#Temple of the Holy Family

[thepastisalreadywritten]

SAINT OF THE DAY (December 17)

St. Jose Manyanet y Vives was born on 7 January 1883 in Catalonia, Spain.

At the age of five, José’s mother dedicated him to the Virgin Mary and later entered the seminary while still a youth.

He was ordained in 1859 and served as the secretary of the bishop of Urgell, the seminary librarian and the chancery administrator, before responding to the call to found two religious congregations.

He founded the Congregation of the Sons of the Holy Family in 1864 and the Missionary Daughters of the Holy Family of Nazareth 10 years later, both dedicated to the education and protection of the Christian family, as well as education and parish ministry.

He also founded several schools and centers, encouraged devotion to the Holy Family, and wrote many books on issues surrounding the family and spiritual guidance.

Also, in the cultural ambit, he worked for the construction of the Servant of God Antonio Gaudí’s masterpiece, the Temple of the Holy Family, in Barcelona, Spain.

He suffered from physical illnesses all his life, particularly due to two open wounds in his sides for the last 16 years of his life. He died on 17 December 1901 in Spain.

He was beatified on 25 November 1984 and canonized on 16 May 2004 by Pope John Paul II.

NOTE:

"Servant of God" is a title used in the Catholic Church to indicate that an individual is on the first step toward possible canonization as a saint.

[ritish16]

Kamadhenu

[orcelito]

I'm being like astoundingly social lately. Starting from Thursday last week, I saw my girlfriend, then spent time with family on Friday, then saw my girlfriend again on Saturday + some of her friends, then watched a movie and drew stuff with friends on Sunday, then had a session 0 for new dnd on Monday, then watched anime with a friend on Tuesday. Off day on Wednesday. Then on THURSDAY I hung out with my girlfriend, had a study session with friend group (with mixed success at the studying part), AND watched anime with a friend again. And then today, watched a different anime with a different friend.

And TOMORROW I'm going to a concert with family and a friend, Sunday I'm hanging out with my girlfriend, then Monday I've got dnd thing again (probably? Need to double check). And then potentially more hangouts to come.

It's insane. What is this new social me. I don't think I've ever hung out with this many different people in such a short time before.

[domochevsky]

saw a post that was like “yeah occultism has orientalist origins so people should act with tact when talking about other religions” and then op reblogged that post with an addition thats like youre making fun of the holy BUDDHA. put some RESPECT on his name like ohhhhh we are never getting outta here

[lordgodjehovahsway]

1 Chronicles 24: The Divisions Of Priests From The Descedants Of Aaron

1 These were the divisions of the descendants of Aaron:

The sons of Aaron were Nadab, Abihu, Eleazar and Ithamar. 

2 But Nadab and Abihu died before their father did, and they had no sons; so Eleazar and Ithamar served as the priests. 

3 With the help of Zadok a descendant of Eleazar and Ahimelek a descendant of Ithamar, David separated them into divisions for their appointed order of ministering. 

4 A larger number of leaders were found among Eleazar’s descendants than among Ithamar’s, and they were divided accordingly: sixteen heads of families from Eleazar’s descendants and eight heads of families from Ithamar’s descendants. 

5 They divided them impartially by casting lots, for there were officials of the sanctuary and officials of God among the descendants of both Eleazar and Ithamar.

6 The scribe Shemaiah son of Nethanel, a Levite, recorded their names in the presence of the king and of the officials: Zadok the priest, Ahimelek son of Abiathar and the heads of families of the priests and of the Levites—one family being taken from Eleazar and then one from Ithamar.

7 The first lot fell to Jehoiarib,

the second to Jedaiah,

8 the third to Harim,

the fourth to Seorim,

9 the fifth to Malkijah,

the sixth to Mijamin,

10 the seventh to Hakkoz,

the eighth to Abijah,

11 the ninth to Jeshua,

the tenth to Shekaniah,

12 the eleventh to Eliashib,

the twelfth to Jakim,

13 the thirteenth to Huppah,

the fourteenth to Jeshebeab,

14 the fifteenth to Bilgah,

the sixteenth to Immer,

15 the seventeenth to Hezir,

the eighteenth to Happizzez,

16 the nineteenth to Pethahiah,

the twentieth to Jehezkel,

17 the twenty-first to Jakin,

the twenty-second to Gamul,

18 the twenty-third to Delaiah

and the twenty-fourth to Maaziah.

19 This was their appointed order of ministering when they entered the temple of the Lord, according to the regulations prescribed for them by their ancestor Aaron, as the Lord, the God of Israel, had commanded him.

The Rest of the Levites

20 As for the rest of the descendants of Levi:

from the sons of Amram: Shubael;

from the sons of Shubael: Jehdeiah.

21 As for Rehabiah, from his sons:

Ishiah was the first.

22 From the Izharites: Shelomoth;

from the sons of Shelomoth: Jahath.

23 The sons of Hebron: Jeriah the first, Amariah the second, Jahaziel the third and Jekameam the fourth.

24 The son of Uzziel: Micah;

from the sons of Micah: Shamir.

25 The brother of Micah: Ishiah;

from the sons of Ishiah: Zechariah.

26 The sons of Merari: Mahli and Mushi.

The son of Jaaziah: Beno.

27 The sons of Merari:

from Jaaziah: Beno, Shoham, Zakkur and Ibri.

28 From Mahli: Eleazar, who had no sons.

29 From Kish: the son of Kish:

Jerahmeel.

30 And the sons of Mushi: Mahli, Eder and Jerimoth.

These were the Levites, according to their families. 

31 They also cast lots, just as their relatives the descendants of Aaron did, in the presence of King David and of Zadok, Ahimelek, and the heads of families of the priests and of the Levites. The families of the oldest brother were treated the same as those of the youngest.

[in-class-daydreams]

Imagine ex-husband Gojo feeling sick to his stomach when he hears that you've been browsing engagement rings.

Imagine how beside himself he is when he looks over Nanami's shoulder and sees an email confirming a custom ring.

He reluctantly accepts the invite to a small birthday gathering at Nanami's apartment. The promise of "big news" is enough to ruin his day entirely.

"Hey, stranger," you say when you and Satoru reach the door at the same time.

Satoru can hardly think of words to say, much less coherently string them together.

"So, uh," he starts off.

You pause with your hand raised to knock. "Yeah?"

"Um." He wishes the ground would swallow him up. "I didn't know you guys were seeing each other that seriously."

You tilt your head in confusion. "We're not. We're not even official yet. Taking it slow and all that."

"Really? But." Satoru cants his head towards the door. "The news. The ring."

"What are you talking about?" you ask, bewildered. Then it clicks. "Satoru, you think I'm seeing Nanami? You really think he'd break the news to you this way?"

"Oh. I guess not."

"Are you stupid? Genuine question."

"Look, I just saw two people looking for rings at the same time and I panicked okay?"

You reach forward and flick his nipple.

"Oww?!?"

You touch a hand to your aching temple. "I've been helping him look for a ring for someone else, dummy!"

"Who?"

You give him a dry look and knock on the door. It swings open and behind it, in all his glory, is Yu Haibara.

~

Imagine ex-husband Gojo being caught completely off-guard by this development.

"Holy shit," he whispers once you've greeted the hosts and have gone off to the side with your respective drinks. "I didn't even know Haibara was back in Japan."

"He hasn't been for long," you whisper back. "Nanami met him in the U.S. last year while on business. They've been long distance ever since."

"And Nanami never told anyone?"

"He didn't want to tell anyone until he was sure he wasn't going to mess things up again. A decade is a long time to not see someone."

Never mind that you and Satoru have been divorced longer than that.

~

Imagine clapping along with ex-husband Gojo when, of course, Haibara says "yes."

The happy couple comes to give you two a big hug and to thank you for coming. They don't get much time with you, though, because as soon as thanks are exchanged, you're demanding that they relax and mingle with their guests while you tidy up the mess in the kitchen.

You and Suguru make your own fun washing dishes and throwing soap suds at each other. The two of you opt to leave Satoru out of this particular chore, lest Nanami end the night down several plates.

In the living room, Satoru jokes, "Been a long time coming, huh?"

Haibara sighs playfully, patting his fiancé on the thigh. "I'll say."

"So, Nanami! What got you to finally make a move after all these years?" Satoru asks.

Nanami actually blushes. He places a hand over Haibara's newly-adorned one.

"We met in the States again and it felt like fate. I just couldn't bring myself to let him walk away again. If that makes sense," he says.

Satoru's gaze softens behind his blindfold and he glances through the kitchen walkway just in time to see you smack Suguru with a wet dish towel.

"Yeah. Makes total sense."

~

Gojo and Geto, Itadori and Fushiguro, the other duos get sympathy for their tragedy. Nanami and Haibara were doomed in canon, but I refuse to deprive them of each other in my universe.

Thanks for reading!

Click [here] to keep up with ex-husband Gojo and his estranged family | Ask stuff about Sen and the fam [here]

[littlefireball]

ʏꜱ|ᴛᴏᴜᴄʜ ᴍᴇ, ᴛᴀꜱᴛᴇ ᴍᴇ, ꜰɪʟʟ ᴍᴇ ᴜᴘ (ᴍ)

ɢᴏᴅ ᴏꜰ ʙʀᴇᴇᴅɪɴɢ ʏᴇᴏꜱᴀɴɢ x ʜᴜᴍᴀɴ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ: ꜱᴍᴜᴛ|ᴜɴᴘʀᴏᴛᴇᴄᴛᴇᴅ ꜱᴇx|ʏᴇᴏꜱᴀɴɢ ꜱᴀᴠᴇᴅ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ|ᴄʜᴇᴀᴛɪɴɢ (ꜱᴏᴍᴇ ᴋɪɴᴅ ᴏꜰ ɢᴏᴏᴅ (?) ɪɴ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴏɴᴇꜱʜᴏᴛ)|ʀᴏᴜɢʜ ꜱᴇx|ᴄʟɪᴛ ᴘʟᴀʏ|ꜰɪɴɢᴇʀɪɴɢ|ᴅʀʏ ʜᴜᴍᴘ|ᴏʀᴀʟ|ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴᴇᴅ ᴏꜰ ᴋ*ʟʟɪɴɢ ᴘᴇᴏᴘʟᴇ

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 2.4ᴋ

Other members: ATEEZ as Fake Gods, Seonghwa

Masterlist

Rumors abound in the city about the miraculous powers of the holy water in the temple, believed to bestow fertility upon barren women. Little do they know, the so-called holy water is actually a disguise for the gods themselves. Concealed within the temple, the deity assumes the form of a male priest, carefully selecting his chosen women. His divine 'touch' brings forth new life for those he deems worthy, while others are left untouched by his favor.

And as usual, he was entrenched in the temple, looking for his favorite "prey".

You were compelled into a marriage with that pig in the urban center due to your family's financial ruin, or should I say that oily old man who was as corpulent as a pig. His conduct exuded disdain towards women, and his utterances lacked any semblance of decency. He demanded you to have children for him, but who would consent to such a disgusting request.

Whenever he attempted to forcefully have sex with you, you resorted to narcotics or simply delivered a blow to render him unconscious. Of course, it was not a long term solution. He brought you to the temple, despite your unwillingness.

"You better get pregnant or I'll just throw you to the brothel," The old man warned, gripping your wrist hard enough to leave a clear red mark. "Get off me! You fucking old man!" "How dare you talk like this to your husband?!" As he was about to slap you, a sudden deep voice stopped him. "Quiet!"

Yeosang walked out from behind the statue with a serious look on his face. "This is a holy land, how can you be allowed to cause trouble?"

"I apologize. My wife is trying to hurt me so I…" "Is it true? Why do I perceive a desire in you to strike her?" Yeosang maintained a stern face as he advanced, radiating an aura of authority that left the elderly man faltering. "No, no, my lord, you have misunderstood. I simply intended to catch her, not harm her."

"Catch her?" Yeosang tilted his head, gazing at the man with impatience and anger. "What a good husband?" Yeosang forcefully released the man's grip on your wrist and pushed his hand away with determination. The oily man's wrists bore the marks of yeosang's strength, as his fingers left visible bruises on the old man's skin. Despite the pig's cries, Yeosang remained resolute and refused to release his hold.

"Ah, say something to help me, explain it! Y/N!!" That fat pig bellowed in desperation, beseeching you to come to his aid. But how could you do this? Your delight in witnessing his suffering is beyond comprehension, as he was left in a state worse than death. "He is trying to hurt me, my lord." "You bitch─!!!" Without allowing the oily man to utter another word, Yeosang flung him to the ground like a piece of refuse.

"Leave. Before I changed my mind." The old man struggled to stand up and ran away without looking back. "You stay here, Y/N."

"Me?Stay here?" Yeosang nodded as he slowly walked back to his throne-like sofa. The sophisticated man reclined against the opulent throne, his demeanor exuding an air of refinement. "Come here," he beckoned, his voice laced with an unprecedented softness. You obediently knelt before him, a blush creeping onto your cheeks at the sight of his striking features.

"Tell me, my dear, do you desire to conceive?" Gently cupping your face, his thumb grazed your lips, applying a slight pressure. "I…" You found yourself captivated by his presence, rendered speechless. "Never, right?" He echoed your unspoken thoughts, causing you to flinch. "But what if the child is mine?" "What?"

"Don't worry, that man won't pester you anymore." He grabbed your chin to press his lips on yours. "It'll be good, I promise."

It was the first time your lips met. That fat pig had never shown you the same kindness as Yeosang. To him, you were nothing more than a fertility tool. There was no hint of aggression or intrusion in the kiss, only warmth and tenderness. A pulsating sensation coursed through both of your bodies, and you felt the heat spreading throughout your entire being.

"Are you feeling hot?" Yeosang inquired in between kisses, to which you shyly nodded. "Then you need to cool off." His hand slipped down your back, unzipping and slipping inside. You gasped at the chilly touch of his fingers, causing him to smirk.

He drew you nearer, settling you on his lap, encircling your legs around his waist as he trailed his kisses along your jawline and neck. Tilting your head back to grant him better entry, he nestled himself in the curve of your neck, exploring with his mouth everywhere he could reach. With a swift movement from Yeosang, your top slipped down, and after unfastening your bra and tossing it aside, he gently guided you down onto the plush sofa.

"Have you had sex before?" You shook your head as you trailed off. "I never let my…that old man touched me."

"Do you want me to touch you?" He hovered you, his tone tingled with a hint of desire. "Please…" "Say it again, Y/N." His thumb brushed your bottom lips, then sliding down to hold your chin. "Please, I want you to touch me." Yeosang smiled as his ego grew at your answer. "Do you know my name?" You shook your head. "It's Yeosang. No one knows but only you."

"Because you are special." His words ignited a blush on your cheeks, evoking feelings of tenderness and timidity. You sensed a new emotion blossoming within your heart. Could it be the sensation of falling in love? Oh, the irony of it all! How amusing to think that mere sweet words could stir such emotions. Despite your rational mind attempting to awaken you, the yearning within your being refused to be silenced.

You watched him leave a trail of kisses from your chest to the tummy. "That old man doesn't deserve you." Yeosang sat up straight to tear apart your dress, making you gasp at shock. He cupped your clit and moved up and down, giving a little hard press to make you moan at sudden touch.

"Gosh…" "You're so warm, honey." This was your first time to feel such pleasure. All the heat rushed to your clit and something flowed out, wetting your underwear. Feeling his fingertip went deep into your cunt, you arched your back as he gently caressed it. "It was your first time and I don't want to hurt you. Gotta prepare you well."

Yeosang buried his face between your thighs, sucking your fold slightly. "Yeo…Yeosang!" You arched your back and moaned at pleasure. Even though there was a fabric, you could still feel his tongue every move. The wet muscle shifted from the bottom to the top as he ate you out like a starved man. Gripping his hair lightly, you pulled him closer to your core as you wanted more.

Yeosang pushed your thighs to either side as he got your signal. "Hold it." You obeyed his words and grabbed your calves, feeling a cold touch on your clit followed by a hot, wet sensation as he pulled the hem of your panties aside. His tongue was tapping your fold at a quick pace, making you let out a choppy moan.

But it was not enough. You wanted, no, needed something more exciting.

"Yeosang…" "Be patient, doll. I know what you want but you have to wait." Dropping a kiss on your clit, he sat up straight again and took off all his clothes. You felt worried as you gazed on his big, long cock, not knowing if it fit you. "You can take it, don't worry. Let's adjust it first, okay?"

He guided his member to rub against your clit. Everything was slow and gentle. Each time his hard tip brushed your fold, you couldn't help but pant heavily as the numbness took over you. "How does it feel?" "It…it feels good." Covering your mouth to suppress the moaning, Yeosang rubbed faster and harder that made you wetter.

"Want me to thrust in? Words, honey." Yeosang asked, leaning closer to make a fast friction.

"Yes,yes, please, my lord." You cried. "Oh fuck!!" He plugged in with a smooth motion after finding your entrance, reaching the sensitive spot.

"Ah~yeosang~oh my god~" The alluring moan caused a flush of embarrassment to spread across your cheeks, yet it also further inflamed Yeosang's desire. He folded you up as a mating press, penetrating even deeper. His powerful thrusting resembled an unstoppable force of nature. Every penetration delved as deeply as could be, forcefully meeting your tender flesh. The combination of pain and arousal left you gasping for breath, your exhilaration expressed through high-pitched cries.

You enveloped him in your embrace, drawing him near to feel the warmth of your body against his. With each thrusting, the friction of your bodies created a thrilling sensation, igniting a new level of excitement. His cock nestled so deep in your cunt as if breaking through your limit.

Your nails dug into his back as he battered your sweet spot again and again. The numbness from thrusting made you reel and moan messily. "Gonna fill your pussy with my seed, it must be good." He huffed, trying to catch his breath. "Keep squeezing my cock to make me cum?How thirsty you are." Well, Yeosang totally forgot he was supposed to be elegant, gentle but not rough and dirty. Maybe his possessiveness was stirred up when he saw how that fat pig forced you to bear his child. No, he couldn't accept this.

Yeosang turned you over harshly, making you bounce on the sofa and shout in surprise. Aiming at your hole again, he entered you in one go and fucked you at an inhuman speed. "Fuck!!Fuck!!Fuck!!" He propped himself with both hands on your lower back, hitting your ass with his ball, causing a loud skin slapping filled the temple.

"Oh my god, fuck it." Yeosang's thrusting went faster and faster as if there was no limitation. He needed to cum, to fill your pussy with his hot seed. "Cum for me, Y/N. Let's breed. Carry my child." He drew back his hips until only his tip inside your cunt and bumped into you. As a high-pitched moan left your tongue, you came before the hot liquid creamed your wall.

Yeosang took a moment to catch his breath before thrusting forward twice and then pulling away. "Are you alright?" he asked, turning you around and giving you a gentle kiss on the cheek. "I'm fine," you reassured him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders as he leaned in to kiss you. Despite feeling conflicted, Yeosang couldn't resist the urge to show you care. Normally, he would simply bid farewell to his prey and erase their memories. Hence, they would never know the truth and he could breed again and again.

This time, however, he discovered a desire to cherish your memories, to hold you close by his side. He believed he was never alone, surrounded by those who sought his attention, yet they were never truly his. You, unlike the rest, were forsaken, seen as a mere instrument, left in solitude. Two souls adrift in loneliness made for the most exquisite partnership.

"Stay with me, Y/N." He whispered against your lips, leaving a kiss on it. "But I'm not divorced yet and the engagement…" "It's fine. Everything is fine." He pecked at you again. "What you need to do is just stay here and let me deal with it."

—---

"Where is my wife?!" As Yeosang expected, that oily man came back to the temple with a team of villagers the following morning. He cast a disdainful glance at the door from the corner of his eyes, but his gaze softened as he tenderly caressed your face. "Sleep well, honey." After tucking you in with the quilt, he made his way to the door.

"Everyone can see clearly that he is the one who kidnapped my wife!He is no clergyman, but a mere charlatan! You see, I was injured by him yesterday while trying to save my beloved wife."

Yeosang rolled his eyes, regretting that he forgot to eliminate the man's memories. But never mind, everything would be solved soon and he could go back to cuddle with you.

"Are you done talking nonsense?" Yeosang cut him off with impatience.

"Give me back my wife."

"Who?"

"I said Y/N! I know you are here! Come out you bastard!!" Yeosang immediately saw red as he heard how this disgusting man called you. Waved his hand, and the unknown force knocked everyone away.

"It seems that you have no idea who I am, human." Yeosang gracefully lowered himself to seize the man's chin, compelling him to meet his gaze. His power surpassed that of mere mortals; indeed, he was mightier than any being on Earth. As bones cracked, the man's mouth filled with blood, yet he was unable to expel it.

"How dare you to be impolite in front of a God?" He exerted his power, causing the man's facial muscles to constrict. "If you dare, kill me and take her back. Can you?" He said provocatively, his eyes shining a red, gold light because of anger. And the others dared not to save the man and just ran away.

"See? They leave you." Yeosang twisted the man's neck, resulting in an unintended fracture. "Oops. Gosh." He waved his hand in revulsion, as though he had come into contact with something unsavory.

"Yeosang?" As your voice rang in his ears, he immediately looked up and rushed to your side. "Did I wake you up? Are you tired? Want to sleep more?" You shook your head and nestled yourself in his embrace. "Just…a little bit horny." Smirked, he picked you up and wrapped your legs around his waist.

"Then let me help you, my wife." Oh yes, he forgot, again, this was the aftereffect of having sex with him. Who called him the God of breeding?

[miguel-owhora]

Cult AU but König's always been devoted to you, even at a young age.

Whereas the rest of the children would be picking at the dirt looking for worms or playing with a ball, König would find himself in the library, reading over the Script—the holy book of the cult, like their cursed version of the Bible—and memorizing every word. He looked up to you, their Lord and Savior, the holiest of deities, picking their little community as your main followers.

He wants to become close to you, wants to become your most devoted follower. Instead of choosing to become a hunter or a nurse or a farmer or a cook or a seamstress or a librarian or whatever other role there is, instead of choosing to become a guard, which should've been the most obvious choice for someone like him—already such a big kid, with the potential to become an even bigger and stronger guard—he chooses to become a Disciple, the closest connection they have to you, the ones who work with the Priest to keep the community in line and their devotion strong.

This leads to König becoming an outcast in the community, getting teased and bullied, shunned by his own family who find it embarrassing for someone as big as him to be a disciple. Which is usually an honor, but not when everyone was expecting you to be a guard. But König doesn't care if he's shunned and an outcast, not when he loves devoting all his teenhood and adulthood worshipping you, spending every second that isn't spent on rereading the Script or eating or using the restroom, to worship you. On his hands and knees, kneeling at the Holy Statue within the temple, slipping between German and English in his prayers, hoping for your attention.

It's this hope that becomes a reality when you appear before him, replacing the Holy Statue with your Holy appearance. You're as gorgeous as the Script describes you, perhaps even more, and König nearly passes out from how stunned he is.

You tell him you've been watching over his community for a while, but that he stood out amongst the rest. That you've never experienced such devotion before, and can't help but wonder how far he'll go.

There's no hesitation when König tells you there's no limitation to his devotion. He'll do whatever you want, no matter how cruel or weird it is; he wants to please you, he wants to make you happy.

Which is how König ends up between your thighs, sucking on your dick, and shit, it's fucking huge. You're already bigger than he is, being a God and all, even in your human form. So your cock is bigger than his literal thigh, than his forearm. He struggles to take it into his mouth, but makes it up by literally worshipping it. Kissing your cockhead, along the length, licking it, sucking on your firm balls—it's dirty and nasty, and it goes against everything a disciple isn't supposed to do, but fuck, if his Holiness commands him to do it, König's not one to turn it down.

Eventually, you have König bent over on his arms and knees, ass in the air. His own cock dangles between his legs, dripping at the tip. You stretch him open with your fingers, and it has him squirming and crying out, the first time he's ever done something like this. Eventually, you push your cock in, and König probably passes out, just to come back to consciousness to feel you fucking him.

König's literally crazy so he'd be babbling for more and half-slurred words you can't comprehend. He'd cum so many times before you even give him your first load, and it's only through your powers that you keep him awake and going, up until you cum inside of him. He'd be thanking you through a flushed and teary eyed face, strands of his auburn hair falling in front of his face.

You pull out, uncaring of how your cum streams after his puffy and stretched him. You aren't kind, you aren't nice, not by nature, but you hold off from being cruel and will him back into his original appearance, without the hand bruises on his skin or the cuts making him bleed, less flushed than before. König's disappointed he won't have any gifts from your interaction, hoping to have the cuts scar over, but you soothe him by telling him you'll ask for him soon again.

Despite you cleaning him over, König leaves the temple on trembling legs, with a limp. He avoids everyone's concern and comments, and probably goes back to his little cottage, where he'll probably coo over the cum leaking from his hole, over his puffy hole, eagerly awaiting for your next call.

[matan4il]

Today's the day when we celebrate Jerusalem, our eternal capital, the symbol of Jewish existence no matter where around the world we may live.

Two things I'm thinking of today.

First, I once heard an Ethiopian man recount the story of his family's journey to Israel. Specifically, how hard it was, starting their way by foot across a country torn by civil war back then, with antisemitic thugs lurking about. The man's dad was apprehensive, maybe they shouldn't go on this journey? But the mom was certain. "If I am going to die, I want to die facing Jerusalem." She did pass away before getting to Israel, but thanks to her determination, her son gets to live here. I can't even think of that woman without tearing up and feeling so grateful that I'm privileged to be a part of the same people as her.

Second, this day when I was at the Jerusalem Light Festival, waiting to go into the Cave of King Tzidkiyahu (from which it is believed the stones for the Temple and the Temple Mount Walls were carved). But the amount of people inside is limited for safety reasons, so there was a line to get in. As I stood there, waiting for my turn, I looked up at the upper part of the Jerusalem mountain rock (the cave's opening is found in its base), and saw a pigeon perched inside a naturally formed cleft in the rock. And immediately the words from the Bible, from the Song of Songs, sprang into my mind: "יונתי בחגוי הסלע" (yonati be'chagvei ha'sela, "my dove is in the clefts of the rock") and it suddenly occurred to me that it's very possible the man who first wrote down this sentence, and then wrote it down for posterity, who it's believed was a Jewish king ruling from Jerusalem, was standing right where I was, or somewhere nearby, looking at a sight just like I was. And the fact that I had his words in our language to describe the same kind of natural scene in the city that's holy and historical to us both, despite thousands of years between us, it struck me that THAT is what an indigenous experience, enabled by a land back movement, is all about. That's what Zionism has gives us back. I was and forever will be so grateful for that moment.

So to Jerusalem, most beautiful of cities, the beating heart of the world to me as a Jew, may we always celebrate what you were always meant to represent - our identity, as well as the peaceful existence of all humankind (as it's believed your name comes from the Hebrew words for "city of peace," ירושלים - עיר שלום).

For this occasion, here's an incomplete list of some of my fave songs about or mentioning Jerusalem that I know.

"And if you're gonna bring salvation, and if you're gonna bring peace, then bring it today."

"Jerusalem, Jerusalem, city of my dreams..."

Jerusalem - Matisyahu ('coz apparently I'm not allowed to celebrate Jerusalem with more than 10 embedded vids, thanks Tumblr)

Sissu et Yerushalayim (Rejoice in Jerusalem)

Love you, my city. So blessed I get to live my life in you. I'm remembering that today more than ever.

[bumblingbabooshka]

I know the most common fanon for Tuvok post Voyager is that he's mostly fine and one of more stable ones but I personally think it'd be funny if he cracked like a goddamn egg and went off the deep end for a few years before finding his way back to semi-normalcy. Janeway's like "Where's Tuvok?" and the answer is that he quit Starfleet, joined a temple, left the temple in the middle of the night to go wander around the desert, almost died but was taken in by a kindly old woman, lived with her for two months before she died, left the desert hut to alert her family and upon completing that task hopped on the first freighter off Vulcan, got stranded on a deserted asteroid after being the sole survivor of the crash, was rescued, mind melded with an alien who can see the future but died in the process and can't remember anything about it except for the vague feeling that he spoke with Kes, was brought back to life by Chakotay who told him that Janeway was looking for him [at which point he pointed out that Chakotay is also not in contact with Janeway and then ran away again], returned to Vulcan but only to find and climb to the top of a holy mountain which took several months and upon reaching the top he feels a sense of enlightenment which permeates his familial bonds as the first sign in almost a year that he's alive at all. Upon finishing his climb down the mountain he stays in a nearby village and serves in their temple for several more months until it's attacked by aliens because of some artifact hidden deep within the temple walls and he puts his tactical strategy to good use, fending off the attack. Harry Kim [with Starfleet] appears and is like "You need to go home, man. People think you're dead." Then he goes home and joins Starfleet again and he's literally only allowed back in because of Janeway and Janeway accepts him out of her love for her crew and also because she's kind of worried that he'll join an ice fishing expedition or cult if she doesn't. This only adds to the lore of Voyager as a cursed ship and her Crew as all-in-the-family maniacs.

[dualdeixis]

[Image description: A poem titled "רַבִּי / رَبِّي" written Friday, November 17, 2023: Rabbī, I cannot praise your deeds. / Rabbī, no weeping moves you. / Rabbī, your justice is wedded to perversion. / Rabbī, your love looks much like your hatred. / Rabbī, the patriarchs have been gilt as idols. / Rabbī, the Temple has been built into a prison. / Rabbī, mixed multitudes have been spat on. / Rabbī, all oneness has been sported with. / Rabbī, ministering angels have been consigned to wailing. / Rabbī, nameless infants have been fed the world’s silence. / Rabbī, your reddened sea has been exiled from shore. / Rabbī, your holy city has been split in two. / But by whom? / Rabbī, shall I say “them” or “us”? / Rabbī, which people is solely yours? / Rabbī, what image is divine alone? / Rabbī, when comes the Hour of Unlocking? / Rabbī, where hides the Place of Its Glory? / Rabbī, why? Answer now. Answer. End image description.]

note 1: as the title implies, "rabbī" may be read as the hebrew word for "a jewish cleric" or the arabic word for "my l_rd" (i.e., g_d).

note 2: this poem is written from an anti-zionist jewish perspective. therefore the question "by whom? / shall i say 'them' or 'us'?" is not meant to dispute palestine as the oppressed party. rather, it is meant to be taken extremely literally, because it is situated in my individual experience: should i—a muslim in the process of converting to judaism, who has been estranged from jewish community and had my conversion delayed because of zionism; who has no personal ties to israel but is nevertheless complicit in its genocidal actions by nature of living in the warmongering USA which uses my household's tax dollars to fund it; who believes that "all israel are responsible for one another" (shevuot 39a)—refer to the oppressors as "them" or "us"?

ways to help palestine:

decolonize palestine (patreon)

samidoun (calendar of worldwide protests)

palestine action

palestine legal

bds movement

e-sims for gaza

more resources

ways to help congo:

list of donations

boycott & donate

ways to help sudan:

list of donations

fundraiser for a refugee family

action against hunger

ways to help armenia:

all for armenia

armenian food bank

artsakh housing fund

armenian assembly of america action center

ways to help other indigenous peoples around you:

learn about whose land you may be living on

[lacybunie]

adieu, mon dieu!

“forgive me, father, for i have committed the biggest sin of all!”

pairing: afab!reader x re4r!leon

warnings: smut, virginity loss, blasphemy, dub-con, inexperienced/pure reader, religious reader, manipulation, cum eating, creampie, pussy slapping, pet names, breeding kink, slight choking, crying during sex, age gap mention (reader is 19 while leon is 27), fingering, porn with plot (?), bit of ooc leon

note: first time writing hence why it’s so long :3 also wrote this based on leon saying “i’ll give you a holy body” in re4r bc nobody freaks out over it like i do

“holy mary, mother of god, pray for us sinners.” the prayer is muscle memory. a smile adorns your face as you walk out of sunday mass with your family. oh how you cherish the time spent in god’s temple. you would not have it any other way. this small, quiet town in washington homes jesus freaks like yourself. where every summer, all children through teens spend their time at church camp. cross necklaces or rosaries are worn around the necks of bypassers and neighbors. you feel as though you are blessed with such a life.

so when leon appears in your life, you think you’re the most blessed girl alive. as the two of you go steady, he starts attending church with you and listens to the word of the lord with you in his black jeep. he listens to your prayers and readings of the bible. leon couldn’t be anymore perfect. “our heavenly father has blessed me with a man who loves me.” pink hues flush your cheeks as you smile giddishly during confession. “do not let temptation fool you.” the priest on the other side taunts, almost as if it’s a warning.

the people of the church disagree with the relationship you have with leon, the eight year gap between you two. more so, they dislike leon. they tell you he is not a man of the lord, he is a walking sin. they share their stories of glancing at him during mass and how he’s appearing to hold back laughter, how he doesn’t actually consume the blood and body of christ, how his eyes are filled with something evil. you choose to not believe them as they don’t know leon as you do. “he is nothing like that, sister olivia.” you defend during sunday lunch, biting your tongue. “you have found the devil in a lover.” sister olivia spews with disgust.

her words are a distraction during your date, echoing and bleeding into the grooves of your brain. “sweetheart?” leon calls as he catches your zoned out state. your eyes connect with his, you break yourself out of thought. “i’m sorry, i was just lost in thought.” you apologize, gleaming with a shy smile. the warmth of leon’s hand engulfs yours across the table, the cold silver of your ring turning hot. “i was asking if you would want to go back to my place after this?” leon repeats what you had muffled seconds ago.

“i’ll have to ask my dad first.” you embarrassingly respond as pinks heat your cheeks. there’s limited privacy with leon, daytime stays at his home with an hour max limit and once every two weeks only. your father implemented this as a way to keep a better peace of mind. “c’mon sweetheart, what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.” leon persuades with sugar on his tongue. the veil of orange from the candles illuminating the table is covering his face, you might just burst from the ethereal beauty he holds. he’s saying something color-coded yet it’s muffled as the tidal wave of his eyes are drowning you. “okay.” you mindlessly respond, leon faintly smirks.

the little skirt you wear is almost halfway off while you and leon makeout on his couch, something you shamelessly leave out during confessions. you keep your hands on his broad shoulders while he dangerously lingers his hands at your hips and thighs. you think you’re seeping through your panties as you feel a wet patch forming, making you feel bothered. “i feel weird.” you pant between a kiss, lungs aflame from the little oxygen you grant yourself. leon pulls away with furrowing eyebrows, “did i do something wrong?”

yet you’re struggling to understand what IS wrong. why do you feel so…wet down there? maybe you started your period but you realize it ended a week ago. leon’s eyes are burning into your skin, the gaze causing you to feel mortified. how can you tell him this? what if he thinks you’re weird? his girlfriend is wetting herself like a damn fool for no reason. “what is it?” that soft tone of his makes you feel even worse. embarrassment is starting to creep itself into the flesh of your body.

“i feel wet.” you say it so clearly and slowly as if you’re dumbing it down for yourself. you don’t know why you feel like this and you don’t know why it’s happening. leon smiles at the frustration you show, clearly not thinking of your situation weirdly. “that’s a good thing, doll.” he coos while holding your hands. head tilting and ditzy eyes searching for an answer, you are clueless by how this is a good thing. “what do you mean, leon?” “you’re turned on, that’s what i mean.” the blood pumping into your heart turns cold at the realization of what you have let yourself done. one of the deadliest sins of all: lust

how can you let yourself get carried away and almost give into something sacred? something you promised to your heavenly father that you will wait till marriage to do? you clutch the rosary wrapped around your neck, “please forgive me. i’m sorry, leon.” you think leon must be feeling the same way too, realizing you both almost gave into sin. oh how awful he must feel, to almost have betrayed the lord and gave into temptation. leon searches your face in hopes to find something you’re not sure of. “why are you apologizing?” he questions, hands no longer embracing your own.

“for getting you caught up in almost sinning.” “it’s not a bad thing to be turned on.” his voice is laced with something unfamiliar, a tone you’re not even aware of. “but it can lead to having sex and we’re not-” “there’s nothing bad about having sex either.” leon interrupts with annoyance. you can’t fathom how he thinks premature sex is not bad, he’s read the bible with you countless times. the purity ring wrapped around your finger symbolizes the commitment you vowed to and he’s reminded every time he holds your hand. “we can’t have sex, leon. you know that.”

“do you not love me?” leon is frowning at you, taking you aback with his words. “i love you, leon. of course i do.” you profusely confess as you get closer to him. the weight of your chest growing heavy while he shakes his head. “you’re supposed to have sex with the one you love right? then why don’t you? if you love me enough, then it’s not sin.” leon preaches with eyes glimmering with something indescribable. “we won’t have sex, we’ll be making love. that’s different. the lord doesn’t view it as sin.”

different strokes of blue are piercing into your soul, almost like his eyes are trapping you. your mind is foggy as you try to think of something to say. “i don’t think...” you trail off with unsure certainty, but what you want to actually say becomes lost in thought as leon’s cherry-bruised lips pull apart in a smile. you think he’s right, it’s something you probably skimmed over. cold hands caress your bare thighs, leon’s lips kiss the skin below your jaw. “you know i’m right, doll.” he mutters while his teeth lightly nip your skin, you grow hot. “i would never lie to such a pretty angel.”

“i’ll make you feel so good.” leon promises with his hands scrunching up your skirt. the sudden action causing your heart to burst within itself. your dry mouth defeats the words wanting to escape, to tell him to not touch there. you’re also battling the urge to let yourself do so as his hands grasp your inner thigh, sending a rush throughout your body. doe eyes noticing the way leon is looking at you as if you’re a sheep, tethered in his sharp teeth, bracing to become a meal.

two fingers rub you over your panties, the new feeling quickly has you inhale sharply. butterflies flutter around in your abdomen. leon hums as his fingers gather your essence that is leaking through the fabric. “there you are, pretty.” leon lays you further down on the couch. his lips kiss you again roughly and you grip at his bicep as his hands quickly discard your skirt. leon impatiently pulls away from your lips to look at the newly found view, lilac panties adorned with a baby blue ribbon. leon’s favorite color.

the wetness from earlier feels as if it’s completely soaking the fabric. you feel utterly exposed like this, so vulnerable in front of leon. “you’re so fucking sexy.” he sighs out once he finally removes the one thing keeping him away from your forbidden fruit. “please leon.” you’re unsure if you’re begging or pleading. the temperature of your body is uncomfortably hot and you’re sure it’s because your soul is already spiraling down to hell. you want to stop leon from inserting his finger into your sopping cunt, but of course you don’t.

“have you ever touched yourself, doll?” leon asks, while fingering you agonizingly slow. you crave for more, not exactly sure of what. you need more of him. you’re heaving at this point, staring into leon’s eyes as he watches you unfold before him, a flower blooming almost too late. “i’m not supposed to.” you choke out the answer while he begins to messily rub your clit. the smirk resting on leon’s lips is haunting you, why does he always look so desirable with that stupid smirk?

“says who? your god?” leon pushes a second finger into your sopping hole, an uncomfortable stretch soon followed by an indescribable pleasure. the erotic sounds of your cunt being touched for the first time reach your hot pink ears. leon curls his fingers against your spongey walls causing you to squirm. the imaginary coil in your lower stomach feels like it’s on the brink of snapping.

“yes.” you moan while he lightly slaps your cunt. “what kind of god deprives his children of a pleasure such as this? don’t you feel good, angel? i know your pussy sure does.” leon smiles at your reaction for his choice of words, you forget how blunt he tends to be. “d-don’t say that.” “your god can’t be all that great if he won’t even let me feel how your pussy squeezes around my fingers.” the blasphemy hits you like a gunshot only temporarily, the pleasure you’re receiving rids it right away.

you’re shaking your head but you don’t know if it’s from the frustration of leon speaking against the lord or if you’re about to reach sweet relief. “leon.” you hiccup, the pleasure becoming too much and your mind is turning into mush. a tight grip on leon’s bicep has him chuckling, looking down at you so pathetically. “you look so fucking stupid. go ahead and cum for me, pretty.” he grants while your cunt is squeezing so tightly around his digits.

back arching off the couch along with the most pornographic moan to ever come out of your chest, the coil snaps. waves of ecstasy crashes within your body, releasing out of your sopping hole. your thighs are shaking to snap close but leon doesn’t let it happen as he gathers your essence up with his fingers. “god, you’re just so fucking perfect.” leon grunts before sticking his own fingers in his mouth, the honey he has been craving falls onto his tongue. you feel yourself get dizzy at the sight.

leon reaches down to give you a messy kiss, tasting your cum on his tongue. “wanna fuck you.” he moans into your mouth, his jeans rub against your cunt and you’re sure your cum smeared onto the denim. you want to stop right here, you want to run straight to church and plead for your life in the confessional booth. however, when leon pulls away to strip off his pants and his fat, long cock hits his abdomen, you feel that indescribable want grow stronger.

your breathing becomes heavy as leon rubs the tip of his cock at your entrance. his cock looks too big for you, fearing he’ll split you open. the taste of bitter metallic hits your tongue and you realize you’re biting your bottom lip too hard. “i’m so lucky.” leon grunts, dragging his thumb across your bleeding lip. “get to be the first to fuck this virgin pussy.” he barely pushes the tip into your tight cunt when you start crying. the pain of slight tearing mixed with the eternal damnation you’re going to face is cutting at your skin. “please.” your vision is blurry through the tears when leon pushes his cock fully into you, you can hear him let out a deep groan.

the way leon’s cock feels inside of you makes you feel so full. the pain of being ripped open for the first time is soon subsided by a mind clouded with desire, yet you’re still crying. leon moves in and out slowly but roughly, hitting a spot within you just right. you moan wearily, salty tears trickling down into your agape mouth. when leon begins to thrust a bit more hard, you’re sobbing out loud moans. leon presses his hand against your throat, “so fucking loud.” he’s snapping his hips into you, his cock bruising the inside of your cunt so sweetly that you feel the coil about to snap again.

“need to shut that mouth of yours next time.” leon grunts, looking at you in a haze. he squeezes your throat as if to test the waters and you choke out a needy moan, your cunt almost suffocating his cock at the action. “such a nasty girl.” leon smirks while picking up the pace of the abuse on your cunt. baby pink nails are scratching at leon’s biceps. you slur out an apology, clearly not in the right headspace to realize that leon is toying with the rosary tangled in your neck. “oh my-” you cut yourself off when leon’s cock repeatedly hits against a spot so sweet, the coil in your stomach feels like it’s tightening.

“say it.” leon taunts. his hand reaches down to messily rub at your clit once more, your eyes flutter shut. you know what he wants and you don’t think you can push yourself further into damnation by saying the lord’s name in vain. “c’mon, doll. tell your god how my cock is making you feel.” leon tightly wraps his fingers around the dainty rosary, you’re pleading at him through your eyes, mouth too occupied by the moans you let out. “leon please.” you cry out, you’re not sure if you’re begging him to stop the blasphemy or to make you cum.

leon soon loses himself in your cunt, grasping at your hips to drill his cock deeper in you. the stars in your eyes are getting brighter, you’re almost there. dirty blonde hair covers leon’s eyes, relieving yourself of the gaze he had on you. “gonna fucking breed you.” leon laps at your neck, biting at your soft skin as if it’s the bread he eats at church. “you want that? want me to fill you up?” you moan out a incoherent yes, too fucked out to understand what he’s even saying. leon captures your lips in a heated kiss, tongues relentlessly clash against each other.

leon’s cock hits that sweet spot one final time before the coil within you finally snaps. “oh my god, leon!” you moan so loudly, throat becoming faintly sore. your body is shaking at the ecstasy that’s somehow stronger than before, nails clawing at leon’s back that you feel like you may draw blood. “there you go, angel.” leon’s words are drowned out by pure euphoria. you feel the warm essence escape out of your cunt but it’s soon mixed with another hot feeling, leon’s own cum. he desperately shoves his cock into you to rid himself of every last drop. you look down to where you two are connected, the lewd sight brings you back down to earth.

if anyone were to rip open your chest to view the way your heart is pounding, almost punching itself out, they’d think you murdered a man. the burden of betrayal is sitting heavy on your shoulders, all the prayers in the world couldn’t save you now. when you look at leon, who is taking in the sight of his cum dripping out of your cunt, the thought begins to become a crimson haze. a string of pearl beads clutched in leon’s fist catches your eye, you look up at him. a blue hue meet yours, the once bright shade now dark. leon lets out a daunting chuckle, “won’t be needing that anymore.”

sprawled out on his palm is a broken chain along with a few pearls and a tiny cross. leon ripped off your rosary.

[mattluvr]

dad!matt, a concept.

best read in dark mode ⏾

🧸 part i — the pregnancy. . .

ᡣ𐭩 when you and your boyfriend of two years find out you’re pregnant, you’re both scared, naturally; young and only freshly moved into your first apartment together, this big step in life is not one you’re prepared to take.

but, when matt cradles your stomach from the second he saw that lethal second line on the pregnancy test, soft eyebrows and tears pricking his waterline, you start to consider the possibility of raising a kid with him. maybe he’ll be a good father, nurturing your child with his whole heart. it’s only something you can picture, but at the image, something within you lights up with sunshine. so you decide to keep the baby.

you want this with matt; in fact, as you share happy tears with the boy pressing you into his chest in a hug, you realise that you don’t think you’d want to do it with anybody else.

ᡣ𐭩 you announce it to your family first, more accepting than you thought about the situation, and your mom, despite her strict parenting style growing up and her imprinted frown lines across her forehead, even pulls you aside to tell you that you have her full support and availability if anything was to go wrong. which makes you cry. obviously; you’re fucking pregnant.

matt’s family are also just as accepting, but that’s no surprise; his parents have always loved you, certain that you’re made for each other, and his triplet brothers are simply pumped to be uncles. especially nick, who, ever the sensitive person, bursts into tears at the announcement.

chris elbows him in the side. “you big crybaby. this is meant to be something to celebrate.”

“i am happy. just have dust in my eye, that’s all.” nick shoots back, and you giggle. you can’t wait for the fun uncle this pregnancy is going to bring out in both brothers.

ᡣ𐭩 the first few weeks are rocky, the toilet bowl your best friend as morning sickness lines your stomach. but, with matt’s constant presence by your side, a reassuring hand pressed into the small of your back, it feels manageable. his lips, softer than you ever remember are forever attached to yours, whispering praise into your mouth. you swear the love for your boyfriend has doubled since you fell pregnant with his baby.

then, suddenly, it’s your first scan, and the sonogram has made you cry for the umpteenth time in the past week. the picture is a simple white blob against a black background, but it’s still the prettiest you’ve ever seen. you want to hang it up on every wall in your apartment, tattoo it on your heart. it suddenly feels overwhelmingly real, but still manageable. after all, matt is clasping your hand by your side, silently sobbing.

“it’s tiny.” he whispers, pointing to what is the assumed baby’s head.

you smile, squeezing his hand as you meet his watery gaze. “it’s ours.”

and the love triples.

ᡣ𐭩 you find out the gender at the next scan, and decide to surprise matt with one of those cake reveals you’ve been seeing all over your tiktok. it’s just you and him in the house, an all white, three tiered cake sat between you on the kitchen counter. matt’s nervous, his hands shaking as he moves to cut a slice out, but you’re over the moon. you can already anticipate his excitement over the pink inside.

although it is orange when matt pulls the slice out, and you both look at one another, bursting out laughing. “it’s meant to be pink.” you say with a smile, and matt nods, pulling you into his side.

“yeah i gathered.” then it sinks in for the boy, his eyes widening. “holy shit. we’re having a baby girl.”

you laugh and then cry. it’s all you seem to be able to do recently. “we’re having a fucking girl.”

and as you sob even harder, matt kisses your temple in a soothing manner, smiling. “you’re gonna be the best mom ever, baby.”

ᡣ𐭩 the morning sickness wears off after your first trimester, but brings with it bouts of tiredness and a showing bump. the latter you don’t mind in the slightest, even convincing matt to do a soft launch of the pregnancy on your instagram story. the feedback on the mirror selfie, matt positioned behind you, arms gently caressing your bump, is insane, and suddenly you find yourself in one of the car videos he films for his youtube, talking about the pregnancy to the camera on the dashboard.

“HOW BIG?!” nick is shouting, shocked when you tell him you have to be dilated the size of a ben and jerry’s ice cream tub lid before you can push your daughter out.

“10 centimetres, nick. i might die.”

“oh my god, don’t say that.” matt suddenly looks worried, reaching back to grab your hand. “i’ll have a panic attack.”

you roll your eyes and squeeze his hand, your special way of grounding him. “i’ll try and not die for you, babe.”

“‘preciate it.”

chris interrupts, brow furrowed. “but you’re gonna have painkillers whilst you do it, right? so it shouldn’t hurt that much…”

“actually, i want to try and do it without any medication. completely natural.”

all three boys look shocked. “WHAT?!”

ᡣ𐭩 your second trimester is uneventful, and your bump is growing bigger by the day. by the time you’re 30 weeks along, you’re sick and tired, wanting nothing more than the baby to just free itself. matt is working harder than ever, on his brand and with his brothers on his youtube channel, and there are days where you don’t see him until the late evening, when you’re so wiped out you can barely keep your eyes open for more than 20 seconds.

so, to make it up to you, matt comes home every night with a new piece of clothing for your daughter. the other night was one of your favourites, the eeyore fleece he’d found in the thrift so small and so adorable that you bolted wide awake and insisted on putting it in the nursery.

you’d already painted and built the furniture for the baby’s room, completed a few weeks back, so now it was simply the case of organising everything into closets and mounting pictures onto walls, including that first ultrasound.

ᡣ𐭩 at 35 weeks, you feel a pain like you’re never felt before, excruciating, and you’re sure your in labour. matt rushes to get the remnants of your hospital bag ready, panicking when you double over in the kitchen, hand against the counter to steady yourself.

the car ride there is scarier than the prospect of you having your baby earlier than planned, however, matt screeching round the corners and getting at least 3 tickets for speeding just to make sure that you get to the hospital in time.

for nothing, by the way. the labour is false, your baby just moving her head so that its downwards. which is a good thing, you know, but you’re not quite sure the pain was worth it. matt faces the consequences of two fines, and you’re back home within five hours, deciding to pack your hospital bag.

who knows when you might go into actual labour?

ᡣ𐭩 but, four weeks later, you’re still fucking pregnant. you’re due in exactly 7 days, and now you’re just restless, all your clothes too small and every sensation overwhelming. even matt burrowing his face into your neck when watching a movie, as he always does, sets you on edge, and you push him away, frowning.

“i’m too warm for cuddles, matt.”

“oh, sorry.” matt throws you an apologetic smile, and scoots closer. he rubs your belly, which always calms you down, moving his hands down to lift your bump up, bringing you instant relief.

“fuck, that feels really good. thank you.”

“anything for my girl.” matt mumbles, and presses a kiss to your neck. you suddenly don’t detest his closeness anymore.

ᡣ𐭩 one week later, on october 22nd, at exactly 6am in the morning, you feel a gush of liquid between your legs and sit bolt upright in bed. your waters have just broken; you’re having the fucking baby.

( author’s note. . . omfg i forgot to tag oops)

this is for my babygirls @mattslolita, @middlepartmatt and @chrissturniolossidehoe 😛🔥

[fyodior]

PRETTY, PRETTY, PRETTY

♥︎ pairing: odasaku x pregnant afab reader

♥︎ cw: breeding/pregnancy kink, body worship, creampie, lots of pet names (pretty girl, darling, sweetheart), vaginal sex via spooning, fingering, squirting. 18+ only, minors DNI !!

♥︎ notes: breedtober fic 2! why can i never keep things just short blurbs. love u all

♥︎ wc: 1.7k

want more of breedtober?

Oda already loved to worship your body. He swore he’d never seen someone as breathtakingly beautiful as you, and knew for a fact he never would. But now that you were pregnant? Holy shit. He could stare at you all day long and still not get enough.

The way your body had softened around the edges, your plush hips and how they had widened to accommodate for the baby, your steadily growing belly, your swollen tits. It’s a cliche, but you truly had that pregnancy glow - and Oda was entranced. Your body was a holy temple, at the feet of which he’d worship every day.

Already late enough into your pregnancy, you had decided to take maternity leave - or rather, Oda very much pushed you to - so you could stay rested and safe before your due date. But with Oda still working full time, it meant you got pretty damn bored. 

It struck Oda as strange when he walked through the door one evening, work bag slung over his shoulder, and didn’t see you on the couch waiting for him like you normally did. You had recently developed a hyperfixation on crocheting, especially plushies and blankets for the baby, yet all of the supplies had been abandoned on the kitchen table. He didn’t think too much of it though, just figured maybe you had gone to the bedroom to take a nap or call your friends or family. 

What Oda was not expecting, was what he actually opened the bedroom door to. 

Back propped up against an army of pillows, you laid completely naked on your shared bed with your legs spread wide, tears slipping down your cheeks as your hefty baby bump kept you from being able to touch yourself. Slick dripped down your thighs and your clit was swollen from how neglected and needy it was, but you just couldn’t reach. Oda's face fell and he rushed to sit by you on the bed.

“Oh, honey, what’s wrong?” he cooed, leaning in to wipe away the tears that continued to flow. He simply felt terrible - not only because you were struggling, but for how much this turned him on.

“Was so horny but you were gone, and now I can’t reach around my bump anymore,” you cried, leaning into the comforting touch of your lover. “I tried… a pillow for a bit but it was too tiring, and 'm too sensitive for the vibrator.” a deep frown had settled onto your face as you explained, burning with humiliation.

“Sweetheart,” your lover frowned, hand resting on the taut skin of your tummy as he tried to ignore the way your words made his cock twitch. Feather light fingertips traced along the stretch marks that adorned your hips, lips turning up into a gentle smile. “You’re beautiful, you know that?”

“Shut up,” you mumbled, though you didn’t really mean it - and Oda knows that. 

He moved to position himself between your legs, hands still resting on your stomach. “Can I help you out, baby? Show you just how beautiful I think you are? Hm?”

God, Oda always knew just what to say. Bottom lip tucked between your teeth, you nodded shyly. “Would you?” you normally weren’t this bashful, but there was just something about him and his presence that made you feel so giddy and… overwhelmed, almost.

“Nothing I'd rather do more, sweetheart,” he smiled. 

He didn’t waste any time either. Gently pressing his hands on your thighs, he spread them out further, marveling at your pussy that was now on full display. Pregnancy hormones had caused the tissues to swell slightly, your lips and clit puffy. 

“You’re fucking beautiful, baby,” he smirked, tracing the slit with his middle finger. Painfully desperate for stimulation, you were already whining. “Need more?”

You nodded frantically. More than happy to oblige, Oda's finger trailed up to play ever so lightly with your clit.

“Right there, right fucking there,” you gasped, keening. the one spot you’d been trying to reach for what felt like hours.

“I know, pretty, I know,” Oda soothed, continuing to rub slow but consistent circles around the hyper sensitive spot. 

Your toes curled and head fell back against the pillows as you got the stimulation you had needed so badly, but Oda was starting to get excited too - the growing hard-on in his pants undeniable proof of it. He’d love to lean in and kiss you, but the round dome of your belly acted as a barrier, so he opted to kiss the skin of it instead.

“So, so pretty,” he mumbled, deciding to slip one finger into your hole - it accepted it easily as you gasped. And you were more than slick and needy enough to welcome a second. His thumb remained on your clit, massaging it as he slowly but thoroughly fucked you with his fingers, occasionally scissoring them to stretch you out. The bulge in his pants only grew as more and more of your essence dripped down his fingers.

“Oda,” you whined, shifting your hips and clenching around his fingers. 

“Feel good?” he prompted as if he didn’t already know the answer. A slight smirk played on his lips as you only mewled and nodded.

In the beginning you had only just wanted to get off, rub your clit just enough for an orgasm or two to quell the aching desire in you, but now that your lover was present and helping you out, you couldn’t help but get greedy. Not when he looked like that, and was doing that. 

“Want more,” you whined, reaching to grip his arm.

“Yeah?” he was fully smirking now. “My pretty, pretty girl wants to be fucked with more than just some fingers?” Oda had never talked this dirty - not until he met you. Your slight nod was all he needed. 

Carefully helping you onto your side, Oda shimmied off his pants and boxers before slotting himself behind you, kissing up your back and shoulders. Spooning wasn’t his favorite position as he couldn’t see you too well, but it was what was most comfortable for you this late in your pregnancy. Even still, he was entranced by you. 

Only a few tugs to his heavy cock was enough before he was ready to give you what you wanted, the head prodding at your hole before slipping inside your needy cunt. Oda grunted as you nearly squealed, fascinated with how easily and quickly he completely bottomed out. Your poor cunt, how long had it been painfully desperate to be filled? 

A large, callused hand comes to rest on the underside of your belly, holding you close to him as he whispered sweet encouraging words into your ear. 

“My beautiful, perfect girl,” he mused, “so gorgeous carrying my baby. Everyone can see that you’re mine.”

It drove Oda absolutely mad every single day to see you waddling down the hallway or struggling to button yet another pair of pants in the morning - proof of your body growing his child. The baby he put in there. And when you walked down the street together, his hand on your lower back, everyone knew that you were his, and what he had done to you. What you had done together. 

His mind was absolutely reeling as he began to slowly thrust in and out of you, hand trailing down from your belly back to your clit.

“Oda!” you squealed, hips bucking towards the touch and clumsily throwing your head back against him. Only a soft chuckle left his lips as he continued to touch you and build up a faster pace. 

But now Oda was starting to get a little desperate too. Being gentle, he grabbed your leg by the underside of your knee and hoisted it up to give him better access, allowing for him to thrust a little harder and faster into you. The way he fucked you good and deep had you gasping for air, your hands flailing behind you to try and find him and grab onto him. His thick cock always stretched you out deliciously and hit all the right spots, and with the new angle he was managing to rub against your sweet spot with every single thrust.

“How you feelin’, pretty?” he asked. “The baby okay?”

You nodded fervently, digging your fingers into his arm. “S-so good,” you stuttered, breathless. “Baby’s okay, she’s fine, just- faster, please!” And how could he deny you when you were begging like that?

Hoisting your leg up even higher, Oda fucked into you with purpose. A mix of slick and precum drooled down your thighs and soaked the sheets underneath, the lewd, wet sounds echoing through the bedroom. You moaned and squeezed your sore tits that had swollen considerably since getting pregnant, but also had become much more sensitive. Massaging the soft fat only added to the ecstasy.

The way you were clenching tightly and creaming all over his cock had Oda’s mind short circuiting, and he could feel his high approaching faster and faster.

“Can you come for me, sweetheart?” he cooed, breathing heavily but nibbling lightly on your neck. 

“Please,” you whined.

Angling his hips just right, Oda used the grip he had on you to pull you towards him in tandem with his thrusts, hitting your spot over and over while the tip of his cock kissed your cervix. 

“G-gonna-” You couldn’t even get the words out before moaning loudly and squirting all over Oda. 

He continued to fuck you through your high, chasing his own - with the mess you just made all over him, it wasn’t long at all. 

“Want me to cum in you, pretty? Put another baby in you, yeah?” he panted. 

“Want you- want all your babies, Oda!” you cried out, hissing from overstimulation as he continued to fuck into your sensitive pussy. His hips stuttered before shooting a thick, warm load into you, grunting and groaning as his spent cock spit out the last of it. 

Setting your leg down gently and pulling out, you whined at the sudden emptiness and the way his hot cum oozed out of your hole. Sweet kisses were peppered all over your back and your cheek as Oda pulled you close to his chest, palm spreading out across your baby bump. 

“Can’t wait to give you all my babies, pretty girl,” he smiled, making you giggle softly. “At this rate, gonna keep you pregnant forever.”

And honestly, in your fucked out haze, and with the way he always worshipped you, that didn’t sound too bad.

[galedekarios]

waterdeep's festivities & celebrations

(credit: midnightfriday)

in contrast to baldur's gate, which has few festivals and gatherings, waterdeep in contrast has a great variety of them, prompting volo to write the following about waterdeep in his chapbook about the city:

"At many times of year, hardly a tenday can pass in Waterdeep without the staging of some rite, race, or rousing ceremony of civic pride." (from: Volo's Waterdeep Enchiridion)

in this post, i want to give an overview of these holidays and festivals. some of them are mentioned in the game, like fleetswake in a banter between gale, lae'zel and wyll, but most of them are not. they give an interesting insight in the city, its history and its people.

the most used calendar in faerûn is the calendar of harptos. it's pictured above to give you an overview of how the months and seasons work in faerûn.

The days making up a tenday did not have formal names. If precision was required, the number of the day and the number of the tenday were used, as in, "the fourth day of the first tenday of Flamerule". Days of the month were typically written as the numerical date followed by the month name, for example, "15 Hammer" or "15th Hammer". Informally or poetically this could be spoken or written as "the 15th of Deepwinter". [x]

the names of the months in faerûn are:

hammer (deepwinter)

alturiak (the claw of winter, the claw of cold)

ches (the claw of sunsets)

tarsakh (the claw of storms)

mirtul (the melting)

kythorn (the time of flowers)

flamerule (summertide)

eleasis (highsun)

eleint (the fading)

marpenoth (leaffall)

uktar (the rotting)

nightal (the drawing down)

hammer 1: wintershield

Marking the start of the new year, this observance is a widely recognized day off work, when folk sip warmed ciders and broths (often laced with herbs for health and to bring on visions) and stay inside. They tell tales of what interested them or was important in the year just done, and discuss what they intend to do or should deal with — or things that everyone “should keep a hawk’s clear eye on” — in the year ahead. Such talk inevitably leads to discussions of politics, wars, and the intentions of rulers. Maps are usually consulted, and it’s widely considered lucky to possess and examine a map on Wintershield. Map sales are brisk in the tenday preceding this holiday.

alturiak 14: the grand revel

Led by the clergy of Sune, Sharess, and Lliira, the Grand Revel is a day of dancing, music, and the consumption of sweet treats of all kinds, from chocolate to red firemint candies. Although some of the dancing is wanton and performed for show, large-scale ring dances in the street for all ages are also popular. All the dancing ends at dusk, after which bards and minstrels perform at “love feasts” for families. Couples — or those desiring to become couples — slip away together to kiss, exchange promises, and trade small tokens of affection (often rings blessed by clergy with prayers of faithfulness). Even if you have no paramour, indulge a little in the dance and food of this fine tradition. The night might be cold, but your heart will be warmed.

we learn in the game about sharess, we hear a bit about sune, the goddess of beauty and her temple of beauty in waterdeep in a banter between gale and shadowheart, but lliira is mentioned only in passing: llira is a minor goddess in the faerûnian pantheon. she's called the joybringer and is the embodiment of freedom and happiness, inspiring many poets and musicians. gale does mention her in game - or at least the llirian suites that his piano is enchanted to play.

ches 1: rhyestertide

This holiday is named in honor of Lathander’s first prophet, Rhyester, a young blind boy who was cured of that blindness by the dawn’s light on this day more than seven centuries ago. That holy event occurred in the vicinity of Silverymoon, but Lathander has long had a much larger temple in Waterdeep, and a following to match. Each of the faithful dons bright garb of sunrise hues and keeps one eye covered until the next dawn in honor of Rhyester. If you want to feel like a local, catch the eye of any celebrant you see and wink. Fine friendships have grown from far less.

ches 19: fey day

The veil between this world and the faerie realm of the Feywild is thought to be weak on this day. Though this phenomenon provokes caution in rural areas (with folk avoiding woodlands, putting offerings of food on doorsteps, and the like), it is an occasion of much drinking, singing, and dancing in Waterdeep. The wealthy host elaborate masked balls, while poorer folk don costumes of their own make and travel door to door, gaining brief entry into the celebrations in exchange for performing a song or a short play. All adopt the guises of fey beings and the supposed rulers of the Feywild, such as Queen Titania, Oberon, and Hyrsam, the Prince of Fools. Those inclined to remain sullen in the face of such frivolity had best stay home, for celebrants do their utmost to evoke a smile from those they meet.

chest 21 - 30: fleetswake

This festival celebrates the sea, maritime trade, and the gods of the sea, navigation, and weather. It spans the last tenday of Ches, and includes a series of boat races, the Shipwrights’ Ball at the Shipwrights’ House, and guild-sponsored galas at the Copper Cup festhall. According to custom, the winners of the various competitions don’t keep their trophies and earnings, but deliver them to the priests of Umberlee at the Queenspire, her temple on the beach by the east entrance to the Great Harbor, at the conclusion of the festival. The last two days of Fleetswake are the occasion of the Fair Seas Festival. During this time, there is much feasting on seafood, the harbor is strewn with flower petals, and City Guards go from tavern to tavern collecting offerings for Umberlee. Collection boxes also appear at large festival gatherings. Upon sunset of the final day, the collected coin is placed in chests and dumped into the deepest part of the harbor. This festival has existed in a number of forms since the first trade-meets occurred here more than two millennia ago, and an uncountable amount of wealth remains sunken in what has long been known as Umberlee’s Cache. The area is closely watched by merfolk guardians, whose standing orders are to kill anyone attempting to disturb it. Rumors abound that the chests have magical protections; one story tells of thieves who stole some of the collection years ago and tried to leave the city under false pretenses, only to see a squall spring up as soon as their ship left the harbor. A huge wave shaped like a hand swept the thieves overboard, but spared the ship and its crew.

this festival is one of the few mentioned in baldur's gate. as stated previously gale, wyll and lae'zel mention it in one of the banters between them in act 1:

Lae'zel notes that Gale knows a lot about mind flayers. He responds with information about his training. If there, Wyll chimes in as well. Lae'zel: You strike me cleverer than most istiki, Gale. Multiple tutors, I should guess.devnote Gale: Many a wise man and woman indeed. Waterdeep is the home of myriad scholars. Wyll: Ah, the City of Splendours. Spent a whole Fleetswake there with my father. What a delight.

tarsak 1 - 10: waukeentide

This festival has long gathered a number of older holidays under one name, stretching those celebrations into a holiday season that lasts a tenday. Among the rituals in homage to the goddess of wealth and trade are these: Caravance (Tarsahk 1). This gift-giving holiday commemorates the traditional arrival of the first caravans of the season into the city. Many parents hide gifts for their offspring in their homes, telling the children that they were left by Old Carvas — a mythical peddler who arrived with the first caravan to reach Waterdeep, his wagon loaded down with toys for children to enjoy. Goldenight (Tarsahk 5). This festival celebrates coin and gold, with many businesses staying open all night, offering midnight sales and other promotions. Some celebrants and customers decorate themselves with gold dust and wear coins as jewelry. Guildsmeet (Tarsahk 7). On this holiday, guild members gather in their halls for the announcement of new policies and a celebration of business concluded for the year. These gatherings culminate in a gala festival and dance sponsored by several guilds, which lasts from dusk till dawn and overruns the Market, the Cynosure, the Field of Triumph, and all areas in between. Leiruin (Tarsahk 10). In times long past, Waukeen caught Leira, the goddess of illusions and deception, attempting to cheat her in a deal, and buried her under a mountain of molten gold as punishment. A commemoration of that event, Leiruin is the day for guild members to pay their annual dues and for guildmasters to meet with the Lords of Waterdeep and renew their charters for another year.

waukeen is a goddess and her domain is trade and wealth.

mirtul 6 - 9: the plowing and running

Rural areas around the city observe this holiday in the traditional sense of shared activities of plowing fields and moving (or “running”) livestock. But within the city, the holiday is celebrated with a series of races. Foot, horse, and chariot races are run through courses in each ward, and the winners from each ward compete at the Field of Triumph. If you really want to see the wards come to life, this is the time. Pick your favorite, wear its colors, and cheer alongside its residents. Better yet, if you’re of an adventuresome bent, register in your favored ward and compete! Who knows? Your name or visage might soon have a place in the House of Heroes.

kythorn 1: trolltide

On this day commemorating Waterdeep’s victory in the Second Trollwar, children run through the city acting like trolls, banging on doors and growling, from highsun till dusk. Home and shop owners are expected to give the children candy, fruits, or small items. Those who give no treat can expect to become the target of a trick at sundown. This mischief typically takes the form of “troll scratchings” at doors and windows. Those with more malicious intent sing screechingly in the wee hours, and hurl raw eggs at windows, signs, and the heads of those who try to stop them. Have some candy on hand or some sweet rolls, and all will be calm where you live.

kythorn 14: guildhall day

This day is a time of trade fairs. Most shops are closed, and street sales are suspended for all but walking food peddlers. Guildhall Day celebrates the fruits of everyone’s labor with revelations of new products, innovations, fashions, and signage extolling the extent and quality of guild members’ services and wares. These offerings usually take the form of glittering displays, but guilds sometimes also sponsor brief plays or other hired entertainments (jugglers, singers, magic shows put on by hedge wizards and professional raconteurs) at which prizes or free samples are distributed. Many guilds try to recruit during this time. Guildhall Day is an excellent time to browse the city’s merchandise — and it doesn’t matter if you can’t afford what you see, because you can’t buy it that day anyway.

kythorn 20: dragondown

This day in Kythorn is celebrated with bonfires and rituals to “tame” or “drive down” dragons. In Waterdeep, the celebrations take the form of parades that center around effigies built of wood and cloth and filled with straw. Each effigy is named and has a traditional depiction, for it represents one of a handful of dragons the city has faced in its history. After being paraded to a square near where the dragon was defeated or driven off, the enormous effigy is burned. The height of the celebration comes when the effigy of Kistarianth the Red is burned on the slopes of Mount Waterdeep. A dracolich version of Kistarianth is then carried up the slopes and burned as well. These proceedings symbolize the defeat of Kistarianth first by the paladin Athar, and again decades later by his son, Piergeiron. Tradition dictates that the winners of the races run during the Plowing and Running take the role of the dragons’ slayers, with the champion of the chariot race representing Athar and the champion of the horse race playing Piergeiron.

flamerule 1: the founders' day

This day commemorates the birth of the city. The Field of Triumph is the site of illusory displays that chronicle the history of Waterdeep, as well as martial exhibitions by the Guard and other worthies. Many festhalls sponsor Founders’ Day costume contests, with prizes going to those who wear the best recreations of the garb of historical personages. Once banned as frivolous and distracting, the practice of veiling Castle Waterdeep with an illusion has been reinstated. Several mages come together to produce the effect, which seemingly transforms the castle into the ancient log fortress of Nimoar. The illusion typically lasts from midday to sunset (unless someone has the audacity and magical might to dispel it) and is regarded as a stunning work of magical art.

flamerule 3 - 5: sornyn

Sornyn is a festival of both Waukeen and Lathander, and is used for planning business, making treaties and agreements, and receiving envoys from unknown lands and traditional foes. Much wine is drunk over this three-day occasion when, as the saying goes, “My enemy is like family to me.” If you are a newcomer to the city, this time is an excellent opportunity for you to engage with new partners in business or to gain financial support for some endeavor. My agreement to write Volo’s Guide to Waterdeep was signed on a warm Sornyn evening many years ago, so who knows where your own initiative will take you?

flamerule 7: llira's night

Originally a celebration held only in Waterdeep, this holiday has since spread up and down the Sword Coast. It has received a recent boost in popularity from the custom started in Baldur’s Gate of lighting celebratory smokepowder fireworks — all purchased from Felogyr’s Fireworks of that city, and utilized only by the City Guard, of course. This nightlong festival honors the Lady of Joy with dances and balls throughout the city. Pink beverages, ranging from healthy juices to deadly strong intoxicants, are imbibed. The boom and crackle of smokepowder explosions go off all night long, so you might as well stay up with the locals and enjoy the show.

eleasis 1: ahghairon's day

Many small rituals are held throughout this day, dedicated to honoring the first Open Lord. The Lords of Waterdeep toast Ahghairon and the Watchful Order, and guildmasters toast the Lords in Ahghairon’s name. Commoners leave violets (Ahghairon’s favorite flower) around Ahghairon’s Tower, on his statue in the City of the Dead, and atop the altars of the House of Wonder. Bards perform songs in honor of the wizard all over the city. The Open Lord visits taverns and inns throughout Waterdeep to wish the people well — giving short speeches, offering toasts to Ahghairon’s memory, buying rounds of drinks, or paying for meals or accommodation. Needless to say, establishments of those sorts are generally full throughout the day.

if you are interested to learn more about ahghairon - who is mentioned too by gale in passing - or rather his lost nose - you can do so here: i've written a more extensive meta about him in this post.

eleint 21: brightswords

On this day, the City Guard, the City Navy, and the City Watch — all in glittering array — conduct parades, give demonstrations of martial skill, and stage mock battles. Those desiring to join their ranks are given a chance to demonstrate their prowess, usually with wooden practice weapons in contests against veteran soldiers. Makers and vendors of weapons sell their wares openly in the markets, experts who can hurl or juggle weapons show off their skills, and the wards compete in wrestling and boxing matches. The most anticipated part of the day is when horses are cleared from the Field of Triumph and the surrounding streets so that the Griffon Cavalry can perform aerial displays over the crowds in the stadium. Members of the Watchful Order present the cavalry with illusory foes to fight, allowing the griffon riders to engage in thrilling battles as the people watch.

marpenoth 3: day of wonders

The imaginative inventions of the Gondar are revealed on this day and paraded through the city. These devices range from something as humble as new cabinet hinges to massive mechanical constructs that walk or roll about. Failure is the paramour of invention, though, meaning it is a rare year when there isn’t some notable disruption of the celebration. The flying chair of Marchell was one such recent oddity — a device that worked marvelously on the way up but was incapable of descending. Marchell was rescued by the Griffon Cavalry, but his flying chair drifted away and was never seen again.

marpenoth 7: stoneshar

Stoneshar is an all-faiths day during which folk strive not to be idle. Even children at play are encouraged to dig holes, build sand castles, or construct crude models. Waterdavians consider Stoneshar the best day of the year to begin construction of a building, either by digging out a cellar or laying a foundation. The common wisdom is that folk who undertake new projects on Stoneshar can expect blessings upon their works in the coming year, whereas individuals who do nothing constructive on this day can expect all manner of misfortune to rain down on them in the year ahead.

marpenoth 10: reign of misrule

Swift on the heels of Stoneshar comes the Reign of Misrule. This day honors Beshaba, goddess of misfortune. People of the city are expected to break trust, belie oaths, and disobey the normal order — as long as no laws are actually broken and no rift is made that can’t be later bridged. During the Reign of Misrule, nobles serve meals to their servants, children take control of schools, priests give worship to their god’s foes, and any who wish to may participate in a guild’s trade. Pranks are played by and on many, from simple tricks to those requiring elaborate planning. Sundown brings an end to the festivities, and most folk spend much of the night cleaning and reordering things for the following day. Many visitors decline to participate, but doing so often inspires misfortune rather than avoiding it. For fear of catching the bad luck of cynics, citizens do their best to avoid talking to anyone known to not have played along, or dealing with them in any way until Gods’ Day.

marpenoth 15: gods' day

This holiday observes the anniversary of the end of the Godswar in 1358 DR, when the gods of Faerûn returned to the heavens. Private shrines are brought out into the open, and many people wear holy symbols of their favored deities. A Gods’ Day tradition in Waterdeep strictly limits the use of magic, in remembrance of the wild magic wrought during the Time of Troubles. Though not outlawed fully, spellcasting is allowable only in self-defense or in cases of extreme need. At night, this holiday becomes solemn and serious, as many Waterdavians offer prayers in thanks for the lives they have under their gods. The Griffon Cavalry sets up an immense bonfire at the peak of Mount Waterdeep, honoring the fallen and the risen gods Myrkul, Cyric, Kelemvor, Mystra, Helm, and Ao who appeared here. In thanks for their defense during Myrkul’s invasion and the resulting fires that raged through the Southern, Dock, and Castle Wards, Gods’ Day is also a semiofficial “Be Kind to the Guard and Watch Day” in Waterdeep. Feel free to participate by handing out small gifts and kind words, but be aware that any gift of greater value than a few nibs might be interpreted as a bribe.

marpenoth 30: liar's night

This holy day pays tribute to Leira and Mask. To placate those deities and ward away their attention, folk of all walks of life don masks and costumes (magical or mundane) to disguise themselves and play at being other than what they are. Commonly seen mask styles include the black mask symbol of Mask and the mirror face of the priests of Leira. But there are no bounds on the disguise you don, and the more elaborate and outlandish it is, the more celebrated the wearer. The festivities begin in the evening, when people place candles in hollowed-out gourds or pumpkins carved with faces. Each pumpkin represents a person donning a mask, while the light inside represents the truth of the soul. For as long as the candle remains lit, lies told and embarrassing things done don’t sully a person’s reputation, so celebrations often descend briefly into anarchic hedonism. Misfortune is said to come to anyone who returns to their pumpkin after celebrating to find it unlit, so buy a candle of good quality and put your gourd beyond reach of the wind. Intentionally blowing out someone else’s candle or smashing someone else’s pumpkin is taboo, and risks the wrath of both gods — yet it does occur. Tricks and pranks of all kinds are common on this night, and folk expect lies and foolishness. Pickpockets are rife on this day, so few carry much coin with them, having secreted it away somewhere the previous evening. Instead, people fill their pockets and belt pouches with candies. Traditionally, a pickpocket is meant to take the candy and leave a token in return (a tiny toy, a colorful paper folded into a shape, or the like), but this has changed over the years into adults exchanging candies among themselves and simply giving candy to children who ask for it. By custom, no deals are made nor contracts signed on Liar’s Night, because no one trusts that parties will abide by them. Illusionists and stage magicians (whether through magical or practical abilities) make the rounds to entertain private parties (having been paid in advance the previous day) or to perform in public spaces, in the hopes that a good show will earn them a meal, and perhaps a place at a private party in the future.

uktar: selûne's hallowing

On whatever night in Uktar the moon is fullest, Waterdavians celebrate Selûne’s Hallowing. The goddess is the focus of worship throughout the full phase, of course, but the major ceremony on this night is a parade of worshipers leaving the House of the Moon at moonrise and moving down to the harbor, where the high priestess wields the Wand of the Four Moons in a ceremony blessing all navigators. This holy relic is said to be the mace wielded by Selûne in her first battle against Shar, and again in a fight with her sister during the Time of Troubles. It miraculously appeared in Waterdeep after the Godswar, and has since been the focus of many divine signs. You can view it in the House of the Moon at other times of the year, but only from a well-guarded distance. If you’re lucky, you might see the Wand of the Four Moons weep. Droplets said to be the tears of Selûne manifest on the mace from time to time, and are collected by the priestesses for use in potions that can heal, cure lycanthropy, and be used as holy water.

uktar 20: last sheaf

Sometimes called “The Small Feast,” this day of residential feasting is held in celebration of the year’s bounty. Small gifts (traditionally hand kegs of ale, jars of preserves, or smoked fish and meats) are exchanged among neighbors, and “last letters” are gathered for carriage by ship captains and caravan merchants — so called because they are the last to leave the city before travel becomes difficult. Of Waterdeep’s many celebrations, this one is perhaps the most relaxed and relaxing. Plan to spend a little extra on good food and enjoy a meal with those nearest you, be they dearest hearts or the folk across the hall in the inn.

nightal 11: howldown

In honor of Malar, members of the City Guard leave the city in groups on this day to hunt down known threats to farmers and travelers, including brigands, wolves, owlbears, ogres, and trolls that haunt the roads and wilderness. These hunts typically last no longer than a tenday. During the same span of time, the City Watch engages in its own rigorous hunt for malefactors within the city walls. If you’ve any reason to doubt your standing in the eyes of the law, avoid Waterdeep for at least a tenday after Howldown. With no real hunting to do of their own, the children of Waterdeep spend Howldown engaging in mock hunts of adults dressed up as monsters, and play at the killing of these predators.

nightal 20: simril

When dusk comes on this day, folk go outside to locate particular stars that were lucky for their ancestors, or that were associated with their own births. They then attempt to stay up through the night, celebrating outside with bonfires, song, and warmed drinks. Cloudy nights often draw larger crowds than clear ones, since glimpsing your star through the haze is thought to be a blessing from Tymora. Inside buildings, service folk keep roaring fires and engage in making food to keep celebrants fed throughout the long night and into morning of the next day. If you have no particular star of your own, you’ll find many vendors of star maps willing to divine which is yours — based upon your place and date of birth — and to point you in the right direction for a shard or two.

all information is taken from volo's waterdeep enchiridion.

i hope this was helpful and information to some of you!

🖤

[heartsofminds]

and the songbirds are singing like they know the score - part i.

"If Bradley squints his eyes, he can still make out the little five-year-old that he once knew who thought that he put the stars in the sky and cried when she found out that Jake’s real name wasn’t Hangman." or Quincy Bradshaw is growing up and no one knows what to do about it; especially Bradley.

a/n: in light of father's day, enjoy part one to bradley's precocious daughter making a re-appearance and jake seresin being reasonable for once. part two will be posted soon! the angst will be resolved, don't you worry!

It happens in between the end credits and the black fade-out screen. 

The piercing sound of the phone ringing snaps you and your husband out of your near comatose states on the couch, seemingly entranced by Molly Ringwald’s whining (which only she can get away with because she’s fucking Molly Ringwald, of course) for the entirety of Sixteen Candles. 

“Holy shit,” Bradley swallows, leaning up to sit entirely straight. His movements jostle you, causing you to wince at your cheek unsticking from its glued spot on his right pec. 

You smack your lips and sigh, trying to wake yourself up. The obnoxiously mechanical sound the phone makes causes your ears a subtle pain, and you silently curse your husband for refusing to remove the landline phone that sits glued to your kitchen wall. 

“It serves a purpose,” he had reasoned. “Don’t kill my dream of having a rotary phone.” 

And the conversation of uninstalling a 1970s landline phone from your new house was lost in the abyss of cardboard boxes and cheerios on the floor from your then beyond spunky and energetic three-year-old daughter. 

So while it sticks out like an eyesore amongst your “lived-in” and perfectly curated home, you often forget it’s there... except on occasions like this when the sporadic ringing shakes your eardrums and tightens the ever-present rubberband around your temples in the worst way possible. 

Bradley sits with his elbows on his knees, almost trying to muster up the strength to deal with the nuisance of the ringing phone. He sits for a second and sighs before hearing your body shift. 

You smush your face into a pillow; the constant ringing making you want to tear your hair out by the second. 

“Bradley!” you whine. He pats the part of your calf uncovered by your shared throw blanket with an unspoken tenderness. 

“Sorry,” he timidly apologizes. 

He stands up; his left knee making an impressive “crack” before swiping his phone off the coffee table on his way to the kitchen. 

You turn the TV off and lie in the complete darkness of your living room. The illumination of the moonlight through the glass windowed door in your kitchen shines its way to the floor in front of your couch. You have half the mind to yell to your husband to close the blinds that line the backdoor before your voice catches in your throat. 

No one ever calls the landline. Very few people even have the phone number for the landline outside of Maverick and a few close family friends. Besides, anyone who needed to reach you had your cell phone numbers anyway. 

So who the actual fuck is calling your landline at 11 PM on a Thursday? 

You hear Bradley yank the phone from its place on the wall and exhale with a huff. After sixteen years of being together, you know that huff is his tell of being annoyed. 

“Hello?” he gruffly answers. His irritation makes the question sound more like a monotonous statement. 

“Bradshaw –” 

Jake Seresin is on the other end of the line. You can recognize his voice from the other room with his cadence even though you’re not on the phone with him. Having “mom ears” does that to a person, you suppose. 

“Why the fuck are you calling my house at 11 PM?” Bradley snaps. 

You’re wondering the same thing, but you’ll have to talk to him about being so rude and huffy. Jake may actually need something, after all. 

“Well, you weren’t answering your fucking cell and neither was your wife so I had to do something.” 

Bradley rolls his eyes and looks back into the darkened living room. He’s been more on edge about you lately. 

“You can’t miss me that fucking much to be spamming my phone with calls,” he sighs and leans his back up against the wall. He notices the open blinds on the back door and walks to close them before he’s yanked back by the phone cord. 

“Don’t cream your pants. I don’t like you that much.” 

Bradley lets out a soft snort in amusement before he remembers that he’s supposed to be annoyed. He opens his mouth to ask Jake what exactly it is that’s so damn important and can’t wait until tomorrow morning when he’s beaten to it. 

“I have Quincy here in the passenger seat and she’s beyond unwell.” 

The statement sends Bradley into panic mode instantly. His voice catches in his throat and he can’t recall a moment he’s had where he’s felt like he’s had to force the breath out of himself like this. 

He lets out something between a huff, a cough, and a wheeze before remembering he can’t make a huge show of himself right now because it’ll also throw you into panic mode. 

“What the fuck do you mean she’s not well? Jake, where the fuck are you?” he whispers into the phone, trying to cover his mouth as much as possible so you can’t even read his lips if you tried. “Is she okay? What’s –” 

It doesn’t take a genius to know that Bradley is panicking. Even Bradley’s beyond intoxicated and passed out seventeen-year-old daughter sitting in the passenger seat of Jake’s truck could piece together that her father is nothing but a raging ball of anxiety at the moment, and Jake is positive that his friend is growing another patch of gray hair as the seconds pass. 

“Oh. . .fuck, I guess I should’ve phrased that better,” Jake admits. His truck comes to a halt at a spotlight and he glances over at his goddaughter. “She’s fine. She’s drunk as shit right now, but I’m on the way to drop her at yours.”

Bradley can feel the obnoxious orange ball of anxiety inside of him shift to a tumultuous rage-induced scarlett. His hand tightens around the phone cord and he has to stop himself before he yanks it out of the wall. He’s gotten angry like this before, but it never was angled toward his daughter. 

Never toward his sweet, precious girl. Never toward his amazing Quincy. 

But she knows the rules (and she chose to break them) and she knows what was told to her (and she snuck out anyway) and she knows that it’s dangerous to be that drunk (but yet she’s passed out in Jake’s truck). 

And if that isn’t both nerve-wracking and frustrating, Bradley doesn’t know what is. 

“Put her on the phone,” he speaks lowly. 

Jake gulps, knowing that he’s in one of those moods. Bradley doesn’t express anger as often as he expresses annoyance, but an angry Bradley is never someone he wants to be around. And from the way that Quincy made it sound when she called him to come get her from some random party in the middle of nowhere thirty-five minutes away from her house at 11 PM on a school night, he knows her ass is being had tomorrow morning by both you and Bradley. 

There’s absolutely no way his goddaughter is coming out of this unscathed. 

“Dude, she’s obliterated right now and I think you talking to her is just gonna make it worse.” 

“And I don’t give a fuck. I said, put her on the fucking phone now.” 

Jake shakes his head and rolls his eyes as Quincy begins to stir next to him in her seat. He’s always been the person she’s called whenever she was in trouble. He always got the first hug whenever she was brought around. He’s always been her source of comfort outside of her parents and he’s never minded it because being around her is easy. 

It was easy to carry her around whenever she asked when she was little. It was easy to give in and let her sit in the cockpit of his grounded aircraft with him and let her play with the buttons when her dad and Papa Mav refused. It was easy to pick her up from school at midday and take her to lunch. It was easy to bring her back gifts from wherever he was deployed and even easier picking them out because she’s a sucker for meaningless trinkets. 

It was easy to be her godfather and she’s a smart and relatively easy kid, but Jake has never been prepared for this part. 

Because doing what’s best for her is hard, and he realizes that when he can feel his friend wanting to put him through a wall over the phone. 

“No,” he speaks and he can hear Bradley let out a small gasp at the denial of his request, “She fucked up bad, Bradley. I’m sure she knows and you can have it out with her tomorrow morning, but right now, she’s not in any place to be screamed at and made to feel worse. You’re her dad and m’not tryin’ to take that away from you –” 

Bradley scoffs, “What exactly do you fuckin’ know about raising kids, Jake? Huh?” 

Jake grimaces and decides to take the brute of Bradley’s anger. Better him than Quincy, he figures. Besides, he knows Bradley doesn’t mean any of it. . . At least he hopes he doesn’t. 

“You obviously can’t be a dad because you just wanna have fun and dick around all the fucking time. Buying them fuckin’ candy and letting them off scott-free doesn’t do shit. You don’t have what it takes to raise a fucking person.” 

Jake doesn’t know why, but part of him gets that prickly feeling in his chest. Usually, every insult rolls off his shoulders into oblivion and he gets off on making people angry and being able to put on the facade that he really couldn’t give a damn if he tried.

But this one hurts because he knows that Bradley is right in some regard. 

He’s a runner and he lets people down. He’s nearing fifty (and God, he never thought he ever would) and has never even bothered to settle down. And he’s made peace with himself a long time ago that he doesn’t deserve a wife or a family or kids because he would never be able to love them more than he loves himself; more than he loves his career. 

To hear one of your closest friends admit that to you openly, to know that someone outside of you sees it too, makes his heart stop momentarily and forces him to feel the ache of the words meant to stab him in the chest. 

“I understand,” he swallows. He knows arguing with Bradley isn’t the right thing to do at the moment and never will be. “I’m still not putting her on the phone. We will be at your house shortly.” 

The line goes dead and Bradley is overcome with a wave of anger that drowns him like a tsunami. He knows what he said was shitty and that he has no right to do that to someone who he considers a close friend, but he just can’t help himself. 

He knows no allies when it comes to his daughter. 

The sound of the plastic phone slamming into its rightful place on the wall alarms you and part of your heart hurts for Jake. 

Jake has no concept of boundaries and has no limit to the absurdities that he often commits, but Jake also has the biggest heart that gets overshadowed by his equally big ego. You know the words uttered to him by your husband have knocked him down in ways Bradley isn’t the slightest bit aware of, and you start to silently cry for him because you know he won’t do it for himself. 

You force yourself up from your deepened spot on the couch and waddle your way to Bradley in the kitchen. The tears streaming down your face only fuel your need to make it right and to stand up for Jake and his quietly hurt feelings. 

You don’t know the full of what happened, but you heard enough to know that no one deserves to be spoken to that way. Bradley is upset (and he seemingly always has this cloud of gloom hanging over his head), but that gives him no right to be so cruel. 

The mama bear feelings are only amplified by the thirty-nine-week bump on your frontside making you tilt forward more than you usually do. Jake is a big boy and you know he can handle himself and that this situation has nothing to do with you, per se, but the lack of kindness surrounding you currently is stuffy, and you’d do anything to break the barrier to actually breathe. 

You try and stifle your cries and wipe your starry eyes before you approach your husband; silently cursing how cold your feet are and longing for the day when you can put your socks back on yourself independently. 

He stands with his hands against the wall and his head drooped between them. It’s a look of defeat; a showcase of hopelessness and frustration mixed into a burly mess of indigo and violets from the moonlight and dark sky peeping into your kitchen windows. Despite the darkness surrounding him, you can see the pink flush on the back of Bradley’s ears that has traveled to the tops of his shoulder blades. 

The anger is rampant and on the verge of explosion. Seeing your sweet Bradley like this is a sight rarer than a double rainbow. Part of you knows you shouldn’t poke the bear, but Bradley knows he shouldn’t speak to people like that. Compromising your morals is something you’ve never let yourself do and being bone tired and thirty-nine weeks pregnant is not going to change that. 

Something’s gotta give, and you decide that it’s going to be you. 

His head pops up the second he senses your presence. He knows that something is off with you after your lack of announcement. His home and heart had been preoccupied by two of the most chatty (and rather heavy-footed) women for the past sixteen and a half years. Silence is not welcomed in abundance in the Bradshaw household.

As if he didn’t have to suck in his sharp breath of frustration seconds prior, he turns to you and opens his arms. The darkness hides your tears and aggravation, but he knows that it stands next to you as an unwelcome visitor. 

Part of you wants to indulge, but an overwhelming portion of you houses irritation that won’t let you bite. 

This night was supposed to be one of peace and tranquility. You’re coming up on week three of rest allocated by your maternity leave and you finally feel like the walls in your house aren’t closing in on you. Bradley’s light load of scheduled hops and paperwork has helped with giving you company earlier in the afternoons before you have to make room for your second daughter. The way that she’s sitting on your bladder and constantly kicking your ribs in the middle of the night throws the hope that she’ll be calm and sweet out of the window and opens the door to the reality that she’ll be a carbon copy of her older sister. 

“What’s wrong?” you grumble, sending Bradley a scowl. You ignore his open arms and head to the fridge. You slam the carton of orange juice down on the counter and swing open the cabinet door to grab yourself a glass. 

Bradley furrows his eyebrows in confusion and lowers his arms in defeat. His feet drag him closer to you subconsciously. The thought that you moved away from him because you wanted space doesn’t cross his mind. 

“Nothing,” he leans his hip against the countertop, eyes scanning the thin stream of juice being poured into the glass. His nose wrinkles as you flash your eyebrows at him. That was always his tell of hiding something. 

He knows you can clock it. He just really doesn’t want to argue right now. 

You take a gulp from your glass while rolling your eyes. “Don’t lie to me. I know it was Jake.” 

“Doesn’t mean something is wrong.” His shoulders slump before he closes the refrigerator door. You had been extra forgetful in this stage of your pregnancy. 

Your lips mouth a reflexive, “Thank you” before you huff. Being lied to was something you never appreciated; especially when you know how bad Bradley is at doing it. Besides, you know that he knows you have heard quite a bit. The pointlessness of his actions starts a kindling of rage in your belly. 

“Well, that’s funny because you’re telling Jake he doesn’t know how to be a parent over the phone?” 

“I didn’t say that.” 

His spine straightens and his cheeks spill a baby pink hue that starts to spread to the tips of his ears. You think he looks just like your daughter even though you can’t see the fullness of his face. Your eyes start to twinkle before you remember that you’re pissed at him. The serious face holds a standstill. 

“Don’t play dumb. Do I need to say the exact words for it to ring a bell? ‘You don’t have what it takes to raise a fuckin’ person.’ Seriously, Bradley? What the fuck is your problem?” 

He winces at the agitation in your voice. Hearing it being said by someone other than him makes him realize how fucked up he was to say it; let alone even think about saying it to someone as dear to him and your family as Jake. Your hands heavily place the glass in the metal bottom of the kitchen sink and your heavy footsteps storm past him back to the living room. 

Bradley reaches out to grab your wrist and spins you to look at him. His hands envelop yours and place them flat on his chest. He sighs before dropping his head as if he was a puppy that had just gotten scolded. 

“You’re right,” his eyes scan your face but refuse to peer into your own, “I have no right to talk to people like that.” 

You let him hold you as your annoyance shifts to a denotation of shocked nerves that leave your heart sprinting like crazy in your chest for air. You’ve always been somewhat easy to work up, but your nerves have been oversensitive as of late. 

Penny and your mother call it your mother’s intuition maturing, but you like to call it a nuisance. Although the first baby you’ll be giving birth to will make her way earthside in a few short weeks, your first baby will always be the chunky eleven-month-old with blotchy pink cheeks and abundant sass you met on Halloween sixteen years ago. 

Bradley’s steady hand rubbing soothing circles on your back does little to help you differentiate the present and the imaginary. You aren’t sure how much time has passed or if his soft caresses continue on your spine, but you’re damn sure of what your gut is telling you. 

Something is wrong. Something is wrong. Something is wrong. 

“Is she okay?” you ask him. 

The words uttered make the world stop turning for the millisecond it took you to speak. 

You know deep in your heart that she’s not okay; that she hasn’t been for a while. Your bright and bubbly baby turned angsty and moody Senior in high school had happened overnight, it seems. What was once excited chatter at the dinner table about school and friends and club soccer and yearbook committee soon became absent, and the sound of silence from a missing spot at the dining table with you and Bradley had become the norm. 

It became extremely noticeable in the last few weeks of her Senior year; calls of truancy being made to your home phone and numerous talks about possible grounding if she didn’t get her act together becoming more and more frequent. 

Her attendance sucks but her grades remain stellar, so the idea of punishing her falls flat on its face whenever it gets brought up. You both have always known how intelligent your daughter is. You just wish she didn’t know it so well to know that you and her father are bluffing. 

And to be totally truthful, preparing for a new and unexpected baby hadn’t been part of the plan. You know that you’re not Quincy’s mother in any sense of the word, but you’re her mom and have been for as long as she can remember. Looking for your face in the school pick-up line and at soccer games and honor roll assemblies had always been her normal, and the fact that she had to share that with something embryonic (as she would call it) that hadn’t even graced real outside world oxygen (again, Quincy vernacular) was not something on her bingo card for her Senior year of high school. 

Your absences from these things, the things that are important to her but she’s far too stubborn to admit how much they actually mean out loud, were felt this year. She was raised understanding and kind but has inherited the sensitivity of her father’s heart. You know how much this entire pregnancy has deeply hurt her, and the guilt swallows you whole. 

The abyss of her unverbalized pain looms like a fog in every corner of your mind. Guilt has a funny way of turning all emotions into its twin. 

“I mean, yes? But she’s in for it once she steps foot in this house,” he grumbles. The meteoric thumping of his heart in his chest soothes you, but you know that the adrenaline pumping through his veins to move the muscle at lightning speed is sourced in anger. 

“So she called Jake?” 

Bradley scoffs. Your face is buried in his chest, but you know his huff of annoyance was accompanied by an eye roll. 

“Tried to use him as her ‘get out of jail free’ card. Knows that shit doesn’t work so I don’t even know why she did that.” 

You stifle a laugh and pull back to look at him. “I’m sorry I was so mean earlier. Didn’t mean it,” you whisper and he grins. Apologies have never been your strong suit. He would argue that you’re more stubborn than your daughter and Maverick in that regard.

“I’m sorry I was such a dick. Know you don’t like when I get like that.” 

There’s no need for acceptance. You have him wholeheartedly the same way he has you. Verbally accepting each other’s apologies has long been a thing of the past; especially when you feel like you share each other in ways that no one else on Earth would be able to understand; two halves of a whole – husband and wife. 

Your hand lightly taps his chest before you scoot past him to return back to the living room. From the digital numbers of the oven light in the kitchen, you know that it’s nearing midnight. You and Bradley had never been “good sleepers” (and now that you’re thinking about it, neither is Quincy), but you figure that you should get as much sleep as you’re still allowed. God knows that the new baby will be all Bradshaw and will probably be the worst sleeper too. 

Bradley hears your heavy footsteps trudge up to the bedroom and the soft suction of the door frame signifying that you’re about to lay down for the night. He wants nothing more than to join you and revel in the peace; remind himself to breathe and of simpler times when it was just you and him, but it had never just been you and him because it was always you and him and Quincy. 

The ache in his stomach returns at the thought. He has to put himself back in the mindset to put his foot down and let his daughter know that what she had done was incredibly unacceptable. 

It’s not like he’s mad at her for choosing to act her age for once. 

He had always worried himself sick after parent-teacher conferences because all of her teachers would comment on how mature his daughter was, but how that maturity often caused her to isolate herself. She had always been bright but at the expense of never wanting to play imaginary games with her classmates because she didn’t see the point in “pretending.” He had always thought that it was his fault; that exposing your baby to the History Channel and retired veteran chatter at the bar during the day made her not like other kids. 

And it’s not like he wanted her to be a certain way or that he was scared of her being “weird” or that she wasn’t living up the the expectation of what he thought having a kid would be like. 

Bradley had just wanted her to be kind and to feel loved, and he knows from experience that it’s hard living life when you don’t feel like the former nor do you ever feel the support from the latter. He knows a life of isolation and a sharp tongue that spears a bleeding heart. The last thing he ever wanted was for his daughter to know the same. 

Nevertheless, he’s still angry. Angry? Enraged? Pissed? 

Disappointed. 

Bradley had seen the signs as much as you have of your daughter’s downward spiral through the duration of the school year. He ignored the phone calls of truancy and let them go to voicemail and held his breath and his tongue when she answered a question he asked her a little too harshly. He ignored the attitude and the slamming of doors and the glow of her bedside lamp being on well past 2 AM most nights. 

Bradley ignored all of it because confronting it and her made it real, and facing the reality that she’s growing up and will no longer need him is something that he will never be prepared to do. 

He takes deep breaths and grabs his water bottle off the counter, unscrewing the top and taking colossal sips. His therapist had given him a printed list of techniques years ago to help him manage his anxiety. If he can’t control the speed of Jake’s truck driving down the interstate to his house, he can control the pace of the icy chugs sliding down his throat. 

Bradley wipes his mouth with the back of his arm and places the metal water bottle down on the counter. He paces back and forth before he realizes that pacing always makes him more anxious. His feet carry him back to the living room where he sits on the edge of the couch and balances his elbows on the tops of his thighs. 

All that can be heard is the subtle tick of the large wall clock hanging above the mantle and the soft buzz of cicadas in the backyard. The silence is cut in half by blinding headlights beaming their way through the curtains that line the front window and the roar of an engine. 

He doesn’t jump up to unlock the door like he usually would. His thoughts are still maniacally bouncing around his skull like a ten-cent bouncy ball. Besides, he doesn’t even know if he dares to face Jake after he had spoken so horribly to him such a short time ago. 

The old Bradley, the one who was still hurting and lonely with no wife or kids or family, wouldn’t have given a damn. Fuck Jake and fuck everyone else. 

But this Bradley, the one who is a dad and a husband and a friend and a son, gives a damn and he gives such a big one that he feels nauseous. 

The headlights flick off and the engine is killed. The silence that resumes is so instantaneous that he can almost fool himself into believing that everything is normal. That his daughter is upstairs fast asleep in her room and that her godfather is fifteen minutes away at his own house. He prays Jake won’t knock on the door and disturb it again. Jake never knocked on the door anyway, so he might luck out, he figures. 

But Bradley underestimates how nervous Jake is about this whole thing and soon enough, the sound of his friend’s knuckles rapping on the dark green wood that is the entity of his front door. 

He holds his breath as he opens it. 

He sees Jake, twenty years older than when they finally put their past behind them and became friends, and then he sees his daughter, meek and saddened and slightly drunk. 

If Bradley squints his eyes, he can still make out the little five-year-old that he once knew who thought that he put the stars in the sky and cried when she found out that Jake’s real name wasn’t Hangman. 

The Leemoore sweatshirt she has on is three sizes too big and does little to make her look like a high school partygoer, so he knows she has a riskier top beneath it. There’s no doubt Jake probably made a pit stop at his house to give it to her before bringing her home. 

Jake knows that Bradley hates secrets, so her sneaking out and also having a second secret wardrobe stashed beneath the floorboards under her bed would not make for a welcome guest upon her coming home after getting busted. The sweatshirt at least bought her a little time. 

“Hey,” Jake speaks, finally slicing the tension with a greeting. His left arm is looped through his goddaughter’s and she leans on him heavily to prevent herself from falling. 

“Hey,” Bradley says back. His face is stern. Jake knows he means business. 

“I’m sure this isn’t how you wanted to see me next.” Even though Jake is kind of pissed and anxious, there still remains a glimmer of humor within him. The complaint of many ex-girlfriends had always been how he never took anything seriously (and his serious lack of commitment too, but that’s an issue for another time), and he knows that it’s a blessing and a curse.

“Yeah, no kidding.” 

Bradley grabs his daughter’s free arm and helps Jake maneuver her inside over the steep ledge of the front door and to the asylum of the living room couch. 

Quincy’s eyes are wide open and her brain is moving in slow motion; scanning her surroundings but not being able to focus on one thing before her eyes are caught by the presence of another. She had never been drunk before in her life and the copious amounts of vomit that had spewed out of her mouth tonight discouraged her from trying to speak. Any thought of opening her mouth made the muscle memory of puking prevail. 

The rational part of her brain knows that her father wants to wring her neck, but she silently prides herself on calling Jake and kind of doing the right thing (even though she knows the right thing was not sneaking out and getting fucked up on a Thursday, to begin with). Her dad will forgive her and spending time with Jake was always fun. She just vows to make sure that she’ll never puke in front of him again because he turned green at the sight of her hunched over on the side of the road. 

Quincy lands on the couch with an incredible lack of grace. She bounces and almost slips off again, but sticks her foot out to help support her. Her vision is blurred before she focuses on the sight of her dad with the deepest frown on his face and his hands on his hips. Her eyes follow a horizontal line next to him and see Jake worrying his lip in between his teeth. A hiccup falls out of her mouth and she rushes to close it before her body can register a solution to the nausea plaguing her currently. 

The silence between the three of them is unforgiving and she can’t remember a time where she had felt so. . .embarassed. 

Here she is, about to get the scolding of her life in front of one of the adults she admires the most. All she had ever wanted was to be seen as a grown-up and it’s clear to her now that the men in front of her think anything but that. 

“You got anything to say?” Bradley huffs. His glare sharpens the more he takes in his daughter’s appearance. 

The silence he’s met with kindles a fire in his belly that shifts the anxiety he feels to the beginning of an obnoxious anger. 

Quincy can’t answer verbally because she knows she’ll throw up. She can’t shake her head to answer him either. The room is spinning and the spiraling shadow cast by her vision will undoubtedly make her throw up too. She can’t even feel her lips and anything she has to say will not be an answer worthy of her dad’s appreciation. She fucked up big time and now she has to reap what she’s sown. 

Her dad scoffs. The room inflates with tension from all three of the living room’s occupants. Quincy closes her eyes. Jake holds his breath. Bradley bawls his hand into a fist. 

Here it comes. 

Bradley opens his mouth; words like venom sitting on the tip of his tongue. Quincy closes her eyes and braces herself for the yelling that she knows is coming. 

“Hey, let’s table it for tomorrow. Yeah?” 

If Jake wasn’t already her favorite, now he certainly is. 

Bradley turns to him. His cheeks are tomato red and his wrath sitting in the base of his throat. He has half the mind to come unglued on him before he remembers the pit of guilt from earlier. The putrid watery feeling of guilt dampens his vocal chords. His sentences dig a grave in his voicebox. 

Jake is right. 

His daughter can barely sit up straight and you’re upstairs trying to sleep. There’s no point in waking the entire house and having a one-sided screaming match with someone who will only have the faintest memory of what happened the next morning. 

Bradley lets out a hefty breath of air that he hadn’t even realized he was holding in. Jake claps him on the shoulder in silent praise for his decision to drop it. Never would he have ever thought that Jake Seresin of all people would be the one discouraging him from being a total hothead. 

“Thanks for bringing her home, man. Sorry about – you know –” he attempts to apologize. Apologies to you rolled off his tongue like water rolled off waterfalls. They just didn’t have that effect when it came to other people who weren’t you. 

“Don’t sweat it. Wouldn’t be stickin’ around if I took half the shit you say to heart.” 

It’s not funny but Bradley laughs. He doesn’t know if it’s a feeble attempt at repairing the hurt he had done earlier or if it’s to absolve some of the fury that was sitting unleashed in the room, but he’s never been more thankful for Jake in that moment. 

Bradley starts to walk Jake to the front door and back out to his truck. Despite being the flashiest and cockiest person he knows, Jake has had the same car for close to twenty years. The silver F-150 had seen many drunk Bradleys and many drunk yous. He just wished that his daughter wouldn’t have been a passenger on the faux “drunk bus” too. 

He’ll never admit it, but part of him is jealous that Quincy called Jake instead of him. He wants to classify the feeling as betrayal, but he knows that it’s just envy. He knows that he would’ve called Maverick at this age instead of his mom. It’s a teenage rite of passage and nothing personal. 

“Look, it’s late and I know you’re pissed but she did the right thing. The party got busted, you know. And she uh – her friends were drinking, like a lot, and wanted her to get in the car with them,” Jake pauses, making sure Bradley is hearing the case of positives he’s building for Quincy, “She said no and then she called me.” 

Bradley nods his head and the tension in his shoulders starts to relax bit by bit. He’s oddly comforted by his daughter’s morality despite committing the precipice of what makes up an immoral teenager to get herself in this damn situation anyway. 

“Most kids don’t do that and I know she isn’t most kids so uh – don’t go too hard on her tomorrow?” 

The open door of the truck makes a high-pitched dinging noise as Jake’s legs sit half situated on the seat and halfway steady on the ground. The soft yellow light emitting from the streetlights tints the world in a sepia hue. 

“Can’t promise that. She’s in some serious shit.” 

Jake chuckles. “Serious shit or not, that’s still your baby. She needs you more than you think, you know.” 

The car door is shut and the engine is cranked. Bradley pats the hollowed metal of the truck as a “goodnight and goodbye” send-off as Jake backs out of his driveway and into the street. He watches as he rounds the corner to the stop sign before the image of his friend’s truck draws smaller and smaller and smaller until the image is microscopic. 

Bradley finds his way back inside and sees his daughter lying on her side with a throw blanket swallowing her figure. 

He heads into the kitchen to grab her a glass of water and some Advil to set on the coffee table. Bradley doesn’t recall being hungover so much as just sick to his fucking stomach the first time he drank, but he leaves it for her just in case. His eyes catch the bottom cabinet that houses the popcorn buckets and mixing bowls and grabs the largest one to serve as her “catch-all” puke bucket for the night. 

As he settles everything and makes his journey upstairs to your shared bedroom, he hears the wet wretch of what cannot be mistaken for vomiting. His heart harbors empathy for his little girl, but his brain garners no sympathy for her. Some sick part of him is glad that she’s throwing up because it’s a consequence that he doesn’t have to impose on her. She had done it to herself. 

“That’s what I thought."

He turns off the bedside lamp as he lays down next to you. You don’t stir from your deep sleep. The house is finally quiet and everything as is it should be. 

Bradley just doesn’t like the fact that this kind of peace is tainted with the fact that Quincy is growing up and that there is nothing he can do to stop it.