#this choir has Two Supporters

[catman-draws]

We need an in comic background Jade who is desperately trying to make the choir happen and no one else cares, except maybe tits out Jade but they only wanna sing Milkshakes

- Trash

Things got Weird after Dolorosa left

[doctorwhoisadhd]

so wait, since i was just reminded of the recorder thing donna talked about in the giggle, i now have a question for uk ppl: do yall learn the recorder in school? like in a music class? and like how much do yall have music class over there?

[aliwonderland]

we're rewatching videos from the concert and it's so wild because a) we have miscounted the amount of songs he performed (we now have a count of 19 if we're not missing any), and b) the crowd sang every word of every song with him, the poor backing singers never stood a chance

[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.

[hauntedhowlett-writes]

Title: No Closer Could I Be To God

Pairing: Post-outbreak!Joel Miller x Female Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 1.3k

Summary:

The closest he’s been to a god in these last few miserable years has been between your thighs.

Dear Reader:

This one is for the homies with religious trauma. If you enjoy this little fic, please comment or reblog! Title art is "Through Cataclysm" by Andreas Birath (b. 1974).

Warnings:

explicit sexual content (18+ MDNI), infidelity, no use of y/n, no reader description or age, single POV - Joel, post-outbreak Jackson, heavy religious themes and imagery, unprotected p in v, oral sex - f receiving, dirty talk, pet names, begging.

Joel Miller gave up on the notion of a benevolent god around the time the light faded from his daughter’s eyes and he was left to hold her lifeless body. Since then, he’s only seen glimpses of that former goodness in the world — in Tess and the way she fought tooth and nail for their survival and in Ellie, once she quit being such a pain in the ass.

But perhaps the closest he’s been to a god in these last few miserable years has been between your thighs.

“Joel!” You cry out, squirming beneath his tight grip. He’s got you laid out on the work bench, thighs hugging his head as he licks and sucks your clit until you’re singing his praises. The storage shed is hot, sweat gathering at his neck and beading at his temple and making his fingers slip against your damp skin.

“Shhh, baby,” he murmurs, dragging his mouth away from your center and licking his lips to gather every drop of you from his flesh. “You’re fuckin’ loud today.”

“Sorry,” you whisper, voice breathy as your chest heaves with desperate breaths. “It’s been too long.”

“I know,” Joel agrees, standing up and leaning forward to steal a kiss, your hot mouth opening immediately for his tongue to explore. You taste like shitty instant coffee and mint, his favorite flavor as long as you're the source. “‘M sorry.”

Your fingers play with the hair at the nape of his neck, nails scratching against his scalp. He drags his lips across your jaw, down your neck, sinking his teeth briefly against your pulse point to make you shiver.

The modest dress you’re wearing is rucked up around your waist and Joel reaches down to slip his fingers past the elastic of your underwear, sinking two digits inside of you and groaning at how tight you are, how warm and wet you get for him. Your quiet whimper reaches his ears and he wishes he could hear you without restraint, wishes he knew how loud you could be. He’s fairly certain it’s as close to a choir of angels he could ever get.

Especially since he’s destined for hell. But that’s neither here nor there. Right now, he’s in heaven.

He removes his fingers, reaching up to slip them past your lips for a quick clean. Your tongue glides across his fingertips and your eyelids flutter shut as he uses his free hand to work his belt open with clumsy movements. He shoves his jeans and boxers down his hips, just enough to expose the hard length of his cock.

Joel pulls his hand away from your face, using his spit slick fingers to pump himself. With his other hand, he reaches into the chest pocket of his flannel shirt for his knife.

Your eyes go wide as he pops the blade open, slipping the cold steel beneath the elastic of your panties and tugging sharply. The fabric snaps, echoing your gasp, your mouth dropped open in surprise. He doesn’t give you long to recover, sliding his cock through your wet folds and smiling in satisfaction as your expression shifts from incredulity to pleasure.

“You ready?” Joel grunts, his tip catching at your entrance. You nod your head rapidly, but he’s in the mood to hear you beg. “Words, sweetheart.”

“Please, Joel,” you murmur. Your lashes glisten with captured tears and the sight makes his blood run hot. “Please, please, please!”

Joel presses forward, sinking into your body with ease. You have one hand on the workbench behind you to support yourself but the other grips his shoulder tightly, fingernails sure to leave little indents in his skin even through the fabric of his shirt.

“Christ,” he hisses, dropping his head into the crook of your neck. “Always feel so fuckin’ good. How is it always so fuckin’ good?”

“Need you to move,” you reply. “Please, Joel.”

And what is he if not your good and faithful servant?

Joel draws his hips back and thrusts sharply, lifting his head to watch your face as he does. This is his favorite part, staring into the Garden of Eden, enjoying his forbidden fruit. You whimper and moan, teeth digging into your bottom lip to keep quiet.

When he feels that knot of pleasure coiling tight in his belly, he curses and chases it all at once. It’s always over too soon when all he wants is to worship at your altar for eternity.

“Angel,” he murmurs, wrapping an arm around your low back as your own circle his shoulders. “Need you to come for me, baby.”

You whine, high and petulant. “No, no, no,” you chant, “Not yet.”

Joel leans forward to capture your lips with his, the action more of a sharing of breath that lacks any coordination of a proper kiss. He slips his hand between your bodies to circle your clit, the responding moan swallowed by his greedy mouth.

“Good thing you don’t make the rules,” he grunts, hips stuttering as you begin to squeeze around him. He may not inherit the kingdom of god, but he at least got a glimpse of heaven today.

Your legs drop from around his waist and he lifts his head to find your gaze. He always worries what he’ll see — disgust, guilt, and shame have all been reflected back at him before. But today…today you just smile softly, your skin damp with sweat and your lips swollen from his kisses and your teeth.

“Joel,” you murmur, pressing a palm to his cheek. “I have to go.”

Joel nods, knowing you’re right. He’s kept you long enough. Gray light filters through the dirt caked window of the little shed and you should get back to your home to get ready for Sunday service.

“I’ll see you around,” he replies, wrapping a hand behind your neck to pull you forward and give you one last hungry kiss before stepping away to right his pants. He holds a hand out to you to help you down from the work bench and watches as you fix your dress.

You give him one last watery smile before leaving through the flimsy wooden door. It slams back against the frame, the sound sharp to Joel’s ears. He sighs, counting to himself as he catalogs the spiderwebs and rusted tools in the shed.

There’s a flash of white in the corner of his eye. The mangled fabric of your panties sits discarded on the ground, and he leans forward to pick them up, pocketing them. For what, he’s not sure, but he’ll take any piece of you he can get.

Even if it’s just the part you’ve carelessly left behind.

________

Later, your husband stands at the dented podium to deliver his Sunday morning sermon to the good people of Jackson who still turn to religion for comfort and guidance. Joel isn’t one of those people, but he sits on a rough wooden bench across the aisle from you. Your panties are still tucked away in his pocket and he wonders if you’ve cleaned up already, or if you’re still full of him even as you sit there watching your husband.

“…And we see this spoken of in Proverbs 7:25 — ‘Do not let your heart turn to her ways or stray into her paths. Many are the victims she has brought down; her slain are a mighty throng. Her house is a highway to the grave, leading down to the chambers of death’.”

Joel looks towards you as the words settle among the crowd. Your gaze remains steadfastly on your husband, but your hands move restlessly in your lap. When Joel looks up at the podium, he finds your husband’s righteous glare trained on him.

Maybe Joel was wrong. He hasn’t found heaven in you.

He’s just found a deeper hell.

Joel Miller masterlist

All masterlists

[abbysdruidess]

•._.••¯´´•.¸¸.•headcanons about married life with abby [w nsfw]•._.••¯´´•.¸¸.•

wc: 1.1k

tags: tooth rotting fluff, smut, dom!Abby, dom/sub dynamics mentioned

a/n: lmk what you guys think abt this one:)

this is kinda in the same universe along with the abby proposes to you and wedding hcs, so if you haven't you could check them out-though this one could also be read as a standalone<3

ꜱꜰᴡ ʜᴇᴀᴅᴄᴀɴᴏɴꜱ

❦ you guys put a lot of work into your little dreamhouse™️ and are extremely proud of it. As an out and about lesbian, Abby took up a woodworking project and built a library that fits right into the wall of your living room. Which you were extremely supporting of, because it gave you the lovely opportunity to ogle your wife in a tank top and work pants, huffing, red faced and wiping sweat from her forehead in your backyard. You set an alarm and every couple of hours you bring her some cool water or lemonade with fruit and brush some locks of hair out of her dewy face<3

❦ she's also one of these people that don't believe in bringing in a handyman to fix any faulty appliance in your household. She has a huge, neon yellow tool box stashed away somewhere(you still aren't sure exactly where) that magically reappears everytime your car won't start or the air-conditioner starts making a noise. And 90% of the time Abby gets the job done, running on pure willpower and spite alone. When she doesn't and you guys have to bring someone else to do it, she just goes "Pfft, I could have totally done that. I just didn't cause I thought I might break it.". "Of course honey", you reassure her with a kiss on the cheek. You don't have her saved in your phone with an image of Bob the Builder for nothing.

❦ you guys are over at her dad's place a lot. When you were looking for a house, you made sure to get a place near his so you could visit whenever. He has a photo of you two from the wedding in his mantlepiece making the goofiest faces imaginable and every single time you visit Abby pesters him to take it down while you shit yourself laughing in the background.

❦ also, when your step-siblings Yara and Lev join, it's absolute chaos. You guys probably end up having an impromptu food fight and flick celery sticks at each other.

❦ if you have any hobbies such as knitting/playing instruments/writing etc she's fullly behind them and will always ask you to show her your progress. She's pretty proud of it as well, and smiles a little excitedly like :D

❦ please sing to her. It doesn't matter if you haven't sang a day in your life and it sounds like tires screeching on asphalt, it calms her when her baby sings to her. Will think you have the voice of a choir of angels no matter what and it is the only thing that can effectively put her to sleep. Bonus points if you play the guitar as well.

❦ Abby is really into reading(probably why she got that library built in the first place) and has one permanently etched in her night stand. She strikes me as one of these people that is a fan of the classics and doesn't read anyone that came after Hemingway. Until for her 26th birthday someone gifts her books from like Stephen King or Alison Bechdel and initially she's hesitant but eventually they grow into her and are stationed into her Hall of Fame shelf.

❦ whenever either of you is sick, you insist to pamper and care for one another. During the winter months Abs has a cold or the flu every month or so, and you have to actually fight her to take the day off and rest.

-Baby, you burning up. If you go to work you'll just get worse.

-I'm *cough* fine. I honestly feels 10 years younger. I don't get what the big deal is.

❦ you two definitely exercise together. Either you always go to the gym together-although you're not there as often as she is. Abby exercises religiously 5 times a week and that exercise will take place with or without you, but she would be damned if she didn't love when you tagged along with her. Either you guys have set up a little home gym with some basic equipment like mats, a treadmill, these bouncy balls and a weight lifting bench. Of course, you spot her, because you will take up any offer to ogle at her putting those big, powerful guns she calls arms to work. She reciprocates by insisting to hold your thighs while you do sit ups. And she inevitably ends up squeezing them like balls of dough.

ɴꜱꜰᴡ ʜᴇᴀᴅᴄᴀɴᴏɴꜱ

❦ when you first met Abby in your early 20s, you though it was natural for a woman her age to have such a heightened libido. After all, she did get around a lot for someone that looked like her. And that instict to fuck you senseless never abandons her-Abby is in a constant state of Wanting to Fuck, and is game whenever you are.

❦ Your sexcapades have included(but are not limited to): empty libraries, locker room showers, back alleys of clubs and just about any sturdy furniture in your house.

❦ she is a total beast when it comes to lovemaking, and can go anywhere from 2 hours to all night long, although most sessions end when you tap out bc you know you'll be sore tomorrow.

❦ even though everyone knows you're Mrs and Mrs from the ring on your finger, Abby wants to reassure that, by marking you as hers. Hickies, bites, anything is game. And she loves the slight sting of the scratch marks you leave her when she hops in the shower the morning after. She calls them claw marks affectionately.

❦ Loooves strapping you to positions she can utilise her muscle strength, like flatiron or missionary with her arms propped up. When you're scissoring, she wants to be the one with her legs on top, grinding her pussy into yours like it's nothing.

❦ I think Abby has this very hard dom image, and while she wants to take over during sex and feel like the one in control, she also needs to be taken care of. She works hard from day to night, and her past partners haven't been exactly accommodating to her needs. So whenever she's particularly exhausted, crawl under the covers to give her some head. Or in the shower. Or in the couch. Or under the dining table. She definitely cums fast when you suck her clit, it gets extremely sensitive and swollen while you're in between her legs.

❦ Is an occasional squirter, and also loves to make you squirt. It happened once as you were riding her face, and she just. slurped it all up. You lowkey passed out on the spot as your knees almost gave up.

❦ cuddling with her afterwards. There's still some resounding bliss in the air, as you both treasure the moment, your limbs all tangled up. You leave small kisses all over her sternum as she tightens her grip around you. If you're too exhausted, you fall asleep immediately, if not you just glance at each other through heavy lids with lovestruck eyes. You sleep like a baby and wake up feeling as refreshed as ever.

send me an ask if you guys would like me to elaborate any of these<3

[spooky-holtz]

I'll Be Home For Christmas

Melissa Schemmenti x reader

Genre: fluff (possibly alludes to smut at one point? If you squint?)

Word Count: 2.4k

A/N: I know Christmas was almost two weeks ago but this has been sitting in my drafts for weeks. So enjoy, even if my timing is a little off :)

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

December. Quite easily the best and worst month of the school year. As another calendar year winds down, so do rigorous lesson plans, with most teachers at Abbott choosing to give in to the growing excitement among the students as the holidays draw nearer. 

Less time is spent actually teaching and a lot of allocated lesson time is spent watching movies on huge, outdated TV screens, students gathered around the devices on Eagles rugs that were so generously ‘donated’ by Melissa earlier that year.  

As the month goes on you find yourself spending more time inside your classroom, herding the group of preteens that make up the school choir as successfully as you would herd cats. Needless to say, it’s been a stressful few weeks of carol singing and rehearsals, trying to convince a group of kids that it’s not ‘lame’ or ‘cringe’ to appreciate music the way you do.  

As the resident music teacher at Abbott Elementary, you find it incredibly difficult to get young people inspired in the way you so desperately want them to be, often having to let go of the talent you see among some aspiring young musicians for reasons outside of your control. Though the budget doesn’t stretch to allow much in the way of extracurricular activities, choir practice is the one activity where you have your greatest tool already at your disposal; your voice.  

As much as you adore these kids, getting them to concentrate after a full day of learning is no easy feat, with them often choosing to sit around in groups gossiping or scrolling on Tik Tok rather than join you around the old piano that stands in place of a desk in your classroom, where you sit on your creaky stool, waiting for them to join in with you.  

After a particularly difficult lunchtime choir practice in the middle of December, you find your feet carrying you to the sanctuary you often retreat to during your breaks: the teachers’ lounge. You trudge along the hallway, the heels of your sneakers squeaking slightly against the polished concrete floor as you struggle to find the motivation to get you there, dragging your feet along the floor.  

As your hand wraps around the handle and you pull the door toward you, you’re instantly engulfed with the scent of burnt coffee and the sound of chatter as the little groups that sit around the room carry on their conversations, entirely too distracted to notice the door opening.  

Jim Gardner addresses the room from the small TV that sits on the opposite end, his newscast largely going unnoticed by the audience as they munch on leftovers or pore over today's newspaper. Much like Jim, your entry into the room goes unnoticed save for a pair of emerald eyes that you can’t help but glance toward.  

Melissa is already looking back at you over the rim of her glasses, phone in hand, the slight frown on her features already telling you that she’s noticed the lack of energy you carry. You can’t help but be drawn toward her, almost as if being pulled in by an imaginary force. She’s already pulled the empty chair by her side out by the time you reach her, and you collapse down on to it, sighing heavily, leaning your elbows forward onto the cold surface of the table in front of you for support.  

“Choir practice really that bad today, huh?” she asks, sympathy laced across her face.  

“I swear, these kids are turning me grey even faster,” you groan, bringing your hands up to cradle your forehead, “I mean, seriously, how hard is it to get through ‘Silent Night’ without laughing at the word ‘virgin’?” 

The silence that comes from the redhead is deafening as you turn your head slightly in your hands to catch a glimpse of her expression. Her lips are pursed slightly, and her eyes are a little too focused on your hair, doing everything she can to avoid eye contact; a telltale sign that she’s fighting back a laugh. When she finally reaches enough composure to meet your eye line, she can’t help but snicker.  

The sound makes you take your head out of your hands and throw her the most unimpressed look you can muster, though it’s a halfhearted glare.  

“I’m sorry,” she begins to apologize, “but that word was probably the funniest thing ever when I was that age too. Cut them a little bit of slack.”  

Great, so not only do your students think you’re a ‘nerd’ for making them sing carols but Melissa does too. Because having the woman you have an enormous crush on think that is exactly what you needed to round out your year.  Almost as if she can sense your descent into overthinking, Melissa breaks the silence.  

“Hey, I’m just messing with ya,” she says. She reaches forward, pulling you out of your spiral, and rests her hand on the thigh that sits closest to you, patting gently. “Besides, you’re cute when you’re grumpy.”  

Your eyes dart to hers at the comment and you’re met with a wink. The simple move turns you into putty, melting you to bend to her will. Her hand burns through the material of your slacks where it still lays against your thigh, her thumb rubbing gentle circles in an effort to soothe you. You’re sure your face is matching that same level of heat that radiates from it.  

She smiles back softly before turning back to her phone, leaving her hand resting against the patterned material you wear. The contact grounds you and helps you to think a little more rationally. While she’s distracted on her phone, you reach forward onto the table to grab Melissa’s worn Stanley Tucci mug and steal a swig of the steaming black coffee that sits within. The harsh flavor makes you wince, with you preferring your coffee with milk and an obscene amount of sugar to make it even barely drinkable. The expression you wear causes Melissa to giggle, the redhead having looked up almost knowing that your face would be a picture of extreme disgust.  

As she laughs the hand on your thigh squeezes and she leans into you, the lines around her eyes accentuated by the deep laugh that’s taken over her being. You decide that this is the most beautiful version of Melissa you’ve ever seen. Carefree, happy, and relaxed.  

The moment comes to an abrupt end as Barbara enters the room, both you and Melissa turning to the creaking door as it opens. Her eyes naturally fall to your table, much as your own do when you enter the teachers’ lounge, and her gaze lingers on you before she speaks up, barely giving herself a chance to sit down.  

“Oh sweetheart, you look terrible,” she says, concern laced across her features. She’s not wrong. You know the bags under your eyes are worse than ever, having forgone sleep to choose which Christmas carols are least likely to make a room full of elementary schoolers insult you. You wish you had just chosen to sleep instead because every option you threw at your group of angels ended with nicknames being thrown right back at you.  

“See, I told you that you looked bad,” Melissa says, the playful glint in her eye accompanied with the squeeze of your thigh letting you know she’s kidding.  

“You look like you need this Christmas break,” Barbara adds, “Actually, why don’t you come to the little shindig Melissa and I have here on the last day? Get that break started early for you.”  

It’s worrying how quickly you accept the invitation but Melissa’s hand on your thigh paired with the musky smell of her perfume makes it impossible to decline.  

“Of course, I’ll come! Do I need to bring anything?” You ask.  

“Nothing at all, we’ve got it all covered,” the older teacher replies. “Just bring your dancing shoes.” 

You’ve visibly relaxed at the prospect, which doesn’t go unnoticed by your company. While you’re distracted taking another, albeit smug, sip of Melissa’s coffee, Barbara shoots the redhead a knowing look, quirking her eyebrow as she does so. For a split second, Melissa turns the same shade of red as her hair, caught out by Barb and the confession of a pretty obvious crush she gave a few weeks ago. She quickly manages to regain her composure, hand still resting on your thigh and phone still in hand.  

You would think that a full week later, after hours of Christmas songs later, that you would be sick of carols. But you still find yourself sitting in the teachers’ lounge long after the rest of the faculty has left the building on the final day of school before winter break, with your usual duo and the addition of Mr Johnson. The room is filled with a warmth that doesn’t just come from the school’s subpar heating system, but instead from the situation you find yourself in.  

You feel a slight buzz from the copious amounts of wine you’ve consumed since the end of the school day, your stomach lined with Melissa’s incredible cooking and sweet treats brought in by Barbara. You feel that Mr Johnson is in the same boat as you as he mills around the room, plastic cup filled with what you can only assume is even more wine, swaying by himself to the record that plays from the relic of a radio that sits on one of the many cabinets in the room.  

Your attention is immediately drawn elsewhere when Melissa’s cackle fills the room, her and Barb sharing stories that they’ve no doubt already told each other a few dozen times over the years. You completely miss the anecdote, but you still can’t help a smile from breaking out on your face at the sound of laughter, the noise acting like music to your ears – it’s far better than anything that could possibly be played on that radio right now.  

Almost as if by cue, the pair finish their story and the older of the two decides to rise from her chair, beckoning to you as she does so.  

“Come on, I wanna start to shake my groove thing,” says Barbara, already swaying slightly from the few glasses of wine she’s consumed herself. You raise your eyebrows, incredulous, matching her action and standing from your chair yourself, moving further from the security of the table as a swing version of “Jingle Bell Rock” continues playing. “I need a dance partner and you’re the perfect height so get yourself over here.” 

She doesn’t give you a chance to respond before her hands quickly mold you into shape, moving one of your own to her hip whilst the other grips your open palm.  

“Wow Barb, at least buy a girl a drink first,” you grin as she swats at your shoulder, giggling along herself. The bells on the front of her extremely festive bright red sweater jingle as she does so. The swaying of your ‘dance’ lasts for a mere few seconds before Barbara interrupts it herself.  

“Melissa, I think we may need to swap places,” she says as she glances at where Mr Johnson stands, eyes still closed and nursing his plastic cup of wine. “I have a feeling Mr Johnson may need some assistance.”  

Melissa mumbles her response as she comes nearer to you, seamlessly swapping places with the elder woman. You completely miss the wink that is thrown her way from Barb, eyes still focused on Mr Johnson’s one-man party.  

When you turn your head back to face in front of you, you’re naturally drawn to the bright green eyes that sit slightly below your eyeline. You feel your heart stutter in your chest at the sight, rarely getting to see them this close. It always baffles you how many shades of green, blue and brown come together to create a colour that can only be described as ‘Melissa’. You realize you’ve been staring a little too long when a change of song and her words break you from your thoughts.  

“Come a little closer, you can’t dance properly if you leave enough room for Jesus and the 12 disciples,” she says, her tone playful and smile wide. You can’t help but throw your head back in laughter as her hand snakes from your hip to the small of your back to bring you in closer. There's no mistaking who is leading who.  

When you bring your head back Melissa is considerably closer than before. She’s so close that you can see each individual eyelash under her thick layer of mascara and eyeliner, along with the slightly smudged edge of her lipstick, the deep red of the wine making the colour even richer. The smell of her musky yet floral perfume invades your senses as she looks up toward you. You move your hands from her shoulders to link together behind her neck, her red curls tickling your wrists.  

You can feel every slight movement she makes as Frank Sinatra croons at you both as you sway slightly in place, too scared to move too quickly in case you scare each other. Her thighs almost touch yours and your chests are almost entirely pressed together. You hope she can’t feel your heartbeat; the speed and intensity of it would almost instantly give away your feelings toward her. Her body this close to yours makes your head spin, your mind racing with possibilities of other situations you may find yourself this close to her in.  

You can feel every breath she lets out against your lips, making you aware of how little it would take to connect them with her own. You’re pretty sure she’s noticed too because of the way her eyes keep flicking down to look at them every few seconds. You can feel her hands burning a hole through the material of the shirt against your back. As if she can hear your thoughts, she moves them slightly lower, coming to rest against the waistband of your trousers and dangerously close to your backside. What you wouldn’t give for her to just bite the bullet and slide them into your back pockets to pull you impossibly closer to her.  

“You know, I, uh, never wished you a happy Christmas,” she breaks the tense silence, almost whispering as if anything too loud might startle you. “So Happy Christmas, Hun.”  

She wears a slight smile on her lips, suddenly dropping the hard exterior she always carries to become the softer, more vulnerable version of herself you’ve come to fall madly in love with.  

You can’t help but melt at the sight, your head dropping forward to lean your forehead against hers. She welcomes the move with ease, closing her eyes as you both sway slightly to the music, never moving from your position.  

“Happy Christmas, Mel.” 

[dadsbongos]

2024 kinktober masterlist

officially completed - thank you all for the support!

WEEK 1 - spooky trickery CULT ACTIVITY ft suguru geto - exhibitionism, coercion, bad priest geto you join your roommate to his sermon with Suguru Geto, and you get singled out as the one non-believer. HOTTIE'S HANDS ON HAMMY-STRETCH ft violence fiend - thighjob post-workout stretching gets a little… intimate with your dear friend, violence fiend.

ORGANIC TONGUE DEPRESSOR ft dabi - deepthroat, manipulation with a dreaded sore throat and a hatred for doctors, you’re unfortunately left to the care of mean ole Dabi.

WEEK 2 - sweet n sour WARM AND FUZZIES ft connie springer - inebriated sex, outdoors when you two sneak onto the porch during a Halloween party, Connie Springer knows he has the perfect opportunity to woo you.

SUCC U DRY ft falin touden - monster a succubus takes the most desirable form of their victim in order to feed, you so happen to be that form for Falin Touden.

CONFESSIONAL ft o'saa - voyeurism hiding in a confessional, O'saa never imagined he’d do something as depraved as this.

WEEK 3 - bad, bad boys SUPE SOLDIER AT ATTENTION (FOR HOURS) ft soldier boy - objectification, humiliation left to babysit the 100+ year-old by yourself, you make a bet you soon regret with Soldier Boy.

A NICE PLACE, THE SEEDY PUB ft whitney (dol) - sploshing, public sex your boyfriend isn’t the sweetest, but when Whitney said you’d be going somewhere special you didn’t think he’d bend you over the table.

FOR HONOR. AND DUTY. ft satoru gojo - breeding, aphrodisiac it’s his job to carry on the bloodline, and its your job to love Satoru Gojo; thankless as both gigs are.

DIRTY THIEF GETS PUNISHED! ft denji - panties you catch your roomie being a dirty perv, how will Denji possibly make it up to you? (pussy eating)

WEEK 4 - repression regression TIGHT SQUEEZE ft mirio togata - claustrophilia, anal you get randomly stopped and searched, which is crazy because you’ve never done anything to Mirio Togata (except be a villain on the run).

PREACHER'S BOY LIKES CHOIR SINGER ft zeke jaeger - blasphemy, church you and your church crush try earning God’s forgiveness for temptation… only for Zeke Jaeger to have to suck demonic influence straight out of you.

PUSH THROUGH // BREAKTHROUGH ft rin fana - stuckage serially repressed and eternally stoic, your party’s mage, Rin Fana, faces new temptation in you.

WEEK 5 - big boys MEAN BLONDE <3s WAR CRIMES ft pavel yudin - gunplay, hunting your old bootcamp lieutenant, Pavel Yudin, comes to your hometown to give you a second chance at joining the good ole army! By chasing you through the woods.

SOMETHING ABOUT KING TOUDEN ft laios touden - faux/!ncest your brother said people can have their opinions on you, but you didn’t expect most of Laios’ subjects to have an opinion.

PLEASURE FOR THE MOON GOD ft ragnvaldr - mutual masturbation you and your lover, Ragnvaldr, engage in the ultimate act of mutual pleasure: jerking each other off.

[couldpolyamorysavethem]

ELIZABETH BURKE, PETER BURKE, and NEAL CAFFREY from WHITE COLLAR

Justification:

"okay listen this might already be in the queue but i sincerely believe the last three seasons of the show would've gone in a completely different direction if peter got that last little push away from his bullshit cop behaviour by neal pulling some grand romantic gesture for him + el. like, come on man, you've already come to peace with legality not being the same as morality after you ran all those cons and let neal cut and run, but he's so convinced the ONLY way to do good in the world is being an fbi agent that he like, actively makes things worse for neal (AND HIMSELF? AND ELIZABETH?) over and over again just so he can preserve the status quo of neal being his CI + while peter's an active field agent. would kissing about his devotion to their dynamic and neal's rehabilitation and peter's complicity in neal's dehumanisation by the state solve that? maybe not! but considering the alternative is neal fucking dying (he got better) about it i think we should give it a shot!

that previous paragraph was more or less me preaching to the choir wrt this relationship but still here's my pitch:

neal is essentially already the third in elizabeth + peter's marriage, with how much he lives in peter's brain during pre-series sequences, how INVESTED he is in their relationship (reminding peter of anniversaries), and then IN the actual series that only increases when he's coming around to their place all the time

each pair within this trio have supporting but distinct relationships w one another that they all benefit from (and they often need the support of all three dynamics to get through Issues™)

that one episode where peter ends up on the run w another fbi agent and neal gets paired up with that guy's CI, and there's just an unbelievable amount of parallels between the two pairs and their relationship, even after its established that those two are in a romantic relationship and peter and neal 'aren't'. like peter says he'd go to neal first if he was ever in trouble LIKEEE

fucking everything about the run up to the finale of season 2 where we hear over and over again that the only two ways conmen end up are with 'one last score' (which inevitably leads to the next, because they can't help themselves), or going to prison. OR, the 'true love' option, where an ex-conman is able to genuinely settle down and go straight (more or less). this 'secret third option' is literally even spelled out to us IN an episode about a trio of thieves (byron june and ford) who meant the world to each other!

neal uses the engagement ring he was GOING to give to his TEXTUAL 'true love' in order to pay for peter's ransom that one time and isn't even cut up about it??

also like the episode before that neal and peter switch identities (very well) and neal acts like elizabeth's wife, and the only issue peter (or anyone) has with it is that he's also committing the crime of impersonating a federal agent.

season three finale where peter asks why neal didn't run when he just got the score of his life and the first thing he says is 'you, elizabeth', before listing literally anything else. INCLUDING HIS CURRENT ROMANTIC INTEREST?

also the scene before that where neal immediately folds from his season long cat and mouse game with peter and hiding the treasure because elizabeth's in danger! and peter only believes he's not lying abt any of it bc it's elizabeth!

that one shot in the pilot where neal and elizabeth look up at peter and you can so clearly see he has a type.

literally everything about elizabeth + neal's interactions in s1. get you a girl who sneaks you into her house past dozens of fbi agents so you can talk to your handler personally about being framed for a crime that she has no reason to suspect you didn't do other than believe in your and her husband's relationship!

im losing track of my argument at this point. anyway can someone please knock peter upside the head with some kind of bi awakening for the love of god this homoerotic 'partners' situation has an unbelievably high body count not to mention all the violation of civil liberties and frankly you could've all moved to paris and started a detective agency YEARS ago and this show would become slice of life" - @time-is-restored

[ohsalome]

love seeing people (westerners) WHO HAVE NEVER EVEN MADE A SINGLE PEEP ABOUT UKRAINE AID, EVER, reblog russian lgbt aid funds after the recent news.

i'm very anti whataboutism but holy hell. when it comes to a certain country we all agree that liberation comes before improvement of lgbt issues. *i* agree with that, at least. but then the same people would rather pay to save lgbt people from a country that's actively besieging another country, it's just... beyond words how hypocritical it is.

I have so many things to say, none of them being nice.

Ukrainian army is, so far, the only force that is presenting challenge to "putin's regime". Wouldn't it make sense for people who "want to protect russian lgbt+s" to support us then? We are conctantly being degraded for "not allying with good russians" who are supposed to be our "natural allies" because they are "anti-putin".... Funny how it doesn't work the other way around, doesn't it? And yes, I have personal experience with russian lgbt+ and feminist circles (prior to the full-scale invasion), and I remember clearly how they explicitly ignored all pleas from ukrainians to speak up on our behalf. And how can one forget the famous "women have no nationality"...

This is, from my memory, the third time russia has "banned lgbt+s", and I believe I have a good reason for being sceptical about the real consequences of russian laws which, as we all know, are worth a little more than toilet paper. It is common knowledge which people of russian elite are gay, and I sincerely doubt their life will change in any way with this new law. As a matter of fact, most of them are a part of russian propaganda machine, like the infamous Anton Krasovsky. Also, what is the point then of this law, if it functionally duplicates all the previous ones already existing and brings nothing new to the table? I will not repeat the conspiracies about "diverting attention from Ukraine", because you've probably already heard of them. My own conspiracy is that its goal is to further the international reputation of russians as innocent victims of the regime, all while ukrainians are being actively slandered and forced into fake opposition with palestinians. One example relevant to the discussion I've seen recently is a post of a russian "war refugee" who has fled from russia either when the war started, or during one of the mobilisation waves. She was complaining about how much she dislikes living in the West and how she plans to return to russia, fully knowing that it is an authoritarian hellscape, and she will have to collaborate with it, because "it is more comfortable there"... This is what I think about russian "victims of the regime" - this is all masquerade for them, which they are ready and happy to take off once they are tired of play-pretending being part of the civilized world and want to return to their comform zone swamp.

Just like pussy riot monetizing Bucha imagery for their fame and profit, russian lgbt+s jumped on the oppostunity to appropriate the suffering of ukrainian war victims to earn more $$$$$. And I blame western media which has for day one has put us on the same scale, equating ukrainian civillians to russian ones, even though only one side has to live under constant bombardment, only one side had to seek refuge due to the threat of occupation, only one side is being actively genocided... But russians are having meanie mean words said about them on the internet, and this is just as bad - nay, mayhaps even worse! Remember how during the first months of full-scale invasion westerners were claiming that russians will starve to death due to sanctions, and I was preaching to the choir trying to explain that we are literally dying due to west feeding the russian war machine that is exterminating us? Well, almost two years have passed, no russian have famished because Chanel has left the market, they are successfuly importing all the missiles components through Kazakhstan, and Ukraine cannot even count all the losses we've had because how much of our territory remains under the occupation. But westerners have already congratulated themselves about how they've "immediately gifted ukraine all the weapons they need once the war started" (hahaha!) and moved on to playing with their new palestinian toy, all while for some reason pitting us against each other (and stealing footage from Syria and Ukraine to misrepresent them as Palestine)

Oh and don't get me started on western "political activists" who go out of their way to mention every single conflict happening on planted earth, excluding Ukraine. I will never forget that.

[very bitter and pessimistic conclusion censored]

[the-greatest-fool]

I basically only post and read posts in my bubble aside from occasionally scrolling through Real Tumblr, but people’s takes about US politics on this website are fucking unbelievable. They talk about our government as if it didn’t save us from a pandemic-induced financial collapse, pump trillions of dollars into public works, not to mention substantially invest and rein in pharmaceuticals, and is instead some sort of ultra-neoliberal-corporate kitty shooting machine.

Like let’s be for real. Do they…know what the government does? How it works? Do you know what a conservative is? Do you know what an authoritarian is?

Because a system of government whose citizens are all lucky it has had continuous peaceful transfer of power for centuries could very well have its greatest norm violated—that those who reject its legitimacy must be rejected—and we don’t blink an eye.

Because the first major investment against climate change, coupled with life saving investments into healthcare, cancer research, and drug costs could be shredded by indiscriminate fiscal conservatives who don’t care if we die in forest fires, cancer from pollution, lose insurance because we’re jobless, or, apparently, all die in a fricking plague.

Because a foreign policy establishment that had finally reversed two decades of foreign intervention in favor of a normalization strategy aimed at reducing American foot presence, drone strikes, and indiscriminate killings is about to be replaced by the whims of a man who dropped the “mother of all bombs” on the Middle East, gave American soldiers up to Russian bounty hunters, extorted a foreign leader for political favors and arguably indirectedly resulted in that country being BRUTALLY INVADED BY AN IMPERIAL NEIGHBOR, is in the pockets of CCP-funded billionaires, and WANTS TO “FINISH THE JOB” IN GAZA.

Because a President who is against family separations and promotes a path for DREAMERs and more legal immigration and rights for unodcumented people could be replaced by a man who wants to separate families, PUT UNDOCUMENTED PEOPLE IN CONCENTRATION CAMPS, RESTRICT EVEN LEGAL IMMIGRATION, ESPECIALLY THAT OF MUSLIMS, AND SHOOT MIGRANTS.

Because a President who stopped a repeat of the Great Recession and the painful decade that followed it with strong fiscal stimulus which CUT CHILD POVERTY IN HALF BEFORE CONSERVATIVES MADE IT EXPIRE, then managed to cut deficits and presided over a decline in inflation, resulting in record high real wages (aka taking into account inflation) for workers is going to be replaced by a President who wants to TARIFF ALL FOREIGN GOODS by 15%, CUT TAXES FOR THE FILTHY RICH AND THE TAX ENFORCEMENT TO STOP THEM, INCREASE CHILD POVERTY AND UNINSUREDNESS by cutting gov’t programs, and HURT UNIONS which by every measure will lead to lower wages, higher prices, and more poverty and starvation.

Because a President who has pledged to sign a bill codifying Roe v. Wade (which has yet to be possible in recent memory, whatever these kids say), who enshrined the right to marry someone of the same sex or different race, who supports the Equality Act which would enshrine LGBTQ protections into the law, could be replaced by THE MAN WHO REMOVED AMERICA’S RIGHT TO ABORTION, whose Christian nationalist supporters want to END SEXUAL FREEDOM as we know it including TARGETING IVF AND BIRTH CONTROL, who wants to reverse LGBTQ discrimination law in favor of Christian bigots who hate queer and trans people, and who demonizes that community to win political support.

Ask yourself if you really think there’s no difference between the two. Ask yourself if a reasonable person given these facts would choose the latter. Ask yourself why you see so much propagandizing against the reasonable choice. Ask yourself why so many people seem to have opinions on this when they “don’t even go here”.

Maybe I’m just preaching to the choir here. Maybe people who say this inane stuff wouldn’t vote anyways. Maybe somehow we’re screwed anyways. Maybe people will stupidly vote third party and we’re fucked. Maybe this will get me attacked.

I don’t care anymore. If I have to see one more fucking post acting like we live under the fucking Evil Empire while a SELF PROCLAIMED DICTATOR is about to end the best streak of decent governance I’ve ever seen in a while, I just can’t anymore.

[speirslore]

domestic john brady hcs

(a/n: so.... i went a little insane today and wrote these but hopefully someone else enjoys them! pls send me an ask if u want to chat about brady because he might be ruining my life right now... just a little bit.. also this includes vague mentions of pstd)

lmk if you would like to be on my taglist! @ronsparky @bcon24 @blueberry-ovaries @1waveshortofashipwreck @beautifulbluejay

okay starting off... imo john brady is super domestic like he definitely has had a 2.5 kids and a dog, white picket fence fantasy for a good portion of his life <3

and he loves routine... most days you come home to soft jazz music playing and john sitting on the sofa, brows furrowed in concentration as he flips through a book, pipe in his mouth, and the familiarity always makes you feel so warm

john is very loyal... and can definitely be stubborn and determined, but it all stems from a protectiveness over you and the love you two have

yes he can be a bit sassy or snappy especially from others people's perspectives but john is a really great partner

he has a tender side that you see very often but others might not immediately pick up on... i think john is super attentive and caring in his own, analytical way, and that's extended to all the people in his life that he cares about

when you first meet and start dating i do think he is a mess trying to flirt and gets very flustered very easily, especially if you're more confident in your own flirting abilities... but he quickly gains confidence in that area

john is not hugeee into pda

but does like to be touching you in some way, like hand on the small of your back, around your waist, head resting on your shoulders (or vice versa), he loves all of it

john is SO supportive: you want to go to/finish school? go for it! he’s your number one supporter, no matter what stage of life you guys are in

if you're already married and have kids by then, he definitely helps you study after the kids go to sleep

will help make flashcards to study and proofreads over your essays for you

obviously music is a huge part of his life whether he sticks to teaching music after the war or pursuing something different, it’s a huge part of him and loves getting you equally obsessed with it

will most certainly be in a community choir/orchestra of some sort and is so proud of it... loves spotting you in the crowd and having you there to support him

is ever the realist, very practical about settling down after the war, having kids, buying a house, etc... he genuinely enjoys budgeting and ofc couponing... he gets very into it

john really values your opinions and input on all things

i think john's love language is mainly words of affirmation... like okay, yes he can be a little snarky at times but john is extremely thoughtful

he's great at picking up on your emotions and how you're feeling

words of affirmation- complimenting, uplifting, and supporting you is how he communicates that he cares

when john can tell you're upset, he wants and will do anything to solve whatever problem there is and make you feel better

john is really perceptive, like annoyingly so, "what's wrong? are you sure you're okay?" you can't fool him at all

he really prides himself on knowing the people he loves

a big problem solver, will come up with a game plan to tackle whatever you come to him ranting/upset about

john can be fiercely protective, especially after the war- after he's seen so much loss first hand. not even jealousy really and it's never because he doesn't trust you or is possessive, it stems more from how much he loves you and how vulnerable that makes him feel sometimes

is he as impulsive and scrappy as curt or bucky? no but could definitely be pushed to that point and definitely will not let himself be intimidated by some asshole at a bar (referencing a specific event when you were dating back in new york after the war, john does not take lightly to someone trying to upset/scare you refusing to take no for an answer)

he definitely does enjoy you doting on him afterwards, cleaning the nasty bruise and scrape on his jaw/cheek

i think john would for sure enjoy pet names, he loves any symbols or reminders of how close/intimate your relationship is, specifically loves "honey", "dear", or an occasional "darling"

your relationship starts to have some serious old married couple vibes very quickly, like months into dating you?

john is a not so secret romantic

would be annoyingly good at big romantic gestures, is the best at anniversaries

john lovesss and really romanticizes the idea of settling down, knowing someone that deeply, someone else being your person, your soulmate, having children, and having a shared life

he does believe in true love and soulmates and would blush furiously if you were to ask him about it but he'll manage to get it out, barely able to look at you when he's affirming, "yeah i think you're my soulmate. nbd."

wants to know all about you, even the most trivial things i think he would be so interested in learning about

for sure one of those people who's had a list of baby names they've had picked out since childhood

john is a great person to share a life with, he's organized, methodical, responsible, and respectful

would be the sweetest dad, would feel perpetually unprepared and terrified for fatherhood

would always be researching the best foods, products, etc

like not full helicopter parent/soccer mom but he's very involved and always trying to find new experiences for your kids

LOVES planning the annual brady family road trip in the summer when all the kids are out of school and y'all take off work

he always creates such a detailed and efficient route and makes sure to get everyone's input on where they want to go and want to see... that's when he's in his element fr

he would love having a bigger family and knowing each of his children's different personalities and interests

i think he does struggle after the war with ptsd, especially during the winter when it's super cold outside

he has to get out of this initial phase of pushing you away out of not wanting want pity or sympathy

there's embarrassment and shame there and it's hard for him to navigate that and he doesn't want to burden you or others. doesn't want to be fussed over or taken to the doctor like a child, doesn't want to feel broken

for a while he struggles with falling asleep and would always make excuses about coming to bed late, only once you're sleeping, because he's embarrassed about how long it takes for him to fully relax and actually feel safe enough to sleep

it gets better with time... and when john realizes how much he values transparency and vulnerability between the two of you and after you reassure him it's not burdening you or dumping anything on you

might be (is) a lip biter like first time he did it was on accident, he just got very excited but you both quickly discover he lovesss it

i think john is masterfully good at foreplay, especially if we assume he was raised in a good ol' catholic family... yeah he has the foreplay down pat

he's methodical in everything he does... including uh... physical intimacy

john has a lot of self control and he prides himself in that... but he is also soooo sensitive he just thinks it's incredibly unfair

like just running your hands through his hair and scratching his scalp lightly, oh he's meltinggg

john absolutely has to have the perfect music for everything including anything physical... he'll break away from a heated kiss to to flip through vinyls, hunched over the record player while you're lying in bed like... babe... come back pls

a very intense lover like his eye contact, his touch- firm grip, his voice- always lower and quiet, intense in the best way possible

oh and once you're married he loves always mentioning or name dropping "my wife," in conversations

overall... john brady loves being in love! he loves having little inside jokes, petnames, shared memories, etc and wouldn't trade it for anything in the world <3

[acourtofteasandfoxes]

I just... I love the idea that the Foxes join Renee at church on occasion. All for different reasons, at different times.

Wymack is the first, obviously. He loves all of his Foxes, knows them deeply. Wymack is there with her every Sunday for nearly two months before she settles on a church and finds her place. He still shows on occasion, especially on weeks Renee has been particularly quiet.

Dan goes to squash their high school rivalry. They need to be a team and team members support each other. Dan is also the reason Matt goes for the first time. The girls use it as a test. They wanna see how whipped Matt is for Dan, but also if he'll be respectful. Dan says yes to a date when he asks later that night.

Betsy goes because Renee asks. It was brought up in therapy and Betsy goes without question. Abby joins them. They don't go again, but Betsy doesn't hesitate to discuss religion with Renee and Abby ducks her head anytime Renee prays.

Allison goes after Seth. She had been meaning to go, truly, Renee is her friend and she had been invited. But it doesn't happen until Seth dies. Allison Reynolds is searching for answers, and she wants so badly to find them in church pews and worship songs. Allison would only step foot in that church one more time, and it will be for Renee, not for answers.

Seth never goes before he dies. Renee did invite him, just as she did all the Foxes, but he laughed at the thought.

Nicky was raised religious. Arguably it makes the most sense for him to join Renee when she asks him. Nicholas Hemmick has never said no so fast in his life. The jokes he throws around about bursting into flames when he walks through the doors aren't all jokes. Nicholas Hemmick is scared of the God he once loved. It's not until Drake, and Christmas, and Balitmore, that he cracks. He catches Renee right before she walks in and she holds his hand, in the back pew, as he cries during the sermon. They sit there for an hour after everyone else has left. Renee is the only one who understands the way Nicky feels both healed and broken.

Aaron goes because Katelyn goes. Her and Renee talk about it, she asks Aaron to take her, and really? Dude is so whipped he wouldn't say no. Aaron will never admit it, but he actually really liked the choir. When he gets back to the dorm he looks up a few worship songs to listen to before games.

Andrew doesn't go to an actual Sunday service. He does, however, help Renee volunteer for the church ice cream social. They were short handed and she promised him unlimited ice cream scoops. The adults are scared of him. The children love him and it's absolutely not, could never be, because he is giving all of them double scoops of sprinkles. Much like Wymack, however, he joins on occasion if Renee's vibe feels off. He just never goes inside, choosing instead to smoke in the car as he waits for her.

Kevin is the one to ask Renee if he can join her. They're talking about religion in one of his history classes, it overlaps with Renee's religious studies class, and he's interested. He ends up going every Sunday that summer, gathering information for a project, interviewing people, including Renee. He gets an A on his project and gets invited to all the church's events after that. The little old ladies loved him.

Neil is the last to join. He respects Renee, enjoys her company, but church and large crowds? Sitting still for an hour? Being preached at about something he doesn't believe is real? He has exy, and Andrew, and better things to do with his time. It's his idea, however, when he finally does go.

Because Renee has graduated. She's graduated, is heading into the Peace Corps, and she's leaving the church. Leaving Palmetto. Kevin gets the invite, but it's Neil's idea. Off handed remarks that turn into a Thing. Because the Foxes don't do small.

When Renee is asked to stand, when she is asked to lead the church in prayer one last time, she looks out into the crowd and has to take a moment. Because there, in the back, is an entire pew dressed in Palmetto orange. Every single one of them is wearing her number.

Renee knows, in that moment, that God truly does exist.

[cuffmeinblack]

Hi~ is it okay if I request a Fluffy oneshot of Ominis gaunt x fem Hufflepuff Mc?

Like she’s generally a very soft spoken girl (tho she got sass for days) and maybe Ominis stumbles upon her while she’s singing “Secret Garden- Sleepsong” in the undercroft, because it’s a family lullaby and she’s feeling a little homesick.. (Post good ending, Sebs spending the weekend with Anne & his uncle)

He’s so entranced by her singing.. he ends up making notes on when she seems to go down there to sing, just so he can listen to her.. (also he’s a bit nervous about letting her know, that he knows she can sing. So he’s done all this in secret.)

And maybe sometime later a mean-girl group from the frog choir corners MC, talking shit about how she probably has a trashy voice or something.. Ominis ain’t having that!!

He just blurts out that ACTUALLY she has the voice of a GODDESS!! and they aren’t even worthy enough to listen to a Dogbog snor!

Maybe MC’s a little confident after his little stunt so she gets super flirty~

Seb’s gonna be so confused when he gets back to an unusually flirtatious MC constantly making moves on a VERY flustered Ominis.. 👀 but he’s happy for them at least.. and won a LOT of Galions, but that’s beside the point!

Basically all cute shit.. Ominis deserves SO much Love.. 🥺

Two little words

Ominis Gaunt x f!reader

Tags: fluff | Hufflepuff reader

1k words

A/: Hello, thank for your request 🖤 I enjoyed writing this from Ominis' point of view. Hope you enjoy.

I'll sing you to sleep and I'll sing you tomorrow

Bless you with love for the road that you go

Ominis knew he wasn't alone as soon he stepped into the Undercroft—he immediately jumped back and pressed himself against the cold stone wall upon hearing the noise. Quite what made him hide, he wasn't sure, only that the moment he had stumbled upon seemed personal and intimate.

May you sail far to the far fields of fortune

With diamonds and pearls at your head and your feet

The voice could only belong to one person, the only other one who knew about the Undercroft besides himself and Sebastian. She sang with a gentle lilt, the melody was sombre and sweet and tinged with sadness. Ominis knew he should either make his presence known or leave, the longer he left it the more awkward his discovery would become, but he found himself unable to move, partially from fear but a greater desire to hear her sing more.

And may you need never to banish misfortune

May you find kindness in all that you meet

The sweet song stopped suddenly and Ominis' gut twisted uncomfortably when he realised why—she was crying. Her breath hitched and she tried to stifle the sobs, breathing deeply and sniffing through her nose. Ominis felt intensely guilty for intruding—he didn't think she would appreciate the intrusion, even though he wanted to comfort her, she had clearly come here for solitude. Regretfully, he felt his way along the wall and back out of the door.

Ominis knew she often roamed the castle or fled into the forest or Hogsmeade, she was hard to keep track of, but he started to notice a pattern to her behaviour. She would receive an owl from her parents every Monday, and that evening she would disappear, walking through the central hall and sneaking off to the Undercroft. The second time he found her, he had intended to confront her and offer his support, but once again found himself distracted and enchanted by her sweet voice. He knew she wouldn't willingly sing in front of him, and he so wanted to listen.

She sang a different song every time he visited, though it was often a sad and slow tune. Ominis thought she must miss her home terribly and wondered about her life away from Hogwarts—a shy and intensely private person, much like Ominis, she didn't often mention her personal life, preferring to devote her conversations to her studies and friends' lives. Every time he heard her sing, standing in the shadows, his heart raced and on more than one occasion he felt wet hot tears sliding down his face.

All good things must come to an end, and for Ominis that was on a Tuesday afternoon a month after he had first heard her sing. He walked across the courtyard on his way to Herbology, his wand held aloft and listening to the chatter surrounding him. His ears heard her voice, now so familiar and comforting, though it was full of hurt and anger.

"There's no need to be so horrible."

"We're just giving you some criticism, if you can't take it then you shouldn't be singing at all," a second voice rang, ugly and rough in comparison.

Ominis followed the conversation.

"Telling me I sound like a banshee isn't criticism, it's needlessly mean. I don't know what your problem is," she said, her voice breaking at the end of the sentence.

More voices, cruelly laughing. The second voice chimed in again.

"Just give up, you'll never make the choir with your voice."

Ominis leaned against the pillar of an archway, his hands shaking in anger.

"I happen to think she has the voice of an angel, and we can all agree I have much better taste than you," he drawled.

He heard a shuffle as the group found the source of the insult.

"Nobody asked you, Gaunt," the ugly voice said.

"I spend my life listening, and let me tell you that she would be the best thing to happen to your pathetic little choir."

The silence that greeted his retort let him knew he had won the exchange. Several huffs were expelled and he heard the sound of footsteps retreating. Her sweet voice filled his ears, asking a question he didn't want to answer.

"Thank you, Ominis. When have you ever heard me sing?"

Ominis blushed, trying to find words that wouldn't anger or embarrass her.

"I have to confess, I found myself listening as you sang in the Undercroft. I apologise for not showing myself, I should have."

"I thought you must have. Next time…tell me when you're there?" she replied.

"Next time?"

"If you want. I'll see you later, Ominis."

The response surprised him, and he spent the next few hours utterly distracted from his lessons, turning the conversation and his memories of the Undercroft over in his mind. Was it an invitation? Should he turn up next week? He wanted to more than anything, but he worried he had somehow misinterpreted her interest.

That doubt was put to rest by the time he reached the great hall that evening. He followed Sebastian to their usual seat, where she sat waiting. Some of the Slytherins despised that a Hufflepuff often sat at their house table for meals, but they didn't comment anymore lest they find themselves on the receiving end of Ominis' ruthless sharp-witted insults, or the end of Sebastian's wand.

"Hello, you two. Good afternoon?"

"Fantastic, blew myself up in Potions," Sebastian said sarcastically, "You?"

"Not bad, it got better after I saw you, Ominis."

Ominis blushed, the heat rising in his cheeks, smiling bashfully as Sebastian started choking next to him.

"I'm glad. I'm sorry they were so awful," Ominis replied, ignoring the coughing coming from his friend.

"My hero," she said in a breathy voice.

Yes, Ominis often found himself thinking about her singing but those two little words might have been the the most beautiful he had ever heard.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Nalo Hopkinson’s “Blackheart Man”

I'm OFFLINE UNTIL MID-SEPTEMBER, but you can catch me in person at BURNING MAN! On TUESDAY (Aug 27) at 1PM, I'm giving a talk called "DISENSHITTIFY OR DIE!" at PALENQUE NORTE (7&E). On WEDNESDAY (Aug 28) at NOON, I'm doing a "Talking Caterpillar" Q&A at LIMINAL LABS (830&C).

In Blackheart Man, the new Nalo Hopkinson novel out today from Simon & Schuster, we get a tour-de-force from an author in full control of her prodigious powers: a story that will make you drunk on language, on worldbuilding, and on its roaring, relentless plot:

https://www.simonandschuster.com/books/Blackheart-Man/Nalo-Hopkinson/9781668005101

The action is set on Chynchin, a fantastic Caribbean island(or maybe Caribbeanesque – it's never clear whether this is some magical, imaginary world, or some distant future of our own). Chynchin is a multiracial, creole land with a richly realized gift economy that Hopkinson deftly rounds out with a cuisine, languages, and familial arrangements. Blackheart Man boasts some of the finest "in-cluing" (Jo Walton's marvelous term for the way that sf/f writers can assemble a world in their readers' minds with subtle clues that act as a made-to-be-solved puzzle the reader delights in assembling) you could ask for, and before you know it, you've completely internalized this world, with its racial politics, its cultural institutions (like the colloquium, where every scholar is also a musician and getting your doctorate requires scoring a book to be sung – and thus memorized and preserved by a choir of your fellow students), and its relationships (the stable configuration is a thruple, with most women married to two co-husbands).

Chynchin was founded through a slave rebellion, in which the press-ganged soldiers of the iron-fisted Ymisen empire were defeated by three witches who caused them to be engulfed in tar that they magicked into a liquid state just long enough to entomb them, then magicked back into solidity. For generations, the Ymisen have tolerated Chynchin's self-rule, but as the story opens, a Ymisen armada sails into Chynchin's port and a "trade envoy" announces that it's time for the Chynchin to "voluntarily" re-establish trade with the Ymisen.

The story that unfolds is a staple of sf and fantasy: the scrappy resistance mounted against the evil empire, and this familiar backdrop is a sturdy scaffold to support Hopkinson's dizzying, phantasmagoric tale of psychedelic magic, possessed children, military intrigue, musicianship and sexual entanglements.

Hopkinson's protagonist Veycosi is the kind of flawed hero whom you want to give a hug to half the time, and whose neck you want to wring. An aspiring scholar, Veycosi has the brash certainty of youth, convinced that he's the smartest (and sexiest) man in any room, and he's right just often enough to encourage him in a series of self-inflicted catastrophes that build to a terrible crescendo that sets up one of the most satisfying endings you could ask for.

Hopkinson – a SFWA Grand Master and Macarthur Genius Grant awardee – is justly famed as one of the field's great afrofuturist pioneers. Her prodigious talent has been obvious since her debut novel, Brown Girl In the Ring, and her career is an unbroken string of literary feats that went from strength to strength. I've known her since we were both teenagers working at the same library in suburban Toronto, and I never cease to be dazzled by her talent, her wit, and her warmth. But even by those high standards, Blackheart Man is a triumph.

On SEPTEMBER 24th, I'll be speaking IN PERSON at the BOSTON PUBLIC LIBRARY!!

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/08/20/piche/#cynchin

[black-arcana]

EPICA Collaborates With Dutch Amusement Park Efteling On New Single 'The Ghost In Me (Danse Macabre)'

Dutch symphonic metal titans EPICA have unleashed their eeriest creation yet, the spine-chilling music video for "The Ghost In Me (Danse Macabre)" , a haunting track that lures listeners into a world where shadows dance and the afterlife whispers. This song is a unique collaboration with Europe's second-most visited theme park, Netherlands's magical De Efteling, and their much-anticipated new attraction, Danse Macabre.

Drenched in ghostly imagery, the video mirrors the unsettling thrill of De Efteling's new ride, which opens its gates on October 31, right in time for this Halloween season. Ever since their childhood, every member of EPICA has loved this theme park that welcomes over five million visitors per year. Therefore, this collaboration was a true match made in the otherworld.

Submerge yourself now in the music video which was filmed right inside and in front of the new attraction — and as if this wasn't already exciting enough, the band even received their very own "EPICA gravestone" that you can spot, if you look closely.

EPICA's keyboard player Coen Janssen comments: "Every kid in the Netherlands knows how magical De Efteling is, and working this closely with the most beautiful theme park in the world surely is a dream come true!

"As a young boy, I immediately got captivated by the 'Danse Macabre' by Saint-Saëns as a soundtrack for their haunted house 'Spookslot'. So when De Efteling announced their new plans for the ghostly attraction 'Danse Macabre', all pieces of the puzzle fell into place immediately: Why not combine our symphonic side with the 'scary' side of metal and do our version of this epic classical piece?!?

"We are so happy that De Efteling trusted our vision and gave their full support, providing us with the new ride's storyline, so we could write lyrics fitting the fantastic narrative and even adding a new chapter!"

"The Ghost In Me (Danse Macabre)" lures fans into a darkly enchanting dance with the dead in the YouTube video below and will also appear on all streaming platforms soon, when more of EPICA's next chapter will be unveiled.

The song has already made its live debut at the band's monumental "Symphonic Synergy" shows in Amsterdam this September, and fans in Mexico City will have the chance to be the next to hear it live at two shows in December that EPICA will perform exclusively with a full orchestra and choir.

In a recent interview with Spain's Mariskal Rock, EPICA singer Simone Simons spoke about the progress of the recording sessions for the follow-up to 2021's "Omega" album. She said: "I think that there should be a single by the end of the summer-ish. That's that's our plan. And the album should be released [in] 2025.

"I just wrote with Mark [Jansen, guitar] and Rob [Van Der Loo, bass] also yesterday that I'm so happy with the songs, I'm so proud how everything turned out and it's gonna be another amazing EPICA album.

"We added a couple of new elements, but also went back to the roots, the old EPICA," she continued. "And yeah, I just can't wait for people to hear this.

"I loved 'Omega' and we toured so much with 'Omega' and had wonderful experiences, but then when you reach the end of a touring cycle, you start to get itchy and feel, 'Okay, now it's time to do the new album. Can we do it as good or maybe even better than the last album?' That's always the thing we strive for, ways to renew ourselves a little bit. And we feel a very strong spiritual connection also that it's our ninth album. So there's gonna be themes around the symbolic meaning of nine, the number nine."

Elaborating on the musical direction of EPICA's next album, Simone said: "The songs are heavy. There's a beautiful ballad, a very cinematic song, very uptempo, very doomy, melancholic and amazing, amazing power riffs. It's the most epic EPICA, I think, so far. Yeah, I think so. I mean, I'm feeling it. I'm very happy with it. I'm proud of it. And they are going to start recording the orchestra now next week. They're flying to Prague; that's where we record the orchestra. And I will be recording my final vocals as well."

In November 2022, EPICA released "The Alchemy Project" through Atomic Fire Records. The EP was co-written and performed with diverse guests ranging from extremists like FLESHGOD APOCALYPSE, Niilo Sevänen (INSOMNIUM) and Björn "Speed" Strid (SOILWORK) along with melodic masters like Tommy Karevik (KAMELOT),keyboard legend Phil Lanzon (URIAH HEEP) and Roel Van Helden (POWERWOLF) to a once-in-a-lifetime song with Simons, Charlotte Wessels and Myrkur.

Just one day after the release of its anniversary reissues "We Still Take You With Us" and "Live At Paradiso", EPICA celebrated 20 years of existence live in September 2022 at 013 in Tilburg, Netherlands, the same place where they played their first show (supporting ANATHEMA) back in 2002.

EPICA was formed by Jansen after leaving AFTER FOREVER in 2002, and the band quickly gained attention outside their home country, taking big steps towards becoming the leading symphonic metal superpower they have long proven to be. After their ambitious debut "The Phantom Agony" (2002) and the surprisingly eclectic sophomore work "Consign To Oblivion" (2005),the road took them to new heights via their first concept masterpiece "The Divine Conspiracy" (2007) and their global breakthrough "Design Your Universe" (2009). 2012's opus "Requiem For The Indifferent", 2014's bedazzling "The Quantum Enigma" and "The Holographic Principle" (2016),cemented their reputation as not only one of the hardest-working metal bands in the business but also as one of the best. With "Omega", the final part of the metaphysical trilogy they began with "The Quantum Enigma", they reclaimed the throne without so much as the blink of an eye, amassing three million-plus streams during the first week of the album's release.