whore?”

Her hips twitched. 

“Y/N…” she muttered, perhaps out of impatience or forewarning for how you were teasing her, either way you could not tell and weren’t very rushed in trying to figure it out. 

You pulled her bra down and released one of her breasts, slapping it lightly with your fingers and causing her to gasp before pinching one of her sensitive pink buds. 

There would be no indulging her past what you were willing to indulge; you were careful not to touch her more than what was intentional. 

You bucked your hips up under the guise of adjusting your seating, grinding your stiff cock against the soaking panties which were now beginning to soak your pants. 

Her cunt was sensitive beyond the thin fabric, causing the strap to rub her perfectly through her soft, swollen folds; you could practically hear how sticky she was without even looking. 

“What is that?” she quickly asked, looking down between her thighs. She tried moving back to get a better look, but you quickly held onto her hip with your other hand and pulled her harshly back to her original position, making her throbbing clit rub directly onto your cock. 

A strangled yelp was breathed past her lips. 

“Don’t move unless I tell you to, you understand?” you told her. 

She nodded.

“Everywhere else in this building, there is only one God, but here in this room, I am yours. You will listen to what I tell you and take what I give you, even if it hurts. You’ll be grateful that I make you hurt as much as you will when I give you pleasure.”

In spite of everything, Wanda repressed a tiny smile and said, “You’re scary when you’re authoritative with me.”

You laughed through your nose and replied, “I can get scarier.”

Her smile widened into a grin and Wanda’s hand came to the back of your neck when you leaned forward and kissed her, one arm circling around her waist and carefully slipping her off your lap as you stood from your seat. 

“We’ll get caught,” she voiced concern against your lips.

“Then be the lookout.” 

You made sure she didn’t trip on her way up to the podium, and soon you had her chest laid flat against the lectern and facing the front doors, the shadow of the large crucifix behind the both of you casted against the red carpet from the morning sun shining from behind the stained glass. 

Wanda listened as you unzipped your pants and when she made an attempt to turn her head and look at what you were doing, you put your other hand against her upper back and pressed her back down, reducing her line of sight to your face and shoulder and nothing else. 

Her clothed cunt was prodded at, the stiff tip of your strap finding her hole through her panties and nudging at it teasingly. She groaned impatiently and reached back to take hold of your hand, to grab onto anything and urge you forward.

In response, you spanked her harshly and made Wanda yelp out in surprise and wince.

“You dirty, impatient slut,” you spat.

She immediately whimpered, “I’m sorry, daddy.”

That satisfied something in you that you hadn’t even known you wanted, and you were more than happy to share in that satisfaction.

You hummed and tucked a finger under the waistband of Wanda’s panties, making her twitch impatiently while also doing her best to listen to her orders. Then you laid your hand flat against her lower back, rubbing her supportively and making a warm flush form across her face.

“You’re a good girl, aren’t you, Wanda?” you asked, looking up her bent-over half-naked body to the back of her head.

She nodded.

“Good girl,” she confirmed with a nod.

Gently, you squeezed her ass and danced your fingers up to the waistband of her panties that you finally pulled down, exposing her gorgeous, glistening cunt.

It took just as much resistance from you not to shove your cock right into her as much as it took Wanda to not thrust her hips back and grind her clit against your strap.

“Why don’t you tell me all you’ve been studying about the last little while?” you said, running a hand down her ass and sliding a thumb into her pussy, feeling heaps of pride with the way you slipped inside with no resistance. 

She was incredibly wet and so, so warm.

Distracted by the way your thumb probed shallowly at her hole, giving her just enough pleasure to make her throb but just short of enough to satisfy her entirely, it took Wanda a few moments to regain her focus before she finally asked, “S-Studying? About what?”

“You’re a smart girl, Wanda,” you encouraged, slowly sliding your thumb out and grazing the pad of it lightly over her swollen slit and across the hood of her clit. “Methods on how to be a proper nun. For example, swear yourself to the Lord, abstain from sex, so on and so forth.”

Wanda swallowed and tried her best to focus with the way your thumb began spreading her cunt out, revealing to you the glistening folds of her pussy. She began stuttering and finally squeezed her eyes shut hard enough to be able to recall some of her studies.

“Um, there was…” she uttered and ran her fingers along the edge of the wooden lectern, “living in modesty; not showing off one’s body in any crude manner, not partaking in pleasures of the flesh.”

Three of your fingers began rubbing slow circles against Wanda’s hole, squelching against her dripping cunt and making her tremble and moan shakily.

“And what next?” you asked.

“I-I can’t… Can’t focus…” she told you helplessly.

Your thumb flicked at her clit and Wanda’s body jerked forward. 

“One more,” you urged. “Come on. Give me one more good one and I’ll fuck you with my cock. You want that, don’t you?”

Intentionally, you began to focus on her clit now, having your index finger graze it as your middle and ring finger slowly began delving in and out of her sticky hole, purposefully making it even more difficult for Wanda to find the words for herself.

“I want… I want that,” she shuddered, hanging her head and squeezed her eyes shut again.

“So, then, give me one more.”

Wanda’s breathing deepened as she tried her hardest to focus. 

With every intention to make it more difficult for her, you reached up with your other hand and pulled her bra down, allowing you access to knead her breast and feel her nipple harden against the palm of your hand.

She whimpered into her arm and bit down on her bottom lip.

You stepped forward and removed your fingers from her cunt to rub the length of your strap through her pussy, wet fingers taking hold of its base and running it through her swollen folds.

“A-Ah, Y/N, please…” she mewled, though neither of you were quite sure whether she was begging for you to stop and allow her to think thoroughly or for you to have mercy on her completely and just fuck her.

“One more,” you reiterated and aligned the tip of your cock with her entrance. 

You placed both hands on her hips and began pulling her backwards, fucking her shallowly and watching her pussy take your cock with just as much anticipation as Wanda was struggling to withhold.

She hugged around you beautifully and it was truly only the tip; you couldn’t wait another moment to fuck her until she was begging for you to fuck her until it hurt.

“A-Another,” she finally trembled out, “is to be, by nature, a woman of submission, to worship your God and seek no amount of personal domination over–”

Fully satisfied with her answer and terribly impatient yourself, your fingernails dug into Wanda’s hips and you jerked her ass back against you, forcing her to take your entire cock in one swift movement.

She cried out and you wrapped a hand around her waist, running your nails down her side and feeling an inexplicable need to mark her, to cause her pain, to reduce her to a whimpering trembling, bruised mess so cock-drunk that all she’d feel for the next three days is the aftermath of being rough-fucked like a slut.

“Hit me, please, daddy,” she begged, wrapping her fingers around the edge of the lectern and arching her back.

So you did — repeatedly. 

You spanked Wanda over and over, having the sound of your palm meeting her ass echo through the room and only reiterating to the both of you how she was much less of a nun or a student or any reflection of purity, but a braindead nympho whore good for nothing but getting her pussy fucked raw.

She was a loud fuck, crying out in whimpers and moans and other strings of partially-comprehensible words telling you how good your cock felt and how much she loved getting fucked by you.

The playing organs and belting choir playing during the service muffled Wanda out, but Jesus Christ, if any of them out there had been able to hear her getting fucked down the hallway, they might just think for a moment that it was the calling of an angel or at least something in some way divine.

But none of them would ever know what it looked like to fuck Wanda from behind, pulling her up with their hand around her neck so you had access to slap her face and spit into her mouth like you could, pinching her clit and fucking her through to her third orgasm.

How beautiful she looked, sweaty and a mess with her long brown hair fanned out and stuck in strands against her back, crying out in equal parts pain and pleasure and finding herself incredibly pleased by being used like a filthy object.

And you’d make sure no one else could get the chance to see the sight but you.

“I’m gonna come again, Y/N,” she cried, breasts pressed against the cold wood of the lectern and arms pressed against her back. “This is my last, please, I can’t take anymore.”

You let go of her wrists and wrapped an arm around her waist, lifting her from the lectern. She was arched at a slight angle so your arm could assist in continuing to fuck her, but she was now much closer, and she was now able to loll her head back against your shoulder.

“This is the closest thing a slut like you will ever get to heaven, angel,” you told her, kissing her temple. “Make your God proud and come on my cock, filthy whore.”

Wanda reached back and held onto you for support while her eyes squeezed shut, her lips parting as a silent cry escaped her, her third and final orgasm coming over her without mercy.

You squeezed at her breast and leaned your head down and bit at her shoulder and up the back of her neck, getting in as many markings of your ownership as you could.

She sighed out and uttered your name, to which you ran your hands up her stomach, one hand moving up to her face and gently tilting her head over so you could kiss her lips.

Her knees buckled out and you carefully set her down on the floor before sitting down beside her. Wanda panted heavily into your chest, one hand on your knee and the other arm wrapped around your shoulder. 

You had your arms around her waist, rubbing her back supportively and whispering in her ear words upon words of how beautiful she looked, how good she’d been for you, then soon confessing how much you’d been thinking of her over the last few weeks, how much of your mind she occupied and how much of your time you spent thinking of her.

Wanda liked hearing that last part most, but she particularly enjoyed when you told her how it felt to masturbate to her, to imagine her looking up at you and choking on your cock at your final point of release, and how really being with her was plenty more enjoyable and, quite frankly, more beautiful than you ever could’ve fantasised about on your own. 

The both of you were on your knees, sweaty with the labour of sex and kneeling in each other’s arms at the foot of the towering crucifix, whispering and giggling to each other all the equally sweet and dirty confessions you could exchange before the service was over.

[ixiot-ghostrebel]

La~La~la 🦇 anon here with a sagau idea!

I don't play genshin with sound on, I always have my headphones on and sing to some songs while I play witch got me thinking.....

What if reader started singing viva la vida/once upon a december or another song really well and it just so happened that they had characters who are really musical like venti Barbra and xinyan in their party?

It would start out really sweet like them complimenting their creators voice and vibing along, then turn into them trying to write songs that are more like our modern ones!

Venti accidentally inventing an acoustic ballad or smthn (I used almost all my spoons for the first half..)

xinyan making an unholy amalgamation of classic and rock

And Barbra trying out new scales while writing songs about the creator who has the voice of an angel and godly pitch

For a good idea of what I'm thinking try listening to, Viva La Vida (orchestral version) from annapantsu!

(Feel free to add )

OHOHOHOHOHO, 🦇 ANON YOU ARE COOKING.

I need to start crawling out of my hole and listen to the song you're recommending to me ASAP—holy cow, I live under a mountain at this rate (I'm like Azhdaha bro this is NOT good 😭 Watch me run with this blindly bc I keep FORGETTING to listen to the recommendations 🦇 Anon is sending me—)

I won't add any other characters, since the selection you have is already good!

Venti, Barbara, and Xinyan Wanna Jam, Too!

(Warning: Might be OOC!)

Venti

WISP BOI SHOOKETH. HE IS WHOOPING AT THE TOP OF HIS LUNGS. MONDSTADT IS GOING CRAZY WITH THIS BARD IN TOWN GOING AROUND ABOUT THE CREATOR—

All jokes aside, he's over the moon to know that about your singing and your song preference. I feel like Venti would try to make his version of the songs you sing :D

By the time you meet in person, man's hands down worshipping your singing like his LIFE depends on it.

"Oh, Your Grace! Please sing your songs for all of Mondstadt to enjoy!" You can hear the literal excitement practically radiating in his voice.

He's very stoked and will sing along if you do decide to sing. Watch him brag this to the other archons (cough Zhongli and Ei mainly cough)

Barbara

The moment she heard the Almighty Creator sing, she thought both you and Barbatos blessed her. I mean, the winds, carrying your voice, to her?!

She's utterly shocked. She doesn't know if she's worthy of hearing your voice—But Barbara loves your voice! Of course the Almighty Creator would have the best voice of all of Teyvat!

She once caught herself humming the song you were singing to previously in the Church of Barbatos. Barbara was so embarrassed because the others managed to catch her humming that strange tune.

When you came around, Barbara was immediately the first one to ask you to sing—albeit a little timidly.

"Y-Your Grace! Uhm...Is it possible if you allow us Nuns at the Church to...hear you sing? Of course, you don't have to agree! We can sing the song ourselves if you wish!" Barbara just really wants to let you know that Mondstadt worships and adores you.

She would definitely make a choir version of the songs you sing. Be prepared to be invited and no, you're insisted to come. By everyone. :)

Xinyan

The first moment she heard you jam, she was loving it! Utterly loves the genre of music she hears from you!

From where she grew up (Liyue), there were some people that were very picky with their taste in music and usually called her rock'n roll a ruckus. To hear you sing something without a care in the world to a song that doesn't really fit to the usual old geezer's standards was utterly refreshing!

Sometimes, when she's given the honor of the stage, she would perform some performances to you and perform a rock'n roll version of the songs you sing. She has a musician's ears after all, she would remember how the riffs go and remix them to fit her style.

When you arrive, you better go out and listen! Xinyan would absolutely credit you and (if your up to it) sing alongside you!

"Haha, Your Grace! You're here—wanna hear my rock'n roll version of your songs?" She's good at remixing, it's almost unfair—

Yeah, none of them realize any of the songs you sang weren't your creation. Good luck explaining to them :)

Ghost Rebel Side Notes: WHY AM I TAKE 3 ETERNITIES TO WRITE EVERYTHING SOBBING. WHERE IS MY MOTIVATION OFF RUNNING TO ISTG—

Ahem, anyways—I hope you guys liked it :D I'm currently facing a bit of a time crunch atm so my response to requests will be even slower than it already is :') Sorry about that. I hope you guys love this post, though!

✦ Check out The Ghost Rebel’s Blog Description & Info Page to See if Their Mailbox is Open! ✦

[footballfanficwriter]

Prise giving ceremony

Summary:Jude and the reader are invited for their children's prize giving Ceremony

"Jude c'mon we're gonna be late" I say

"Yeah, I'm coming" he says, he takes my hand and we make it out the front door

"I've already spoken to mum she says they'll meet us there, cause they need to get a few things before the Ceremony starts" He says

"Are your parents going to be there?"

"I don't know honestly, but it would be really Nice if they showed up, it would mean so much to the kids if they did"

"Hey don't worry, even if they don't show up, I'm sure it will still be fun"

"Yeah"

" how many awards do you think the kids will get?"

"I don't know, besides, I don't care I'll be proud of them either way"

"Yeah, me too, But you know how they are, they always want to be top achievers in everything they do"

"I think they get that from the both of us to be honest"

"I don't always strive to be a top achiever"

"Yes you do Jude"

"How?"

"What about that time after one of your matches and you didn't play the way you wanted to, were you not having a fit?"

"I did not"

"Babe you did"

"Well you're also like that"

"Oh I already know I strive to be a top achiever, I'm not going to deny who i am"

"Whatever" he says rolling his eyes

"But I'm sure the genes didn't spread to our kids, right?"

"Yeah, no that is a lie, our children are so competitive it worries me sometimes"

"You're overreacting"

"Oh, am I?"

"Yeah you are"

"Remember that time when Julian, lost his football game and he got so upset he wouldn't even eat his dinner?, or what about the time Julia didn't get first prize for her 1200m run, and she nearly fought the girl who did, need I go on?"

"Alright you've made your point"

"Thank you"

We arrive at the school and Jude parks the car, he walks out of the car and comes around my side to open my door

"Thank you"

"It's a pleasure babe"

"You actually look beautiful in that outfit you know"

"Really, you like it?"

"I love it"

Jude has a black turtleneck on, with a suit Jacket, black slacks and dress shoes and a silver Rolex watch, while I have on a black dress that reaches just past my knees, with a criss cross back and a slight low V cut in the front, matched with a pair of black heels a gold necklace, gold earrings and my wedding ring

As we enter the venue we see people taking pictures, no dought that these pictures will be on the internet by the time the ceremony is over

When we enter the venue we find Denise,Mark and Jobe sat in the second row behind all the teachers and principals, we make our way to where they are sitting and greet them

"Mom we're here" Jude says

They turn their heads towards us and stand up

"Hi Darling, you alright" Denise says greeting me and coming in for a hug

"Yeah mom, I'm alright"

"Aren't you proud"

"Very proud"

Mark taps my shoulder getting my attention

"Hey" he says coming in for a hug

"Hi dad, how've you been?"

"I'm alright"

I greet Jobe and give him a brotherly hug while he daps Jude up

We all take our seats with me sandwiched in between Jude and Denise and Mark sitting next to Denise and Jobe

The MC starts the program and the school choir sings the school song, after that the MC starts her opening speech

"Good evening everyone, we're so grateful for your presence here tonight, thank you for coming to celebrate the children who have undoubtably worked hard to achieve these achievements, without further ado let's get started, I would like to call on Mrs. Clinton to come and present the awards"

Mrs. Clinton walks onto the stage and greets everyone

"Good evening everyone, I am here in front of you all to present the special awards to the children, the first award is awarded to the most creative student, Jessica James"

Everyone claps for Jessica as she walks onto the stage to get her award

"Why does she walk like that" Jude asks

"Don't Judge other people's kids Jude"

"Next, this award is for the most kindest and caring student who always puts other's needs before their own, this award is awarded to Ronald Johnson"

People clap for Ronald and  he collects his award

"Those are some big glasses he's got on" he says as he fists his hands making a hole in between each hand and putting each fisted hand on each eye

"Jude, stop" I say tying to hold my laugh in

"Next this award is for the most improved student, who has improved either academically or Socially, having had a hard start when they first arrived in the school and to adapting the school's culture, this award is given to Melissa Hall"

Melissa collects her award and we all clap for her

"Now lastly this award is a prestigious one and is a shared by two students, this award is for the most ambitious and Hardworking students, Julia and Julian Bellingham"

Both Julia and Julian walk onto stage to get their shared award, I turn to my right to see Mark filming Every moment

Jude and I stand up so both of them can see us, they see us and wave and we return the gesture by smiling and waving

Next they announce that they'll be announcing the prizes for the year 1s ( first graders)

Which is Julian and Julia's year (grade)

"We will first start with the year 1s and their achievements" the MC Says

"I would like to call Mrs. Madden to the stage to present the Awards"

Mrs. Madden walks onto the stage, greets the audience, and continues Jude gives me a side eye as if to say "look at her outfit" Mrs. Madden has on an old looking cardigan and a pair of baggy trousers, bright red glasses and Pebbles/stones for Jewelry "Good evening, everyone. It's my pleasure to present the awards for the Year 1 students. These young minds have shown remarkable dedication and enthusiasm throughout the year. First, we'll start with the award for Excellence in Mathematics, which goes to... Julian Bellingham!"

The audience erupts in applause as Julian confidently strides to the stage to accept his award. His smile is radiant, and his eyes gleam with pride.

"That's my boy," Jude whispers to me, his face beaming with pride. I squeeze his hand, sharing in the moment of joy.

Julian accepts his award, posing for a quick photo before returning to his seat.

"Next, the award for Outstanding Performance in English goes to... Julia Bellingham!"

Julia, not to be outdone by her brother, walks gracefully to the stage, her expression one of quiet confidence. The applause is even louder this time, with our family cheering her on.

"I'm so proud of them," I say to Jude, my eyes welling up with tears of happiness.

"I know, me too," Jude replies, his voice full of emotion.

Julia accepts her award and waves at us again before taking her seat beside Julian.

Mrs. Madden continues, "The next award is for Excellence in Sports. This student has shown exceptional talent and dedication in various sports activities. The award goes to... Julian Bellingham!"

Julian gets up again, looking slightly embarrassed but very pleased as he accepts his second award. The applause is thunderous.

"He's going to need a bigger shelf for all these awards," Jude jokes, making me laugh.

"And finally," Mrs. Madden announces, "the award for Leadership and Teamwork goes to a student who has demonstrated exceptional leadership skills and the ability to work well with others. This award goes to... Julia Bellingham!"

Julia stands up for the second time, her face glowing with pride. She walks to the stage, collects her award, and waves once more, her smile brighter than ever.

As the ceremony concludes, the children are invited to take pictures with their families. Jude and I rush to the front to congratulate our kids, enveloping them in big, proud hugs.

"You both did amazing!" I say, kissing each of their foreheads.

"We're so proud of you," Jude adds, ruffling Julian's hair and hugging Julia tightly.

"Thanks, Mom and Dad!" they both say, their faces glowing with happiness.

Denise, Mark, and Jobe join us, offering their congratulations. Denise takes out her phone and suggests, "Let's get a family picture to remember this moment."

We gather together, with Julian and Julia holding their awards proudly. As the camera clicks, I can't help but think about how lucky we are to have such amazing children and a loving, supportive family.

"Alright, let's go celebrate!" Jude announces, lifting Julian onto his shoulders. And me taking Julia into my arms, planting a kiss onto her cheek then her forehead

"Yeah, ice cream for everyone!, Say goodbye to your grandparents and Uncle Jobe" I add, placing Julia back down then holding her hand

"Bye nana" Julia Says as she hugs her grandmother

"Goodbye my Darling, I'm so proud of you, and you as well Julian" Denise says as she hugs the both of them

We continue saying our goodbyes and walk them to their car and we start making way to our car as well

as we make our way out of the venue, hearts full and spirits high.

The evening is a perfect blend of pride, love, and celebration, and as we head to our favorite ice cream parlor, I know that this is a day we will cherish forever.

As we walk to the car, Jude spots another kid and nudges me. "Look at that kid's bowtie. It's bigger than his head."

I laugh, nudging him back. "Jude, be nice!"

"And that one," he whispers, nodding towards a girl with a massive hair bow. "Is she trying to take flight with that thing?"

"Stop it!" I giggle, trying to hold back my laughter.

"Alright, alright," he says, chuckling. "But you have to admit, this is entertaining."

"You're terrible," I say, still laughing. "But I love you anyway."

"I love you too," he replies, pulling me close and kissing my forehead. "Now, let's go get some ice cream."

We pile into the car, the kids chattering excitedly about their awards in the backseat. Jude starts the engine and we head to our favorite ice cream parlor, the mood in the car light and joyful.

As we arrive and park, Jude turns to me with a playful smile. "You know, I was just thinking..."

"Uh-oh, should I be worried?" I tease, raising an eyebrow.

"Maybe," he laughs. "But seriously, what if Julian and Julia go into comedy? They seem to have a knack for entertaining, just like their old man."

"Oh, really? So now you're a comedian?" I say, laughing.

"Well, I did make you laugh, didn't I?" he retorts, winking.

We all get out of the car and head into the parlor, the kids rushing ahead to choose their favorite flavors. Jude and I follow more slowly, holding hands and enjoying the moment.

As we enter the ice cream parlor, the sweet aroma of freshly baked waffles and scoops of ice cream fills the air. Julian and Julia rush towards the display of flavors, their eyes wide with anticipation.

"Mom, Dad, look at all the choices!" Julia exclaims, pointing excitedly.

"Yeah, Dad, they even have that weird green one you like," Julian adds with a grin.

Jude chuckles. "Hey, mint chocolate chip is a classic! Don't knock it till you've tried it."

I roll my eyes playfully. "You and your adventurous taste buds."

"Just trying to keep things interesting," he replies with a wink.

We join the kids at the counter, scanning the menu for our own favorites. Julian opts for a towering sundae while Julia goes for a colorful cone with sprinkles.

"I think I'll go for something simple today," I say, eyeing a scoop of strawberry cheesecake.

Jude nudges me. "Oh, come on, live a little! How about a triple scoop with all the works?"

I laugh. "I'll leave that to you, Mr. Mint Chocolate Chip."

As we wait for our treats, Jude leans closer to me, his voice low. "Did you see that kid's hair over there? It looks like a bird's nest."

I stifle a laugh. "Jude! Be nice."

"I'm just observing," he insists, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "You know I can't resist a good hairstyle critique."

"Well, keep your critiques to yourself," I tease, trying not to giggle too loudly.

Our ice cream arrives, and we settle into a cozy booth. Julian and Julia dive into their treats with gusto, their faces quickly turning into a sticky mess of smiles and satisfaction.

Jude leans back, savoring his mint chocolate chip. "You know, I have to hand it to them. These kids really know how to enjoy life's simple pleasures."

"Like ice cream," I add, licking a stray drip from my cone.

"Exactly," he says, nodding. "I mean, who needs fancy dinners when you've got a scoop of your favorite flavor?"

"Or a tower of sundaes," I reply, gesturing towards Julian's creation.

We watch our kids laugh and talk between messy bites, their joy infectious. It's moments like these that remind me why I fell in love with Jude—the way he finds humor in everyday moments and brings out the best in our family.

As we finish our ice cream, Jude leans over and whispers, "That kid over there looks like he's trying to break the world record for fastest ice cream eater." He says eyeing the poor child that just seems to be really enjoying his ice cream

I burst out laughing, unable to contain myself. "Jude, stop, what's wrong with you today and making fun of kids!" I manage to say between giggles.

He grins mischievously. "What? I'm just stating the obvious, and it's not like I'm saying it to their faces, how will they know I'm talking about them ?"

"You're terrible," I say, shaking my head, still laughing.

He chuckles softly. "But you love me anyway, right?"

"Of course," I reply, reaching across the table to squeeze his hand. "Even when you're making fun of kids' hairstyles."

He squeezes my hand back, his eyes warm with affection. "I love you too, always."

We sit together in comfortable silence, watching our children and soaking in the happiness of this simple, perfect moment. As we prepare to leave, Jude leans over once more.

"Ready to head home, or should we challenge the kids to a rematch in mini golf?"

I laugh, shaking my head. "Let's save that for another day. Right now, I think we've had enough excitement for one evening."

"Fair enough," he says, rising from the booth. "But don't think I won't take you up on that challenge someday."

I smile, knowing that whatever adventures lie ahead, we'll face them together—as partners, parents, and best friends.

"I love that idea," I say, kissing him on the cheek. "It's perfect."

As we sit there, enjoying our ice cream and each other's company, I realize that moments like these are what life is all about—love, laughter, and the simple joy of being together.

Jude takes a spoon of his ice cream  and leans back, content. "This is the life," he says, smiling at me and the kids. "I wouldn't trade it for anything."

"Me neither," I reply, squeezing his hand. "Me neither."

The evening winds down with more laughter, stories, and plans for the future. As we drive home, the kids eventually fall asleep in the backseat, clutching their awards.

Jude looks over at me and smiles. "We did good, didn't we?"

"We did great," I reply, feeling a warm glow of happiness. "Our little achievers."

We pull into the driveway, and Jude gently carries Julian inside while I take Julia. We tuck them into bed, kissing their foreheads and whispering words of love and pride.

Back in our bedroom, Jude wraps his arms around me and pulls me close. "Thank you for being my partner in this crazy, wonderful life," he says softly.

"Thank you for being mine," I reply, resting my head on his chest.

As we drift off to sleep, I can't help but feel incredibly grateful for this beautiful family we've built together—a family filled with love, humor, and endless possibilities.

[whocaresstillthelouvre]

Does It Feel Like Christmas Now?

Pairing: Javi Gutiérrez x Female Reader Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI) Summary: Javi's not feeling too festive this year, his best friend Nic can't make his annual Christmas party... guess it's up to you to cheer up the handsome party host. Warnings: smut, fingering, 69, oral (m & f receiving), javi eats ass, cum eating, weed use, alcohol, muppet christmas carol, i just really want to touch javi's stomach, like this is just a bit of plot and story so that javi g can get his dick sucked. 🤷🏼‍♀️ Words: 3,600

Written for the lovely @beefrobeefcal Disaster Control challenge. Merry Christmas Beefy! I've LOVED getting to know you and partake in the unhinged with you. 💕🥩

Masterlist

🐻🐻🐻

Javi stands at the balcony lit in twinkling lights overlooking the ocean. Normally, this time of year fills him with joy, his mind dancing with the singing of the street corner choir, going home and getting warm by the fire. Because he knows it’s true wherever you find love it feels like Christmas. 

But this December, a melancholy has settled over. His sweet reunion with his friend this year will not be happening. 

He sighs and turns back to survey the scene of his staff setting up everything for his annual Christmas party. The ballroom of his mansion has been transformed into a winter wonderland. Enormous fir trees with their branches laden with shimmering ornaments and lights stand in each corner. Silver and gold tinsel drapes from the vaulted ceiling. Garlands of holly and ivy wind their way along the walls. Crystal chandeliers hang adorned with red velvet bows and clusters of mistletoe. Red and green spotlights dance along the marble dance floor. Well, at least all of his friends will have fun tonight.

How could he possibly enjoy his legendary Christmas soiree without Nic? For the past few years, Nicolas Cage has been the life of Javi’s annual yuletide bash. And now, with Nic all the way back home in Hollywood filming the newest installment of Cage Chronicles there was just no way he could make his way to Majorca.

It doesn’t feel like Christmas. 

—-

“What in the world?” you ask, mouth agape at the sight ahead of you. A palatial estate lays ahead of you as your friend Clara navigates the winding driveway. “How the hell did you work this invite out?”

Clara flashes a mischievous grin as she pulls the tiny Fiat up to the valet. “Let’s just say I have connections in high places,” she says with a wink.

“So, that guy you’ve been seeing?” you ask as the valet in a crisp red uniform opens your door.

“Yep,” she responds, punctuating the p. “It’s his cousin Javi’s party. Come on now, let’s get fucked up.”

Soft strains of “White Christmas” drift from inside as you approach the grand entrance. The massive oak doors swing open, revealing a scene that looks straight out of a Christmas movie. Your eyes widen as you take in everything before you. A waiter approaches with a tray of champagne flutes. You take one, the bubbles tickling your nose as you sip the crisp and obviously expensive champagne.

"Holy shit," you whisper to Clara. "This is insane.”

Clara tugs at your arm, pulling you towards a room where the music grows louder. As you enter the ballroom, your jaw drops at the spectacle ahead of you. Beautiful people all clad in beautiful outfits and jewels talk, laugh, and dance as a live band plays.

You scan the room, trying to take it all in. Your eyes landing on a man standing alone near one of the enormous Christmas trees. He’s impeccably dressed with a charming smile on his face, but there’s something melancholic that lines his features. He’s the most handsome man you’ve ever seen.

His dark hair is slicked back, his broad body clad under a tailored suit, his deep brown eyes survey the room—until they settle on you.

With a slight nod of his head, he raises his champagne glass in a greeting before taking a sip. His gaze intensifies as it travels up your body. And just as you feel the heat of his gaze land on your eyes, Clara pulls you away.

“Come on, Alejandro’s outside,” she shouts over the band.

You follow her reluctantly, feeling the handsome stranger’s eyes on you as you move to the breath-taking veranda.

Clara squeals with delight as she spots Alejandro, she thrusts her drink in your hand before rushing over to plant a kiss on his cheek. You stay behind, feeling slightly out of place.

You take a deep breath, inhaling the scent of pine and salty sea air as Clara and Alejandro chat animatedly. You love Clara, she’s your closest friend in your college’s abroad program, but she’s much more of a social butterfly than you are… especially when it comes to men. 

You can already tell it’s going to be another night of you standing alone in a pretty dress while Clara has all of the fun. You guzzle down the rest of your champagne before starting on Clara’s flute.

The breeze chills your skin… someone really should have warned you about the chill that blows off the Mediterranean Sea in December. The velvet of your short, red dress does nothing to warm you. At least the party inside looks warm. 

"I’m going to get a refill,” you announce to the two lovebirds enamored with each other. swallowing down the rest of your champagne.

“Have fun!” Clara giggles as Alejandro nuzzles against her neck.

Weaving through all of the sequins and tuxedos, you spot a waiter and snag another flute of champagne, downing half of it in one gulp.

It’s too hectic in this fancy ballroom, Clara really got you with the promise of free booze. This mansion looks more like a castle… you wonder just how many rooms are in this place. Curiosity gets the best of you as you sneak off past the ballroom doors, your heels clicking against the polished marble floor of a long, dimly lit hallway. At the end of the hall, a door sits slightly ajar with a familiar song floating out of it. 

A cup of kindness that we share with anotherA sweet reunion with a friend or a brotherIn all the places you find love, it feels like Christmas

The familiar lyrics of “It Feels Like Christmas” beckons you toward the dark room.

You peek inside, of course this mega mansion has a home theatre. A lone person silhouetted by the screen sits on a plush couch at the front.

The person turns at the sound of your heels, your eyes adjust to the darkness, before realizing it’s the handsome man from earlier. His eyes widen slightly in recognition.

“I’m sorry, “ you stammer, suddenly feeling quite foolish. “I didn’t mean to intrude. I—the party was just a lot.”

He smiles warmly, the sadness in his eyes lifting slightly. “No—no need to apologize. Please, join if you’d like, I could use the company,” he says, his voice deep and accented. Of course his accent would be just as beautiful as him.

You make your way down the aisle before settling on the seat next to him. He sits up straighter, his jacket discarded and his tie loosened.

“A classic,” you quietly say.

He nods, his eyes fixed on the screen. “It’s mine and Nic’s favorite. We’d watch it every year after the party.” “Nic?” you ask, your curiosity piqued.

He chuckles softly. “Nicolas Cage. He’s usually the life of this party, but this year he couldn't make it," he explains with a wistful tone in his voice.

Your eyes widen in surprise. "Nicolas Cage? As in, the actor? Like—as in Spider-Noir or ‘NOT THE BEEEEES!‘ Nic Cage?”

He nods, a fond smile playing on his lips. “Yes. He is one of my closest friends. This party just doesn’t feel the same without him.”

You’re stunned into silence, processing the surprise revelation. “He’s my favorite actor.”

“He’s mine too,” he says, turning to you, his eyes glistening with a wide smile across his face, you notice a deep dimple on his cheek. You can’t stop thinking about what it would feel like to dip your tongue in the divot of it. “I’m Javi,” he says, extending his hand towards you.

You give him your name, shaking his hand. His large hand engulfs yours with a firm, warm grip.

“You certainly know how to throw a great party out there Javi.”

He nods with a hum of agreement.

“Did you want a drink?” he asks.

You nod, grateful for the offer. “That sounds lovely, thank you.” Javi stands, moving to a small bar tucked in the corner and pours two lowball glasses with amber liquid.

“I hope whiskey is alright,” he says, handing you one of the glasses.

You take a sip, the smoky flavor warming you from the inside out. "It's perfect," you reply, settling back into the plush seat.

As the movie plays on, you find yourself relaxing, the whiskey and Javi's presence melting away the awkwardness you felt earlier. Javi lights up a joint, and offers it to you, which you gratefully accept and take a hit.

Of course it’s good weed, so good, you have a bit of a coughing fit after your first inhale. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, his hand coming up to rest on your back, running soothing lines up and down it. “Your dress is so soft.” 

His touch both heats and soothes your body, even more than the whiskey and weed.

His hand stays on your back, still running slightly up and down your dress as the two of you laugh at the antics of Gonzo and Rizzo, recite lines along with the Muppets, and hum softly to the familiar songs.

Javi seems to cheer up, his earlier melancholy fading as he laughs along with you and shares stories about watching it with Nic.

Rizzo and Gonzo disguise themselves as busts. 

“This is my favorite part,” you smile. 

You feel Javi’s eyes on you instead of the screen, his gaze intense, filled with something you can’t quite sense. You feel heat creep up your neck as you look at him.

"You have a beautiful smile,” he says softly.

You lean closer, he smells of sandalwood and citrus.

“I like your smile too,” you say, earning an adoring smile from him.

He moves his hand, wrapping his arm around you and pulling you closer, shocking you as you try to calm your now racing heart.

You steal glances of Javi throughout the movie, the soft glow from the screen lighting his profile. You follow the strong line of his jaw and the curve of his plush lips up to his sharp nose. 

Scrooge begins his transformation from miser to charitable hero, but you find it increasingly difficult to focus on the story. Javi’s fingers trace lazy circles on the bare skin of your arm, before they move to the nape of your neck, massaging the sensitive skin there.

You shift slightly in your seat, pressing closer to Javi and letting out a soft moan as his thumb brushes against your collarbone.

The liquor, his touch, and his handsome face drives you wild.

The credits roll, your heart drops as he pulls his arm away. He turns to you, his eyes dark. “This has been fun, thanks for keeping me company.”

His voice is deep, his big, brown eyes roam your face. Your mouth opens, your tongue darting out to lick your lips, trying to figure out what to say to keep him here with you. He leans in closer, his eyes flickering to your lips. His warm breath hits your skin, smelling of whiskey, weed, and mint.

His hand comes up to cup your cheek, his thumb gently stroking your skin. You lean into his touch, your eyes fluttering closed as his lips meet yours.

His lips are soft, his kiss is sweet. He pulls you closer as his tongue traces the seam of your lips. You part your lips with a soft gasp, tasting the whiskey and peppermint that lingers on his tongue. His hand slides down your back, gripping your ass and scooting you into his lap. You eagerly climb atop him and moan into his mouth, your fingers curling around the fabric of his shirt. 

He nips at your bottom lip before soothing it with his tongue, you return the favor earning a low growl from Javi that vibrates against your lips.

You part for air, both of you breathing heavily.

Javi rests his forehead against yours, his eyes dark as they meet yours. “Would you like to continue this evening—maybe somewhere more private?”

Your breath catches in your throat as you nod, unable to find the words. Javi stands, offering his hand to help you up. He leads you out of the theatre and through winding corridors, the sounds of the party grows fainter.

You ascend a grand staircase, your fingers intertwined with his. Ornate oil paintings and gilded mirrors line the walls. You can’t believe you’re doing this, but when a man who looks like Javi offers you a more private place to take you to, you say yes.

He stops before an intricately carved mahogany door, fishing a key from his pocket. The lock clicks open, and Javi ushers you inside with a gentle hand on the small of your back.

You gasp as you enter. The room is enormous, easily the size of your entire apartment. A massive four-poster bed dominates one wall, draped in rich fabric. Floor-to-ceiling windows offer a breathtaking view of the moonlit ocean.

“Oh my god, Javi, this is gorgeous.”

He smiles warmly at you.

"You know, I wasn't sure I'd enjoy tonight at all. But you've made this evening so much brighter. Thank you for that." He steps closer, his hand cupping your cheek. "I'd like to show my appreciation, if you'll let me."

He leans in, his lips barely brushing yours. “How would you like to do that?” you whisper.

His brown eyes darken. "I want to taste you," he growls, his accent thicker with arousal.

You nod, unable to speak.

Javi starts to guide you towards the bed, but then pauses. "Oh, one moment," he says, moving to his dresser.

You watch, puzzled, as he gently turns around a stuffed Paddington Bear plush perched there. "Wouldn't want him to see," Javi explains with a playful wink.

You giggle as Javi’s hands slide to your waist. “Now where were we?” he asks, his hands sliding to your hips and pulling you flush against his body. His kiss makes you melt into him, your arms wrapping around his neck.

His hands find the zipper of your dress and slowly lowers it, the cool breeze from the windows hits your skin as the fabric pools at your feet. His warm palms slide up to trace the lace edge of your bra.

He guides you backwards until your legs hit the bed, he eases you down onto the silky sheets, your skin sliding easily as you scoot back, resting your head on the mountain of pillows as he crawls over you.

His lips trail hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck. You arch into him as he lavishes attention on your collarbone, nipping and sucking. His stubble scratches deliciously against your sensitive skin.

He makes quick work of your bra clasp before he slowly peels the lace away, revealing your breasts to his hungry gaze.

A needy whimper escapes you as he takes one hardened peak into his mouth. His tongue swirls around your nipple as his hand kneads your other breast.

Carding your fingers through his soft, thick hair, you moan his name as he switches his attention to your other breast, worshipping it with the same dedication.

His lips continue their journey down your body, pressing feather-light kisses across your ribcage and stomach. Your hips buck involuntarily as he nips at the sensitive skin below your navel.

Javi hooks his fingers in the waistband of your panties, looking up at you with a silent question in his eyes. You nod eagerly, lifting your hips to help him slide the lace down your legs.

He settles between your thighs, his hot breath fanning over your pussy already wet for him. You tremble as he places a tender kiss on your inner thigh.

"Relax, mi amor," Javi murmurs. "Let me take care of you."

Your head hits the pillow, a long groan escaping your lips when he first tastes you. He laps at you with long, broad strokes before sealing his mouth over your clit. Your fingers tangle in the silky sheets as he sucks and flicks his tongue in maddening patterns.

A thick finger slips inside you, his tongue on your clit and his finger pumping in and out already has your legs trembling.

Your back arches off the bed as Javi works you. His free hand grips your thigh, holding you steady as you begin to shake.

"Javi," you gasp, your voice breathy and desperate. "I'm so close."

He hums against you, before pulling away, his handsome face slick with your wet. He smiles his devilish smile.

“I love doing this, you taste so good.”

He stretches you with another finger and curls both up, as he slowly fucks you, slow and deliberate, dragging in and out, driving you crazy. 

With a long, deep swirl of his tongue, you cry out Javi's name. Your fingers and toes curl while your heart shatters against your chest. Your orgasm pulses through you, your body feels like it’s floating above the obviously expensive silk sheets. Javi gently swirls and laps his tongue all over your pulsing pussy until you become too sensitive.

“S-s-stop, t-too much, oh my god,” you stutter, your body quaking from his attention.

Javi chuckles against you before pressing soft kisses to your inner thighs as you come down from your high. He moves back up your body, capturing your lips in a searing kiss, imparting your taste against your lips.

His still-clothed body covers your naked body on his bed. Your fingers move clumsily, fumbling with the buttons of his shirt, eager to feel his bare skin against yours.

He breaks the kiss, chuckling softly. “Patience, mi amor,” he whispers, sitting back on his haunches and unbuttoning the rest of his shirt. You watch, mesmerized, as he reveals his tanned, toned chest and plush belly. He tosses his shirt aside, your hands immediately run over his smooth skin, reveling in the way he twitches under your touch. Your hands run down to the waistband of his dress pants.

“Off,” you say, tugging at his belt. He chuckles, quickly unbuckling and removing his pants and boxers.

He’s gorgeous, your eyes widen as you take in the sight of him. His thick cock lays hard against his stomach, already leaking for you. Wrapping your hand around him and stroking him lightly, a groan escapes his lips, his hips bucking into your touch.

You want him in your mouth, you want to know what he tastes like. You sit up, pushing him onto his back. “I want to taste you too.”

He groans. “Yes, mi amor. Come here,” he says, pulling you to straddle his face in reverse.

Leaning forward and bracing yourself on his thick thighs, you lower your mouth to his cock and lick a long stripe up his wide shaft. He moans, the vibrations tickling against your folds as he begins to devour you.

He’s velvety smooth in your mouth, hard and musky. His hips twitching as you suck against his head before taking him down your throat.

Javi licks and sucks against your clit, his fingers sliding in and out of your pussy, earning moans around his cock. You relax your throat, taking him even deeper as his fingers pump faster inside you.

He grips your ass, kneading the flesh as he devours you. Your orgasm shows itself again, your core and body coiling tighter with each swirl of his tongue.

Javi’s cock twitches in your mouth as you bob your head faster, hollowing your cheeks to suck him harder. His hips moving in shallow thrusts as he fucks your mouth.

“Close,” he grits as you cry around his cock, he slips his fingers out of you. His strong hands knead and spread your ass cheeks, exposing you fully to his hungry mouth. You gasp around his cock as his tongue draws a path from your pussy to your ass. His tongue circles your puckered hole before dipping inside. It’s unlike anything you’ve ever experienced before—and you’re doing it with a gorgeous man who you just met at his lavish Christmas party.

Javi groans, the vibrations traveling through you as he works you with his mouth. His tongue darts from your clit to your entrance to your ass in an unpredictable pattern that leaves you dizzy. You're trembling, teetering on the edge of bliss.

"Javi," you whimper against his cock.

He groans, his grip tightens on your ass as his tongue delves deeper, pushing you over the precipice. You cry out around his cock, your body shaking as your second orgasm crashes over you. You suck him harder, taking him all the way down to your throat, choking on his length.

The sensation proves too much for him. With a deep groan, he pulses and spills into your mouth. You swallow around him, savoring his taste as he rides out his climax.

Spent and sated, you roll off of him, collapsing onto the plush mattress. Javi gathers you in his arms, pressing tender kisses to your forehead as you both catch your breath.

“So, does it feel like Christmas now?” you ask, snuggling closer to him, relishing the heat of his bare skin against yours. The distant sounds of the party drift in through the windows.

“Mm, it does,” Javi rumbles, capturing your wandering hand and bringing it to his lips to place a kiss across your knuckles. 

[janahanooo]

Christmas time with the TWST boys cus it's december and I can't wait.

Riddle: Trey, Cater... report.

Trey: *sigh* "Operation get Yuu to join us on christmas" is going well. Ace and Deuce has been spending time with them and have talked about christmas around them multiple times. I think a few more days and they will joins us.

Cater: As for the decoration, you don't have to worry! Cay-cay got everything undercontrol! I got the boys to bring a huge tree and the fireplace is also finely decarated!

Riddle: good, good to hear. Soon, Yuu will see that Heartsablye's christmas is the best out of all the dorms.

Ruggie: C'mon Leona! Give more thoughts into it! You're rich! Your holidays must have been extravagant!

Leona: yeah I rather not remember those times. Look, I really don't care about this whole thing. Do what you want.

Jack: uh.. dormlead?

Leona: what?

Jack: The whole heartsabllye dorm os bragging that Yuu will join them for this years christmas...

Leona:

Leona: Ruggie, i hive you as much money you need to make this years christmas as extra as you want. I need to make a phone call...

Ruggie: hehe! Who you calling?

Leona: *smirk* a certain pipsquick

Azul: this months profits are high as expected. How I love holiday season *chuckle*

Jade: fufu~ I can imagine how happy you will be once you hear this wonderfull news.

Floyd: yeah! Azul, shrimpy will be celebrating this years holiday with one of the dorms! Ne ne, can we invite them?

Azul: oh? How nice...

Azul:

Azul: Jade, Floyd. Make sure its our dorm.

Jade & Floyd: On it boss/aye aye boss!

Kalim: Come on Jamil! It's christmas!

Jamil: yeah... more work for me. How exciting.

Kalim: don't be like that, I promised I will help you with the feast this year!

Jamil: I rather not have you in the kitchen. You might poison your own food...

Kalim: *sad puppy noises* aw..

Scarabia student A: Dormlead! Do you plan on inviting Yuu? I heard that they have no place to celebrate it and that they will join one of the dorms!

Kalim: OOOH! Did you hear that Jamil?! Jamil? Huh, he was here a minute ago...

Jamil: *in the kitchen* Alright everyone! We have to make the best feast that has ever happened in twisted wonderland!

Vil: Epel. Your posture.

Epel: ughhhh, my back hurts.... can we stop now?

Vil: no, everything has to be perfect. Do you want the prefect to join us? Then work hard for it. Rook.

Rook: Oui, rui de poison?

Vil: did you gathered the information I asked?

Rook: but of course. The heart duo is as of right now working on persuing Yuu to join them. The savannaclaw dorm is prepairng their own weapon. The leech twins are lurking around them, always ready to snatch them. Kalim is prepairing the biggest feast in history. The ingendhyde dorm is quiet as always, but they do plan to invite them. As for the diasomnia dorm... I'm sorry I couldn't gather information there.

Vil: hmm, this is enough. *turns back to epel and the others*

Vil: alright, from the beggining. 1, 2, and

The choir: *singing christmas specials*

Idia: okay, I sended the invitation. Not that I believe they would come here...

Ortho: come on brother! Believe in yourself a little!

Idia: Ortho... every other dorm has something special, I can confidently say that we have nothing worth seeing. And also, I'm just happy that they send us a christmas card.

Ortho: *sigh* as you wish brother. But I will still personaly invite them here. It's worth a shot you know?

Malleus: absolutely not. I won't have you poison the child of man.

Lilia: poison? I would never! I just cooked a special dish of mine! How could you say that! I thought you liked my cooking!

Silver: father... please, leave the kitchen before Malleus burns it down. *stands between them*

Sebek: *runs in* WAKA-SAMA! The human! T-they have decided!

The others: !!!

Malleus: hurry and tell me, which dorm did they choose?

Yuu: A- ACHOO! *sniff* ugh... I better not get sick now.

Grim: yeah you better not! Because then what am I suppose to do with these morons in our dorm?!

Yuu: I really don't understand why was everyone so sad when I said that I invited everyone to our dorm to celebrate together.... do you know?

Grim: no? How would I know???

[crguang]

at a wedding and it got me thinking about kafka because im mentally ill but imagine getting invited to a family member’s wedding and she happens to be free that day so she comes with you as your plus one, dressed in a slick backless dress with a jacket over her shoulders and an elegant choker around her neck, her nails are done and her hair is up. she’s not one for ceremonies and would likely be bored during the actual wedding because it’s in a church. she sits next to you on a pew, behaving herself like you told her to and you get a bit misty eyed during the ceremony so you lay your head on her shoulder and lace your fingers with hers, your palm under hers. around you there’s a choir singing and the couple of the hour are pronouncing their vows. kafka looks at your joined hands, your bare fingers loosely gripping hers. she can smell the scent of your shampoo and the perfume you applied to your skin a few hours earlier. she doesn’t care much for what’s happening around her, just the anticipation in the air as a lifelong commitment is made out of selfless love. she leans her head on top of yours.

during the reception, your family flock around her due to her charms and composure, bombarding her with questions she navigates gracefully. at some point you leave her among the wolves and slip away to spend some time with the rest of your family, congratulating the newlyweds and keeping up with your closed ones’ lives. kafka’s surrounded, a champagne glass in hand, and gazes at you from across the room. she takes advantage of pauses in the conversation to look at you laughing and hugging family members, mind empty. she tells herself she just likes how you look in that outfit. when the married couple have their first dance, she takes in the softness in your eyes while you watch them.

she’s the one who finds you some time later while you’re seated at one of the round tables with your cousin’s six month old in arms, kissing the baby’s face to get him to smile. it works, and a warm expression takes over your features as you coo at him, pinching his chubby cheeks. kafka lays a wine glass on the table that she fetched for you just now.

“having fun?” she asks, taking a seat next to you. her eyes keep darting back to the baby in your hands and the smile on your face.

“yeah. my aunties finally left you alone?”

“i had to slip away while they were talking amongst themselves. they’d make great bait on a mission.”

“please dont call my family bait.”

the baby babbles unintelligibly and your attention diverts back to him. he stares at kafka, a new addition to his environment, and she stares back.

“wanna hold him?” you lift him towards her and kafka lifts her hands in refusal.

“no, thanks.”

“but he wants you!”

she’s forced to take hold of him by his little waist when you put him on her lap. she sits straighter, holding him away from her chest like he’ll pounce on her any second. you hide a smile behind your hand.

“he’s not a grenade. you can hug him.”

“i’d handle a grenade better.”

kafka and the baby stare at each other for a while. he brings a fist to his mouth, then loses interest a minute later. she looks more uncomfortable than you’ve ever seen her, if only by her posture, and you bite back another amused smile before relieving her. you gently take the six month-old back in your arms. he likes you better anyway, pawing at your cheeks with his tiny hands. kafka takes a sip of her glass. her eyes are on you the entire night, and she relaxes somewhat when the baby’s mother comes to whisk him away.

you dance together for some time, her hands at your waist and yours around her neck, talking lowly amongst yourselves and staring into each other’s eyes. by the time you get home, you’re exhausted by the social event. you take off your shoes and jewelry and kafka watches you for a few minutes before finally speaking the words that have been rotating in her mind for five hours.

“do you want to get married?”

you pause, a confused smile on your lips. you start to undress and she stands near the large dresser on one side of the room, a strangely uncertain look on her face. She doesn’t fidget or fiddle with her hands, just leans on the furniture and awaits your reply.

“where’s that coming from?”

“you seemed really happy today.”

“yeah. someone i love just took a huge leap in her life and is very happy for it. the ceremony was beautiful, too, and i had a great time.”

kafka looks away for a moment to take off her earrings. she shrugs nonchalantly but your eyes narrow in suspicion a bit.

“you’re great with kids.”

you stand in your underwear for a moment, observing her body language, then the reason for her sudden attitude hits you and you chuckle.

“did you get freaked out seeing me with that baby?”

“no. i guess you just…belonged.”

“is that what you think i want? marriage and a baby?”

kafka looks at you. “well, is it?”

you walk to her with a barely concealed smile, loosely wrapping your arms around her waist. “would you give it to me?”

she doesn’t respond to that and that is an answer in itself.

“pfft,” you shake your head good naturally, “you’re an idiot. you let today get to your head, baby.”

kafka pouts and returns your embrace. you kiss it off her lips.

“that’s not what i need from you. you’re enough… for now <3”

[paintyoureyeswithavividmind]

close to home | chapter forty seven

close to home | chapter forty seven

plot: the reader arrives at the Kingdom

series masterlist

Pairing: Eventual Daryl Dixon x f!reader Word Count: 1,502 Warnings: violence, blood, typical twd A/N: thank you for reading!!! I'm going to Boston this weekend to see 5sos and won't be home till Monday, so I won't be updating again until early next week--sorry lovelies!! Gonna try and update twice today if I can

When the horse led you through the gates of the Kingdom, you truly did feel like you were entering one. You felt more level-headed when they’d given you food and water on the ride back. 

There were people around, and you tried to take in as much as possible. Gardens and schoolchildren were sitting outside. There was a choir singing somewhere. And there was laughter. So much laughter. 

When you saw Morgan standing with a blond haired boy, you wanted to cry at the familiar sight. You climbed off the horse and set Tora down before running to Morgan. 

“(Y/N),” Morgan laughed when you crushed him into a hug. You were never particularly close to him, but he was a part of your group and your family. 

“Dianne said Daryl was here and supposed to stay here. Where is he?” You asked desperately as you pulled away from the hug. 

But the look on his face was enough to tell you he wasn’t here. “He left this morning. I’m sorry. “

You laughed, though, for the first time in a while. “It’s okay. It’s okay. He got out. He went to Hilltop, right?”

Morgan nodded and smiled at you. “Yes. Come on, we need to have the doctor look at you. And you will need to meet the King.” 

You looked at Morgan in confusion as he wrapped his arm around your shoulders. “The who?”

***

After getting an all-clear from the Kingdom’s doctor, and scarfing down as much food as you and Tora possibly could, Morgan led you to where the King was. You learned his name was Ezekiel, and he was a bit out there. 

But Morgan vouched for him, so you followed him into the ‘throne room’ with Tora by your side. When you walked into the room, your eyes widened, and you grabbed Morgan’s arm at the sight of a tiger. 

“What the fuck?” You breathed out. 

“Fair maiden,” King Ezekiel shouted, “I am honored to have you a guest in our fair Kingdom. I welcome you. And your furry beast.” 

You glanced at Tora, and started jogging up to catch her before she ventured too close to an animal that could kill her in a second. “I uh, um, thank you, sir. Your honor. King.” You stumbled over your words. 

“Our dear friends from the great Alexandria told me of your situation, and what happened. Although the Kingdom did not play a part in your troubles, you have its sorrow and thought.” King Ezekiel said. 

“Thank you,” You said, running your hand through Tora’s fur and trying to keep her settled. “I like your tiger.”

King Ezekiel smiled, “Her name is Shiva. And yours?”

“This is Tora; she’s been with me since before. Shiva?”

“The same as you,” The king said. He stood up and quietly told the man to his right something. You assumed it was to put Shiva somewhere because the man took the chains and led the big cat out of the room. 

Then he gracefully jumped from the stage and approached you. You got a better look at his face and admired it for a moment as he scratched Tora behind the ear. “I invite you and Tora to spend the eve with us here at the Kingdom. I can imagine you must want to get to the Hilltop as quick as you can. But I insist you take the night to recover.”

You glanced at Morgan, and he nodded, so you did as well. You were almost friends. You knew it. You knew in your bones that you didn’t have anything to fear from the Kingdom or its people. Morgan was here; he obviously liked it here. You were with friends. And that made you smile the biggest smile. “We can stay.”

***

King Ezekiel requested your presence after Morgan settled you in a room across from his. You opted to leave Tora in the room for a little while because you weren’t sure where the tiger was and didn’t want to risk it. 

Dianne came by with the message from the King, and she also brought you a fresh set of clothes. You’d never been more thankful when she told you to wash up first and brought you to the showers. 

So now, twenty minutes later, you were dressed in a black tank top and a flannel, leggings, and a near pair boots.They were used, but it made it better, because they were already worn in. 

The King sat across from you, and Morgan and a guy named Jerry sat with you. 

“Tell me, miss (Y/N), how you came to be with your group? I would love to know your tale.” 

You didn’t have any hesitation about telling him. Aside from the fact that you already considered him a friend, you felt like you could trust him and this place. So you told him about your life before and after the world's end. You told him about the prison after it ended and watched their horrified expression as you told them about Terminus. 

You didn’t tell them about the people you lost because even though it’s been some time, all the wounds reopened when discussed. 

And then, finally, you told them about Alexandria, how you got there, and what happened afterward. 

Your story took you through dinner, an assortment of chicken, and the freshest vegetables you’ve had in a long time. It was mouth-watering. You made sure to fold plenty of the chicken into a napkin, so you could take it to Tora. 

“Your journey is of greatness, and I am honored to have such a warrior amongst us,” The King said. 

“Do you like cobbler?” Jerry asked you. 

“Jerry,” The King said. 

Their exchange made you laugh, and you looked at Jerry, “Yes, I do.”

***

You sat with the King, Morgan, and Jerry for quite some time before the King suggested he give you a tour. You weren’t sure there was a point to it because you would be leaving in the morning, but you accepted because he made you feel like a friend. And with Sherry gone and not seeing your family in weeks, you desperately needed it. 

King Ezekiel showed you around the Kingdom, with Jerry and Morgan following closely behind. He pointed out the gardens, the apartments where most everyone resided. He should you the wells for water, in case you needed some, and the training ground for their ‘royal army’. You could see how proud he was. You believed him to be an accomplished leader. 

The sun was nearly set when the tour ended outside the building you would be staying in. You thanked both Jerry and the King profusely. 

“In the morn, I will have Dianne pack your supplies for the road and give you a weapon. I cannot, in good conscience, let you go out without one.” King Ezekiel said. “And, of course, my people know the way to the Hilltop. I will have a map provided and see if they can get you a car.”

“I don’t know how to repay you for this, but thank you, King Ezekiel.” You told him. 

He and Jerry bid their goodnights, and you and Morgan entered the building. 

“I feel like I’m in a fairytale here,” You playfully joked. “But I actually like it. It’s fun.”

“Many people do, I think that’s why they go along with it,” Morgan told you as you walked. 

When you got to the doors, you looked at Morgan. “Rick was here to get them to fight, wasn’t he? And the King said no?”

Morgan nodded, and you could see the contemplation on his face. “The Hilltop stands with Alexandria. Rick asked me to talk to the King about joining, but…”

You nodded, knowing how he felt about killing. “I think he will. He just needs to be pushed. Goodnight, Morgan. I’ll see you in the morning.”

***

Dianne brought you a bag with more than enough supplies in the morning. Enough to last you for at least a week. You made her take a decent amount of it back. You couldn’t take advantage of their hospitality like that. 

You met with the King for one last meal together, and while he tried to persuade him to stay, you wouldn’t budge. So he led you to the front gate, where a few guards were waiting. They succeeded in bringing you a car. 

“Thank you, King Ezekiel. Really.” You said. “I don’t think I’ve met someone like you for a long while. I really hope I get to see you again.” You told him. 

The King smiled and bid his goodbye, and you gave Morgan and even Jerry a hug. Then you and Tora climbed into the car. With one last look in the rearview mirror, you left the Kingdom, and headed towards home.

[afictionaladventure16]

I'm a sucker for angst 😭 I saw ur Quinceañera post and I wa wondering if you could do another part of "Taking it all in" where Pedro and Daughter!reader are planning for it or Daughter!reader is having the most fun she'd had in a while and then estranged mother comes in and things get angsty (with fluff in the end of it)

Taking It All In (Pedro Pascal x Daughter!Reader)

Pt. IV

Word Count: 3,404

A/N: Some of this I got the idea from One Day At a Time, but I was writing this already when I saw your request! Thank you for requesting it!! Hope you enjoy!!

Previously

Pedro Pascal Masterlist

Song: De Nina A Mujer by Janet Dacal

Warnings: Mentions of abandonment and mildly edited fic...

A Quinceanera, it was the last thing you wanted to think about, but it was one of the main things you were looking forward to this year. For years you had imagined your quinceanera, what kind of dress you would have, and the theme too. For years, you were excited for this day, the day you get to begin planning. Yet, it all came crumbling down. Instead of the excitement of the event, it felt more like a distraction from the real situation. 

Over the past three months, your mother had been on a rampage, determined to take your dad to court over custody. After your little run-in, your dad mentioned how he had run into her as well. He never kept anything from you and with the threat she had made that day, he wasn’t going to start. He let you in on everything that was going on and you appreciated him being honest with you, even if sometimes you didn’t want to hear it. 

You didn’t understand your mother's motive, why she suddenly had an interest in your life after all these years. You thought that if it were to ever happen if your mom ever came back into your life, you would be happy. Now, knowing what you know now, you couldn’t help but feel angry. 

Somehow, your mother managed to get supervised visits on the weekends. They were couple-hour visits on Saturdays and Sundays, your dad wasn’t allowed to be in the area during that time, so you opted to have your aunt join. It was either her or the lawyers and you wanted someone you knew to be around. 

At first, the visits were spent in silence, your mother asking questions and you responding in as few words as possible. Then she began to make luxurious promises. A nice vacation with the family as a whole on a cruise, Disneyworld vacation as a family, or even Cancun as a family. It was always ‘as a family’ and you didn’t know if she was including or excluding your dad in the phrase. 

“I liked singing as a kid, did you like singing?” Your mother asked. You glanced at your phone for the fifth time in ten minutes. Only an hour left and you can go home. 

You shrugged, “I was in the school choir in middle school,” you responded. 

She cleared her throat, “So, you’re fourteen, that means we should be planning your quince soon,” she said with a big smile. 

“Already am,” you stated. “Dad began planning a little before I turned fourteen, sometimes I think he’s a bit more excited than I am.” 

Your mother’s face fell for a second, but she was quick to put a smile on her face, “Well, quince planning is no place for a dad. Maybe it should be our thing,” she began. “You know, to try and reconnect?” 

Your tia could sense your uneasiness, “well, it’d be difficult to do, since it’s only a month away,” she commented. 

“Only a month away? It can’t be that soon already,” your mother said as she pondered about it. She looked at her phone, “wow, I guess it is,” she commented. “So, um, that means you probably already sent your invitations out.” 

You gave her a nod, “Sent them out last week.” 

She nods, “That’s great.” 

You sighed, you knew what she was trying to get at. Was it the right thing to invite her? Would that mean you would have to invite her family too? You hadn’t even met your siblings yet, let alone her husband. “Um, did you want to go?” 

She smiled, “What mother wouldn’t want to go?” 

You shrugged, “I mean, I’d have to talk to Dad about it.” 

“Of course,” she smiled, “I just would hate to miss another big event in your life.” 

You gave her another nod, “Honesty, I just don’t know how comfortable I’d be with… you know, your kids being there since I’ve never even met them.”

She scoffed, “But they’re your brother and sister.” 

“Yeah, but, I’ve never met them and I don’t think I’m ready to meet them.” 

She let out a dry chuckle, “They’ve been dying to meet you, Y/N, they’re your brother and sister after all.” 

You sighed, “I know they’re my brother and sister,” you snapped. “I’m just not ready, okay?” You looked over at Javiera, who just gave you a nod. 

She glanced at her watch, “We should get going,” she began. “Y/N, you have a big essay that you need to work on, remember?” You nodded, understanding what she meant. There was no essay, but your mother didn’t need to know that. 

Your mother cleared her throat, “I’ll see you next week?” She said with a smile. 

“Yeah,” you said as you got up from the picnic bench and walked over to the car. 

Your mother looked over at Javiera with pleading eyes. Javiera, even though she didn’t like Gabriela, felt a little sorry for her, “Give her time,” she suggested. 

Gabriela sighed, “How much more time does she need?” 

“More than you can give her,” Javiera muttered. 

“I know you don’t like me.” 

“No shit,” Javiera stopped herself, “I can’t deal with this right now, I’ll see you next week.” Javiera got into the car, she was half expecting you to say something to her but wasn’t surprised when you remained quiet. 

You continued to remain quiet for the duration of the drive, your mind wandering into an abyss that Javiera didn’t want to interrupt. Maybe you needed time to think about everything that had just happened and you were thankful for that time. For some odd reason, car rides were just the best time to just think. But, like all car rides, they come to an end. 

Walking into the apartment, your dad engulfed you in a hug, it was routine at this point. He would bombard you with hugs as soon as you got home from a visit as if you had been deprived of it for the past few hours. 

“How’d it go?” your dad asked as soon as Javiera walked into the apartment.

You gave him a shrug as you tossed your things onto the couch, “Gabriela wants to be invited to the Quince,” your aunt answered for you. 

“What?” Pedro looked over at his sister in disbelief, “What did you tell her?” he looked over at you. 

“I told her I’d talk to you,” you finally responded, taking a seat on the couch.

“Well, what do you think?” Pedro asked as he sat beside you, “Do you want to invite her?” 

You shrugged, “I feel obligated to.” 

He shook his head, “you’re not obligated to invite anyone you’re not comfortable inviting.” 

You sighed, “I know, I just… I don’t know. If I invite her then I feel like she’d be upset because I wouldn’t want her… family to come along.” 

Pedro took in a deep breath, “It’s up to you, Mija. You call the shots when it comes to your Quince.” 

“What do you think?” 

Pedro looked over at his sister, who stood nearby, she gave him a shrug. He then looked back over at you, “I think if she really wants to be a part of your life, she’d be fine with any decision you make. Whether that’s not inviting her or inviting her but not her… family. Whatever you decide to do, I support you.” 

“Even if it’s a dumb decision?” 

He kissed your forehead, “Even if it’s a dumb decision.” 

You didn’t make your decision right away, as a matter of fact, you didn’t make a decision until two weeks before the event. Deciding was hard, but you decided that if she was really wanting to make the effort then she’d respect your decisions. 

“You can come,” you said as you got up from the same picnic bench you had been meeting at over the past few months. 

Her eyes lit up like a kid at a candy store, “Really?” She took a step forward, and you took a step back. 

“But only you,” you continued. 

“W-what?” 

“I’m just not comfortable with the idea of them being there… It’s an important day for me-” 

“And you should want to share it with them,” she pleaded. 

You were beginning to think it was a mistake, “I should if I had known them for a longer period of time… but I don’t. I only know their names and whatever stories you told me about them. I need you to respect my decision.” 

She sighed, “Alright.” 

You dug through your bag, pulling out an invitation. “Here’s the invitation,” you said handing her the invitation. 

She took the invitation, giving you a small smile. “See you next week?” You nodded, before walking back to the car. 

The day of your Quinceñera was everything you could imagine. Your dress was Y/F/C, it wasn’t as big as most girls’ Quinceñera dresses, mostly because you felt like you wouldn’t be able to do anything if it were. You wore a tiara that your dad had specifically picked out. 

You made your grand entrance right after your Quince court did, you had a good friend from school to be your chambelan. Your Tia had teased you about it, but he was only a friend. Shortly after the entrance, some of your family members, including your padrinos (Godparents) which were Oscar and his wife, took the opportunity to say a few words. 

Your dad announced that he would say something after the father-daughter dance, mentioning how he didn’t want to get emotional too early in the night. Even though he had been emotional throughout the day. 

After your tia said a few words, it was time for dinner. You frantically looked around for your mom, you felt horrible that she wasn’t included for a good amount of the reception.

You spotted her at a table off to the side, “You look so beautiful!” she greeted you with a hug. 

“Thank you!” you smiled. “I was thinking, I feel bad you’re being left out of-” 

“Don’t worry about that, Y/N,” she smiled, “I get it, I wasn’t part of the planning committee, so doing things last minute would make things difficult.” 

“Well, not all things are that difficult, I was gonna ask you if you wanted to do like a mother-daughter dance? Dad said he’s willing to give up the spotlight for a few minutes,” you looked over at your dad who was, in his terms, killing it on the dance floor. You couldn’t help but chuckle at his moves. 

She sighed, “That’s sweet,” she wanted to feel happy about it, she really did. “Alright.” 

“Great!” you grinned from ear to ear. “Also, I was thinking, maybe next week we can talk about maybe… um…” you let out a dry chuckle, “Maybe taking the kids to the park or something?” 

Gabriela looked at you in disbelief, “really?” 

“Let’s talk about it next week?” She gave you a nod before you walked off. Why couldn’t she feel happy about this? It was what she wanted, what she begged for, but now it was in her hands and she was having trouble feeling happy with all the guilt she felt. 

“Fuck,” she muttered to herself. 

Pedro, on the other hand, was slowly coming to terms with the situation. He saw how happy you were today and he allowed himself to be happy too. He walked away from the dance floor, looking over at Gabriela, she paced around by the exit. He wondered what she was doing, she had to be on the dance floor in a few minutes. 

He looked around for you, easily spotting you at one of the tables talking to a family member. He let out a sigh, walking over to Gabriela, “Gabriela?” She looked up at him with tears in her eyes. 

“Fuck,” she muttered again, as she made her way out of the banquet hall. 

“Gabriela!” Pedro exclaimed, following her out. “Que te pasa?” 

She couldn’t help but chuckle, “You remember the night I told you I was pregnant?” Pedro nodded, “you asked me the same thing.” 

“What’s going on?” 

“I don’t know if I can do this,” she whispered. 

He shook his head, “No,” he hissed. “Don’t do this to her.” 

“I’m sorry, Pedro, I really am.” 

“Don’t do this, Gabriela!” He said louder, “Do you have any idea how happy she is right now and you’re just gonna tear that down!” 

“I know, I know!” 

“No, you don’t, because you won’t be the one picking up the pieces!” Gabriela let out a sob, “If you leave, don’t expect a welcoming party.” 

“Pedro, please.” 

“Don’t ‘Pedro, please’ me! You’re tearing my daughter apart, Gabriela. No puedo mirar la asi, (I can’t see her like that) you don’t know how bad she got because of you. You don’t know what I had to do just to see her smile again! I told you I didn’t want to see you do more damage to my little girl and I was naive to think you could have changed.” 

“I deserve a chance to get to know her-” 

“You had your chance Fifteen years ago and you gave it up.” Gabriela wiped away her tears, “Why did you even come back, huh?” 

Gabriela crossed her arms in front of her chest, “My husband, he’s um, he’s running for Governor-” 

“Stop.” 

“But I swear, that wasn’t the only reas-” 

“But it’s the main reason!” Pedro looked at Gabriela with disgust, he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. 

“I really wanted to get to know her and to-” 

Pedro shook his head, “It’s a little hard to believe that right now, Gabriela.” Pedro could hear the announcement of the Mother-Daughter dance, “If you want to prove me wrong, you’d walk inside right now and dance with our daughter.” 

“Pedro,” she pleaded. 

“Demostrar que estoy equivocado, Gabriela.” (Prove me wrong). 

She shook her head, “No puedo, Pedro. Necesito tiempo.” (I need time). 

“Gabriela, has tenido tiempo.” (You’ve had time) Pedro watched as Gabriela turned around, pulling out keys from her purse, “Gabriela,” he called out, but she didn’t stop. “Gabriela, Don’t do this!” She got in her car and drove off. 

The announcement had been made five minutes ago, and everyone had gotten off the dance floor so you could have the spotlight. The DJ announced the dance again, and you smiled as you looked around. Your heart dropped when you couldn’t spot her. Was it too good to be true? to think she would ever want to stay a part of your life. The intro of the song slowly began to fade in, and tears began to well up in your eyes. All you wanted was for your mother to finally step up and be a part of your life, but just when you thought you could forgive her she leaves you. 

You spotted your dad walking back into the banquet hall, his heart ached as he saw you standing alone on the dance floor. You looked at him with hopeful eyes, but he shook his head walking over to where you stood in the middle of the dance floor. He noticed tears begin to well up in your eyes, “Hey, hey, hey, I got you,” he whispered as he took your hand and began slowly leading you into the dance. 

He led the dance, slowly swaying from side to side, “Papi, she-” 

“I know, Mija, I know,” he whispered, you leaned your head on his chest as he settled his gently on top of yours. “Don’t worry, Cariño, I won’t let anything happen to you,” he said softly. “Let’s just forget about it for the night,” he said in a hopeful manner. 

It was hard to just forget about it, it was your mother. The woman who was so desperate to have you in her life threatened to take full custody of you, and now she was nowhere in sight. You let out a shaky sigh, “You know, you used to dance to this song when you were little,” your dad began to say. The song was close to an end, “telling me about how you wanted to dance with me to this song at your quince,” he let out a dry chuckle. “Now here we are,” he pulled away, taking your hand to give you a twirl, “De Nina a Mujer,” he commented. 

For a moment, you forgot what had just happened, all of the anger and sadness vanished. You remembered the memories you had with your father and even though something was always missing, it was always filled with his efforts in trying to be both parents for you. The song slowly faded to an end and everyone began to clap, your dad pulled you in for an embrace, “Ya no eres un nina,” (You're no longer a little girl) his voice shook, “pero siempre seras mi bebe.” (but you'll always be my baby)He placed a kiss on your forehead. 

The night continued on as planned, your court did an amazing surprise dance and your dad cried a handful of times throughout the other planned events. Finally, your dad took a hold of the mic, and the music slowly faded out as people made their way off the dance floor. 

“I just want to come on here and say a few words,” he began to say. “I’ve been avoiding it because my baby girl is no longer a baby,” his voice shook. “I am extremely proud of everything she has accomplished in her life so far and I am proud to say that I am her father. She makes me proud every single day,” He looked over at you. “Mija, you’re gonna do wonderful things in life, you are my biggest blessing in life and I a grateful for you every single day.” Tears welling up in your eyes, “Soon enough you’ll think you won’t need your old dad anymore, but just know I will be here no matter what. I can’t wait to see what you’ll do in life. Feliz Cumpleaños, Cariño.” 

You let the tears fall from your cheeks, you walked up to your dad and wrapped your arms around him. People began clapping and the music slowly began to fade in again. 

“Bailamos!” your dad yelled into the mic. The Dj played Cupid Shuffle, which made your dad grin from ear to ear, “Come on, Mija! This is our time to show our moves!” you rolled your eyes, “Come on!” he groaned. 

You laughed as you followed your dad's steps throughout the song, other people had joined in too. Soon enough it was a full dance floor, you danced with your friends and danced a few songs with your dad.

"What kind of dance moves are those?" You questioned your dad, as he did a little jump with his butt in the air.

"Am I not twerking?" You and those surrounding you laughed at his attempt, "Am I not doing it right?"

You shook your head, "No! God please, just stop!" And just for a night, you felt at peace. Everything that had happened was in the past or it was tomorrow's problem. Today, you are fifteen and enjoying your day with the people you loved. 

Your Quince didn’t end until past midnight and you knew it was a successful Quince when it went past midnight. You said your goodbyes to your guests and friends. 

You didn’t see your mother over the weekend, nor did you pick up her phone calls. Your dad told you what had happened and what had been said. Part of you felt stupid for even thinking that starting a relationship with your mom was a good idea. 

When Monday arrived, you wanted to just forget about everything, and act like the past few months never existed. Your dad had enough to win the custody battle, the lawyers were confident in the win. 

“Don’t forget tomorrow we’re doing a study group at the library after school,” One of your friends mentioned as you all walked out of the building. 

“I know,” you muttered. “See you guys tomorrow!” you said as you began walking down the sidewalk. 

“Y/N?” You heard a familiar voice call out.

You stopped in your tracks, your heart beating fast as you turned around, “What are you doing here?” you asked your mother. 

“Can we talk?” 

Pedro Pascal Taglist:   @cilliansangel  @change-the-world-someday  @graciegoeskrazy @oggystine93 @t-stark35 @twkobii @picklehat3r @welcometomyworldwithoutrules @white-wolf-buckaroo @steadydragongalaxy @rooting4theantihero @soupinasock @tracysnook @Ilovehotdadsandshit @dzaga890 @marantha @emmasauger @marysucks-blog @pcotato @scrappybear89 @dlwrish @what-ever-man213

[spadesofgrass]

Oil On Canvas

1.6k | Teen + Premise: Trystan gets a makeover (or) a thinly veiled character study through the lens of fashion. (Crimes of Passion, Choices)

A/N: Yes this is a repost. Had a few things to change and read through. Overall I am kind of happy with how it turned out! Hope you enjoy! <3 I'm sorry if you were tagged before and tagged again and it's just a mess lol

___

They like you, but they’re like, not invested in you.

Sometimes negative attention is positive attention and sometimes it is the other way around. And sometimes you have to bite your tongue and not kill yourself.

We want you to be approachable, but also aloof. We’re thinking a fluff piece every two months. All praise, but first you must look a little less suicidal. A reinvention, we are calling it. You are as fluid as the ocean, sunny as the warm breeze. We want you to be loveable, but not too much. Look the part but — it is a lot better if you can like, get some red in your cheeks. Eat some eggs. Noticeable. Like the Gods walk amongst us.

Stressed clothes exemplify a mixture of grief and a chance at reconciliation. A gold bracelet or necklace will help you stay rooted. A temporary tattoo - the night is still young, you are your mother’s rebellious daughter - do we get that vibe? Yeah? Oversized pinstripe jacket with thick leather shoes. All tucked in. Your mother’s obedient son. Softer, relaxed textures will make you feel at home. A little baggier so they know you’ve been eating okay. Tint of colour everywhere, like copper pops. Your smile should reflect the orange. We’ll get you some staples - brown trenchcoats, silken trousers, blazers. Designer. Off-season colours are something I would personally recommend—?

We are going to experiment very little but it is good to fit in with the art deco crowd. Symmetrics. Stained glass windows. Slim jackets. Florals but we’re not going to go in with the typical bullshit - Venice floating markets, it needs to be organic. Snakes, roses, marshy gardenias. This isn’t a youth school choir, you can lose the tie. We’ll put you in a sweater. It is inviting. That is what you need. Bulky deck shoes with chunky soles with stark polish should also help. Tint of colour, okay? We’re trying to make you a real person. Do you feel real?

They do like you. You just need to give them something to work with.

Rings are just too um.

They aren’t what we’re going for-? It feels too —

We don’t want to scare them. Rings are only as good as the bearer’s fingers. Yours are too watery. You can hold a book - if you like? I dunno. You’re boiling, you’re right off the stove and there’s just a lot of anger and regret that people may not like to see. It’s an ugly grief and it wouldn’t come off as wearing your heart on your sleeve - but — interpreted literally so. Does that - make sense to you?

We can’t do much with your hair - baseball caps are best worn sparse. It will seem like you are trying too hard and you’ll have people sending you death threats. We’ll try scarves. Classy, down-to-earth. Embroidered with your trademark silver. A pop of metal in your clothes will offer your viewers consistency.

We’re trying to make you a plausible - person. A digestible concept. Watches are not — your jam, you will seem more busier and more bored. A thin silver band on your left finger and a gold bracelet in your right wrist; just obscured by the sleeve. A certain roughness around the edges. Shoes - um, we’ll have suede slip-ons. It needs to be fast. A flicker of colour. Grey silk, dark jacket.

Have you heard of the painting, The Persistence of Memory by Salvador Dali? It’s at the Museum of Modern Art - a drive away. You can go see it. They used to teach it to me in class - a symphony of hard and soft surfaces, a play on sight and time and textures. Sometimes you are never really quite here. Sometimes you blend in so well, you fade away and the colours don’t sing to you. You aren’t sure if you are just filling up space or taking space. It is the kind of ambiguity you want everyone to see you with.

We’ll dress you in big sweaters and socks. We will make you appear more wise but doe-eyed. Printed jackets, brightly coloured streetwear paired with Birkenstocks and thick shoes. We can play around with silhouettes for everyday wear. Whimsical pastels and patterned socks. Surreal with a touch of professionalism. An interesting shift in perspective every other day or so - whenever you’d like. A cheat day in this - way where you can select one item of clothing for yourself.

Sight, textures — what else?

Something immortal, maybe. We are thinking of a consistent piece in your wardrobe to have sleuths poke and prod at you from a distance. Sentimental that doesn’t have you ugly-crying. You have to move like water, like time. You cannot stick to one specific emotion. If we are having you wear a Drakovian flag for a consulate meeting, we will have you wear Her colours in the weekend. If there must be a headpiece - like a silver hat of some sort - we will have to incorporate it in your belts.

An hourglass jacket can do you wonders, but only if there is love at first sight. If we get a sniff of the surrounding air and detect something foul, we will change things up once more.

Perhaps this conversation wouldn’t matter in the long run, but it is an important one to have.

Well, we have always seen you as the eldest child, the firstborn. I think there is something like, intrinsically regal about it. You have no land for yourself now, but you do have the time in your hands. There is also something naive about the oldest child in a family, but it will be difficult to deliver that message through clothes. You aren’t helpless now. Trust me, whimpering, desolated looks will do you more harm. It is ugly to seek for help so desperately. We want to paint you as a mother’s favourite. A flawless, favoured-by-the-Gods. A replica of your mother’s necklace is being arranged for you to wear. Innocent and charming. It won’t be read in the same like, helpless flavour you so want to push for.

Once a month, we will opt for a glimmery turtleneck. Tailored nicely. Some eyewear - a pair of smart shades. Futuristic in Times Square. Forward-thinking. You don’t want to appear empathetic or approachable here. White platform shoes. Instant attraction. We will try to reflect like, the seriousness of the Drakovian Idea - the next carrier of the baton. A big bag to imply the same. New York moves fast and you faster. Never abreast and more of a casual observer. The latest headphones in the market to calm your hair down.

I love a good story. I love it when there’s a really specific mental image I can find in real life. It is a comforting Easter egg soup.

There are certain films you can watch to get your grip on the railings. We will try to make you seem like you are a pocket full of hope and ideas. Plaids, cable-knit jumpers, tucked-in khakis, playing around with velvets and matching belts and shoes from When Harry Met Sally. Beautiful oxford shirts - crisp and fit, denim bell bottoms, like an ode to the 60s, but in a less tackier way - perhaps replicating the idea of The Last Days of Disco - literally too. Everyday is New Year’s Eve and your clothes tell a story of rebirth. Ever-changing.

Shearling jackets, half-sleeved buttoned shirts, a very lost-in-your-20s, very Frances Ha. Let yourself seize a moment of messiness when you can. The image of you is young and foolish and you should be able to stare at yourself in the mirror and rub your tired eyes. We can experiment with the landscape; put you in situations where you stand out. A monochromatic you in a city of lights. A dark, hopeless road and a bright pair of rose-tinted glasses. Contrast is a boring, overdone subject and people have written theories about it, but it helps to have more of it and an odd number of it, rather than in twos and fours. Water or wine? Red, blue, green or yellow? You understand?

For the sake of the rising temperatures and the volatile sharks, we vehemently discourage you from having others’ tastes rub off on you. Anything you can be caught with. Think of it like your Mother reading your thoughts - the ugly doubts, the hidden truths. Romances are - like, great, but this is organized. This is important.

Books, people, thoughts, secrets, they are merely accessories. Who you are is a much more closely guarded truth and it is unwise to have that affect your outward appearance. It is just a turbulent time to be yourself. It comes off more as cheap than anything else. You might as well write a self-help struggle snooze-fest guide and that will be more promising.

We want to avoid making mistakes. You are neither a person seeking refuge or a heir to a powerful business. You are not a popstar or a model, you possess a face nobody can quite recognize and we want to stay away from costly errors. You are what the story offers at the moment. If they deem you rebellious, you are. If they deem you ungenerous with a ‘kiss my ring’ angle, you are.

It is such a painfully human understanding and I am not interested in that, much like everyone else. You are an idea and I have an idea. You have to be like, persistent.

People have to like you. But they don’t have to love you to like you.

__

Tagging: @aces-and-angels @trappedinfanfiction

[twstfanblog]

Twist OC Fankid Info 2

Ashengrotto Twins

**Charysa Ashengrotto-Crewel**

Age: 17 (Feb 22, Eldest twin)

School: Sophmore at NCR. Member of the Tennis Club and Co-Housewarden of Heartslabyul.

Height: 5'5"

Hair: Mid-back length lilac hair, normally in twin tails

Eyes: Dark blue

Likes: 'Plushies', romance novels, making colored sand art, poetry, word puzzles, accessories of all kinds

Dislikes: 'Stuffed Animals', being broken up with, rumors (That she didn't start), horror movies, losing

Pets?: A bloom of Jellyfish. She and Scylar cried until Azul bought sea real estate to keep them safe.

Fav Food: Spicy Seafood Alfredo

Who's their Best Friend?: Scylar ♡

Dating/Crush?: A revolving door of shitty boyfriends and a very sweet secret admirer

Part one of the fast-talking con-artist Ashengrotto twins. They will talk you into a verbal contract to do their homework for months. But you can pay them to drop it.

Charysa is a hopeless romantic who misses every red flag when she falls in love. Luckily, her family is so intense about finances that Azul scares off every last one that makes it to meeting him. (If you plan on dating either of Azul's direct daughters, you better have excellent credit, a hand balanced checkbook, and be prepared to set up your 401K. Legal documentation is mandatory). If Azul doesn't scare them off, Scylar will.

She has a secret admirer who lifts her spirit with thoughtful gifts after every failed relationship and is lowkey keeping her love of romance alive.

Pretty laidback but is weirdly intense about her tennis record. The only person she's lost to in a match is Finley and she's keeping it that way. (Tennis ball coming at you going Mach 14)

Kind of a crybaby, but has actually broken people's bones for making fun of her siblings. (She snapped one child's finger in kindergarten for saying her twin looked gross)

Sadly, gets periods along with Yuu and Malgona.

Unique Magic: Siren Song. No one is really sure if it is a unique spell since it's a shared spell between the twins. When they both sing in harmony, it makes for a hypnotic effect that briefly brings people under their command. Not used very often as they don't have much control over whoever hears their song since they need to sing the commands in perfect harmony.

Any time they HAVE used it, it was clearly premeditated and they were grounded afterwards.

**Scylar Ashengrotto-Crewel**

Age: 17 (Feb 22, Youngest twin)

School: Sophmore at NCR. Member of the NRC Choir and Co-Housewarden of Heartslabyul.

Height: 5'5"

Hair: Mid-back length lilac hair, normally in a ponytail

Eyes: Dark blue

Likes: 'Stuffed Animals', concerts, social media, economics, fashion, gaudy jewelry, singing.

Dislikes: 'Plushies', frogs, her sister getting a new boyfriend, spicy food, Men.

Pets?: A bloom of jellyfish. She and Charysa insist that Azul call them by their names properly.

Fav Food: Seafood Alfredo

Who's their Best Friend?: Charysa ♡

Dating/Crush?: Looking for a cute girlfriend

Distinguished lesbian, threw a fit when she was picked by the mirror as an NRC scholarship student when she was set to go to an all-girls school instead. While more fem-presenting people have been accepted and invited to attend NRC in the recent years, Scylar is still mad because no one has caught her eye yet and is CONVINCED if she had gone to an all-girls school she'd be engaged by now.

The more violent of the twins but also the most logical. She is the one planning on how to jump someone at a later date if anyone DARES fuck over she and her sister. The twins do not fight fair and will ambush you together.

She is fully aware of who her sister's secret admirer is and is TRYING to get him to confess so she can stop dealing with her sister's terrible boyfriends. He keeps refusing and claiming things are best the way they are. Scylar just assumes he doesn't have the proper legal documents he needs to meet Azul.

The 'tired gay' of the family, though JJ disagrees.

Unique Magic: Siren Song. No one is really sure if it is a unique spell since it's a shared spell between the twins. When they both sing in harmony, it makes for a hypnotic effect that briefly brings people under their command. Not used very often as they don't have much control over whoever hears their song since they need to sing the commands in perfect harmony.

She's more talented than her sister in the singing department, but the skill seems to split evenly during the spell. So, Scylar works hard to improve her singing to make their spell stronger.

And that's the twins! Onto the Eldest Vipers!

[blaineshq]

I don't know if it's all the partying this weekend, or maybe this is just my body going into full protest mode after Mr Schue yelled at us for singing songs that were "too explicit" after he quite literally told us to sing about our sexuality, but my doctor has just officially confirmed that I've got laryngitis. Great timing, isn't it? I'm currently on vocal rest and doing everything I can to make sure I can sing at Invitationals (and when I say everything I mean everything — I've even given up on coffee, and you all know how much I love my daily dose of caffeine), but I think it goes without saying that I will not be able to sing in glee club this week.

I've already handed over my setlist ideas to Mr Schue (including, but not limited to: Vampire, Good Luck Babe, As It Was, Seventeen and What Was I Made For) as he needs as many ideas as possible to make sure he doesn't come up with any songs himself, and I will of course be keeping an extra close eye on the show choir blogs this week.

Oh, and if someone needs a pianist who isn't Brad, or a guitarist, please let me know. I'd still love to perform in some way this week because I'm already starting to feel like I'm slowly losing my mind.

[beautifulpersonpeach]

BPP, can you allow me to confess something here? Sorry in advance for the long ask.

I'm in my mid-thirties and Jimin is my forever bias because I see my story in him. When I was younger I used to love singing. I had a beautiful voice with a very wide range, sang in a choir, was even invited to sing for pay when I was 9 years old. I'd sing everywhere and it was my best hobby. I couldn't imagine not singing. I wrote songs in my diary and would sing them to a few friends. But I didn't train my voice. I didn't even know that was something people did. It just seemed like a natural talent I had. By the time I entered college, I noticed my singing range had shrunk. While in school I didn't have many chances to sing in bands and sharing a room with classmates made it hard to sing. By the time college was over, my voice had nearly completely left me. I'd try to sing, but it wouldn't sound right and it would hurt. I started getting more and more self conscious and my confidence has taken a big hit. I try not to remember what I used to sound like in my teens and have made the best of my singing voice now. I know vocal aging happens to everybody, especially people who overuse their voices too early, but it doesn't lessen the silent inferiority I feel. I still sing as a hobby but can only do so in a smaller range though I still haven't gotten vocal training which is expensive for my lifestyle time-wise.

In 2020 I got into BTS through BE album. The voice on Fly to my Room sounded very unnatural, like a fairy and I gravitated to it immediately. I learned it belonged to Jimin and going back in time through BTS albums, the change in voice was jarring. I know this change was deliberate by him based on what I know about singing style and technique. Jimin has been getting regular voice training for some time now. But changes like that come at a cost. When I see him be a little unsure, I recognize the feeling too.

When you said Jimin is your best vocal in BTS, I fell a little in love with you. The way you explained his voice tells me you might intuitively understand all the changes both he and me have made. I'm assuming a lot of things but I just want to say thank you for loving his beautiful defiant voice. He might not be your bias, but I don't see even Jimin biases talk about his vocals the way you do. Jimin inspires me to keep singing and to love my voice in every way. Can you pls talk about this vocals through the years if possible somehow?

*

Hi Anon,

No worries about the long ask. I'll try to keep my response a bit shorter (though I'm hardly ever successful at that so we'll see lol).

Thank you for sharing what you did, and I doubt you're alone in having that experience.💜 I'm not really sure where I'm going with this reply yet, but I want to start with one fact:

Jimin has always had an unusual tone to his voice.

I'm not a vocal coach or anything so I probably can't explain this properly, but the first time I heard Jimin sometime in 2013, his tone reminded me of a teen rock singer, but not really... like if you combined Pink's voice with Justin Beiber's (say whatever you like about the guy but he's got good tone and knows how to use it), and then added something else. Something... metallic and throaty - just a hint of it.

Like if Brandi Carlile was a teen boy from Busan with a slight lisp and no vocal training.

At the time I didn't take much note of it, but over the years, his vocal tone and the way he's deliberately manipulated it into what's evolved to today - distinctly Jimin but akin to a merger of Taka, Mitch, and Tyler Joseph's voices, has cemented Jimin as one of my favourite singers.

Jimin's voice has always been unusual for k-pop. It was true in 2013, 2015, 2018, 2020, and it's true today, and all you need to confirm this is listen to any record from that time and compare it with anything else. For example, you can compare his vocals in his cover of Perfect Man with the vocals in the original (SM-trained vocalists).

[BTS devoured, but Jimin is a completely different beast here. You can listen to other covers as well. Nobody sounds like Jimin.]

I believe you're right about how his initial lack of training combined with the stylistic choices he pursues (which are difficult to execute sometimes as main dancer), has impacted his confidence over the years. But I don't think Jimin is insecure about his vocals the way he used to be years back. BigHit failed to provide support in 2012/13, but he's been steadily getting training at his request since at least 2017. You put Jimin on a song and that man will sing. He might not have the best technical proficiency, and there’s always room for improvement of course, but he's more than good enough.

Criticism of vocals, both fair and unfounded, is something that has always been thrown at Jimin. Like I've said before, his voice tone is already unusual in k-pop, and so people raised on/used to the k-pop way of singing (usually defined by coaches at SM who have saturated the industry for decades), have never really known how to think of him as a vocalist within the k-pop paradigm. I mean, even back then when his tone wasn't as stylized as it is now, people couldn't really place his voice, and now I often hear some complain about how oddly piercing he sounds sometimes.

But that's exactly one of many things I find addictive in Jimin's vocals. He is very much a rock vocalist, and likely will always be, so I hope he gets more opportunities to flaunt and obliterate the expectations of what a male vocalist from Korea should sound like.

Basically, I want more of Set Me Free Pt 2.

On Set Me Free Pt 2, he ratchets up that metallic quality to sound completely unhuman. It's like all the criticisms about vocals completely lose meaning when the voice isn't even trying to sound human-like. It's perverse and subversive.

A decade’s worth of criticism on his vocals, on that song he said fuck it all.

Like... Jesus.

I inject that song into my veins every. single. day.

I need Jimin to fuck it all to hell, one more time in 2023, for my sanity.

I need him to be his full inhuman self, to render me speechless and senseless with his vocals and I'm not even fronting. In fact, thank you for telling me you like how I talk about his vocals, because most times I'm toning down how I feel, what his voice does to me.

Anyway, I occasionally see people concerned for his voice, k-pop stans who think he can't sing, and I could not give a shit if you paid me to. Like, please give me the voice cracks, give me the tight high notes, give me that shit. I listen to Aretha Franklin, Rod Stewart, Beck, Stevie Nicks, Pink, Taka, Nina the goddess, Ray Charles, Brandi... like please, Jimin has great company. He's beyond the precise, predictable, and formulaic singing done in k-pop and mainstream pop. In my fucking opinion.

Anyway, I hear what you're saying about the difference in voice between Fly to my Room and say, Jump. I hear the fear in your ask. But Jimin is still more than capable of creating the voice from their earlier years. His voice has changed, yes, but it's matured too. For example, the way he sounds in that Perfect Man cover, is very similar to how he sounds in Face Off, IMO. The only difference is his tone is somehow more delicate, expressive, and intentional.

Lol oh lord I've rambled.

Okay, some clips of my faves from him, for kicks.

One of my all time favourite Jimin vocals, what I consider to be the epitome of pop/rock vocals by BTS, is his voice in Danger.

(MMA 2019 gave us so many gems)

*

Then there's Jimin in Magic Shop. His brightness and clarity of voice is really heard at 1:17.

*

And because this post is kinda long already, here's Alone.

*

Anon, please keep singing. Your voice is the one thing you should never surrender. Jimin will keep singing too.

Thanks for stopping by. :)

[revlyncox]

The Art of Spirituality (2025)

Creative arts and spiritual practices have a lot in common, and we need both to cultivate connection, resilience, and courage for the difficult times in which we find ourselves. This sermon was delivered to The Unitarian Society in East Brunswick on February 9, 2025, by Rev. Lyn Cox. A recording is available.

 

I have this habit of bursting into song at unexpected moments.  Sometimes it’s disconcerting to people around me.  Usually I’m able to contain it as humming when I’m out in public or in polite company.  When I’m around people with whom I’ve become comfortable, though, they’ll ask me how I am and I’ll say [starts singing], “When tyrants tremble as they hear the bells of freedom ringing.” 

I don’t think I have a great singing voice.   It’s just that the world makes more sense to me when it’s framed musically.

When I had been away from organized religion for awhile and I knew I needed more community in my life, one of the things I missed the most was shared music.  I missed singing in a congregation.  I missed the common language of a hymnal.  I missed hearing children learn mythic stories by singing in the children’s choir.  I wanted to think about big questions like life and death and the Divine, and I needed music to do that.  I took the risk of exploring a religious community because of that.  And because the Unitarian Universalist congregation I found was using music in worship, I could stay. 

Spirituality is an adventure for our whole selves, all the aspects of our being.  We go through our day-to-day lives solving problems and creating things with words, with actions, with space, with sounds, with emotions.  We wrestle with moral and religious questions in every one of these arenas.  Art and spirituality depend on each other so that we can engage with moral and religious questions anywhere and anytime we meet them. 

The arts have helped me engage with religious questions.  I’ve drawn some conclusions about spirituality based on my experience with different kinds of arts.  Spirituality is deeper than words. Spirituality grounds us in relationship. Spirituality moves us toward ethical action.

Deeper Than Words

Spirituality and art both invite us to dwell more deeply in our minds, hearts, and environments. Both spirituality and art can help us to let go of quick answers or surface-level noise. They may even help us to become more comfortable with silence, or to be open to the still, small voice within. To be clear, I love words. Words are very useful to me. On the other hand, every asset has its shadow side. I am really great at generating words when there is something I would rather not let myself feel. But even I sometimes can’t come up with words when I’m overwhelmed by events. Art and spirituality can help us to dwell in the place of no-easy-answers.

I used to work for an art museum affiliated with a university. I coordinated educational programs, managed volunteers, and talked with teachers about integrating museum tours and images from our collections into their curriculum. From abstract outdoor sculpture to Renaissance European paintings of saints to carved reliefs of the Buddha from India, our goal was less about conveying information than getting visitors of all ages to engage with the art, bringing their own questions and ideas. We wanted visitors to be fully present, to bring their whole selves to the encounter.

The Curator for Education taught us about the work of Philip Yenawine and Abigail Housen. Yenawine and Housen conducted research about how people engaging with visual art make meaning, and how to help people grow in their capacity to engage with art. Based on their work, the docents in their tours and I in our educational brochures posed three questions: What’s going on here? What do you see that makes you say that? What more can we find? Visitors were encouraged to trust their own experience of the art and to draw from that experience in a discussion. Information and context is useful at some point, but it does not help anyone to use that information as a barrier to prevent someone from having their own experience with the art.

The university museum’s collection included outdoor sculpture all over the campus. Some of my favorites were large, abstract pieces. I could approach them and wonder what was going on in that sculpture and pay attention to the experience rather than what I thought someone else wanted me to think about it. I could notice the strong visual lines in one sculpture having a conversation with the tall trees around it. I could notice the way the sunlight and shadows in a courtyard fell on a sculpture, adding to the drama of a piece. The question, “what more can we find,” kept my attention on the art for a little longer, helping me settle into quiet engagement with meaning.

Similarly, spirituality invites us to a place that is deeper than words. Sometimes this is serene and blissful, sometimes it’s just sitting with things that are difficult. When we face the most difficult transitions in our lives, sometimes there is nothing we can say, no way to explain or to bargain. These are the times when we need a spirituality beyond words. In her book, Glory Hallelujah!  Now Please Pick Up Your Socks, UU writer Jane Ellen Mauldin talks about such an experience. She writes:

A number of years ago, my brother lay dying in the hospital. He spent days in the intensive care unit while members of my family, including my mother, sat for many long hours on chairs in the hallway outside his room. Among visitors who came to share the vigil was a member of our church.

“How are you doing?” the friend asked.

My mother was too exhausted to tell anything but the truth. “I’m tired,” she said. “I’m very, very tired. I’m too tired to even pray anymore.”

“But don’t you see,” her friend replied, “your very presence here is a prayer.”

There are times when all words fail us, all forms seem hollow, and no one out there or inside seems to be listening. At those times, our presence, just our presence, is prayer. Our bodies, our actions, become our prayer, our connection to God, whatever God may be.

So ends the reading.  Mauldin alludes to the reason why it’s useful to have worship that uses arts not limited to words, and this is why it’s helpful to have an embodied spiritual practice.  When we come to a place when the only prayer left is our actions, it’s good to have practiced. In these times when the pace of evil seems designed to overwhelm us, being able to operate in a place that is beyond words gives us another avenue for resilience. Let’s be creative with our questions, our doubts, and our silence.

Grounding in Relationship

Something else that art and spirituality do is to ground us in relationship. The relationship may be with others around us, with history, with other practitioners, with our own souls, or with the ground of our being. In this congregation, we have learned over and over again that our relationships are enhanced through music. We have been learning to sing together again in our recovery from the social distancing phase of the pandemic; and as we learn to sing, we find more joy and a greater sense of community. Choir members and song leaders lift our spirits and find a deeper sense of connection. Creating things with our hands, bodies, and voices increases our sense of collective power, and helps us to pay attention to each other in the here and now.

This might be what Lewis Latimer was getting at in some of his creative writing. In addition to being an inventor and a scientist, Lewis Latimer also wrote a play that got produced in his lifetime and he wrote poetry. Here’s one of his poems, “Love Is All”:

“What is there in this world, beside our loves,

To keep us here?

Ambition's course is paved with hopes deferred,

With doubt and fear.

Wealth brings no joy,

And brazen-throated fame

Leaves us at last

Nought but an empty name.

Oh soul, receive the truth,

E'er heaven sends thy recall:

Nought here deserves our thought but love,

For love is all.”

(“Love is All” by Lewis Latimer, p. 39 in the anthology Been in the Storm So Long, edited by Mark Morrison-Reed and Jacqui James)

Latimer suggests that our loves, plural, collectively form the strongest force that keeps us “here.” I can imagine several meanings to where “here” might be. It is not a fixed point. “Here” moves with life and time. Here is where we put one foot in front of the other. Here is the present moment, this time and place and plane of existence. Here we are, gathered in strength, rooted in the world as it is. Love keeps us grounded in relationship in the here and now. 

In these times, it is our relationships that will sustain us and give us the strength and purpose to go forward. In healthy relationships with each other and with the Spirit of Life, we will remember our values and we will remember what is true in history, even when warped and cruel misinformation is surrounding us. When we create, when we find the ground of our being in the present moment, when we find beauty together, we can overcome the trauma response that certain elements are trying to evoke as a way of undermining our power.

People need each other. For those of us who have marginalized identities, it is essential that we have place where we show up regularly, where people will miss us and follow up if we disappear. For those of us with relative privilege, it is essential that we pay attention to the people around us and follow up when someone is missing. Investing in relationships through art and spiritual practice is a form of resistance to tyranny. Love is all.

Moving Toward Ethical Action

A third thing about both spirituality and the arts is that they can move us toward ethical action. The Poor People’s Campaign understands this. They have a songbook for their movement, and they have special training for song leaders. The campaign is inclusive of people of many faiths and no faith, and they accomplish this by being multivocal, not by asking people of faith to hide their differences or their spiritual perspectives. Art, music, and spiritual practice help us to commit things to memory, to learn them by heart, and to let our hearts thus instructed to lead us toward right action. Spiritual practice and the arts share this quality of cutting through the illusions of systemic injustice and drawing out the power we have within.

The author Toni Morrison (of blessed memory), speaking in 2016 at the Stella Adler Institute of Acting, spoke about the role of the artist. She said:

I want to remind us all that art is dangerous. I want to remind you of the history of artists who have been murdered, slaughtered, imprisoned, chopped up, refused entrance. The history of art, whether it's in music or written or what have you, has always been bloody, because dictators and people in office and people who want to control and deceive know exactly the people who will disturb their plans. And those people are artists. They're the ones that tell the truth. And that is something that society has got to protect.

In our own time and context, book bans and curriculum purges and attacks on libraries are just the beginning of another wave of attacks on the arts. Just this week, we learned that the Kennedy Center is under threat. Art and artists need us. It is important that we support artists with our attention and kindness; that we purchase art and music created by real, live artists and not corporate-owned large language models; and that we use our own powers of creation to tell bold truths.

Just as engagement with the arts can prepare us to speak truth to power, so can spiritual practice. Yes, it’s also true that faith can be co-opted for imperialism, so we need to be accountable to each other and to the people who are most impacted by systemic oppression. That being said, throughout human history, spiritual practice has been one of the resources that strengthened people who were making change toward love and liberation. In recent weeks, we have seen the courage of the Right Reverend Mariann Budde, who drew directly from sacred text to urge the administration to practice mercy. For this, critics called her all kinds of names, and one legislator even suggested that she should be deported. The un-elected shadow President openly accused Church World Service and various Lutheran aid organizations of criminality. Even the Vice President, who calls himself a Catholic, characterized the U.S. Conference of Catholic Bishops as helping refugees in order to pad their “bottom line,” and implied that helping refugees was illegal. Just like art, spirituality when practiced with integrity and compassion is dangerous.

If we are going to choose the path of integrity and compassion, which we are; if we are going to put love at the center of our Unitarian Universalist faith, which we are; if we are going to risk speaking the truth, which we are; we need practices that will keep us connected to our paths and to each other. We need ways of committing our values to mind and heart. We need to invoke the memory of our ancestors, and we need to commit to being the kind of ancestor that the people who come after us can be proud of. Practices of art and spirituality will give us courage.

Practices that help us to sustain ethical action come in a lot of different forms. Embodied or interactive practices have a lot to recommend them. Your practice might be hiking or baking or crocheting blankets; whatever it is, if it helps you connect with that which is larger than yourself and to tap into your human power to thrive and make change, go for it. Your practice might be meditation, prayer, dance, or chanting; something that reminds you of sacred text or spiritual lineage or your deepest values. Let’s lean into our practices to help us to speak the truth, do justice, and love kindness.

Conclusion

In the end, artistic practices and spiritual practices have a lot in common. Both can lead us to a place deeper than words, a place where we can sit with lamentation and pain and growth; a place for our doubts and questions; a place where silence can make room for what hasn’t yet emerged. Both art and spirituality can ground us in relationship as we create and engage together, as we connect with the transcendent and with the deepest truths we hold within. Both art and spirituality can move us to ethical action, giving us inspiration and courage to be our whole, authentic selves, even in times such as this.

May you find and sustain practices that are deep, connecting, and encouraging. May creativity nourish your path. May we align with the Love at our center and with the Spirit of Life in our habits of the heart.

So be it. Blessed be. Amen.

[grntaire]

Yoooo I really love the choral music you’ve recently shared. I’m not really that familiar with it as a genre of music and don’t normally seek it out? but occasionally a piece will find its way to me (like at a funeral or now your blog), and I find it arrestingly beautiful. maybe partly because it’s a strange and unfamiliar medium to me. Do you have any favorites you would recommend for further exploration? 🩷

hi this is maybe the most hyped i've been for an ask ever bc i go fucking crazy for choral music so YES i do have recs for you. i will try to limit my little thoughts however i am very annoying so it will not go well

gibbons' hosanna to the son of david goes insanely hard. so jovial and fun and i had a blast singing this in undergrad! i love renaissance polyphony and this is a prime example of it!

poulenc's o magnum mysterium is truthfully wacky in the best most french way ever. and imo poulenc's queerness is so clear and present in his music so anything by him i love. my beautiful fruity catholic with a disorder <3

chesnokov's spaseniye sodelal is russian orthodox perfection fr. when my choir in undergrad read thru this i was stood between two low basses and at THAT part (1:32) i felt like i was being punched from the inside out. also the text means "salvation is created in the midst of the earth" and i think that's like. so fucking sick

stacey gibbs' arrangement of ezekiel is THE american spiritual arrangement to me. i once sang this in an italian church under a mexican conductor and then later we all sang it drunkenly for the owner at the hotel we were all staying at it was wild and so so so fun. such a beautiful and massive example of a joyful american spiritual also it's straight up a banger honestly. could talk ad nauseum abt how badass black choral scholars are and how grateful i am for all of the work that they've done and for inviting ppl to learn abt and experience it <3

holst's i love my love is one of my favs of all time. unfortunately england fucking devours when it comes to their choral tradition and this piece does one of my fav things where the way the composer sets the text changes its meaning! it's abt a woman named nancy who is in bedlam bc her love died at sea and it effectively broke her. while there, he comes to her, alive, breaks her out and they get married. while the poem itself shows a happy ending, the way holst plays w tempo and texture makes me go hmmm. 90% sure he did not show up and she's experiencing a delusion of sorts to cope w her grief (the i love my love's in the sopranos & altos at 1:24 kind of emulate a rocking motif, almost as if she's rocking herself back and forth in a soothing gesture, or the rocking of the ship he died on) and that tenor entrance in the melody after almost emulates her love coming to rescue her. god this whole piece makes me feel like my skin is on fire and i think it's a devastating portrayal of mental illness and you can rip it from my cold dead hands

stanford's beati quorum via is literally just gorgeous front to back. again unfortunately the english stay slaying

jake runestad's a silence haunts me literally does fucking haunt me and it changed the way i think about choral music. it's a setting of an unsent letter of beethoven's where he talks about losing his hearing and how afraid he is of losing it. this one you def have to watch bc there's a visual element to it! no spoilers but holy shit it shuts my brain down it's brutal and beautiful. i saw its premiere in 2019 and the entire hall was sobbing. like i have the words "be well" tattooed on me bc of it. the way the piano quotes moonlight sonata and his 9th symphony and the tensions emulating his tinnitus. OUGH

[amorest-viesse]

[Composing a Joyous Melody] - Rustica SSR Card Story Translation

Ft. Akira (Chloe in chapter 1, Western wizards mentioned)

The Orchestrina’s Melody ~A Moment of Serenity with Rustica~ - Chapter 1

[Hallway]

Having finished with lunch, I headed up to Rustica’s room with the Serene Orchestrina in hand.

This peculiar magical device is said to grant its users with a perfect moment of serenity.

Although it seems like an ordinary little box, by wishing upon it, it’ll transport you and a guest into a space of rest and relaxation.

Akira: (I’ve been inviting each wizard to join me on their birthday, but now it’s Rustica’s turn. He’s the one that lent me the box, so it feels strange to ask him.)

Akira: (It wouldn’t be fair to leave him out though, so I’ll just have to do my best.)

Akira: (Wait, now that I think about it… Where is Rustica today? I feel like I haven’t seen him. It’s way past lunch, but maybe he’s still asleep… Huh?)

Akira: What was that noise…!? It came from Rustica’s room!

Akira: Rustica! Are you alright in there!?

Rustica: La~ lala~ ♪ Be~ my guest~ ♪

Hearing Rustica’s voice, I pushed open the door to find…

[Rustica’s Room]

Female Wall Portrait: Lalala~ Oh~ my songs are so love~ly~~ ♪ Bow down to my glo~ry~~ ♪

Chloe: The sun shines so bright~ And the stars gleam at night~ All thanks to the sound of your songs~~ ♪

Rustica: Break.

Rustica: What is it that makes the world so beautiful?

Akira: (More like what in the world is going on!?)

Standing in the middle of the room were Chloe and Rustica surrounded by a colorful choir of singing birds and paintings backed by an ensemble of dancing clothes.

However, as soon as I made eye contact with the portrait of the diva, she immediately shut her mouth. Her cheeks flushed bright red, and she hurried back to her usual pose.

Rustica: Oh? …Ah, I see now. Still feeling shy in front of strangers are we?

Rustica: We’ll simply have to continue our concert another time then.

At the sound of Rustica’s voice, order began to restore itself to the room. The clothes fell gently back to the floor as the birds took off into the blue sky.

Then, as if nothing strange had occurred, Rustica smiled at me. Chloe too, was smiling as always.

Rustica: Good morning, Master Sage.

Chloe: Rustica! It’s well into the afternoon!

Akira: G- Good morning? What was going on here…?

Chloe: Right, right, we should explain that. Rustica started up a concert as soon as he woke up.

Rustica: While I was still half-asleep, I crashed right into the closet, and to console me, the clothes hopped out and began to dance.

Chloe: That’s not what happened! You were the one that enchanted the clothes, remember?

Rustica: Was I really? In that case, was I responsible for your singing too?

Chloe: Nope! You just seemed like you were having so much fun, I wanted to join in too…

Rustica: If you’re having fun, then I’m having fun as well. To wrap up this delightful morning, shall we have some tea?

Chloe: Yes please!

Akira: (S- Shouldn’t he be getting ready for the day?)

Yet, despite my apprehensions, I was swept up by the atmosphere as Chloe and Rustica happily prepared for tea.

Akira: (...Well, maybe this is fine. Both of them seem like they’re having a good time.)

Rustica: Come join us, Master Sage.

Akira: Oh! Thank you very much!

Caught in their leisurely pace, I completely forgot why I came to Rustica’s room in the first place.

The Orchestrina’s Melody ~A Moment of Serenity with Rustica~ - Chapter 2

[Courtyard]

Akira: (Alright, so my first attempt to invite Rustica out with the Serene Orchestrina failed…)

Akira: (But I’ll definitely get it this time—Oh!)

Rustica: Good afternoon, Master Sage.

Akira: Good afternoon to you too, Rustica. That’s a lovely tea set you’ve got there. Are you waiting for someone?

Rustica: Why, you, of course.

Akira: M- Me?

Rustica: Indeed. I saw that you were out on a walk and thought it’d be nice to prepare some refreshments as a break.

Akira: Oh wow! Thank you so much! But, um, Rustica… Why are all the dessert plates empty?

Rustica: Ah, that’s because you’ll be filling them.

Akira: I’m… not sure I follow.

Rustica: It appears Nero is out today, but please don’t fret. I’ll be by your side to cheer you on.

Radiating with charm, Rustica innocently smiled at me, and my willpower crumbled. I found myself nodding before I realized it.

Akira: Ahaha, alright then. If the recipe is simple enough, I’d be happy to try it.

Rustica: Thank you so much, Master Sage. I’m looking forward to it.

Akira: Let’s head over to the kitchen then—Whoa!?

As I turned to leave, I suddenly stumbled and toppled forward. However, Rustica reached out and caught me before I could fall.

Rustica: Are you alright, Master Sage?

I looked up at him and our eyes met.

His long, beautiful eyelashes—reminiscent of a bird’s wing—fluttered against his smooth, porcelain skin.

Akira: (This feels like a scene right out of a fairy-tale, lovely and fleeting… W- Wait, now’s not the time for this.)

Akira: S- Sorry about that, Rustica, but I’m alright. You really saved me there.

Rustica: Why, I ought to be the one apologizing for my thoughtlessness. Please, allow me to make it up to you by personally escorting you to the kitchen.

Akira: Thank you so much. Let’s get to it then.

Akira: Things have really changed since we first came here, haven’t they? It used to be me guiding you around whenever you got lost.

Rustica: Haha, then consider this my thank you for all those times. I’ll make sure you reach the kitchen safe and sound.

Akira: (It makes me happy how tightly he’s holding my hand while we walk…)

Akira: (He’s usually so gentle, but his kindness is really shining through…Oh!)

Akira: Before I forget again, I actually have something I want to talk to you about.

Rustica: I’m glad you brought it up then. I’m quite forgetful as well, so I ought to learn from your example.

Akira: Since your birthday is coming up, I wanted to use the Serene Orchestrina with you.

Rustica: Oh? Why, thank you for your consideration, Master Sage.

Rustica: Since you’ve gone out of your way to ask me, I’ll make sure to remember my birthday this year.

The Orchestrina’s Melody ~A Moment of Serenity with Rustica~ - Chapter 3

[Rustica’s Room]

On the morning of Rustica’s birthday, I headed to his room where he was waiting for me in a special new outfit.

Akira: That outfit looks great! It’s got a nice balance between elegance and extravagance which is just perfect for you.

Rustica: Why, thank you, Master Sage. As soon as the clock struck twelve, Chloe came by to give it to me.

Rustica: He knows me so well, doesn’t he?

Akira: Yeah! Chloe really is your apprentice.

Rustica: Indeed he is.

Leaving the box on the table, I closed my eyes. In order to use the Orchestrina, I had to recall everything I loved most about Rustica.

Akira: (I hope to grant a moment of serenity to Rustica, the perfect gentleman who brings peace to everyone around him, who always cares for others while marching to his own beat…)

The box opened with a creak, and a little doll resembling Rustica emerged and began to spin round and round.

Music began to play out of nowhere and the whole room dissolved into light…

[Orchestrina Interior]

When I opened my eyes, a calm, inviting space stretched out before us.

A sweet and joyful, yet slightly heart-wrenching song was playing. It sounded like afternoon sunlight, the warmth of a lover as you danced in their arms.

Rustica: What a gorgeous melody. It makes me want to put a kettle on. One should always add plenty of sugar into a bitter tea.

Akira: (It seems the Orchestrina is working… It plays a unique song just for the person who’s brought here after all.)

I watched his face as he listened, waiting until he seemed fully satisfied by the music before speaking.

Akira: Um… Since you already know this place better than any of the other wizards, I couldn’t decide what we should do here.

Akira: I brought some tea and cake, but is there anything you want to do?

Rustica: Why, that’s already plenty for me. However, I do have one selfish request if you’re willing to hear me out.

Rustica: Would you play a duet with me on that piano there?

Akira: If that’s what you want, then of course I will! Although… I’m hardly an expert, so I wouldn’t want to get in your way…

Rustica: What matters most is that you’re the one playing. A song filled with memories of you would be the greatest present of all.

Rustica: And any moment spent with you is sure to be the most beautiful in the entire world.

Akira: …Thank you so much, Rustica! In that case, I’ll do my best!

Rustica and I sat down at the piano and placed our hands on the keys.

Akira: (I’m a little nervous, but I’ve got this!)

Akira: …Let’s start!

[Music playing]

Rustica: What a warm and lovely melody. It reminds me of yourself. Now, shall I?

[Music playing]

Akira: Wow, you’re amazing…!

Akira: (Thanks to Rustica, my terrible playing sounds like it’s being accompanied by a whole orchestra…!)

Akira: (All I’m doing is pressing the keys, but Rustica’s managed to turn it into such a fun and lively song…)

Rustica: Oh? Has the tempo increased? This song is so bright and lively, it makes me feel as if my heart will fly from my chest and start dancing any minute now.

Akira: Oops, I was having so much fun that I accidentally started playing faster.

Rustica: Ahaha, and now, not only do I have the honor of listening to your song, but I get to see your lovely smile as well.

Akira: I could say the same about you. Even though it’s your birthday, I’m having so much fun. Thank you.

Akira: (That’s right. Since we’re here…)

Rustica: Oh, now the song has such an exciting atmosphere like a secret rose garden tea party.

Akira: Yep! I’m no musician, but I wanted to try conveying a message to you through the song.

Rustica: Well now I’m curious. What was the message?

Akira: Once again, happy birthday Rustica!

A Wacky Waltz - Card Episode

[Corridor]

Rustica: ~~♪

Akira: Good afternoon, Rustica. That song you’re humming… It’s the one you improvised on your birthday, right?

Akira: It was incredible how you created it based on a story Murr made up on the fly!

Rustica: I’m honored to hear that. It was quite the enriching experience to compose a song for a tale spun by the Great Philosopher of the Ages himself.

Akira: It started out as a tale about toy soldiers saving a human princess from distress, right? That sounds perfect for a waltz.

Akira: Although, it seems both the song and story changed halfway through… I believe it ended up with a rather strange title in the end…

Rustica: Yes, I believe it was “That Time Mithra Was Reincarnated As A Swan Without His Powers But Still Retained All His Memories ~What Will He Do Next?~”.

Rustica: Shylock stubbornly refuses to call it by its proper name, but I’m not terribly surprised.

Akira: (What a long and literal title… I wonder if the previous Sage ever told Murr about light novels…?)

Rustica: “Swanthra” for short presented quite the challenge for me as a harpsichord player.

Rustica: The sudden encounter between the white swan Mithra and the black swan Lord Oz had my fingers all tied up for the first time in a while.

Akira: That was an incredible scene…! I remember everyone’s dancing was amazing too.

Rustica: You were quite captivated by it, weren’t you?

Akira: Ahaha, I was just watching though. I doubt I could keep up with that kind of tempo…

Rustica: There’s no need to worry about that. It’s perfectly fine to dance to your own rhythm. That’s the kind of song “Swanthra” is after all.

Rustica: Ah, that’s right. Since you’re here, how do you feel about playing one more song? I’ll make sure to put my all into accompanying you.

Home Screen Voice Line

"Did you compose a song for me, Master Sage? Why thank you very much. This might be a bit selfish of me but... could you hold off the performance until after the party? While I would love for everyone to hear it eventually... I'd like to keep it all to myself for today."