#But he can’t because his kingdom is gone and his temples are gone and he is angry and frustrated and was only 17 when he ascended

[glitter50000]

Xie Lian in the first half of book 4 is like Icarus surviving the fall and attempting to put the melted wax back onto the broken wings and some people laugh at him for it.

[theballadofharkness]

Agatha Harkness VS Salem: The Kittening, A Cat-astrophe

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x fem! Reader

Summary: When you brings home a stray kitten Agatha can’t say no to those big pleading eyes and putting lips. What she doesn’t know is that she has met her new mortal enemy, transforming her house in a battleground in which she is fighting for your attention. But now, the tables have turned and it is time for you to feel the stab of jealousy.

Word Count: 9.3K

Warnings: major smut warning so MDNI xo

A/N: would love to continue this series so any suggestions would be great, my asks are open loves 💜🪻xo

Agatha Harkness had lived a long, long life.

She had fought monsters, burned kingdoms, seduced queens, and crushed men under her heel for fun. But none of it prepared her for the agony of lying in her own bed. Alone. The pillow beside her was cold. The sheets were untouched.

Salem had retreated to his sunbed in the corner, mercifully quiet for once, like even he knew she’d gone too far. Agatha stared up at the ceiling in silence, heart pounding against her ribs like it was trying to escape.

She wasn’t used to silence in this bed.

Not since you’d moved in.

Usually, the room was full of soft sounds, your voice humming while brushing your teeth, your bare feet padding across the wood; the faint rustle of your robe as you climbed in beside her, curling into her side like you belonged there. Which you did. You always had. And she had fucked it.

Agatha groaned into her pillow.

Because it wasn’t just that she hadn’t seen you. It was that she hadn’t looked. You’d stood there in the doorway wearing the most sinfully beautiful thing she’d ever seen. That silk, the deep red of wine and ruin, had draped your body like it was poured just for you. The lace kissed your thighs, wrapped around your hips, framed your breasts like an altar.

You had looked like a goddess.

Like her goddess.

And she was on the fucking floor playing with a cat.

Her fingers curled around the sheets like she could tear time backwards.

The image of you in that lingerie was carved into her mind. It would haunt her forever. Because it wasn’t just that she hadn’t seen you. It was that she hadn’t looked. You’d stood there in the doorway wearing the most sinfully beautiful thing she’d ever seen. That silk, the deep red of wine and ruin, had draped your body like it was poured just for you. The lace kissed your thighs, wrapped around your hips, framed your breasts like an altar.

You looked like a goddess.

Like her goddess.

And she was on the fucking floor playing with a cat.

Agatha flipped over, burying her face in her hands with a groan. “Fuck, fuck, fuck…” She was such a fucking idiot.

She rolled onto her side, clutching your pillow, the faintest trace of your perfume still clinging to it and it felt like punishment. Because she remembered everything. She remembered how you used to blush if she began to talk filthy. How you’d stammer the first time she said, “Take your shirt off for me, babygirl.” You’d been shy. Fragile. Sweet. And she had taken her time, coaxed you open like a spell, praised your body like a temple, held your face in her hands and said, “You’re so beautiful when you beg.”

And now?

Now you had walked out of the bathroom like a goddess on a warpath, draped in silk and vengeance. You had dressed up for her. You had tried to seduce her.

And instead of throwing you on the bed and tearing that lingerie off with her teeth, she had let you walk out of the room without a single fucking touch.

Agatha squeezed her eyes shut, fists tightening against the mattress, her thighs clenching with nothing to hold.

God, if she had looked…

Her hands curled into fists against the sheets. She would have walked to you, slow, reverent. Would’ve dropped to her knees and worshipped you. She would’ve kissed every inch of skin exposed by that silk, starting at your ankles, up your thighs, her mouth warm and wet and full of apology.

She would’ve laid you on the bed and taken her time unfastening every ribbon with trembling fingers, whispering praises into the softness of your stomach, your breasts, your throat. She would have touched you so slowly, so thoroughly, until you were shaking beneath her, until all you could say was her name in that wrecked, desperate voice she loved.

Then she’d kneel. Put your legs over her shoulders and devour you. Long, slow licks, hands pinning your thighs wide while you moaned for her. Her name on your tongue like a prayer. She wouldn’t stop. Wouldn’t let you up. Would lap at you like it was punishment and you’d take it, writhing, soaked, breathless.

You’d come once, and she wouldn’t stop.

You’d sob her name again, and she’d purr, “That’s right, sweetheart. One more.”

You’d be trembling, leaking onto the sheets, voice shaking, and she’d crawl up your body like a shadow and whisper, “You’re mine.”

But instead?

Instead she’d let a fucking cat distract her.

And now? You were in the guest room. Still wearing that set, probably. Still beautiful. Still furious. And not hers tonight. Her hips shifted under the sheet again, a pang of heat curling low in her stomach.

But she didn’t touch herself. Couldn’t. It wouldn’t feel right. Not without you moaning under her. Not without your little gasp when she pressed two fingers inside you and said, “Come for me, pretty thing. That’s it.”

No.

She didn’t get to have that. She didn’t get to pretend. She rolled onto her back, staring at the ceiling, fists clenched, chest tight.

“Fucking idiot,” she whispered to herself.

Because this wasn’t just missing sex. This was missing you. Your soft smile. The way you giggled when she kissed your nose. The way you clung to her in your sleep. The way you looked when you trusted her.

But tonight?

She’d made you feel undesirable. She’d made the only woman who had ever looked at her with pure, reverent love feel like she wasn’t enough. Because she wanted to win a game she should’ve never started.

Agatha covered her face with her hands. Her voice was a muffled growl against the pillow. “Okay. Tomorrow. We fix this.” She took a deep breath. “Big apology. Flowers. Jewelry. A spell circle made of chocolate if I have to.”

Another pause. “And no more smug cat bullshit. Fuck’s sake.”

She stared at the empty side of the bed again. You weren’t there. You should’ve been there. Under her. Around her. “Gods, baby,” she whispered. “I should be fucking you right now.”

She groaned, long and guttural, into her pillow, writhing with nothing to touch. Then sat up, hair a wild mess, robe half off, breasts flushed from heat she couldn’t burn off.

“Right,” she muttered. “Harkness. You blew it. Time to beg like a bitch.”

~ Across the hall ~

You lay curled on your side in the spare room, robe drawn tight over your lingerie, phone clutched in your hands like a lifeline.

Your cheeks were still flushed. Not from arousal anymore but from rage. Your stomach was in knots and she hadn’t even looked up. You had walked out in the most beautiful set of lingerie you’d ever worn in your life, and Agatha hadn’t even fucking glanced.

You stared at your phone, heart thudding, and finally typed a message to Jen:

<Y/N: She didn’t even look up.>

<Y/N: I stood there for like a full minute. I looked fucking HOT.>

<Y/N: Now I just feel so stupid.>

<Y/N: It took her ages to even notice I was in the room.>

<Jen: OH HELL NO.>

<Jen: No no no. She did not ignore that lingerie.>

<Jen: You were supposed to destroy her.>

<Y/N: I thought I would but turns out she was too busy playing with the cat.>

<Y/N: Again.>

<Y/N: While I was standing there in suspenders, Jen.>

<Jen: Two words.>

<Jen: Sex. Ban.>

You blinked.

<Y/N: What?>

<Jen: Don’t let her near you.>

<Jen: None of it. No touching. No kissing. No cuddling. No fingers, no mouth, no fucking forehead kisses.>

<Jen: She wants affection? She can get it from the cat.>

<Y/N: That feels… mean.>

<Jen: GOOD.>

<Jen: She was mean first.>

<Jen: You wore silk for her and she played with the cat instead like you didn’t even exist.>

You buried your face in your pillow and let out a strangled noise. You hated how right she was. The more you thought about it, the more the embarrassment faded and fury took its place.

You had prepared for tonight. You had spent hours shopping, trying, dressing, getting the courage to wear something that made you feel so exposed and powerful. And for once, you wanted to take control. Show her what she meant to you. Make her need you.

But she didn’t even see you.

You exhaled before responding to Jen

<Y/N: Okay. Yeah.>

<Y/N: I’m not letting her touch me.>

<Jen: YESSS.>

<Jen: Be cold. Be hot. Be terrifying.>

<Jen: You’re the one holding the power. Make her beg.>

You laughed, just a little, and rolled onto your back. Your hand ran across the soft silk of your lingerie beneath the robe. Agatha didn’t get to have it tonight. And maybe not tomorrow. Maybe not for days.

She could kiss Salem goodnight.

You?

You were off-limits.

~

Agatha woke up in a cold sweat.

It was early, far too early for someone like her who considered noon an appropriate hour for spellwork and sin, but her eyes snapped open like a curse had been triggered. Because the bed was still empty. Still cold. And you were still gone.

She sat up fast, the sheet sliding down her chest, hair wild, pillow lines creasing her cheek. She looked at the empty pillow beside her like it had personally offended her.

“Fuck,” she muttered, already scrambling out of bed.

She needed to fix this.

She needed to fix it now.

She wrapped her robe around herself like armor and padded barefoot into the kitchen, heart pounding.

Okay. Okay.

Breakfast. Sweet witches love breakfast. She’d make your favorite. Tea. Toast. That fruit you liked. Maybe eggs. Did she have eggs? Did she remember how to cook eggs?

Her hands flew open the cabinets, muttering to herself like she was reciting a binding spell. “Where’s the honey? Do we own honey? Do witches eat honey?”

She yanked open the fridge and muttered, “Okay. We have… eggs. Probably fine. Bread. Slightly out of date but it’ll toast fine. Strawberries. Yes. She loves strawberries. Good. That’s romantic.”

The teapot screeched a little louder than necessary. Agatha swore and yanked it off the flame, sloshing boiling water onto her hand. “Mother fuck-”

She shook it off, stuck her burned fingers into a glass of cold water, and turned to the spellbook perched open on the counter like a smug witness.

“Shut up,” she muttered. “I know I’m panicking.”

Salem hopped onto the table and gave her a lazy blink.

Agatha glared at him. “Don’t start.”

He meowed.

“You were the problem.”

He meowed again, sassier this time.

She sighed. “Okay, we were the problem.”

She returned to the breakfast, flinging her magic into little tasks, strawberries sliced with a flick of her wrist, toast flipping itself mid-air, eggs scrambling with a shimmering spell that kind of smelled like rosemary instead of sulfur.

She poured your tea herself, carefully, and arranged it all on a tray like she was going into battle. Toast. Eggs. Strawberries in a heart shape. Tea. Little honey pot. Sprig of mint. Cute napkin. Cute knife.

The works.

She stood back and stared at the tray.

“Okay,” she whispered to herself. “You’re gonna walk in there. She’s still mad. That’s fine. You’ll be charming. You’ll apologize. She’ll get flustered. You’ll kiss her forehead. She’ll melt. Everything will be okay again.” She took a deep breath. “Let’s go.”

The house was quiet as she made her way down the hall, tray floating in front of her like a peace offering on silk.

The spare room door was closed.

She paused outside it, heart thudding, and knocked gently with one hand while the tray hovered beside her.

“Baby?”

Silence.

She knocked again. “Darling? I, um… I brought you breakfast.”

Still nothing.

She reached for the handle, whispering, “C’mon, pretty girl…”

And it didn’t turn.

Her brow furrowed. She tried again. Locked.

Agatha blinked. She knocked louder. “Honey?”

Nothing.

She stepped back, stunned. Salem meowed from the hallway, hopping up to sit beside her, looking vaguely smug again.

“She locked the door,” Agatha said aloud, staring at it like it had betrayed her. “She locked me out.”

She looked at Salem, eyes wide. “I don’t get locked out.”

He meowed.

“She locked me out?!”

She stepped forward, knocking again but this time a little faster. “Baby? Sweetheart? It’s me. I brought you food. And an apology. A long one. With, like, big words.”

Still nothing.

“Okay, fine, I’ll go through it with you later,” she said quickly, the panic creeping back in. “But just let me see you, yeah? Please?”

She leaned her forehead against the door, exhaling shakily. “Please, baby. I didn’t sleep. I feel like shit. I just want to see your face.”

A pause.

Still nothing.

And Agatha- powerful, ancient, chaotic Agatha- whispered,“…She’s punishing me.”

She straightened up slowly, eyes wide, as the reality of it hit her.

You weren’t just mad. You weren’t just hurt. But withholding. You hadn’t screamed. Hadn’t hexed her. Hadn’t thrown things. You’d just locked the door. And suddenly? She would’ve preferred the hex.

The knock came again, this time softer. “Baby?”

You didn’t answer.

You stayed curled on your side, robe still drawn tightly over that same stunning lingerie from last night. You hadn’t changed out of it. You didn’t want to. Let it cling to you like a symbol of what she could’ve had.

You heard her exhale against the door. “I made you breakfast. Please let me in. I just… I want to talk.”

Another pause. You stayed silent a moment longer, letting her sit in it. Feel it.

Then, finally with a flick of your wrist the latch unlocked and softly you whispered, “It’s unlocked.”

You heard her inhale. Then the door creaked open.

Agatha stood in the frame like she was crossing a battlefield. Hair a wild mess. Robe slipping off her shoulder. One strap of her silk nightgown twisted and falling. Her eyes were wrecked. Tired. Apologetic. Hopeful. She looked like a woman who’d spent all night fantasizing about crawling back into your arms and knew she didn’t deserve it.

The tray floated ahead of her, toast, eggs, strawberries, tea, and she set it gently on your lap, kneeling beside the bed with her hands folded like she was afraid to touch you. “I… tried,” she said. “No magic. Well, a little magic. The toast kind of caught fire and then I overcompensated and it turned into brioche, but… ” she trailed off.

You didn’t say anything. You picked up a strawberry. Bit into it.

Agatha stared at your mouth like it might forgive her. After a moment, she added, more softly, “And the tea is the one you like. With the little lemon zest spell.”

You nodded.

Another silence.

She sat on the edge of the bed, very carefully, as if she thought the weight might spook you.

You didn’t tell her to leave. That was something.

She watched you eat in silence for a few minutes, eyes flitting over your robe, your bare legs beneath the tray, the lace garter peeking from underneath.

Her breath caught slightly. You knew she was thinking about it. You knew exactly what image haunted her.

Good.

You reached for your tea, and she finally spoke again.

“Baby,” she whispered, “I’m sorry.”

You didn’t answer.

“Really. I know I was wrong. I took it too far. I thought I was being funny, but… I made you feel like I didn’t want you.”

You sipped your tea.

“I always want you,” she added, voice low, rough. “Every second of every day. You know that, right?”

Still, you didn’t say anything.

Agatha hesitated.

Then she leaned in. Kissed your shoulder, bare where your robe had slipped, soft, warm, her lips trembling just slightly. “Mommy’s sorry,” she murmured. “Let me make it up to you, babygirl.”

You closed your eyes and focused on her voice. Her words. It hurt how much you wanted to forgive her.

She kissed along your shoulder, to your neck, slow and reverent.

You stayed still.

Her hand slid to your thigh, just under the edge of the tray, stroking the garter strap. Her mouth pressed under your ear.

“I should’ve dropped to my knees last night,” she whispered. “You looked so beautiful, baby. So proud. You were mine. I should’ve, fuck, I should’ve worshipped you.”

You felt her hand rise to your chest, fingers brushing over the silk, cupping you gently.

“I missed you,” she said, voice thick. “I missed your pretty moans. Your perfect little sounds. Let Mommy hear them tonight, yeah?”

Her thumb brushed your nipple.

You let out the faintest sound.

You felt her smirk.

But then…

“Meow.” Salem’s voice cut through the moment like a dagger.

You froze.

Agatha didn’t move, looking at you like a hunter with prey that might bolt any second.

You opened your eyes.

He meowed again, from the hallway, sharp and casual, like What’s going on in there?

You shoved the tray off your lap, carefully, not angrily, and sat up fast.

Agatha blinked, confused. “Wait, what?”

You stood. Tightened your robe. Fixed your hair.

Her eyes followed you like she couldn’t process what was happening.

You turned toward the door. “I’m going to wash the dishes.”

She blinked again. “You- you what?”

You looked at her, calm and cold. “You heard me.”

“Baby, wait, come back. Please- ” Her hand reached for you. “You want this. I felt you. You’re- ”

“I was letting you touch me,” you said, voice quiet but sharp. “And then I remembered who got more kisses from you this week than I did.”

Agatha paled.

You turned the doorknob.

“Maybe you should spend the day with the cat.”

She gasped. “Baby no-”

You raised an eyebrow. “Why not? Seems like you think he’s better company than your own wife.”

She winced like you’d slapped her.

You walked out. The sound of your footsteps down the hall was the only thing she could hear over her own internal screaming.

Salem meowed again.

She stared at him, stunned.

Then whispered, “…I am in hell.”

~

Agatha Harkness was unraveling.

And the coven could feel it.

It wasn’t the magic. That was steady if not a little more volatile than usual. No, it was something deeper. Older. Something that made her pacing sharper, her spellwork snappier, her signature elegance fractured at the edges.

She sat on the edge of the velvet chair like it might betray her. Legs crossed too tightly, one hand clawed around a cup of tea that had long since gone cold. Her jaw worked soundlessly as she stared across the room at you kneeling sweetly at the center of the circle, arranging herbs into bundles, your hair loose around your shoulders, sweater falling off one side just enough to show the strap of your slip underneath.

You were glowing. Peaceful. Soft-spoken.

And untouchable.

The tension had been building all week. And now, on day five of your soft, sweet, weaponized denial, Agatha was coming undone.

You slept beside her each night in silence, your arm brushing hers, your breath warm on her shoulder. And that was all. No thigh pressed between your legs. No slow kisses beneath the covers.

No gasping “Aggie please?” as she slid her fingers between your thighs.

Just sleep.

And now? Now you were running the weekly coven meeting like the picture of grace, passing Jen a fresh cinnamon stick and offering Lilia her favorite blend of tea.

Agatha didn’t say a word. She couldn’t. She was too busy aching.

Jen watched it happen like she was tracking a storm. She’d been eyeing Agatha for ten minutes now, watching the way her fingers twitched when you brushed past her, the way her lips parted like she might whisper your name, then snapped closed again like she couldn’t afford to let it out.

Billy finally leaned in beside her, whispering, “She’s doing that thing again.”

“What thing?”

“That like haunted, strung-out, ‘I’ve made a terrible mistake’ thing.”

Jen tilted her head. “You mean the ‘she hasn’t come in five days’ thing?”

Billy nearly choked on his tea.

Alice looked over from across the circle, brows lifting. “Wait what?!”

“Don’t look at me,” Billy whispered. “I didn’t know either.”

Lilia raised one hand, not looking up from her crystal. “It’s obvious.”

Alice frowned. “But I thought the Salem jealousy thing was over?”

“Oh, it is,” Jen said, smirking. “This is something new.”

Across the room, Agatha stared at the unlit candles like they’d personally betrayed her. She hadn’t blinked in over a minute.

When you stood and stretched looking soft, warm, and radiant in that knitted sweater and silk beneath Agatha’s eyes flicked to your thighs like a prayer about to be answered.

You smiled and said, “I’m just going to check on Señor Scratchy upstairs, he got into the potting soil again this morning.”

Then you were gone.

And Agatha?

She exhaled like she’d been holding her breath for an hour.

The moment the door closed, Jen set her teacup down with a soft clink. She leaned forward. “Well.”

Agatha didn’t move, just kept staring at the empty space where you’d been.

Billy raised a hand. “I’m just gonna ask. Is everything… okay?”

Agatha’s lips twitched. “I’m fine.”

“Are you?”

“I’m fine.”

“She really hasn’t touched you in five days, huh?” Jen asked calmly.

Agatha’s eyes snapped to hers. “Excuse me?”

Jen grinned. “Oh honey. I know. I suggested it.”

Alice’s jaw dropped. “Wait what?”

Jen turned to the others, hands spread like a showman revealing the final trick.

“She’s sleeping next to her wife every night. Soft. Sweet. Smelling like sex and herbs and not giving her a single thing.”

Agatha stood up. Too fast. Her chair scraped backward with a screech.

Billy blinked. “Wait, are you actually on a sex ban?”

Lilia didn’t flinch. “Of course she is.”

Alice’s mouth dropped open. “What the hell did you do?”

Jen was practically vibrating with smugness now. “She called the cat her baby. While her actual wife stood there. In lingerie. Trying to seduce her.”

Billy gasped. “She didn’t.”

Agatha threw up her hands. “I didn’t see her!”

Jen snorted. “Oh, you saw the cat just fine.”

Alice winced. “Wow.”

Agatha spun, pacing now. “It was one stupid moment. I was stupid. I should’ve looked up. I should’ve-”

“Dropped to your knees and begged?” Jen offered.

Agatha glared. “Yes.”

Billy laughed nervously. “So wait… she’s not mad?”

“No,” Agatha groaned. “She’s polite. That’s the worst part.”

“She’s punishing you,” Lilia said.

“She’s starving me,” Agatha whispered. “She kissed me on the cheek and said ‘sleep well’ while wearing lace and suspenders. And then she slept.”

Alice looked horrified.

Jen looked delighted. “She’s edging you emotionally,” Jen said, grinning. “It’s brilliant.”

“I’m losing my mind.” Agatha stopped pacing. “Last night I dreamed she touched my thigh and I woke up moaning.”

Billy coughed. “God.”

“I keep following her around like a puppy. She made toast in her nightgown and I nearly passed out.”

“She’s winning,” Jen said. “Let her.”

“I can’t. I’m a shell of a woman.”

They all looked up as the door creaked open again.

You stepped in, smiling, the faint scent of rosewater clinging to your skin. “All fine upstairs,” you said cheerfully. “Should we start again?”

Agatha blinked at you like she was seeing an angel who used to let her eat her out on the sofa.

Jen took a long, slow sip of her tea.

Agatha didn’t say a word. She just sat back down. And tried not to cry.

~

It was after the coven meeting was coming to a close that Agatha cornered the architect of the personal hell she was living in.

“Tell me what to do.” She looked at the potions witch with a pleading look that screamed desperation. “Tell me what to do and I’ll buy £100 worth of your skincare. And a Jade Egg for old times sake.”

“Wear something sinful.” Jen’s voice was casual, like she was suggesting a new nail color. But the effect on Agatha was instant.

Her brow twitched. “Excuse me?”

Jen rolled her eyes. “You heard me. Lingerie. Lace. Corset. Something that says I’m sorry I called the cat my baby and ignored your tits for 30 minutes.”

Agatha scoffed. “I don’t need… I usually don’t have to try.”

Jen gave her the slowest, most unimpressed head turn in the history of witchcraft. “Wow. Okay. Mrs. Harkness. My apologies.”

Agatha raised a brow. “I’m just saying—when I look at her like I want to eat her, she usually melts.”

Jen threw her hands up. “Then why are we on day five of The Great Wifely Drought, Agatha?”

Agatha exhaled. “Fair.”

“Exactly.” Jen smirked. “So. Go home. Put on something devastating. And for the love of Hecate, mean it. No teasing. No smugness. Just… ruin her. Worship her.” And with that, she turned and left.

Agatha stood there in the hallway, the silence rushing in behind her.

Wear something sinful. She rolled her eyes to herself as if she didn’t have drawers full of sin.

But still… Something flickered in her chest. A memory. A very specific one. The purple set.Dark as plum wine. Lace and satin and thin silk straps, delicate enough to be decadent, structured enough to crush. It was the kind of lingerie made for slow undressing. It cinched her waist, framed her chest like an offering, hugged the swell of her hips with high-cut reverence.

She hadn’t worn it since your wedding night.

Gods her lips parted just remembering it.

You’d been so nervous, soft, radiant, lit up with shy excitement. She’d watched you peel off your dress with shaking fingers, your lashes fluttering as you stepped out of it for her, your voice a breathless whisper when you said, “You’re so beautiful it hurts.”

And then? She had walked out of the bathroom in that set and your jaw had dropped. You’d literally staggered back a step, mouth parting like prayer.

She’d crawled into the bed, slow and deliberate, and asked “Do you want me to ruin my new bride?”

You’d whimpered. “Please.”

She remembered every second. How she’d pinned you down with just her gaze. How her fingers hadn’t stopped shaking as she touched you, slow and worshipful, whispering “Mine” every time you moaned. How she’d eaten you for what felt like hours till her jaw ached, licking through your orgasm and beyond, until you were gasping, limp, crying softly from overstimulation, too wrecked to form words. And when she’d finally pulled you into her arms, kissed your forehead, rocked you through the aftershocks?

You’d whispered the softest little, “Thank you, Aggie.”

She’d never forgotten it. Her knees nearly buckled at the memory.

Okay, Harkness, she thought. It’s time.

She turned on her heel, her robe fluttering behind her like a cape. She had a drawer to dig through.

A wife to win back.

And a legacy to reclaim.

~

The moment she heard the water running upstairs, Agatha moved like a woman possessed.

You’d giggled softly when she suggested it, “a bath? What’s the occasion?”

And she had smiled, kissed your temple, and whispered, “Just wanted to treat my baby.”

You’d softened instantly, soaking in that rare tenderness, unaware that the moment the door closed behind you, your wife was already halfway down the stairs with a spellbook under her arm and a plan.

Because tonight wasn’t about apology.

It was about devotion.

She flicked her wrist, the bedroom door slamming open with a burst of candle-scented air. She tossed her robe to the floor and yanked open her vanity drawers, hands trembling with urgency as she dug for the set.

That deep plum corset. Black lace. Satin panels. Boning that shaped her waist into a wicked curve and hugged her hips like temptation. She hadn’t worn it since your wedding night. The night she’d reduced you to nothing but tears and grateful moans and soft little “thank you, Mommy” gasps against her throat.

She remembered the way your legs had shaken. How you’d begged for her to stop while your hips kept rocking into her face.

And tonight?

She wanted that again.

No.

She needed it.

She laced herself in tight. So tight her ribs ached. Good. She deserved to suffer for you. Deserved to feel it with every breath.

She lit every candle in the room. Changed the sheets. Burned your favorite incense—clove and amber and something darker underneath. The salt circle she carved at the foot of the bed glowed with purple runes, each one etched with words she couldn’t bring herself to say aloud—forgiveness, devotion, mine.

The bedroom looked like a temple.

No- an altar.

Candles lined every surface, flickering low and golden, casting soft shadows across the black silk sheets. There was incense burning, her rarest blend, the one she saved for Beltane and forgiveness. The room smelled like smoke and clove and something faintly floral, just enough to make your breath catch when you walked in.

At the foot of the bed, a glowing spell circle hummed in soft lavender and wine-colored light, carved into the floor with chalk, salt, and runes of devotion. Not power. Not dominance.

Reverence.

This was no seduction.

It was an offering.

And Agatha? She was standing in the center of it, barefoot, her corset in one hand, her magic swirling around her in low pulses like a storm held back by sheer will. She looked like a fallen goddess on the edge of madness.

Which, of course, she was.

She was trembling but not with nerves. With intention. You were upstairs in the bath. And when you came down? She wanted you to walk into this room and feel how much she meant it.

Not with flowers.

Not with breakfast.

But with her body. Her magic. Her hunger, tempered only by worship.

She ran her fingers over the silk corset, eyes distant. Her skin tingled with memory, the way your eyes had gone glassy on your wedding night, the way you’d clung to her wrists and thanked her through broken sobs.

You’d be in nothing soon. Spread out for her like a sacrament.

But only if she got this exactly right.

She flicked her fingers, adjusting the lighting spell. The shadows shifted. Yes. Softer. She wanted the light to catch the edge of your body when you walked in and glow.

She turned back to her dresser.

And that’s when she heard it.

Clatter.

She froze, slowing turning her head. And there, on the vanity, was Salem.

Paw raised.

Eyes gleaming.

Whiskers twitching with menace. A delicate crystal perfume bottle wobbled at the edge of the dresser.

Agatha’s eye twitched. “Don’t you dare.”

Salem blinked.

Then pushed it off.

Shatter.

Agatha inhaled slowly through her nose. “Salem.”

He meowed.

“You little bastard.”

He knocked off another bottle.

Agatha lunged.

He hissed.

And she hissed back. Fangs bared. Teeth flashing. Shoulders squared like she was about to duel him for the honor of her marriage.

Salem froze. His tail puffed. Then, with a dramatic flick of his ears, he scampered off the dresser and disappeared under the bed.

Agatha straightened, muttering, “Touch anything else and I’ll enchant your fur off.”

She turned back to the mirror, took a deep breath, and ran a hand through her hair.

Her eyes found her reflection. Dark. Focused. Lips blood red. Skin glowing. Chest rising and falling with every breath of anticipation. She was ready for you. And this time?

She wasn’t going to miss a thing.

She adjusted her corset. Smoothed her thighs. Slipped on her heels.

Then?

She dropped to her knees.

At the center of the circle, hands on her thighs, eyes lowered.

A villain in offering.

~ Upstairs ~

You soaked, soft and oblivious, until the water cooled and your skin smelled like rose oil and magic.

When you padded down the stairs in your robe, still towel-drying your hair, you expected something quiet. Maybe wine. A guilty wife holding a glass of pinot and an apology.

You didn’t expect the door to your shared bedroom to be cracked open.

You didn’t expect candlelight. Or the scent of sex-magic and clove curling into the hallway like a hand around your throat.

You stepped inside and froze.

The room was glowing.

Silk sheets. Candles flickering low. Incense wafting through the air like an invocation.

And in the middle of a glowing purple spell circle was Agatha. Kneeling. Back arched. Thighs spread. Corset laced so tight her tits nearly spilled out. Her lips painted, eyes lowered, trembling.

You swallowed hard.

Her voice was soft. “Hi, babygirl.”

“What is this?”

She looked up slowly.

And fuck. Those eyes. All stormclouds and want. Her hands curled in her lap like she was afraid to reach. “This,” she whispered, “is me begging for my wife.”

You said nothing, just stared at your wife in front of you.

She licked her lips. “Can I touch you?”

You tilted your head, your resolve slipping fast. “W-why would I let you do that?”

Agatha exhaled shakily. “Because I need it. Because I’ve spent five days thinking about how I made you feel like you weren’t enough. And you are. You’re everything, baby.”

You stepped closer.

She moaned softly. “Let me touch you,” she begged. “Let me kiss your stomach. Your thighs. Let me eat your sweet little pussy until you’re crying, baby.”

You bit your lip. “You think you deserve that?”

She whimpered. “I think I don’t. But I need it anyway. I know I fucked upI ignored you. I let my stupid pride, my jealousy, come between us. I forgot how lucky I am. How fucking blessed I am to be yours.”

You stepped into the circle. Her breath caught.

“Take off your robe,” she whispered. “Please, I’ve missed you. Missed your skin. Missed your scent. Missed those little sounds you make when I get my tongue just right- ”

You undid the knot slowly. Let the robe fall.

She choked. “Oh fuck,” she breathed. “Look at you. My gorgeous girl. My wife. Fuck, baby come sit on my face, let me earn you.”

You knelt on the bed, slowly, legs spread.

You didn’t speak.

You let her suffer.

Agatha crawled forward like a predator trying to act soft and gentle.

She kissed your knees. Your thighs. And then looked up, her voice raw. “Will you let me eat your cunt, baby? Will you let me make it up to you with my mouth?”

You gave a tiny nod.

She didn’t wait. She slid between your legs and moaned when her tongue met your folds. Licked slow, then flat, then fast…

You cried out. “Oh gods- Agatha!”

She hummed, mouth greedy, hands firm on your thighs as she licked you open. Deep, filthy, endless.

“Sweetest fucking thing I’ve ever tasted,” she groaned. “This pussy’s mine, baby. Say it.”

You gasped, hips rocking.

“Say it,” she growled.

“It’s yours, Agatha, I’m yours- ”

She groaned like she’d come just from hearing it.

Her fingers slipped between your folds, spreading you open gently, reverently, like you were a spell she had to read with her mouth. Then her fingers slid in. Two. Perfectly curved. Fucking you slow and deep while her tongue worked your clit like a spell.

You shattered, crying out, hips bucking. Sobbing, legs shaking, voice wrecked. But Agatha didn’t stop. Not even when you tried to pull away. Not even when you begged for mercy.

She held you down with her mouth and praised you between licks. “You’re so good. So beautiful. So fucking perfect, my sweet little wife.”

You whimpered.

Agatha sped up. Not hard. Not brutal. Just intentional. Steady. Relentless.

“I know your body better than anyone,” she growled. “I know what makes you cry, what makes you come, what makes you lose it. And I’m gonna give you all of it.”

Your moans were getting louder.

Your thighs shaking.

You felt the edge rushing up fast.

And Agatha knew.

She could feel your cunt fluttering around her fingers, and she fucking loved it.

“Oh, she’s close,” she crooned. “My baby’s gonna cum. You gonna make a mess for me, sweetheart?”

You nodded, crying out. “Yes, fuck- I’m gonna- ”

“Cum,” she commanded. “Now. Do it for me, baby.”

And you shattered.

Your vision blurred.

Your body seized. You sobbed as you came around her fingers, and she just kept fucking you through it.

“That’s it. That’s my good girl. Fuck, you’re so gorgeous when you cum. Look at that pretty pussy soaking me.”

Your eyes rolled back. And still, her fingers moved. Curling. Pressing. Punishing. You didn’t even feel the second orgasm coming until it exploded. Your hands flew to the sheets, gripping hard as your body arched your hips off the bed, thighs clenched, and Agatha groaned, pushing deeper.

Your whole body locked, and then released with a high-pitched cry as you squirted all over her hand, your thighs trembling violently.

Agatha moaned like she’d come herself. “Fuck yes,” she growled. “There she is. That’s my good girl.”

She licked your slick off her fingers like it was cream.

Then crawled up your body, straddling your waist, breath ragged. “Feeling good baby?” she whispered.

Your body collapsed back against the bed, limp and trembling, chest heaving as tears ran down your cheeks. You blinked at her, dazed and destroyed.

Agatha crawled back up your body, kissed your cheeks, your temples, your mouth.

“You did so good,” she whispered. “So perfect. So fucking beautiful.”

Her hands were gentle now. Stroking. Soothing. Worshipping. She pulled you into her lap, cradled you close, kissed your forehead.

“I love you,” she murmured. “I’m yours. I’ll never forget that again.”

You were still shaking. Still dazed. But you managed to whisper, soft and broken, “Agatha…”

“Yes, baby?”

“I forgive you.”

Agatha buried her face in your neck, her voice breaking. And held you. For a long, long time. When she finally let you come down, she curled up beside you, kissing your hair, whispering promises against your skin. “I’m never choosing anything over you again. Not a spell. Not a cat. Nothing.”

You curled into her, breathless and whispered, “I love you Agatha .”

Her heart broke and mended all in one beat. “Can’t believe I let anything come between us,” she whispered. “You were trying to give yourself to me, and I looked away. Never again, baby. You hear me? You’re never gonna have to beg again.”

You clung to her as she kissed your hair, whispering over and over, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m never choosing anything over you again. You’re everything to me. Everything.”

Her whole body was flush against yours, warm and trembling, her corset pressing into your ribs as she held you. “You’re perfect,” she murmured. “My perfect girl. My angel. You take everything so good. So fucking good for me.”

Her voice was wrecked, lips brushing your ear like prayer. “I love you so much,” she whispered. “I never wanted to make you feel unwanted. I swear to the gods, baby. I’d cut off my own hands before I ever ignore you like that again.”

Your fingers curled weakly into her arm.

And that’s when she broke. The words tumbled out in a shaking whisper, so soft you barely caught them. “Baby…”

You blinked, turning your head just enough to see her face. She was looking down at you, pupils blown, lips swollen and wet. Her hand had finally stilled inside you, but she hadn’t pulled away. She was just… holding you.

Her voice cracked. “Please touch me.”

You blinked again.

“I know,” she whispered. “I know I don’t deserve it. I know I was awful. I know I hurt you. But it’s been so long, baby. It’s been too fucking long…”

Her breath hitched.

“I feel like I’m going insane. I wake up hard and aching and empty. I hear your voice and I want to drop to my knees. You kissed my forehead and I nearly came from it.”

Your lips parted. “Aggie…”

She shook her head, fast.

“I shouldn’t ask. I shouldn’t. But, please. Please, babygirl. Touch me. Just a little. Let me feel your hands on me. Your mouth. I’ll take anything. Let me come for you.”

Your heart clenched.

Because she meant it.

All of it.

Her hand slipped from between your thighs and she collapsed beside you, panting, blinking fast as if holding back tears.

“I missed you,” she whispered. “I missed you so much. And now you’re here and I just… I want you to own me again too. Please.”

You reached for her, you hand cupped her jaw and pulled her into a kiss.

She whimpered into your mouth like it hurt.

“Take off your corset,” you whispered.

She gasped. “Y-Yes. Yes- baby, thank you-”

She sat up fast, hands trembling as she untied the ribbons, breasts spilling free as she peeled it off and tossed it to the floor. Her nipples were already hard, chest rising and falling like she’d just run through a storm.

You pushed her back onto the bed and crawled between her thighs.

She choked on her breath. “Oh fuck- ”

“Shhh,” you murmured, dragging your mouth down her neck. “You’ve waited so long, haven’t you?”

“Yes-yes-” she gasped.

You kissed her lips harder, fingers tangling in her hair, pulling her in.

She moaned against your mouth like it had been weeks, like your kiss was the only thing keeping her alive. Her body was tense beneath yours, curved, flushed, mouth slick and red.

She always took control.

Always.

Even when she let you ride her face, she was the one in control.

Her mouth, her rhythm, her rules.

But right now? Right now, she was trembling.

Your lips broke from hers, breath catching as you kissed down her throat, biting lightly at her collarbone. She arched up against you, hips bucking, tits pressed to your chest, hands gripping the sheets like she was drowning.

“Fuck,” she whispered. “Oh fuck- baby- ”

You kissed between her breasts, licking softly, letting your fingers trail down her trembling stomach. Her muscles jumped beneath your mouth.

She looked down at you, eyes wild, lips parted. “Please,” she whispered. “Please touch me, need you, baby- fuck, please… ”

Your hands spread her thighs.

Her pussy was soaked. Dripping, twitching and desperate. Your tongue dragged slowly between her folds.

She screamed. “Yes- oh my god-”

You licked her again,slow and flat, and she arched so hard her head slammed back into the pillows.

“Oh my god, baby- don’t stop, don’t fucking stop- ”

You smiled against her. Started eating her in slow, wet circles, your tongue focused on her clit as your fingers slid in, tight, hot, perfect.

She nearly sobbed. “Fuck you’re so good- so fucking good-”

You pumped your fingers slow at first, deep, curling, feeling her walls clench around you. And then? You pulled back your mouth.

She gasped, “N-no, NO-”

You grinned up at her. “You said it’s been too long,” you whispered. “You can wait a little longer.”

“Fuck you,” she growled, her eyes blown, jaw slack, hips bucking.

You licked her slowly, teasing now.Light pressure. Just enough to make her lose it.

“Please,” she panted. “Please, baby, I’ll do anything, I’ll buy you twenty more kittens, just fucking… please let me cum-”

You slid your fingers deeper and sucked her clit into your mouth.

She shattered. Her entire body spasmed, cunt pulsing around your fingers as she screamed, raw and broken and feral.

But you didn’t stop.

You kept fucking her.

Kept licking, moaning into her, praising her between every thrust of your fingers.

She was crying. Full-body sobs, breath stuttering, hands reaching for you as you held her tighter, “you did so good,” you whispered. “Love you so much baby.”

When Agatha finally caught her breath she kissed your forehead. Soft. Reverent. “I love you,” she whispered.

“I love you too,” you breathed.

She smiled. “Does that mean I’m forgiven?”

You kissed her. “Shut up, you’re still in thin ice.”

She laughed, wrecked and in love. And when you fell asleep on top of her, still bare and flushed, Agatha held you like she’d never let you go again.

~

The sun rose slowly.

Gentle rays filtered through the curtains, casting soft amber light across your tangled sheets and the mop of dark curls currently buried in your chest.

Agatha was dead asleep. Or pretending to be.

Her arms were wrapped around you like vines, her leg still thrown possessively over your hips, her breathing deep and even and brushing just below your collarbone. You’d tried to move once, just once, to reach for the blanket that had slipped off the bed.

A mistake.

Agatha had growled, tugged you closer, and whispered, “No leaving. Ever.”

Now you lay there, smiling at the ceiling, running lazy fingers through her hair.

She purred. Actually purred. A low, satisfied sound deep in her chest that made your heart squeeze. After everything, after the fight, the teasing, the begging… she was finally soft again. No walls. No pretense. Just yours.

You pressed a kiss to her hair. She stirred with a sleepy little sound, then slowly tilted her face up toward yours.

“Hi,” she rasped, voice thick and raw.

“Hi,” you whispered back.

Her eyes were still heavy with sleep, lashes dark and fluttering, lips swollen. “What time is it?”

“Too early.”

“Then why are you awake?”

You smiled. “Because someone keeps clinging to me like a possessive octopus.”

Agatha grinned without shame. “You like it.”

“Maybe.”

She kissed your bare shoulder. Then your neck. Then your cheek.

You melted. Again. “Tea,” you murmured, eyelids fluttering. “I want tea.”

She nuzzled your neck. “So go make some.”

You snorted. “You’re literally on top of me.”

Agatha hummed. “Correct.”

“Baby…”

“Don’t care.”

You sighed, lips twitching.

“Ugh. Fine,” she groaned dramatically, lifting her head just enough to wave her fingers flitting through purple smoke toward the door, followed by a distant clatter in the kitchen, then a faint hiss. The unmistakable whistle of a kettle heating itself.

You blinked at her. “You could’ve done that this whole time?”

She smirked, unapologetic. “You think I was about to leave this bed when I have this in my arms?” She pulled you even tighter. “I worked hard to get back in here. I’m not risking it for a mug.”

You laughed, heart full.

Then…. “Mrrrp.”

Both your heads turned. At the foot of the bed, halfway between a loaf and a dramatic sprawl, sat Salem. His tail flicked. His ears perked. His eyes locked on yours.

“Mrrrp.”

Agatha groaned. “Oh, for the love of…”

Salem stood up, trotted down the mattress with all the elegance of a tiny overlord, and plopped himself directly on top of your legs.

Agatha narrowed her eyes. “You just have to be involved, don’t you?”

You cooed softly and reached down to stroke behind his ears. “He missed us.”

“He missed you.”

Salem meowed again and reached a paw toward Agatha’s thigh.

She recoiled. “I gave you a collar with gemstone wards and an enchanted litter box. You’ve had enough.”

You giggled, still petting him.

Agatha shifted her attention back to you, kissing your nose. “He’s never going to let us be alone again, is he?”

“Nope.”

She sighed dramatically, then curled herself around you again, head resting against your chest. “Fine. Let him lay with us. I’m still not letting go.”

From the kitchen, the kettle let out a high, magical chime. You didn’t move. Neither did she.

And Salem? He purred contentedly between you both.

~

It was the kind of late summer day that made everything feel suspended in time.

The air was warm but not heavy, the breeze just enough to rustle your skirt and carry the scent of kettle corn and brewed iced tea between rows of mismatched vendor tents. The flea market stretched across the grass just outside Westview, a patchwork of awnings, handmade signs, and laughing locals.

You were in a flowy white dress, worn-in sandals, sunglasses pushed into your hair. Agatha was beside you in soft black linen, loose curls spilling from a lazy braid, arms bare, sunglasses low on her nose like she was about to interrogate someone for trespassing on ancient burial grounds.

And she was holding your hand. Which she refused to let go of. Even when she complained. “This can’t possibly be safe,” she muttered, dodging a child holding a corn dog and a slingshot. “Half these charms are totally made up, that one has a binding circle drawn in sharpie. Darling, I could cry-”

You squeezed her fingers. “You are being so dramatic right now.”

“I am being realistic.”

“You are being a big lesbian baby in linen.”

Agatha sniffed. “I am a witch of ancient power.”

“You also almost just bought a cinnamon pretzel. I saw the way you looked at it.”

She looked away. “It looked crunchy.”

You giggled.

She glanced down at you, lips twitching. “You’re lucky you’re adorable.��

“Why do you think I dressed like a fairy from a 90s cartoon?”

She raised your joined hands to her lips and kissed your knuckles. “I would set fire to every stall here if one of them looked at you too long.”

You beamed. “Romantic.”

“Unhinged,” she corrected. “And fully committed.”

You wandered like that for almost an hour, hand in hand, sipping lemonade and iced tea, browsing battered hardcover books, vintage brooches, little bundles of herbs wrapped in ribbon.

At one point, you tried on a silk scarf from a basket of dollar scraps, and Agatha groaned like she was in pain.

“Take it off.”

“But it’s cute!”

“It’s cursed.”

“It’s floral!”

“So is poison hemlock. Take. It. Off.”

You burst out laughing and tossed the scarf back into the bin.

The whole time, she didn’t stop touching you. A hand on your lower back. A thumb stroking your wrist. A kiss to your cheek as you held up a pressed flower frame.

And you were glowing. She could feel it in the way your magic brushed against hers in soft, fluttering pulses. Calm. Safe. Loved.

You turned a corner, grinning, dragging her toward a booth with vintage vinyl records and little sun-catchers shaped like moons.

Agatha adjusted her sunglasses and let herself be pulled along. “You’re very lucky I find you devastating.”

“Mmhm.” You smirked, humming under your breath as you reached for a chipped crystal wine glass.

Every few steps, she brushed her fingers across your wrist or linked your pinkies tighter. Her black linen skirt whispered along the pavement, her silver rings catching the sunlight as she held up old books and muttered at the prices.

“Ten dollars for this? It’s not even bound in human skin,” she said flatly, flipping open a battered occult paperback.

You laughed and leaned into her side. “Your standards are weird.”

“My standards are correct.”

You kissed her cheek. She grinned. All teeth. Looked like trouble. You loved her so much you could’ve burst.

She bought you a little moonstone you’d been eyeing. Whispered a spell into it before she dropped it in your palm. “For clarity. And charm. You know. In case I’m ever too flustered to talk.”

You laughed. “You’re never flustered.”

She raised a brow. “Look in the mirror when you smile, sweetheart. Then we’ll talk.”

Your stomach fluttered.

This was the rhythm now. Cozy, soft. After the Salem chaos, the jealousy, the begging, this was a new groove. Peaceful. Intimate.

The two of you were finally a family. You had your house. Your cat. Your rabbit. Your coven.

Agatha was happy. Smug, even.

And that’s when she heard it.

“Mew”

You stopped.

Agatha noticed the shift in your hand immediately. “No.”

Your head tilted. You scanned the vendors. Tilted your ear.

Waited.

“Mew”

There. Behind the booth with the wind chimes.

Agatha’s voice sharpened like a blade. “No.”

But you were already slipping from her grasp, weaving through the crowd, clutching your lemonade like a woman on a mission.

“Y/N… baby… darling… my wife… ”

“Mew”

You dropped to your knees behind the booth, eyes wide, breath caught. And there, tucked beneath a folding chair, half-hiding behind a crate of dusty mason jars…

A kitten.

Tiny. Dusty. Gray with soft white paws and the biggest blue eyes you’d ever seen.

You gasped like someone had punched you in the chest. “Oh my god.”

The kitten looked at you, blinked slow, and let out another soft, pathetic mewl.

“Hi, baby,” you whispered, already reaching out. “What happened, huh? Are you lost?”

A shadow fell over you.

Agatha.

Standing behind you like the ghost of kitten jealousy’s past.

You looked up at her with eyes as wide as the kitten’s. “Aggie…”

“No.”

“But look at it.”

“I am. I’m looking. And I’m saying no.”

“It’s tiny.”

“It’s a trap.”

“It’s a baby!”

“It’s a curse in a fur coat!”

You scooped the kitten gently into your arms. It immediately nuzzled under your chin and let out the softest, weakest purr you’d ever felt in your life.

Agatha groaned like she’d been stabbed. “Baby. You said… you said only one kitten.”

“I said one Salem. This one’s not even named yet. It doesn’t count.”

“You’re not seriously- you’re not… oh my gods, you’re falling in love with it.”

You stood slowly, cradling the kitten like it was a newborn. You were glowing.

Agatha was crumbling.

You looked at her with wide, earnest eyes. “Can we keep it?”

“Absolutely not.”

The kitten sneezed.

Agatha flinched. “Oh my gods, it’s sick,” she gasped. “It’s got some kind of kitten plague- what if it spreads to Señor Scratchy? What if it gets on the rugs? What if it has some kind of pox-”

You kissed the kitten’s tiny head.

And Agatha groaned, dragging a hand down her face. “No. No, you can’t do this again. I just got you back. I just got our bed back. I made tea with magic to keep snuggling you. I let Salem into my life. That was the deal.”

The kitten meowed again.

You rocked it gently. “But its so tiny, Aggie. It doesn’t even have a name.”

“No! No naming it- naming it gives it power-”

“Agatha.” You looked at her with the full force of your soft, unhinged, green-witch gaze. And whispered, “it doesn’t have anyone…”

Agatha froze. Visibly. And then- “…fuck.”

You smiled.

Agatha stared at the sky like she was begging the ancient ones for patience. “Fine. But you’re the one who has to explain this to Salem.”

[disorganizedkitten]

No One Believes In The Avatar Au

Aka something silly I came up with a few months ago that I have no idea when I'll write but wanted to share anyway

Aang comes out of the Iceberg and says he’s the avatar, but the avatar has been gone so long that no one believes him

Zuko breaks into the South Pole and says he’s here to cause problems, Aang offers himself as hostage, Zuko also doesn’t believe Aang’s the Avatar and thinks Aang is lying to protect the people at the south pole, Zuko huffily goes off and lets them stay; he has to keep Aang a prisoner because Aang won’t give up the lie but they absolutely argue about it. Because he’s untrained, Aang can’t use any elements other than air

He doesn’t believe in the genocide

Zuko assumes that if Aang is out and about then there are other Air Nomads, so he tries to convince Aang to ditch them when they pass the Southern Air Temple (or to draw the actual avatar out of hiding)

Sokka and Katara come to rescue Aang and they take off running

Uncle goes ‘are we gonna follow them?’ “But he’s not actually the avatar! It’d be a waste of time!”

This is the view most people they meet have. Except Zhao, but he’s just here to cause problems.

They end up crossing paths now and again and Zuko is there to break them out and tell Aang he really just has to stop lying about this before it gets him killed

Zuko gets that Aang is trying to give them hope (goes on an entire rant about how the avatar is a spirit tale that revolutionists use to justify their defiance against the fire nation and then talks about different ‘fake avatars’ who were viciously executed)

And then Aang asks why zuko is hunting the avatar if the avatar is such a spirit tale.

So Zuko explains the terms of his banishment

And Aang goes ‘hey wait, so, if I can fake being the avatar enough for you to get back onto fire nation land, you could take over as fire lord and end the war?’

‘Well, no-’

'Why not? Aren’t you supposed to be the crown prince?’

It’s a disaster. Sokka is amused. Zuko shouts and just takes them to the north pole so they’ll stop

They come back from the north pole and the disaster that it is, and Aang eagerly goes to show off his new mastery to Zuko! Who doesn’t believe him, still

Zuko! Come on!

Zuko proceeds to show off mastery in theater special effects as he explains exactly how they’re faking it

And it’s exasperating but they do take notes. Also they learn so much as Zuko shows off other ways to fake bending using firebending, and then explains how to fake firebending using airbending, and Aang just wants to wrap Zuko in a hug and carry him around like a purse poodle, okay? Okay.

Off in the Earth Kingdom it Just Keeps Happening, and then they get to Ba Sing Se and still no one will believe them. And they have Zuko’s notes.

So.

Katara grabs Sokka by the arm, drags him past where Aang is trying to get them in, and plants him in front of a Ba Sing Se official. “This is Sokka of the Southern Water Tribe, he’s the avatar.”

And despite Sokka’s sputtering, they believe him.

Cue Aang, Katara, and Toph’s new scheme about faking Sokka as the avatar!

When they meet Zuko, Katara immediately reads him in and explains that they’re trying to get the Earth King on their side, but he didn’t believe Aang was the Avatar (of course he didn’t, Aang is 12. The Avatar won’t learn who he is till he’s 16 at the youngest’ ‘which is why we switched who we were saying was the avatar and are now pretending it’s sokka. But Sokka can’t bend at all. Help?’)

Zuko agrees

They’re really good at this, actually

Idk what happens next I just require shenanigans

[rucbarthatbowtiesarecooldw]

Saturday Morning Session

Conducting: President Henry B Eyring

Press Forward Saints

Sustaining Vote

I Will Follow God’s Plan

Elder Niel L Anderson

Faith + Hope + Charity

Sacred and Eternal Hopes

Confident Expectations

Hope brightens the darkened room so we can see the glorious future

Hope is a precious blessing

If you have faith, then you have hope – faith is the substance of hope

Joy comes in Jesus Christ as we triumph over the challenges in this mortal life

Alma 32:21 – or just all of Alma 32

Nothing can darken our hope as we believe and hold tightly to our covenants

Every righteous person can receive every blessing

“The joy we feel has little to do with the circumstances of our lives and everything to do with the focus of our lives.” President Nelson Oct 2016

His Joy is constant

As you trust in the Lord His peace will come

Our Hope is the Savior Jesus Christ, He is our Hope and our Triumph

President Emily Bell Freeman YW General President

In order for an ordinance to manifest the power of God in our lives it must be done with authority from the Son of God

We don’t just make covenant promises, we must keep them

Do you recognize how God’s power works within you? D&C 25

Women can fully access the gift of God’s power through priesthood ordiances

Emma was given revelation about how priesthood ordiances would work in her life

Who she was, and whose she was – her place in His Kingdom

Invited to walk the paths of virtue

You are an essential participant in the Restoration

Set apart to expand scriptures and exhort the church

Daughter in the Kingdom-> elect Lady -> Queen

The restoration and the Lord’s counsel to Emma will guide and bless us

We all get a chance to witness and use God’s power. 😁

Times we get to participate in the ordinances of the Gospel

Sacrament

Passing the threshold of the temple

Power of Godliness is manifest

Elder Karl D Hirst 70

He feels Heavenly Fathers love through the love he feels for his children

It’s wonderful that at times we can feel so fully and personally loved and noticed

If Nephi can call Jesus “His Jesus” we can call Him that too

God’s love is where we all overlap on the circles of the Venn diagram

What circumstances help you to feel God’s love?

We’re all Jesus’s favorite and we should all be our parents’ favorite, each of us.

Broken people, perfect love

However misshapen we might feel His arms are not shortened.

You are not beyond the reach of God’s love – He will never stop loving us

When you can’t feel God’s love, we shouldn’t consider the possibility that it’s because God has stopped loving us until after the mountains and hills have gone.

There are different ways of feeling and receiving divine love.

Looking at the starts

Feeling the rain on your skin, or a breeze

Music

Keeping a journal

Ask people you trust to share how they feel divine connection

If you could choose a place for you and Jesus to meet – He may have already found you there.

If you are waiting for Him to come, He may already be there within reach

Hold onto God’s love as effectively as a sieve full of water. When you share it, this can help you feel joy.

Joy is our purpose not the gift of our circumstances.

How Firm a Foundation

Elder Dale G Renlund

The story of Nobel and nitroglycerin turning it into dynamite

Undiminished explosive power

The Gospel provides powerful and transformative benefits for us

The combination of Christ’s Gospel, and the Church of Jesus Christ

The church is not a location or a building – it’s the people

The church is an instrument

Keeping our covenants provides us access to God and transforms us

The church is special only if it is built on His gospel.

The church enables access to God’s power because it’s authorized by Him to teach His gospel and offer His ordinances

Jesus Christ wants nothing more than for us to repent and come unto Him so He can sanctify us. He is relentless and unwavering.

Immerse yourself more fully in the church and the gospel – this is God’s dynamite and with it He will transform us

Elder David P. Homer 70

We have a loving Father in heaven who will care for us wherever we are no matter the circumstances

The boundaries between right and wrong are not for us to define – they were already established by God

While some things may depend on context, not everything does.

Don’t be surprised if our personal views are not initially in harmony with the teachings of God’s prophets. – in time you will receive more spiritual clarity

If we heed God’s word, we will receive more. If we ignore God’s counsel, we will receive less and less until we have none. This does not mean that God’s will is wrong, just that we have lost the capacity to understand it.  

D&C 6:36

Look unto the Lord before acting; our faith will overcome our concerns.

Doubt your doubts before you doubt your faith.

Don’t let doubt stop us from seeing God’s divine gifts in our lives.

God loves us wherever we are, whoever we are. In any circumstance you can cry out to Him “oh God, help thou mine unbelief���.

The submission of one’s will, is one of the only uniquely personal things we have to bring to Christ

Our agency is not diminished by staying with Christ it is magnified.

We can be of good cheer as we trust Them more than anyone

Elder Gregorio E Casillas 70

What does our Heavenly Father desire from us?

It is crucial for us to learn to be disciples of Jesus Christ

He uses us to help bring His children to Him

Service shows us charity

Story of the mother who had had chemotherapy the day before and so did not have the energy to take care of her disabled son

Your spiritual abilities are unique and personal

Follow the impressions of the Spirit – God will bless your life, he will bless your family, he will bless his children that you encounter

We have the privilege to watch over people who need a helping hand, and embrace a feeling of comfort, or simply for us to be with them in silence

The Savior always reminds us as oft as we repent and seek forgiveness with real  intent, we will be forgiven.

Get rid of destructive thinking. Keep hope!

Give someone hope enough to try once more ourselves.

Be the reason someone has hope in crappy situations

The Lord Jesus Christ is your savior and knows you personally

The Holy Spirit will revive us

God’s Gracious Love

President Dallin H Oaks

Come Follow Me

Following Christ is not a casual or an occasional practice

Obey what He defines as the great commandment in the Law: Love the Lord thy God with all they Heart, love thy neighbor

If you cut the string off a kite it will not fly. That string is our covenants – keeping them enables us to soar to celestial heights

Keep you connection to your celestial ties.

We covenant each Sabbath during the sacrament to always remember and keep His commandments

Faith, repentance, baptism, enduring, and becoming as a little child (trust the Lord)

Temporary commandments are for the needs of the Lords church to be set aside once the need has come to pass

Pioneers

While still in force these commandments are still to be obeyed

Law of Tithing

Needed re-emphasis

Proclamation to the Family needed re-emphasis recently

Avoid contention

Jesus’s doctrine is not one of contention

Matthew 5:44-45

Show unselfish love for all

Blessed are the peacemakers – true disciples of Jesus Christ are peacemakers

What are you going to choose? Contention or reconciliation?

Sermon on the Mount

Follow the golden rule

Love and do good to ALL

Does not mean to compromise our principles and priorities, but to STOP ATTACKING PEOPLE FOR THEIRS!!!!

Will you allow His voice to take priority above any other?

Let us seek to be holy like our Savior

While we advocate for our positions let us qualify for the blessings of Jesus Christ as peacemakers

Teach Me to Walk in the Light

[reescrever-as-estrelas]

Five years earlier, Rey became the Queen of a prosperous Kingdom overnight. After it was clear that Ben was going to survive his near fatal wound, she immediately set the wheels in motion to have him crowned as King alongside her, and to claim all the land under their rule for Theed. Any traces of Exegol or the man she never wished to think of as her grandfather were quickly gone. It was the start of a new life.

And not long after, there was quite literally new life.

Some weeks after returning from war, it became clear to Rey that she was with child. The thrill of it was coupled with the fear of growing their family while ruling an entire Kingdom. And then there was Leia to think of, as her health was continually declining. But something unexpected happened when she heard the news of her first grandchild. It was as if she found a new drive to live and held firmly to it. 

They could all hardly believe that Leia was able to be there for the birth of Mira, let alone be able to enjoy the baby’s first few weeks of her life. Only then did Leia fall peacefully asleep in death, as if content that she’d had everything she wished for. It was bittersweet for Rey and Ben, because while they were grateful for the time they didn’t think they’d have, now they weren’t just missing a beloved mother, but also a grandmother for their baby girl. The last remaining piece of the generations that had come before them was gone now, with only memories remaining.

For some time after Mira, Rey began to think they wouldn’t be able to have another. She and Ben made peace with that, perfectly content with their little family. But now, with four year old Mira filling the halls of Theed castle with her laughter, it would soon be time to once again welcome a new little life. Things would be a little different this time. It made her miss Leia all over again, as well as her own mother of course. 

Mira laughed, making them turn their attention to her. She was giggling at the butterfly she’d been chasing, having landed right on her arm. “Look! He likes me!”

“Remember to be gentle, darling!” Rey reminded her. Then she sighed and looked up at Ben. “We’ll have to cut our walk short soon. I have correspondence to attend to.”

“As do I.” He wrapped his arms around her from behind, chin nestled in her hair so that she could feel his words against her scalp. “But I hope you’ll not be so busy after dinner tonight? And after Mira’s songs, of course.”

Rey smiled. That was a nightly ritual which Mira absolutely insisted upon. Ben had to sing her exactly three lullabies before she would agree to settle down and go to sleep. 

“What exactly did you have in mind?”

She felt him inhale. “Oh, a number of things. But most importantly you’ll need a relaxing bath. Perhaps a massage as well, to ease the added strain on your muscles now. And I may have sent away for your favorite fruits. But of course, if the royal responsibilities can’t spare you,” Ben teased.

Laughing, Rey, wrapped her arms around his. “I feel sure I can take some time for myself tonight. I’ll never waste such an offer.” Her voice inadvertently became more serious. “I nearly lost you once, so I’ll not take a moment for granted.”

Ben chuckled, holding her tighter and leaning over to press a kiss to her temple. “I hope you know you were nowhere near losing me, sweetheart. Even if I had died… I’d still have crawled my way back to you.”

As she leaned back against Ben’s chest while they watched their happy little girl play in the field, Rey smiled to herself. Because she believed him.

Nothing could ever separate them again.

The End 🌹

- Look At Me: Chapter 17 (fanfic) by @writingwife-83

[glitterdragonthegreatprotector]

I have gone insane. I have no questions yet, so I'm copying the whole list and answering them for Lucifer.

What’s the maximum amount of time your character can sit still with nothing to do?

A few hours, to maybe a month. It really depends. Has there been a recent cleansing? He's going to sit still for a month. After that passes, he'll have a hard time keeping still.

How easy is it for your character to laugh?

VERY easy. He finds mortal ignorance cute, and will start chuckling over mortals not understanding the universe like he does. Not a malicious or condescending chuckle, mind you. A "Oh, I remember when I was like that. They'll learn that's a silly way of thinking eventually." Loves playing too, best way to get him laughing is to wrestle him.

How do they put themselves to bed at night (reading, singing, thinking?)

He doesn't. He fights sleep with all his might to watch over his family. He can't sleep... any moment not watching for danger is another life lost.

How easy is it to earn their trust?

Surprisingly easy, as he knows that he can't judge by someone's surface, if they're offering help. If someone gives off a bad vibe, or has a lot of sin, he'll just be EXTREMELY cautious.

How easy is it to earn their mistrust?

Again, very easy. All it takes is hurting a child. Then you're his next meal...

Do they consider laws flexible, or immovable?

He has seen kingdoms rise and fall, languages rewrite themselves, and humanity change in unbelievable ways. Laws come and go, with each dying breath of a dynasty.

A part of him still thinks his father's word is law, and still believes his laws are immovable. That part of him, he wants to rip from his chest with his bare claws.

What triggers nostalgia for them, most often? Do they enjoy that feeling?

Seeing siblings play together, certain smells of flowers and honey, cold breezes, lamb chops, and old temples.

...it's a painful feeling, but he feels as though he deserves all the suffering he can get. He enjoys it, but it leaves him wanting to break his ribs, to rip out his still loving heart and tear it up. He will NEVER get that joy back, if he doesn't work for it. Even then, his happiness is eternally perverted. His memory stained and putrid, with rotting blood.

What were they told to stop/start doing most often as a child?

Talking. Playing. Moving. Touching things. Laughing. Smiling. The list of things he was told not to do goes on and on.

As for starting to do... he was simply told to "Be better. Stop making such mistakes."

Do they swear? Do they remember their first swear word?

Occasionally, yes. As for if he remembers? He barely remembers what he ate today, and that word is probably in a dead language. He probably said it, when he was trying to understand someone else's language. Like how kids will shout "FUCK!" When they hear it for the first time.

What lie do they most frequently remember telling? Does it haunt them?

...everything will be okay...

Yes, it always haunts him when he has to say this. Especially to children.

How do they cope with confusion (seek clarification, pretend they understand, etc)?

He will ask many questions, and does not care how silly it sounds, when it seems obvious to other people. Only time he doesn't ask questions when he's confused, is when he's also terrified. If he thinks people are in danger, he'll protect first, ask questions later, even if it means sacrificing himself or killing someone he could potentially redeem.

How do they deal with an itch found in a place they can’t quite reach?

He'll roll in rocks and rubble, like a bulky sand bath, scratch himself on a wall like a bear, or get his brothers to groom him.

What color do they think they look best in? Do they actually look best in that color?

He doesn't really care for clothes, as all he can wear is animal skins. He also doesn't care about looking good. He looks amazing in purple, however. As that's the color he used to be...

What animal do they fear most?

Lions. Not because they're dangerous, but because they remind him of his father.

How do they speak? Is what they say usually thought of on the spot, or do they rehearse it in their mind first?

He always speaks like he's reciting a ballad or a poem. All from his head though, so think theater kid improv.

What makes their stomach turn?

Overwhelming failure, and mutilated children.

Are they easily embarrassed?

No. There is not an ounce of self respect in his body.

What embarrasses them?

Being forced to take care of himself.

What is their favorite number?

He doesn't have one, as it would seem wrong to him to pick a favorite out of infinity. If he were to pick, it would be 2, as he loves his brother Michael, who was the second angel. Lucifer always did everything he could to be second to his brother, elevating him above himself.

Everything changed when he fell from grace...

The reverence is still there, but stained in blood.

If they were asked to explain the difference between romantic and platonic or familial love, how would they do so?

Kinda?

He'd explain familial love as a duty and a burden at times. That it's a responsibility etched in blood, that sometimes feels like you can only be freed from through spilling it. But with some family, you will love them so much you will spill gallons of your own, and they'll hate you for it, because they'll wish they did the same first. As the way with family is. It's your responsibility to die for them. Ingrained in you. Making any betrayal from them poison your blood.

Platonic love is finding someone outside of your family, that you feel just as strongly for. They are the family, whose blood is not your own, but you would spill your blood just the same for them. You might even trust them more than family, as protecting you is not their birthright, but they protect you nonetheless. You are supposed to feel inclined to do the same. People you platonically love are kin, unfortunately fated to only know you by chance instead of default at birth.

...then romance is Asmodeus’s department- He just knows it has to do with mates.

Why do they get up in the morning? 

He is needed, and important. Much to his dismay. Had it his way, he would never wake up again, and no one would miss him. Alas, he is a beloved leader despite his flaws, and he still has a family that loves and depends on their big brother.

How does jealousy manifest itself in them (they become possessive, they become aloof, etc)? 

Depends, honestly. If he's jealous over something silly with his siblings, he'll be over dramatic to annoy them.

But if he's jealous of someone for their looks, power, social standing, or even their home, it will manifest in a "holier than thou" way. He'll judge and mock the person he's jealous of, till they stop taking everything for granted. He'll still feel jealous after the person starts appreciating their blessings of having a loving home, or not being plagued by genocide. But he'll feel a little better knowing it isn't wasted.

 Is sex something that they’re comfortable speaking about? To whom? 

He is only comfortable talking about it with kids, and it is always in a "puberty sucks, mating is painful for us, here's what to expect when your hormones start changing" type of way. He is great at the Birds and The Bees talk, as he likes learning about sex in theory.

He usually has the talk with Lambttens during or after mating season. As this is when they'll have the most questions. There is no beating around the bush, no storks or cabbage patch babies. Lambttens don't know what a stork or a cabbage is-

Give it to the kids straight. Tell them to wait when they older to they don't tear their own flesh. Let them know to warn lucifer of creeps that somehow became demons.

 What are their thoughts on marriage? 

None. Zip. Zero. Nada.

He forgets it exists until either:

A. Someone he knows is getting married.

B. He just remembered a culture fact about a civilization he used to visit as an angel, and the fact just so happened to be about marriage.

 What is their preferred mode of transportation? 

Used to love flying...

But then he liked chariots and boats.

Once those fell out of style, he LOVED steam engines.

 What causes them to feel dread? 

The smell of blood, or holy light. So he's constantly feeling dread!

 Would they prefer a lie over an unpleasant truth? 

Depends... truth is important when keeping people safe.

...but he'll lie about himself being okay, and he'll tell you that you'll be fine even when he knows that isn't true. Better to die with hope, than die in fear.

 Do they usually live up to their own ideals? 

He tries, but he shoots himself in the foot when he starts saying he doesn't deserve the same liberties. He's kind, forgiving, and unconditionally loving!

...to everyone but himself.

Lucifer is just Jesus with imposter's syndrome.

 Who do they most regret meeting? 

His father. He wishes he was never born.

 Who are they the most glad to have met? 

...everyone else. The existence of other gods, man, beasts, and even plants made his existence a little more bearable.

 Do they have a go-to story in conversation? Or a joke? 

He usually trauma dumps as an ice breaker, but that's to get someone to know they're not alone when they suffer, and lucifer is there to be a shoulder to cry on.

In a fluffier setting, when speaking to mortal kids, he pretends to be a sad, lonely monster, that wants a friend. He then calls himself Luci the Goat-Cat, and makes up a wild story about how his mother was a goat, and his father was a cat that had forbidden love (no two stories about this is identical, he just goes along with guesses. "Yes, my parents stole a rocket ship to go to Mars, to escape the farmer! How did you know? I thought my parents never made the news!").

Other than that, he tends to be straightforward, blunt, or makes jokes at his own expense.

 Could they be considered lazy? 

No. He is the exact opposite of lazy, PLEASE HOLD HIM DOWN SO HE CAN NAP-

 How hard is it for them to shake a sense of guilt? 

He is 18,243,004,673 as of current (going off of our year. He'll be 18,243,004,674 in September.), and he still feels guilty over things he did when he was 12. Safe so say:

FUCK YES, HE WILL NEVER LET GO

 How do they treat the things their friends come to them excited about? Are they supportive? 

YES. He loves seeing other people happy, and will gladly lay his giant head in their lap and listen for HOURS. He'll learn everything on the subject, and talk about ancient knowledge related to it. If your mortal, he might even bring up an ancestor of yours that he knew that was also into something similar.

Do they actively seek romance, or do they wait for it to fall into their lap? 

He actively walks the other direction without realizing it. Flirt to his face, he will take you literally.

"Did it hurt when you fell from heaven~"

"Yes it did, I still remember screaming and crying for my father... I can still feel the wind, forcing air underneath my skin where it's loose on my back wounds..."

"...O-OH."

"...I'm such a terrible person, I should have never had wings in the first place..."

*runs the other direction as this did NOT go as planned*

This man has never been interested in mating, and has completely forgotten that people can and will be sexually and romantically attracted to his Pathetic Wet Meow Meow personality and his Daddy Issues and Catholic Guilt swagger.

Do they have a system for remembering names, long lists of numbers, things that need to go in a certain order (like anagrams, putting things to melodies, etc)? 

Whatever he needs to remember, he writes down in blood on a wall. No walls avaliable, he trusts his brain to keep the knowledge, only to be betrayed by his greymatter.

His siblings will be more likely to remember things than he is, since they actually sleep.

What memory do they revisit the most often? 

...the aftermath of him falling from grace.

The screams...

The burning of entire civilizations...

How be begged to be the only one hurt...

How he begged to be beaten instead of his friends being slaughtered like cattle...

How people called out for him...

How easy is it for them to ignore flaws in other people? 

Surprisingly easy, as long as he can eventually reach them and help them redeem themselves.

If the flaws involve mental illness, however, he will simply give finger guns in solidarity, before giving personal tips.

How sensitive are they to their own flaws?

...VERY. Everyone can be redeemed, except for himself, who committed the first sin of being a 12 year old boy that wanted a little appreciation for his art and for humanity to be healthy. What a monster/s

How do they feel about children? 

Head empty. Only baby.

He LOVES kids and would die for them if he could physically die. Anyone who hurts a child, is his meal.

How badly do they want to reach their end goal? 

...it's one of the few things he lives for. He has to protect the family he has with him, and save the family that slaughters his kind...

His own brother is archenemy, but he may STILL be in there... somewhere...

...right?

If someone asked them to explain their sexuality, how would they do so? 

You would have to brief him on what a sexuality is, really quick, and he would still struggle a little, using extremely outdated terms... like the definitions were in the Library of Alexandria, outdated.

If that doesn't work, he'd just explain that mating is gross, and he loves everyone equally, and that it feels weird and wrong to love someone more than he does his neighbor.

He'll figure out what acearo means. He'll get there. He is simultaneously a little kid and an old grandpa when it comes to teaching him new terms.

Pst pst pst minor lucifer lore pst pst pst @endstar @sweet-and-insane @jackpot-library @fizzy-sodacan @blxsscd-x-fxrsakcn

[keycarabiner]

Hi! I'm Em. I write fanfiction for fun over on AO3!

♡ Nonbinary lesbian (they/them pronouns)

♡ 20s

♡ Hobby writer

♡ Currently writing stranger things fic (mostly steddie)

My inbox will always be open for any comments, questions, and requests.

Thanks for stopping by! ♡

Masterlist of fanfictions below the cut, sorted chronologically from most recent update:

AO3: mourningshowers

storge (G | 4.1k | 1/1 | part one of forms of love)

Steve Harrington is claimed by his mother the same night he arrives at camp. And it happens in the middle of the campfire sing-a-long, go fucking figure. 

Storge, or familial love, refers to natural or instinctual affection, such as the love of a parent towards offspring and vice versa.

carry me home (T | 10k | 1/3)

“I missed you,” he says honestly, the words muffled into Eddie’s skin, and something within him just— Clicks into place. Eddie doesn’t waste a second in climbing up onto the bed to hold Steve, too, his hands stroking up and down his back. Steve continues to murmur, “Even though back then, I didn’t really know you—I missed you so much when you were gone.” “Hey, hey, it’s alright,” Eddie says, and he draws back if only to run his hands through Steve’s hair softly, pushing the strands back just to lay soft lips at his temple. It feels like love, so it must be. Love. He needs it. So much he’s dizzy with it. He leans into the touch. Eddie smiles against his skin. “I never left.” Steve Harrington wakes up in a world where he is loved. It's not real.

any way the wind blows (M | 34.9k | 5/15)

Steve's mind is carefully blank. It has been from the moment his father walked him to one of the castle’s balconies, the one that oversaw his home kingdom in its entirety, and said the word betrothal.  He had suppressed every single thing, every emotion and feeling and conviction that had risen inside of him that very moment, and has continued to suppress them, and he will continue well after he is officially wed tonight—most likely until he takes his final breath. He had known for a while now that this would be his fate. He wishes knowing had made it any easier. From childhood, Prince Stephen of the Northlands has been a disappointment. When his parents forged a new alliance with the Southlands, he did not expect his own hand to factor into the treaty. Yet on the dawn of his twentieth birthday he finds himself being carted off to the capital of the Southlands to marry their infamous bloody-handed warrior, Prince Kas. Prince Kas’ reputation precedes him. But upon his arrival Steve quickly realizes that the Southlands aren’t all that they seem to be, and neither is his betrothed.

silver fox (G | 2.3k | 1/1)

Steve stops short. He meets Eddie’s eyes in the water-stained mirror, then his own. A beat passes. Before he knows it he’s crowding up way too close to his own reflection, pulling at his scalp this way and that and sure enough— There are a few hairs that glint silver in the dim bathroom light. “What,” he says again, as he feels his world slowly begin to implode around him. Grey hairs at twenty-one years old, he despairs silently. At this rate he will be almost entirely grey at age thirty, probably. “Kinda super sexy of you,” Eddie is saying, manhandling him a bit out of the way so that he can spit and rinse. “Silver fox Stevie. Ha.”

only i remain (your friend, eddie) (T | 9.5k | 1/1)

Dustin, I’m awake now. Finally. And I’m alive.

Dustin, Weird things are happening. Guess that’s just par for the course in Hawkins though, so I can’t say I’m all that surprised.

Dustin, This is the last letter I’ll be able to write.

hunter's moon (T | 17k | 2/2 | part one of moonstruck)

“What about your pack?” Steve asks, because, well— Werewolves are social creatures. Humans may not be right about the specific dynamics, the leaders and the runts and pack structures, but they got the general idea right. The idea that wolves have a distinct need for life, to be surrounded by it, sustained by it. There is no point in running beneath the glow of a full moon without people you trust. People who understand what it's like. “Don’t have one,” Eddie replies stiffly. “Don’t need one. I have my uncle. And my friends. Even though they’re human, they help with the whole socialization thing.” He’s a lone wolf, Steve realizes. That’s the smell that rolls off of Eddie Munson in irrepressible waves: it’s loneliness.

convalescence (M | 23.3k | 2/3)

Eddie met Steve the year he turned twenty, in a kitchen with peeling yellow wallpaper. Further down the line, he'll remember thinking that the wallpaper was dull in comparison to the glowingly beautiful boy stood at the stove. Even if the boy had the saddest eyes Eddie had ever seen, a deep brown and frosted over like the earth in January. You can be sad and beautiful, Eddie reasoned: wilted roses do not stop being lovely just because they’re looking down instead of up. Or, it’s winter and Steve is stolen.

baby love (G | 2k | 1/1)

Eddie looks better than he has in a long while. His hair is a little shorter and curlier than it was back in March and he’s wearing a short-sleeve Night of the Living Dead t-shirt, proudly displaying the healed, jagged scars that crawl up his arms and neck. His eyes are bright, his mouth fast, his posture relaxed, and he’s— He’s holding a baby. It’s shocking how quickly Steve’s mind goes hysterically loud one moment and then carefully blank the next.

stay safe (T | 4.3k | 1/1 | part 3 of first meetings)

“My name isn’t Junior,” Junior cuts in, like that’s the thing he should be concerned about, not the fact that Steve was calling out his perceived shitty relationship with his father. “Yeah, no shit,” Steve says. “But I don’t know your real name and Hopper calls you Junior, so.” “I’m Eddie. Eddie Munson. I’ve been in your pre-calc class all semester. And gym, but I never go.” “Oh,” Steve says. He recognizes the name, has heard it before, murmured in the halls of Hawkins High or on the back patio during a house party. He’d never been able to put a face to it. Never really cared to. It’s funny how quickly things like that can change. 

brighter in the dark (T | 13.9k | 1/1)

Eddie thinks that he’s probably judged Steve too quickly. He thinks Steve’s probably full of surprises, if the past two years are anything to go by. And then, of course, Steve just has to prove him right by stepping out of his BMW in a full sailor suit fantasy that not even the most depraved recesses of Eddie’s mind could have cooked up. Jesus. He’s got the little hat and everything. Cute tiny shorts, too, that are regrettably not as short as the ones included in the Hawkins High gym uniform, but still short enough for Eddie to be able to appreciate Steve’s legs. He has nice legs. Good knees. White socks pulled halfway up his calves, for some reason, stark against his golden tan skin. Wispy little hairs that probably go up his thighs. Eddie needs to stop looking at his legs. “Eddie Munson,” Steve calls as he approaches, his voice all easy and light like they’re actually friends. “Hi.” Eddie blinks at him. Because Eddie's life can never be normal, the summer of '85 finds him working a firework stand just outside of Starcourt Mall, catching up on school work, and tutoring Steve Harrington in all things D&D.

let the light in (M | 19.4k | 1/1)

Eddie’s blood sings out for him in a way that is distinctly not-human, and that’s really the final nail in the coffin. The proverbial one, at least. He’s not so sure what happened to the real one. “What did you do?” Eddie asks, when the horror fully sets in and takes over and the dread crawls up from his chest to claw at his throat and choke. He asks, desperately, “Steve, what did you do?” “What I had to,” Steve answers, and Eddie breathes out with decayed lungs, coughs up some more soil, and weeps. Eddie wakes up.

moonbeam (T | 6.1k | 1/1 | part 2 of first meetings)

Eddie hums. “We’ll figure something out,” he tells Steve, like they’re friends or something. Like they’ll see each other somewhere after this and won’t just let their eyes skip over one another’s faces—like they’ll actually call out to one another, sit down, catch up. Steve knows better. Knows their tentative alliance doesn’t exist outside of this mediocre 24-hour diner, at nearly midnight a few days after the Fourth of July. They both know it, Eddie’s just pretending not to. Strangely enough, it doesn’t stop Steve from saying, “Sure.”

in my life (T | 9.5k | 1/1)

Eddie will say goodbye to Dustin and Mike at the same time then move on to the rest. Two birds, one stone. And then he’ll be off. Easy peasy. Except it isn’t, because when has Eddie’s life ever been easy? He drives over to the Wheeler’s place down Maple Street, parks at the curb in front of the house. Stumbles up the front steps and raps on the door a bit. Is so lost in preparing his last-minute improvised goodbye speech that he doesn’t register the fact that Mike Wheeler isn’t the one answering the door until, well— “Eddie?” Steve asks, eyebrows furrowing. Eddie gapes at him stupidly. Eddie is leaving. Steve is doing his damnedest to get him to stay. Also, Holly Wheeler is a fairy princess.

you win some, you lose some (G | 2.3k | 1/1 | part 1 of first meetings)

Eddie hums. His eyes are blazing with something Steve can't really put a name to. “What were you and Hargrove fighting over?” “None of your business.” “Title of Best Car in the Hawkins High senior parking lot? Captaincy for the game in which you throw balls into laundry baskets?” He pauses, leans forward and grins wickedly. “A girl?”

chimera (T | 5.5k | 1/1 | part 1 of transmutation)

“Friend,” the demogorgon repeats. It reaches a hand up. Long and thin and veiny. Distinctly not human. Black beneath the clawed nail. The tip of its finger comes closer and Steve stops breathing right up until it gently brushes the denim of Steve’s vest. Not Steve’s vest. Eddie’s vest. Steve looks down. Jammed onto the finger is a chunky silver ring in the shape of a tombstone.

fixer-upper (T | 20.5k | 3/3 | part 2 of love letters verse)

Steve wakes up the morning of their two-month We-Finally-Got-Our-Shit-Together anniversary to find Eddie staring at him, crouched over at the foot of the bed with his round unblinking eyes like a fucking gargoyle. It should be creepy. Steve is used to this, though, so now it’s just kind of a thing that Eddie does. “What,” Steve says groggily, wiping the drool from his mouth. “Nothing, angel, go back to sleep,” Eddie trills. Or, two months after Steve and Eddie officially get together, Steve finds himself thinking about home, his heart, and how to let go.

you all the way down (T | 6.7k | 1/1)

Steve steels himself, grips his bat tight, and whips open the door. Instead of the kids, or Wayne, or any of the remaining basketball meatheads that have made Eddie’s life a living hell since the spring, a girl is standing on the stoop. She looks about Steve’s age, maybe a couple of years older. She’s short. Petite. She has freckles all over her round face, kind of like Robin does, with the same hair length, although hers is dark and straight with a chic cut to it. She’s wearing all black, ripped jeans and big heeled boots and an oversized denim jacket. Her dark eyes are ringed with smudged eyeliner and look wide, almost frantic; her hand is poised just above the door, and the dozens of thin silver rings on her fingers glint in the early morning sunlight. “Oh,” she says, her voice all airy like she’d run out of breath. “Oh, sorry. I… I must have the wrong place.”

in the meantime (T | 13.3k | 1/1)

Now that Eddie’s officially retired, him and Steve are engaged and they live in a huge house together in a state where apparently, it is currently at least a little bit legal for two people of the same gender to adopt or foster children together. They have a family; not some ragtag mishmash of people bonded by the trauma of surviving multiple apocalypses together, but an actual family. Two parents, a slew of children, and a home. The mismatched decor of the house suddenly makes a lot more sense, the pastel yellow color of the walls in the family room clashing horribly with the stuffed crow and plastic skull on the mantelpiece. It’s so them it hurts. Mike and El went off the grid for a number of years following the death of Henry Creel. Except it seems as though nothing is truly dead and gone, because the Upside-Down reawakens more than ten years later for reasons unknown. They soon find themselves calling everyone to come back to Hawkins and stop the end of the world from happening yet again. Some people have moved on, though.

two-headed calf; twice as many stars (T | 3.6k | 1/1)

The music has stopped. Eddie mutters something about a quick smoke break and slips out the front door, wood planks creaking and settling in his wake. The old guitar is abandoned against the wall. And who would Steve be, if he didn’t follow?

follow the sun (T | 11.1k | 1/1)

Eddie walks into a Michaels Arts and Crafts Store at 4PM on a Sunday stoned out of his goddamn mind and is immediately accosted by the image of Steve Harrington crouched over in the yarn aisle, wearing glasses and an apron over what can only be described as a grandpa sweater.

love letters in your lunch (T | 20.2k | 4/4 | part 1 of love letters verse)

Rumor has it that whenever any one of the seven or so gremlins that Steve has magnanimously decided to adopt sleep over at his ridiculously large and empty house, he’ll get up extra early in the morning and pack them all lunches in brown paper bags. He’ll make them breakfast, too, and drop them off at school with a ruffle of their hair, a slap on their shoulder, or a pep-talk, depending on the kid. Not that Eddie Munson, of all people, would know anything about it. It's October and Steve starts packing Eddie lunches for work. Eddie doesn't know what to do about it.

wake up the dawn (T | 7.6k | 1/1)

The worst part about the secrets is that Steve will eventually find someone else to share them with, someone else to show his big dorky glasses and play a subdued game of Two Truths and a Lie with, and Eddie will fade into the periphery, into the background, into nothing until he dissipates completely. It’s inevitable. That doesn’t make the dull ache right smack dab into the middle of his chest any less painful. Or, Eddie considers grief, hair, secrets, lullabies, and the unattainability of dreams.

[swankedofsauce]

Triple Threat - dnd campaign updates (1)

A story of three lonely fellas who no longer wish to be lonely anymore.

Our story begins with our three goobers:

Blooper Inkwell- a water genasi tempest cleric

Orion Estelle- a tabaxi druid

Miles Moonshine- a shadar Kai ranger

(We’re starting at level one)

I’ll try to give you guys like a reasonable amount of updates within each post because this campaign has been going on for almost a year now so. It’s a lot of information and I don’t wanna overwhelm people within ONE post.

Session 1/0:

Our three goobers find ourselves in the Ivory Kingdom which is a sub-Arctic continent, similar to Greenland.

We find ourselves in the small town of Farport which is a port trading town, and isn’t the wealthiest.

Miles got arrested for a month for jaywalking because he inconvienced the prince Zalastar and was locked up with a half orc jail mate and barely got any sleep as his jail mate snored a lot.

After getting out, he and his two buddies went out to go take a quest.

The quest was: merchants from Farport have gone missing when going to the city of Valica, since the two places are partners in that.

We went to go talk to the mayor of Farport, who knew Miles after writing him up a few times for shenanigans (crime) upon explaining who the three were he called us “stupid enough” to do this quest. After some. Interesting banter, we went off to see Samantha Green- who’s husband was a merchant and he went missing upon trying to go to Valica.

We spoke to her and gave her our word we’d bring her husband home, and she asked if we could help her out with a rat problem she was having.

We go out to the barn, and I’m like 90% sure they were dire rats (our dm didn’t say) but they were dog sized rats. And they were all covered in blood and munching on something.

After taming two of them and killing the third who was feral. We cleaned them up, got our pay from Samantha who was horrified. And decided it’d be funny if we gave the rats to the mayor.

He was not happy about that as we walk away and hear “WHAT THE FUCKKKK” being screamed from his home.

We found an inn and that was our first session.

Session 2:

We are all broke and cannot afford a horse and Orion can’t wildshape yet.

The next best thing to carrying a wagon full of trading goods? Use the party tank. (Miles)

The goods had the alert spell on them, and the mayor threatened us.

Anyway- walk to Valica is a two days walk on foot. (Or one and a half, I don’t recall) and most of it was uphill.

On our way there, we heard noises within the trees- as to which, Orion went and hid on the opposite side and Blooper attempted to scare away by using thaumaturgy and yelling “HEY FUCKER”

This did not work.

A half orc came out, and upon bloopers yelling ripped his map in half. Now pissed at us, Blooper and Miles got ready to fight.

Meanwhile since Orion was never spotted- he used charm person, and came out and basically said “hey big guy. Go that way.” And that. Worked.

After that we obtained the torn map, and found there was an X on it in between the mountains we were in.

We’d check that out later.

Continuing our journey we found a Selune temple looking ravaged, there was blood on the trees and ground, arrows, etc. and there were three pairs of footprints going deeper into the woods.

We decided to check that out later as we had a delivery to make.

We all went to sleep in the forest and got up the next day and headed to Valica.

There was an election happening between two mayors: Gilbert Thornwell(?) and Lyre Everrose.

What we gathered was that Gilbert was a gnome who was bigger on community and keeping the people of Valica together and strengthening it, while Lyre was bigger on expansion and capitalism, strengthening bonds of the economy. Wasn’t long before we found the merchants guild.

After some issues with the guards, we eventually got in and met the head of the merchants guild- a half orc named Korg.

Prior the mayor of Farport who’s name is Karaldic Hamelton (he’s an elf) told us that Korg “wasn’t the nicest person”

Upon meeting Korg we all loved him.

We told him the situation in farport and what we saw on the way here with the temple outpost and found out very quickly that Korg was a Selune worshipper as he had a Selune emblem on him and said “this just got personal” he also told us that no one from Farport has been coming here in about a month and whatnot.

Also he hates Farport mayor- as. All of us do. After shit talking Keraldic to Korg he wished us luck on our journey.

We went around the city for a bit to ask around about questions for the missing merchants and one conversation we heard was “yeah I just bought one the other day, they’re great.” We didn’t get much out of those people.

Orion asked someone if they’d seen “a little black cat” but the person he asked thought he meant a literal cat and not a tabaxi. So no.

We went shopping for a little bit then back out it was.

Session 3/4 because I cannot remember the order of these anymore, but I’ll sure as hell try:

We got back to the Selune outpost and followed the tracks which led up this super jagged mountain, and we all rolled extremely well on climbing so we got up fuckin easy.

We all stayed at the base of it as we watched and saw a goblin camp with the merchants we were supposed to save.

There was this wooden wall that was like 20 ft high, and Orion snuck up there and Miles teleported up there.

And Blooper just kinda.

Hung out on the cliff as he watched us.

Orion and Miles made a plan and then high-fived before Orion climbed back down to tell Blooper what was up, Miles was able to climb ontop the wall and sneak around to where the merchants were.

Blooper had cast light on one of his crossbow bolts and shot it up as a distraction and then cast fog cloud within the little wooden wall area so that Miles wouldn’t be caught.

Miles got down but not without busting his shoulder.

All the merchants were very afraid of him at first as he was able to bust out two of the merchants from their wooden cages, and was coming up with a plan to how to get them out.

Trying to make an exit path there was one person who would see him, so he one shotted them dead and then went back to save the third merchant.

Blooper got caught and decided it’d be a great idea to pop out and try to talk his way out of this.

Spoilers: he couldn’t.

The only person who caught him was the bugbear boss who was seemingly in charge of this whole deal.

After bloopers many attempts to talk his way out of the situation- we went into combat.

Blooper tried to zap the guys off (tempest cleric) but ended up going down twice and lost two of his fingers which made the fog cloud drop, Orion came down and hit the place with some earth tremors and infestations. And Miles was just focused on getting the actual fuck out of there with the merchants.

He got caught by a half orc and a few hobgoblins- the half orc was the same from earlier.

The half orc tried throwing his club at Miles and missed- instead hitting the wooden wall enclosure, which made for a nifty little exit.

Miles tore a peace of his clothing and put an arrow in fire before it hit the wall- setting it on fire before grabbing two of the merchants- the third following behind. Made it outside the now burning and partially broken wall.

If I recall correctly- Blooper was unconscious most of the fight, and Orion was fighting for his life.

Not to worry- help was on the way.

Our kolbold monk named Dragon Deeznutz (his player made it to one session and never came back, but we appreciated him in this fight regardless) Dragon beat the shit out of the half orc, Orion and him had known one another and were boyfriends.

Orion was super low on health but ran over to help Dragon out with tag teaming the half orc.

Blooper. Still fighting for his life- but by a miracle was able to survive (I don’t remember how)

Miles beat the shit out of some people and burned two people alive in the fire. Subtle.

After the fight, Orion went over and proposed to Dragon and he said yes.

Everyone was super tired (other than Miles who only lost like 4 HP during this because he put his hand in a fire)

And we all took a long rest and leveled up!

Orion got his circle and chose land, Miles got his fighting style and did Druidic warrior and I don’t remember Wtf Blooper got.

Ok that’s all for now for campaign updates!

I’ll post a second part to this soon (because I have a lot of the sessions written down already)

Here’s part 2:

[moonlightfluff18]

The Test of Cruelty vs Serenity (A Cookie Run Kingdom Fanmade Beast-Yeast Episode)

The Lord of Cruelty 2/???

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Later That Night…

Moonpetal Province had returned to its usual calm, but the Lotus Fountain in the temple courtyard bubbled uneasily.

Bellflower Oreo Cookie stood there, holding Pure Vanilla’s letter again.

“I have to do something, I can’t let that Boreal Chaos Cookie alongside his Lord of Cruelty hurt Candytuft Oreo Cookie and Custard Cookie III…” Bellflower Oreo muttered, feeling very concerned. “If this Lord of Cruelty has truly awaken alongside the other Beasts… The Silver Tree’s collapse was only the beginning of the calamity Pure Vanilla Cookie mentioned in his letter…”

Behind her, Iris Oreo appeared. “…Do you think he’ll come for us too?”

Bellflower looked at her oldest daughter, eyes filled with quiet sadness. “If he is the Beast who once held the full power of my Soul Jam… then yes… But our mainly goal right now is the protection of our subjects, and rescue your sister and her friend.”

“But Rye Cookie said that the only way to rescue them… Is entering the Lord of Cruelty’s territory in Beast-Yeast…” Iris Oreo replied with a chill going down her dough.

Bellflower Oreo sighed. “That is true, Iris Oreo, but what other option do we have? I cannot call my friends for help because they’re probably occupied dealing with their own beasts, not to mention the horrible pandemic of the Pale Ailment that has been circling around the Dark Cacao Kingdom for a month.”

“Oh right, have you considered sending Hydrangea Crème Cookie and his team to help them?” Iris Oreo asked.

“I did, but Dark Cacao Cookie sent me a letter appreciating my support to help but he wouldn’t forgive himself if any of them contracted the Pale Ailment.” Bellflower Oreo replied. “But we cannot think of the Pale Ailment right now, I have to rescue Candytuft Oreo Cookie and Custard Cookie III, even if I risk my life in the process.”

Iris Oreo Cookie’s expression hardened. “You’re not planning to go to Beast-Yeast alone, do you, Mother?” She asked.

Bellflower Oreo didn’t said anything, but her expression said a lot. “I cannot risk any of the Moonblossom Cookie’s lives, much less yours, Iris Oreo Cookie.”

“Oh mother… Always putting others first above her, so selfless…” Iris Oreo thought, grateful of having a mother like Bellflower Oreo. “But Candytuft Oreo Cookie is my little sister, and I won’t let anything bad happen to her.” She replied, determined.

Bellflower Oreo Cookie noticed the determination in Iris Oreo Cookie, and she let out a happy laugh. “Then we’ll go together.”

“Hey, you two are not going anywhere!” Chili Pepper replied as she walked closer Bellflower Oreo Cookie and Iris Oreo Cookie. “Not without me!”

Bellflower Oreo Cookie turned to Chili Pepper Cookie. “Are you sure, Chili Pepper? You and Rye have already done enough.”

“Well I’m NOT done with that Boreal Chaos Cookie and his so-called Lord of Cruelty!” Chili Pepper exclaimed. “Besides, for as much annoying they are, Candy Oreo and Custard are like the annoying siblings I never had, and while Gingerbrave alongside Strawberry and Pointy Hat are away, I’ll get the face of that Boreal Chaos Cookie and his so-called Lord of Cruelty!”

Bellflower Oreo Cookie looked at Chili Pepper Cookie for a few seconds, the sighed relief. “If that’s the case, you’re welcome in the mission.” She replied. “I’ll inform my subjects about our mission tomorrow when the first rays of sun hit Moonpetal Province.”

———

That same night, but in an unknown location.

The wind howled like a thousand wolves through the cracked stone arches of the dark room.

Custard Cookie III stirred from his unconscious haze. His wrists ached, bound in thick, sticky cords of hardened syrup. His crown was gone, and the chill in the air stung against his golden frosting.

“Where… where am I…?”

The faint glow of torches danced on bone-carved walls. Faint shapes twitched in the shadows, hulking, misshapen silhouettes that didn’t breathe right. Something ancient slithered just beyond the light.

A soft sob broke the silence.

“…Candytuft… Oreo?” Custard Cookie III turned his head. In the far corner, Candytuft Oreo Cookie sat against a jagged pillar, her little Japanese gown dirtied, but her spirit not yet broken. Her eyes widened with teary relief.

“Custard!” she gasped, scooting closer despite her own bindings. “You’re awake!”

He gave a tired smile. “Barely. Where are we? What is this place?”

“I-I don’t know, I only remember being taken away from the Cookie Kingdom, and then I woke up here.” Candytuft Oreo explained. “And I don’t think Gingerbrave, Wizard Cookie, Strawberry Cookie and Chili Pepper Cookie are with us.”

Before Custard could speak, a roar echoed through the chamber, primal and layered, like a storm howling through steel.

Footsteps. Heavy. Deliberate. The torches flickered.

A towering figure stepped forward from the dark, ivory armor fused to sinew, claws soaked in a dull golden glow. His face was partially hidden by a bone helm, but one eye gleamed like melting gold.

Boreal Chaos Cookie.

“You woke up sooner than expected, little kiddos,” the adult cookie rumbled, his voice a chilling blend of ice and smoke. “Good. You should be awake to hear your screams.”

Custard Cookie III glared. “You’re not scaring me.”

Boreal Chaos Cookie tilted his head. “Good. Fear makes things too noisy… but defiance makes it… flavorful, just as the Lord of Cruelty likes.”

The two kids gulped a bit open hearing what Boreal Chaos Cookie had just said.

———

Now, back in Moonpetal Province, sunlight filtered through the cherry blossom trees, but it couldn’t lift the tension hanging over the temple.

Bellflower Oreo Cookie stood before her gathered subjects in the Blossom Hall, flanked by Iris Oreo Cookie and Chili Pepper Cookie.

Her expression was calm, but her voice carried the weight of every petal in the wind.

“My dear cookies of Moonpetal Province,” she began, “a grave threat has risen. Two young souls, Custard Cookie III and Princess Candytuft Oreo Cookie, my youngest daughter, have been taken by a beast who once wielded my very Soul Jam.”

Gasps and murmurs echoed through the crowd.

“I will not ask any of you to follow me into Beast-Yeast,” she continued. “But know that I will go, and my oldest daughter, Iris Oreo, alongside Chili Pepper Cookie, will accompany me in this journey. My youngest daughter and Custard Cookie III must be saved. And this evil must not be allowed to bloom.”

Suddenly, a familiar voice called out. “You’re not going without me either!”

It was Rye Cookie, bandaged and still leaning on a cane, limped into the hall. Her trademark smirk had returned, faint, but real.

“Rye Cookie?” Iris Oreo asked, concerned. “I don’t think you should overwork yourself, specially on your condition.”

“I may be half-pasted… but that monster still owes me a rematch.” Rye replied.

Hydrangea Crème Cookie followed her, looking deeply unamused. “Hold on now! You should be on bedrest for at least two nights and three days-”

“I’ve fought through worse hangovers, mister.” Rye cut in. “Besides, we’re gonna need someone who can shoot a tooth out of a Cookie from a mile away.”

Chili Pepper grinned. “Now that’s more like it.”

Bellflower Oreo Cookie approached Rye and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Are you truly certain?”

“Bet my last bullet on it.” Rye Cookie replied.

A Moonblossom cookie shyly walked towards Bellflower Oreo Cookie. “Lady Bellflower Oreo Cookie, please travel safely, and please save Princess Candytuft Oreo Cookie and her friend from that beast…”

Bellflower Oreo Cookie looked at the cookie and gently brushed his hair.

“Don’t worry, I shall be back soon, in the meantime, everyone take care.” She replied.

All Moonblossom cookies bowed in respect, knowing that their empress will be back soon with her mission accomplished.

[tragcdysewn]

was that zhang zehan? oh no no, that was just jun wu, a canon character from heaven official’s blessing. they are two thousand+ years old, use he/him, and are aware that they are not actually from washington dc. too bad they can’t stray from this city for long.

how long has your character been here:

almost six years now

what is your character’s job:

chief justice of the supreme court :))

where has your character been pulled from in their fandom:

the end of the novel, when he’s been sealed under mount tonglu

has any magic affected your character:

he is free and back at full power have fun with that

and any other information you might find useful for us and the other members to know:

shocker, kasey plays another psychopathic asshole

this is jun wu, birth name yin muyun, but that's not going to come up becaue he killed pretty much everyone who knew it a very long time ago

he was the crown prince of the kingdom of wuyong in his human life, and was beloved by the entire kingdom, i’ve seen him literally described as ‘the sun of wuyong’ because everyone loved him so much

he ascended as a god quite young, and took his four attendants, who he considered his dearest friends, mei nianqing and three others whose names were also lost to time, with him as junior officials, and everything was perfect. the kingdom worshipped him, and gave him incredible amounts of power as a result. but unfortunately, he had a prophetic dream of tragedy befalling wuyong, and everything fell down from there. 

he was determined to save his people, and do it in a way that was morally sound, to the point of punishing wuyong soldiers who attempted to invade and conquer other kingdoms rather than simply allow them to take a sanctuary from someone else who may be harmed by their actions

but that one action caused his kingdom to lose faith in him, and they burned his temples in anger. but he was still determined, and begged them to hold out while he built a bridge into heaven to protect all of them

unfortunately, this took almost all of his power, meaning prayers to him went unanswered, and people stopped worshipping him, which diminished his power by a lot. and with the refusal of all the other gods to help him, even once the bridge was done, he failed to maintain it as the people of wuyong crossed. it collapsed and dropped the people he'd so desperately tried to save into volcanic ruin

he was cast out of the heavens for his actions, and his people resented him, but he still wanted to help them. but by this point he’d gone a but mad from loss and trauma, and resorted to human sacrifice in hopes that sending criminals to their doom would be enough of a trade to stop the volcano from consuming everything

three of his vassals protested this, and they left, only returning to attempt to stop him. they were thrown into the volcano with the criminals, their vengeful spirits attaching themselves to jun wu and manifesting their faces on his face. the volcano calmed, leading to people regaining faith in him, though the fourth vassal, mei nianqing, discovered what he'd done and fled rather than fight him, vanishing into the wind

eventually, the volcano erupted one final time, burying wuyong and almost all of its people. jun wu returned to the heavens, killing all the gods and using their remains to build a new heaven where he reigned as emperor, turning the volcano into mount tonglu, and forcing it to create ghost kings every few centuries to trigger mortals to pray to him for help

this worked for a while, until he found mei nianqing hiding out in xianle, training the crown prince with remarkable similarities to jun wu himself. the prince reminded him of himself, and he both hated him and became obsessed with him, leading to him destroying xianle, to make sure their lives were fully mirrored

xie lian didn’t go off the rails like jun wu did, however, which only made him more angry, and he followed xie lian for eight hundred years, waiting for his moment to craft the prince into his perfect successor

he was exposed by nianqing, and burned the heavenly capital to the ground in an attempt to once again start anew. he was defeated at mount tonglu, honestly kind of gave up, realizing that two thousand years of this really does weigh on you, and he was sealed beneath it for all eternity

now in dc, he honestly is still unsure if he wants to make another attempt at vengeance, or if he truly wants to rest. he's exhausted, truly, he is, but he can't allow himself to let go of two thousand years of pain and rage

[februaryconfessional]

writing prompt: "I wish you were a girl/boy"

“I wish you were a girl.” I say. My words hang in the air and I know instantly that I should take it back. I see my words shoot through Jojo  like a dart, paralyzing him. “I…” I pause. I need to apologize, I know this, I just can’t think of disregarding my truth as anything but what it is. “Listen, Jojo, I just mean that…” I trail off, my words derailing like a freight train, crashing slowly against  him. A tear rolls down my cheek, burning, I don’t even realize it until I see his face soften. “Do I need to be a girl, Bennito? Is that what will fix this?  If I am able to reproduce, to bring your offspring into the world will you finally…” He sighs. “Will you love me then? Is that what will solve our problems? Is that the missing link we’ve been needing?” He stops. I feel my eyebrows furrow, I grab hold of his forearm gently. I tilt my head down to look at him, my frown pasted onto my face, tears falling messily onto the floor, inflaming my skin . “I don’t mean that. You know that.” My chin falls back down to its resting spot. I step closer and press his temple to my neck. I breathe slowly on him. He is the rock I built base on, he is my foundation, and he sorely misunderstands that. He doesn’t realize the pillar of my life he upholds, in fact I don’t know what I’d do without him. I’ve lost Nero. We’ve lost Nero. We don’t have anyone else but each other to love. And what a tragedy that is, a foundation made of gravel. Loving what cannot be loved. “I can’t… We can’t love each other…” I see the anger flash in his eyes, he steps back from me in fury. I know he is seething. I cannot fathom why. Jojo is everything. He’s smarter than I could possibly imagine, but despite his intelligence, he can’t grasp why it is forbidden to love. “It serves no purpose, Jo.” I hear his breath escape him shakily, he raises his voice as he speaks, “You think we can’t love because I can’t birth your offspring? Is that all that matters to you?”  I sigh, stepping just slightly back from him. My eyebrows furrow down, I feel the burning of tears all over my face. I could love Jojo. I wish to love him. “I wasn’t done. My father would,” He interrupts me, “Your father is gone, Benito. It doesn’t matter what he would or would not want. You are the supreme ruler of an entire kingdom and you’re taking an exile’s opinion to heart?” He scoffs, “Really?” My shoulders rise and I clench my fists. “My mother. The whole kingdom. Society. Everyone to the ends of the world would not approve of two men loving, it is ghastly. I need my legacy to go on. You need your image to be clean.”

[christian-perspectives]

The Day Of Judgment Is Coming

The Lord of Heaven’s Armies says, The day of judgment is coming, burning like a furnace. On that day the arrogant and the wicked will be burned up like straw. They will be consumed—roots, branches, and all. Malachi 4:1 Will the day of judgment affect Christians? Maybe we should ask that question a different way. Should Christians be concerned about the day of judgment? After Malachi, God stopped speaking to the Israelites for about 400 years. So, with that in mind, shouldn’t we take what the Lord said to this prophet seriously? I think we should. Before we go any further, let’s talk about our faith. What should faith look like in the life of a Christian? Too many people who call themselves Christians want to keep it private or a secret. The New Testament, however, teaches something entirely different about Christianity. James makes it clear that faith doesn’t exist by itself. You say you have faith, for you believe that there is one God. Good for you! Even the demons believe this, and they tremble in terror. How foolish! Can’t you see that faith without good deeds is useless? James 2:19-20 Some versions say, “Faith without works is dead.” In other words, faith can’t stand alone. Our works and actions will confirm our commitment to the Lord. Malachi mentioned something of that nature when he spoke about the coming day of judgment. At that time I will put you on trial. I am eager to witness against all sorcerers and adulterers and liars. I will speak against those who cheat employees of their wages, who oppress widows and orphans, or who deprive the foreigners living among you of justice, for these people do not fear me,” says the Lord of heaven’s Armies. Malachi 3:5

God Honors His Word

God reminded the descendants of Jacob why He had not already destroyed them. He said, I am the Lord, and I do not change. Therefore, He honored His covenant with them. Ever since the days of your ancestors, you have scorned my decrees and failed to obey them. Now return to me, and I will return to you,” says the Lord of heaven’s Armies. “But you ask, ‘How can we return when we have never gone away?’ Malachi 3:7 Many people going astray never even realize it. They will allow pleasures of this world to slowly creep into their lives until they become acceptable practices. Then, their relationship with the Lord becomes non-existent. They may continue attending church, but God knows their hearts and wants them to return to Him. Some people believe you can’t walk away from God. Would you want to take that chance? He doesn’t want you to be religious. He only wants your faith in Him to shine through. The Lord asked His people to return to him. Then, He confronted them with another issue they needed to address. Should people cheat God? Yet you have cheated me! “But you ask, ‘What do you mean? When did we ever cheat you?’ You have cheated me of the tithes and offerings due to me. You are under a curse, for your whole nation has been cheating me. Malachi 3:8-9 Why would God bring money into this conversation? Because paying tithes and giving offerings are spiritual issues motivated by faith. Who wants to cheat God? I hope no one, here’s why.

Who Wants to Cheat God?

Those who indulge in sexual sin, or who worship idols, or commit adultery, or are male prostitutes, or practice homosexuality, or are thieves, or greedy people, or drunkards, or are abusive, or cheat people—none of these will inherit the Kingdom of God. 1 Corinthians 6:9-10 God listed thieves and cheaters right up there with sins of immorality. But let’s look at the other side of the coin. God would rather pour abundant blessings upon His people. Bring all the tithes into the storehouse so there will be enough food in my Temple. If you do,” says the Lord of Heaven’s Armies, “I will open the windows of heaven for you. I will pour out a blessing so great you won’t have enough room to take it in! Try it! Put me to the test! Malachi 3:10 Earlier, we asked if Christians should be concerned about the day of judgment. If your faith in the Lord leads your actions each day, then you should have no concerns about it. But for you who fear my name, the Sun of Righteousness will rise with healing in his wings. And you will go free, leaping with joy like calves let out to pasture. Malachi 4:2

When the Day of Judgment Comes

When the day of judgment comes, or the day when God acts, we will rise above the wicked. On the day when I act, you will tread upon the wicked as if they were dust under your feet,” says the Lord of heaven’s Armies. Malachi 4:3 The prophet Malachi recorded a final instruction given by the Lord. This instruction may seem impossible, but after we read it, I’ll tell you why we can easily obey it. Remember to obey the Law of Moses, my servant—all the decrees and regulations that I gave him on Mount Sinai for all Israel. Malachi 4:4 Jesus said the law and the prophets are contained in two commands. Love the Lord your God and love your neighbor. With those two commands, we can obey the entire law of Moses. First, by loving the Lord with all of our hearts. Then, by loving others like we love ourselves. Our love for God will keep us away from the day of judgment. So, focus your biggest concern about the day of judgment toward your loved ones who don’t know Christ. And on those who act like they do but don’t. They may not respond to the message of salvation from you. Instead, pray for them. And pray that God sends a person to them who can speak into their lives. The day of judgment is coming. Make sure you are ready. Don’t allow yourself to get distracted by continually examining your heart so you don’t float away from God. Lord, thank you for giving us fair warning about the coming of the day of judgment. Help us to stay on track. Let us recognize when opportunities arise to tell others about you. Check out some other posts on God's Judgment. - The Judgment Of God Is Real - How To Survive The Judgment Of The Eternal Fire - God's Judgment And Its Consequences - The Destruction Of The Earth - Punishment from God Because of Sin  - Who Will Judge The World And When Read the full article

[lesfeldickbiblestudy]

  Through the Bible with Les Feldick LESSON 2 * PART 1 * BOOK 79 PART 4 of the MESSIANIC PROPHECIES – PART 1 Psalms 45, 46, and 47 Okay, good to have everybody in this afternoon.  I just rehearsed with the crowd here that this is the most we’ve ever had.  The camera that was over here has now gone all the way to the back.  But anyway, those of you joining us on television, we just want to welcome you to an informal Bible study.  We try to keep it simple, and yet we don’t want to over-simplify. Again, I want to take this opportunity—as I can’t answer every letter, I try to answer those with questions.  But all your good letters, how I wish I could answer them, but I can’t.  So I have to take this opportunity – thank you, thank you for your kind remarks and for your encouragement and letting us know that the Word is indeed changing hearts and lives across the country.  And we want to thank you for your financial help.  Now, in spite of all the financial crunch that has gone through, we still had, without any drop, the biggest month ever last month. And all I can do is say, “Praise the Lord,” because we realize that all the people are going through some hard financial times. All right, we’re going to keep right on in our study in the Psalms today.  We’ve had a lot of requests for this over the years, “When are you ever going to teach something from Psalms?”  That’s one reason I’m doing it. Yet, I just feel that it’s what the Lord would have us do.  And as we always have to do when we look at the Old Testament, we always have to remember that the whole picture was first the sufferingand then the what?  The glory that should follow. All right, Peter puts it so perfectly in his little epistle—I Peter chapter 1.  I always like to start with verse 9.  Now, we’ve been doing this at the beginning of almost every taping session.   I’m getting old, but I’m not senile.  I do this on purpose. I want to just drill this in, and maybe after a period of time you’ll actually know it from memory.  Because that’s how memory works—if you repeat it and repeat it and repeat it, pretty soon you don’t even have to read it.  You’ve got it. All right, I Peter chapter 1 starting at verse 9—now remember, who is Peter writing to?  Fellow Jews.  Believing Jews.  They’re not the believers of the Age of Grace, but they’re believers in what?  The Kingdom Gospel which was that Jesus was the Christ.  They’re still under the Law.  Nobody has told those Jews to stop Temple worship.  The Temple is still operating.  It’s not A.D. 70 yet. So always keep that in mind, that there is not—as I’ve taught it when we put it in the program years back—these little Jewish epistles do not have one word of church language.  Not one word and I don’t know how all these theologians can miss that, but it’s a fact of life.  Go through there with what we call a fine-toothed comb and you will not find one reference to the Body of Christ.  You will find not one reference to salvation through faith in the death, burial, and resurrection as Paul shares in I Corinthians 15:1-4 for us in the Body of Christ!   Not one.  It’s all for the Jews, whereas our Gospel of Grace is for the Gentiles. So always be aware (I’ve said it over and over on this program) of what is not said in a portion as well as to what is said.  Now, Peter is addressing the twelve tribes.  He’s writing to Jews under the Kingdom economy.  There’s nothing here of what we learn from Paul.  The reason I use this as a kick-off for things in the Old Testament is just that very reason. I Peter 1:9-10a “Receiving the end of your faith, even the salvation of your souls. 10. Of which salvation the prophets have inquired and searched diligently,…”  Now stop and think when you read something like that.  What does that mean?  They looked and they looked and they studied and they searched, and they couldn’t find what they were looking for.  That’s what it means. I Peter 1:10b “…have inquired and searched diligently, (these same prophets) who

prophesied (or foretold) of the grace that should come unto you:” At a later time and we’re going to be seeing that as we go through the Psalms today.  Now then verse 11. I Peter 1:11a “Searching…”  Now, you and I have no idea how the Jewish people—when they’re in a theology situation in Yeshiva—how they will sometimes look at nothing but one verse (if I can believe what I read) one verse maybe for weeks on end trying to see if they can pull something up that somebody else has never seen before.  All right, so this is what it means—they searched and they searched.  They studied.  They contemplated.  They meditated. I Peter 1:11 “Searching what, or what manner of time the Spirit (That is the Holy Spirit) of Christ who was in them (Now you’ve got to remember, the Holy Spirit inspired every word of Scripture just as much as with Paul or any of the New Testament writers.  All right, so these Old Testament Prophets: like Isaiah and Jeremiah and Hosea and all the rest of them--) searching what manner of time the Holy Spirit of Christ within them did signify, when it (He, the Holy Spirit through His inspiration, remember.) testified beforehand (Before anything ever happened. The beauty of Scripture is prophecy.) the sufferings of Christ, (But it doesn’t stop there.) and (What?) the glory that should follow.” Remember when we first started this series several tapings back—go back with me now to Psalms chapter 2, which I have used over the last thirty years in my teaching as the outline of that Old Testament timeline—the Old Testament timeline that completely knew nothing of this Age of Grace.  It knew nothing of Paul and his apostleship—as everything was Jewish looking forward to the time when the King and the Kingdom would reach out to the Gentile world through Israel. All right, Psalms chapter 2 and always use this, like I said, as an outline of the Old Testament program. Let’s start with verse 4. Psalms 2:4-5 “He that sitteth in the heavens shall laugh: (Because of their rejecting the Messiah and killing Him.) the Lord shall have them (Jews and Gentiles) in derision. (confusion) 5.  Then (the Lord God from Heaven) shall he speak unto them in his wrath, (Not Grace, but rather wrath!) and vex them (He won’t sooth them.  He won’t bless them.) in his sore (What?) displeasure.”  His wrath, after 6,000 years of letting man do as he wanted, is finally going to fall.  And we’re getting closer every day. My, how the world is getting ripe for this judgment that’s coming.  They don’t want to hear it.  They like to ridicule. They think I’m some kind of a nut and don’t know what I’m talking about.  Well, I’ve got news for them.  I’m not a nut.  I do know what I’m talking about, because the Book is sure. Psalms 2:5b-6 “…and vex them in his sore displeasure.  (But what’s going to follow?) 6. Yet have I set my king (The King of Kings and the Lord of Lords is yet going to be set--) upon my holy hill of Zion.”  And where’s Mount Zion?  Jerusalem.  That’s what we’re going to be looking at now in the next few moments. All right, turn with me to where we left off in our last taping. We were in Psalms 41. And remember, I’m just looking primarily at what we call a Messianic Psalm.  I think I can define that as any one of the Psalms that can be corresponded with a New Testament reference that it’s Jesus of Nazareth that’s being foretold.  Not every Psalm is, although some are still definitely Messianic, but not to the point that these special ones that we pick now. So, 41 was the last of the Messianic Psalms that we had, now I’m going to jump up to Psalms 45.  And before the chapter is over, we’re going to see that Israel’s Messiah, the Son of God, the Anointed One, and the one we know in the New Testament as Jesus the Christ is going to be pictured here as the groom.  He’s going to be the groom of the bride—the bridegroom.  We will start at verse 1. And remember, it’s the groom who is speaking.  These are the words of Christ as the Holy Spirit inspired David to write them. They become a reality at some future day.

Psalms 45:1a “My heart is inditing (or is promoting) a good matter: I speak of the things which I have made touching the (What?) king:…” Now this is the whole concept of Old Testament prophecy.  It is this coming King and Kingdom. You’ve heard it from me for the last twenty years, admonishing that as the keynote of Old Testament prophecy—a coming King and His Kingdom.  But before the King could come, what did He have to do?  He had to suffer.  And after the King would suffer, there had to be the wrath and so forth of God’s judgment upon mankind.  So, all the Old Testament is constantly looking forward to the suffering—which, of course, was the work of the cross—and then the horrors of the Tribulation and then the Glory—the Kingdom which would follow.  Now back to verse 1. Psalms 45:1 “My heart is inditing a good matter: I speak of the things which I have made touching the king: my tongue is the pen of a ready writer.”  Now that’s a nice way of putting the statement, isn’t it?  The tongue that was on the lips of the Lord Jesus Himself was as ready to go as someone getting ready to write. Now, I’m not a good letter writer.  I am horrible.  But you know why?  As soon as I say Dear Someone and a comma, I go blank.  Totally blank.  Now some people are terrific letter writers.  They can hardly wait to get past that comma.  I can’t, because I just turn blank.  But that’s not the case here.  Here the prophet is speaking of Christ as being ready to speak forth as quickly as someone who is ready to write a letter. Verse 2: Psalms 45:2a “Thou art fairer than the children of men:…” What are we talking about?  The Messiah.  The Coming King.   Even though it’s His own words coming through David.  Now, I’m going to be repeating that all afternoon; otherwise, you’re going to miss it.  King David is writing at what point in time historically?  A thousand years before Christ. And everything, as we’re going to see from New Testament comparison, that was spoken back there in the Psalms was also spoken in His earthly ministry, one way or another.  The Holy Spirit inspired David to write the actual words of the Messiah.  Am I making that plain?  I know that sounds like gobbledy-gook, but I hope it isn’t. And this is the whole concept—that David is writing in the Psalms what the Messiah is actually going to speak and do at His first advent when He brings about the work of the cross. Psalms 45:2 “Thou art fairer than the children of men: (He’s the Son of God) grace is poured into thy lips: therefore God hath blessed thee for ever.”  Now, always keep the concept—God is the invisible Triune Godhead.  And God the Son is one of those Three.  I’m always showing it as He steps out of that invisible Godhead and became visible and so forth.  All right, so what we have here, then, is that God the Son is still being blessed by the Godhead, which includes all three: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Let me show you where I get the term Godhead.  I have to do this scripturally.  Keep your hand in Psalms.  Jump up to Colossians chapter 2, and let’s drop in at verse 8.  I’m waiting until all the pages stop turning.  You know, this is what thrills me so in my teaching experience—that everybody has their own Bible.  And, you know, we hear it from stem to stern.  Why do all of your people have their own Bible?  Well, because they’re there to study.  They’re not just there to kill time, and how can you study without a textbook?  You don’t know how much I appreciate the fact that you come in having your own Bible and follow along with me. Colossians 2:8-9 “Beware (There’s a warning.) lest any man spoil you through philosophy and vain deceit, after the tradition of men, (And that’s most religions, remember.  It’s men’s ideas put together, and it becomes tradition.  All right, that’s the warning.  Don’t follow--) after the rudiments (or the natural things) of the world, and not after Christ. (See how plain that is?  But here’s the verse I wanted.) 9. For in him (in Christ, in the Lord Jesus of Nazareth) dwelleth all the fullness of the (What?) Godhead bodily.

”   The Godhead is an invisible Spirit, but what is God the Son?  He’s visible. And that’s why I’m always putting it on the board.  We’ve done it over the years.  Here we have the Godhead: the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.  That’s the Godhead.  But whenever God’s dealt with humanity or creation or whatever and in order to come down and do the work of the cross, God the Son stepped out of the invisible and became what?  Visible.  Tangible.    That’s the whole teaching of Scripture.  So when we see that God the Son is referring to God, don’t throw God of the Son out of the God concept, because it’s a Godhead of all three Persons. All right, let’s go back to the Psalms 45.  Now, you know, I didn’t intend to do that.  So, that’s free for nothing. Psalm 45:2b-5 “…therefore God hath blessed thee forever. (Yes, God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Spirit as the Godhead blessed God the Son.) 3. Gird thy sword upon thy thigh, O most mighty, with thy glory and thy majesty. 4. And in thy majesty ride prosperously because of truth and meekness and righteousness; and thy right hand shall teach thee terrible things. (Tribulation) 5. Thine arrows are sharp in the heart of the king’s enemies; whereby the people fall under thee.”  What’s He referring to?  The Tribulation again. All right, now let’s go back to Revelation.  I’ve got to put all this down scripturally so that you get the full picture.  Not only is He filled with Grace and Mercy and Truth, but oh, my goodness, He’s also going to be coming as the God of judgment and wrath and the punishment of the human race.  Revelation chapter 19 and that’s what all these things are putting together.  And that’s what we have to do.  I will never stop using as many Scriptures as I can.  I don’t care if your thumb does get tired; we’re going to look at as many Scriptures as possible, because that’s how it all comes together. All right, Revelation 19 starting at verse 11 and this is after the horrors of the Tribulation have run their course.  Armageddon is part and parcel of His Second Coming, of course.  And we were just there at Megiddo a few days ago.  Quite an experience, wasn’t it?  To be there where this final battle is going to be fought. Revelation 19:11-12 “And I saw heaven opened, and behold a white horse; and he that sat upon him was called Faithful and True, and in righteousness he doth judge and make war. 12. His eyes were as a flame of fire, and on his head were many crowns; and he had a name written, that no man knew, but he himself.” Revelation 19:13 “And he was clothed with a vesture dipped in blood: and his name is called The Word of God.”  Just like John 1:1 -- “In the beginning was the Word. And the Word was with God, and the Word was God.”    All right, verse 14: Revelation 19:14-15a “And the armies which were in heaven (Now I’ve got some along with this thinking here, but I’ll pass on that for the time being.) followed him upon white horses, clothed in fine linen, white and clean. 15. And out of his mouth goeth a sharp sword,…” Remember how Psalms 45:5 put it? “Thine arrows are sharp in the heart of the king’s enemies.”  And also in verse 3, “Gird thy sword upon thy thigh.” All right, back to Revelation 19. Revelation 19:15 “And out of his mouth goeth a sharp sword, that with it he should smite the nations: and he shall rule them with a rod of iron: (Which, of course, will take place as soon as He sets up that glorious Kingdom.) and he treadeth the winepress of the fierceness and wrath of Almighty God.”  That’s Armageddon as we refer to it. Revelation 19:16 “And he hath on his vesture and on his thigh a name written, KING OF KINGS, AND LORD OF LORDS.”  Now, you can’t get any plainer than that, can you?  That’s Christ at His Second Advent. All right, back to Psalms and let us see how perfectly David pictures it in his own day and time a thousand years before.  Again in verse 3: Psalms 45:3-4 “Gird thy sword upon thy thigh, O most mighty, with thy glory and thy majesty.

  4. And in thy majesty ride prosperously (That makes reference to the White Horse, of course.) because of truth and meekness and righteousness; and thy right hand shall teach thee terrible things.”  And the word “terrible” is just simply that it’s going to be beyond the norm.  Now verse 5, this is all part of His fighting the enemy of satanic powers and the human race in general. Psalms 45:5 “Thine arrows are sharp in the heart of the king’s enemies; whereby the people fall under thee.”  Now I’m going to jump ahead to Psalms 110 verse 1.   I’ll probably give you this verse several times before the day is over, so bear with me. This verse is a reference to His ascension, when He left the Mount of Olives. You know, in our tour of Israel last week, a lot of our people thought the Mount of Olives was the most touching place. Because it was from the Mount of Olives that He walked down and came in through the Golden Gate on Palm Sunday.  And it was from the Mount of Olives, of course, that He ascended.  That’s what made me think of it.  From the Mount of Olives He ascended and went back to Glory.  Now Psalms 110 verse 1 is the prophecy. Psalms 110:1 “The LORD (God the Father) said unto my Lord, (God the Son) Sit thou at my right hand, until (What kind of a word is that?  Time word, at some point in the future on a particular month, day, and year.) I make thine enemies thy (What?) footstool.” What does that denote?  They’re under His feet.  Little David killed Goliath—what did he do with him?  Put him under his foot, didn’t he?  Sure.  What did it denote?  Total defeat of the enemy.  All right, that’s what God is going to do with Satan and the hordes of humanity who have been rebelling against Him for 6,000 years. Well, we’re never going to finish everything I intended to finish, but we’ll go as far as we can. We’ll pick it up in next half hour.  Come back to Psalms 45.  Now, after the horrors of the Tribulation—when He has totally defeated the enemy, and the human race has come under the judgment and the vexation of a righteous God—now we come into the proof that this is a Messianic Psalm.  Verse 6: Psalms 45:6-7 “Thy throne, O God, is for ever and ever: the scepter (or that denoting kingly power) of thy kingdom is a right (or a righteous) scepter. 7. Thou lovest righteousness, and hatest wickedness; therefore God, thy God, (in other words, the Father) hath anointed thee (the Son) with the oil of gladness above thy fellows.”  In other words, above the rank and file of Israel. All right, in the couple of minutes we have left, I think we can do this.  Go back with me to Hebrews chapter 1, and this is what ties this in as a Messianic Psalm.  Here we have an exact repetition in a New Testament setting.  Hebrews chapter 1 and let’s drop in at verse 2.  Hebrews chapter 1, let’s drop in at verse 2.  The God of verse 1: Hebrews 1:2 “Hath in these last days spoken unto us by his Son, (Jesus of Nazareth) whom he hath appointed heir of all things, (In other words, when we see back there in Colossians and in Paul’s other epistles that everything was consigned to the Son.) by whom also he made (or created) the worlds;” Hebrews 1:3 “Who (this same God the Son) being the brightness of his glory, (remember the Transfiguration) and the express image of his person, (In other words, He became the visible manifestation of the invisible God.) and upholding all things by the word of his power, when he had by himself purged our sins, (with the work of the cross) sat down (That’s Psalms 110 verse 1.) on the right hand of the Majesty on high;”  Hebrews 1:4-5 “Being made so much better than the angels, as he hath by inheritance obtained a more excellent name than they. (That is the angels.) 5. For unto which of the angels said he at any time, Thou art my Son, this day have I begotten thee? And again, (the Scripture says) I will be to him a Father, and he shall be to me a Son?” Hebrews 1:6-8 “And again, when he bringeth in the first-begotten into the world, he saith, And let all the angels of God worship him.

7. And of the angels he saith, Who maketh his angels spirits, and his ministers a flame of fire. 8. But (Here it comes now.  Just as we saw in Psalms 45.) unto the Son (Jesus of Nazareth) he saith, Thy throne, O God, is for ever and ever: a scepter of righteousness is the scepter of thy kingdom.” And here’s another verse that is a repeat. Hebrews 1:9 “Thou hast loved righteousness, and hated iniquity; therefore God, even thy God, hath anointed thee with the oil of gladness above thy fellows.”  Now, do you see how exactly it was spoken back through the pen of David, and now it comes back to the writer of the Book of Hebrews—that same person, the same Son of God, the same Coming KING OF KINGS AND LORD OF LORDS.

[whumpalicious08]

Assassin/hired gun Whumpee prompts :)

Because sm of you asked about the assassin Whumpee/guard dog Whumpee prompts from my physical position whump post (which I now know are called stress positions, thank you to the person in the comments of that post), I've decided to make a list of just assassin themed prompts :) Enjoy <3

NON CON TOUCHING, VIOLENT/HUMILIATING LANGUAGE, HUMILIATION IN GENERAL, PHYSICAL ABUSE, SORT OF IMPLIED SA? ITS NOT MENTIONED OR ALLUDED TO VERY CLEARLY, BUT IT CAN BE DEDUCED FROM THE DESCRIPTIONS OF WHUMPEE'S INJURIES.

Note the running theme of possessive Whumper ;)

“You can’t. It’s gone too far, Whumper; don’t do this.” Whumpee protests, shaking his head. His voice is firm but his mind is racing; he’s never questioned his boss' orders quite so blatantly before. Whumper’s expression is blank for a millisecond, before his face splits into a twisted grin. “You think I need your permission, Whumpee?” He laughs. It’s the kind of laugh that makes Whumpee's every instinct scream at him to either turn tail or blast Whumper to kingdom come. He knows better than to try either. “I f*%#$ing own you.” The mirth in Whumper’s face drains away, is replaced by low, simmering fury. He grabs Whumpee by his throat, forcing out of him an involuntary gasp, and rubs his thumb over his pulse point. "You're nothing- not even a person, really. Just a bloody gun." Whumpee tries his best to look indignant, fails, ends up looking pathetically hurt instead. Whumper doesn't care, tightens his hold around his neck in response. "And don't you f%#@&ing forget it."

Assassin Whumpee who's bruised and battered; a direct result of Whumper; not any mission gone awry. He stands behind Whumper while he negotiates with the buyer, exuding charisma, control- dominance. He's the perfect opposite of Whumpee. A soft shuffling sound catches his attention. One of the buyer's armed guards, a ways away, has his eyes set on him. But not his face, or his gun - his neck. His neck, where Whumper's hand prints are plain against his skin, where Whumper had pulled down his collar far enough to reveal his initials, his brand, burned into him. Where Whumper's bite marks are starting to turn a horrible greyish-purple. Somehow, ever omnipotent, Whumper half glances back at Whumpee, smirks. Whumpee's face burns red. He planned this. He fixes the guard with a glare. God, now Whumpee's actually praying for the deal to go bad.

A dog tired Whumpee who's been awake for days, running point on missions for Whumper non-stop. He can't take it anymore. "Please." He murmurs reluctantly, ashamed to admit he's finally reached his limit. "I need to sleep." Whumper, who's back had been facing Whumpee, straightens up, slowly turns around. There's a fire in his eyes that makes Whumpee's mouth run dry. “Do you?” He closes the gap between them, grabs the front of Whumpee's shirt to pull his head down. Whumper's other hand reaches into Whumpee's back pocket, fingers wrap around the handle of his pistol. Whumpee feels the muzzle pressed into his temple. "What you need is to put a bullet in your next target." Whumper clicks the safety off and Whumpee shudders. "Or I'll put one in you."

Crime lord Whumper is leant back against the front of his heavy, mahogany desk, long legs crossed at the ankles and stretched out in front of him. His weight is braced on his arms; shirt rolled up to his elbows and fingers curled around the edge of the desk. He tilts his head playfully, watches as an emotionally and physically drained Whumpee lowers himself onto his knees just by his feet. "Sir." He murmurs hollowly, head hung low. "It's done." Whumper's grin widens, eyes light up. "Good boy." And despite himself, something in Whumpee keens.

A Whumper who has Caretaker captured, bound to a chair. A Whumper who has his Whumpee dutifully knelt at his feet, facing his friend, but his eyes are fixed on the ground. "You wouldn't believe how obedient this one is, Caretaker. How eager to please. He follows orders remarkably well." Whumpee looks up at him, shakes his head in a frantic, desperate way. He's begging. Begging to preserve his dignity; The person he was before all of this. The person he still is to Caretaker. Whumper smiles. "You should sit in on some of his missions, watch the way he kills, the way he tortures." He inhales sharply. "It's almost artistic." Caretaker looks at Whumpee; shock, pity and more than a little badly concealed disgust plain in his eyes. Whumpee is humiliated. Whumper is exuberant.

Some fun dialogue ⬇️ ;)

The slimy business man eyes Whumpee predatorily. "You've got a helluva gunman there. How much for his services?" Whumper's face darkens. "He's not for sale." Whumpee smiles bitterly. Whumper's not exactly in the habit of sharing.

"Pretty dog," the man jerks his head in Whumpee's direction. "Does it bite?" It's a thinly veiled question. Whumper smiles like a shark, all teeth, and raises an eyebrow. "Only when it's told."

"Please don't make me do this. I- I'm begging you." Whumpee says softly, watching his friend's movements down the scope of his rifle. Whumper lowers himself down, lips by his ears. When he speaks, it sends a thrum of electricity through Whumpee's body. "Take the f%#@&ing shot."

"But I - I failed you." Whumpee frowns, shaking his head. Whumper gives him a smile. He rolls one of the bloodied bodies on the floor over to it's front. "I wouldn't say so."

Whumpee hisses as Whumper presses a little too hard on one of his wounds. Whumper gives him a humoured smile in leiu of an apology - not that Whumpee was expecting one anyway. The whole 'tending to his injuries' thing is out of character enough. "You're pretty like this." Whumper hums, presses down hard with the guaze again. Whumpee squeezes his eyes shut, pain making his head turn. "Then why are you helping me?" He bites out, gasping as Whumpee's gloved fingers dig into his wound. Whumper's eyes twinkle, corners of his mouth quirking upwards. "Can't play with a broken toy."

Whump is such a big part of my life guys I be listening to a song and think "hm, what a pleasant song to torture one of my characters to." I think it's bad too because they ain't even sad songs they just sound like something my whumper would hurt someone to idk 💀.

[jaegonsmoon]

Yes! I love how their bond would go to Sunfyre and Vermax too itd be so cute!! Omg I love the could have been ideas cause like imagine down the line if Jace becomes King and since him and Aegon would have grown so close he'd either make Aegon his hand or maybe they could even get married! I love that idea so much!

wait, WAIIIIITTTTTTT, Hand of the King Aegon?!!!!!!!!! You— your mind!!!!! let’s go.

We Are the Gods Now

Imagine, Rhaenyra (loml) passing away relatively young, when Jace is in his late twenties (or barely thirty), and even though the queen made sure to prepare him for this, the weight of it all sends him spiralling. That week has got to be the most overwhelming of his, and the entire family’s (since they’ve grown close ever since Rhaenyra’s coronation) lives.

Upon learning about his mother’s (because she never stopped being their mother first and queen second) passing, Jace goes to Aegon, his childhood companion (because of course they’re Alicent and Rhaenyra’s doubles).

He storms into Aegon’s rooms, looking visibly ill and pale and it downs on Aegon quickly. He doesn’t know what to do, so he just silently opens his arms and Jace walks to him. Aegon holds him through the first wave of his grief, where he’s uncontrollably crying. Then Aegon gets up, some time later when Jace has calmed down a bit, and serves them two cups of wine. Aegon half expected Jace’s reaction to his mother’s death to be more explosive and violent. Jace could be hot-headed when provoked, and even though he knew control, sometimes he couldn’t hold it in. But this, this proves how broken Jacaerys is about the situation, it makes Aegon’s heart ache.

Jace downs his wine in a few gulps and hands it back to Aegon, who silently keeps refilling it until there’s no more wine in the jar. He knows Jace’s never been one to get lost into his cups, but right now it’s all he can offer to calm him and soothe him—that and his arms, as Jacaerys, eyes red and throat raw from all his crying and screaming, crawls back into Aegon’s embrace.

They were close when they were little, but after Viserys’ death they grew even closer. Aegon was one of the very few people that ever witnessed Jacaerys’ vulnerable side, Rhaenyra being the main one. But now she was gone and there was a hole in his chest and the heaviness of a crown that hadn’t touched his head yet.

“I can’t do this alone,” Jace mumbles against his chest, where his face rests.

“You’re not alone. You have your brothers, you have my family’s support,” He runs his fingers carefully through his nephew’s tangled curls , pushing them out his face. “You have me.”

“I need you, Aegon. I need you by my side. I can’t— I can’t do it without you.” Jace’s voice cracks, and Aegon feels new, hot tears dampen his doublet.

“You have me. Jace…” He cups his nephew’s face in his hands, gently forcing him to look at him. “You have me.“

A broken sound leaves Jacaerys’ mouth when he feels Aegon’s lips on his forehead. Aegon peppers kisses along his temples, his wet eyes, his tear stained cheeks, his beautiful jawline, and finally his plump, red lips.

He rests his forehead against the other’s. “You have me and I have you. Always.”

Jacaerys’ coronation comes the day after Rhaenyra’s funeral, and it’s not without challenges. The rumours of him being a bastard never truly went away. Many lords that still, after all this time weren’t happy to have Rhaenyra sitting on the Iron Throne, started protests along the kingdoms, they don’t want a bastard to rule over them. Some still root for Aegon to take over the throne, as they still believed him the true heir of the house of the dragon.

Decisions are made, and they are not done lightly, there were things Jacaerys discussed with his queen for some time, long before sickness took over, and even after. His coronation takes place in the dragon pit, and when he arrives is on Vermax’s back. The dragon lands gracefully in a corner of the stage where he is to be crowned—opposite to where his remaining family stand loyally, awaiting for him. He climbs down from his dragon, petting him and praising him, before the dragon obediently backs away, but doesn’t take off—he remains patient and well behaved, but by no means less threatening, in a corner as the coronation of his rider takes place. It is a statement in his own right, really. To not be fooled by the heir’s unruly brown hair and and honey eyes, he is no less of a dragon despite what the impression of his features might tell some.

He is the son of the rightful queen, who birthed him and raised him to be the king he would begin to be today.

When the event began, it was Aegon Targaryen, second of his name, who placed the crown of late Queen Rhaenyra, previously Viserys’ and originally Jaehaerys’, on Jacaerys’ head. It was Aegon the first to bend the knee to his king, gasps and whispers could be heard among some in multitude. It was his uncle the first to pledge fealty and loyalty to him, looking up at him with a twinkle in his eyes that not only showed Jacaerys his devotion, but something more; something open. Deep and raw. Everyone else followed right after Aegon.

“All hail to king Jacaerys Targaryen, first of his name, King of the Andals, and the Rhoynar, and the First Men Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm.” Aegon announced and the kingdom roared in cheers, for they had a new king.

It was Jacaerys who then honoured Aegon back, by naming him Hand of the King—to the shock of some and the none of others, and kept him close by his side for the rest of the festivities.

And times.

[A CLEANER AND LONGER VERSION OF THIS IS NOW ON AO3!]

[shreddedparchment]

A Wife for Thor Pt.24

What She’s Done

05/19/2021

Pairing: King!Thor x Reader         Word Count: 5,590

Warnings: language, angst, fluff, Loki being the best bro, pregnancy problems

A/N: I’m sorry this is so late. I’m not going to explain too much as I want the focus to be on the chapter but I’m feeling better. Hope you all enjoy this one and I hope you can forgive me. haha As always, if you happen to reblog, thanks so much for helping me spread my work! xoxo

Please DO NOT repost my work on any other sites or blogs!

REBLOGS are always welcome!

The sound of the fanfare outside is muted. The heavy doors of the main room are shut.

Thor sits on his large steel, silver, and wooden throne. Normally, your own throne would have been moved into the room so that you could sit beside him. Today however, he wants you standing.

Loki stands on Thor’s left, his hands moving across his tablet at godly speeds. He’s busy. Always busy. While Thor has the final say, Loki sets everything up for him and comes to him with the choices that must be made.

He’s indispensable and both you and Thor know it. So, when the large doors are thrown open and Thor takes his hand off of your lower waist where he’d been massaging the knots away, as Ambassador Coates walks forward, you glare right at him and his judging distrustful look at the sight of Asgard’s Prince.

The music outside, large horns that sound more like a call to battle, slowly die and are completely cut off when the doors are shut. Just outside you know two Valkyrie are standing guard.

Inside, two more regular guards stand at attention.

“Ambassador Coates, I’m glad you saw fit to accept my invitation,” Thor says casually.

One wouldn’t know that Thor is angry. He sounds so welcoming. The charm he’s exuding is one you’ve never seen him use before but Loki doesn’t seem surprised by it. Instead, Loki’s lips seem to curve upwards a little in the teeniest smirk.

The Ambassador does as he’s expected and once he’s near the foot of the raised wooden floor where Thor’s throne sits, he gives a quick bow meeting first Thor’s singular eye and then your own blank gaze.

Keeping your anger in check is easy. You’re able to wipe your face of all emotion and it’s a skill now that you’re glad you learned in the orphanage you’d grown up in. Never letting anyone know how sad or hurt you are was key to your survival.

“Your Majesties,” the ambassador states, the irritation in his voice loud and clear for all of you to hear.

It looks like Thor’s plan to roll out the red carpet as if the ambassador were visiting royalty got his message across clearly.

“I hope I find you in good health? Are you faring well with the pregnancy?”

You don’t answer him. You simply stare.

“We’re well enough,” Thor begins. “Forgive me in my haste to get to the point, Ambassador Coates but as I hear it from my brother, you have been making it very difficult for Her Majesty the Queen of Asgard to meet with you, despite her warnings that what she had to share was imperative to the safety of Earth and human-kind.”

The ambassador blinks. He doesn’t attempt to speak or react in any other way than to show that he’s processing Thor’s words. All signs of irritation at his welcome gone.

“Would you say that is a fair statement for her having sent, what was it? Four emails and three phone calls?” Thor asks Loki.

“Seven emails and four phone calls,” he corrects.

“Right. Seven and four.”

“Your Majesty…”

“I think you have been under the impression that my marriage to my wife has been one in name only. She’s Queen but not really? Right? She has no power or authority? Is that what you think?”

Ambassador Coates swallows hard, sweat beading along his temples. He’s not a stout man. In fact, most women would think him good looking. Nothing to Thor or Loki, but for a human he’s handsome. His sweating in this climate makes no sense unless he’s suddenly stressed.

Maybe you shouldn’t feel bad but you do just a bit. You can’t imagine what he must feel being scrutinized by Thor, yourself, and Loki. Clearly he did something wrong and now he knows it.

“Your Majesties, I-I meant no offense. Unfortunately this is a busy time for myself and my colleagues and-”

“We have no time for your excuses,” Thor sits up straighter and draws his legs a little closer together before he licks his lips and holds his hand out towards you.

Taking it, you watch him get up and then he helps you sit before checking on you, “Better, cherub?”

You nod, looking up at him as he caresses the side of your head.

“The only reason you hold the job that you currently do is because my people and I chose to settle on Earth. You might say you owe it to us. Perhaps you’d still have been employed should we not have come here but from what I understand, your salary is considerably more than what it would have been were you in some other position.

“You are married and have children, too. Don’t you?” Thor asks.

“Y-Yes, Your Majesty.”

“So, it’s important to keep your job. Isn’t it?”

He says nothing, this time simply looking down at Thor’s feet.

“My wife is not just Queen in name but she has been exemplary in her devotion of ruling the people of Asgard at my side with honor and grace. The people love her. I’m not sure what made you think you could slight an Asgardian Queen but let me be clear. If our people should find out that there was such disrespect, believe me when I tell you that the loss of your job would be the last thing you’d have to worry about.”

“And just to be clear,” Loki cuts in as Thor’s taking a breath. “My brother is not threatening you. This is a statement of fact. We Asgardians are fiercely loyal and easily offended.”

You like that Ambassador Coates isn’t glaring at Loki anymore. The fear in his eyes is worrying, but you also know that your husband and brother would do nothing to actually hurt this idiot. They’re just making sure he knows where he stands.

Thor crosses his large arms across his wide chest. Though you don’t think he means it to be intimidating, you can see from the ambassador’s gulp that Thor’s minor flex has great impact.

Gods, he’s huge.

“As it just so happens, aside from being a Queen without fault to this kingdom, the Queen of Asgard has seen fit to continue to perform in her duties as the bridge between our two peoples. She refuses to let us make decisions for the human race and was attempting to contact you to warn you of impending dangers. And you, what was the phrase, love?”

“Blew me off.”

“That’s right, you blew her off. And yet we welcome you with respect and grace.”

“Your Majesties,” the ambassador begins, but Thor holds up his hand and he stops.

“Let this be a lesson in humility for you. I love Earth and for that reason alone, in addition to the fact that this is my wife’s home and now mine, we will forgive this lapse of judgement on your part,” you’ve never heard Thor sound more like a King than in this moment.

It’s also one of those moments where you really want to drag him back to the room and get him naked. He’s never been this attractive.

The ambassador bows his head, taking his punishment with dignity.

“Forgive me, your Majesties,” he begins to say something, but then stops himself.

“Speak your mind, Ambassador Coates,” Loki urges, seeing something you and Thor don’t.

“I merely wish to apologize for my lack of forethought. I was not the only one dismissing Her Majesty the Queen of Asgard but will be sure to rectify the behavior with my colleagues when I return.”

Loki smiles, turning his gentle gaze on you as he realizes that you were right. It wasn’t misogyny. Not on Ambassador Coates’s part. That might not be the case for everyone though.

“Perhaps I should schedule meetings with your colleagues so that we might have a quick talk about the expectations we have for our relationship going forward?”

Loki’s threat is veiled heavily, but Ambassador Coates still picks up on it and his face goes a little pale.

“I don’t think that’s necessary, Your Highness. I will pass along the sentiments, if you will let me.”

There’s a burning satisfaction in your chest. Something about watching Ambassador Coates finally show not just you but Loki the respect he deserves makes you so happy.

“My Queen?” Loki prompts you, looking to you to wait for your reply.

“I think we can give him a chance to express our disappointment for us. He is our ambassador. Isn’t that right Ambassador Coates?”

Coates looks relieved, pressing his hand to his chest as he bows his head to you again.

It’s a strange sensation to see the gratitude on his face and his posture relaxes as a result. You literally just did that. You gave him some forgiveness and it really does make all the difference.

“I will support you and the Asgardian throne with more fervor from here on out, Your Majesty.”

“Cool,” you shrug, reaching to place your hand on the back of Thor’s neck, absolutely beaming at him.

He chuckles and puts his hand back on your waist, giving you a gentle squeeze and shake.

“Are you happy, my cherub?”

You nod, unable to contain the smile that stretches across your lips and you lean into him.

“Good. My job here is done then. Now, I have some things to do,” Thor rises and moves around until he’s facing you and pulls you up into a chaste but loving kiss.

With a caress to your belly, he looks at Loki and nods.

“I’ll leave the rest to you and my Queen, brother.”

“Sif will meet you by the docks,” Loki nods.

“Wonderful. I’ll see you later, love. If you need me, just tell Loki and I will come running.”

“‘Kay,” you smile.

Thor turns back to your guest and moves towards him, clapping his shoulder as he passes, “Do better, Ambassador Coates. Do better.”

All three of you watch Thor strut for the large front doors. The guard opens it for him and when he’s out of sight, the doors shutting behind him, you move to take your seat on the throne. Loki scoots a little closer to your side but stands with his tablet ready.

“Now, I think we should get down to the reason I wanted to meet with you,” you start and Ambassador Coates stands a little straighter. “But...I don’t know about you but this whole towering over you sitting on a throne thing is not really my style and feels a little forced. Let’s go to my sitting room.”

Loki smirks as Ambassador Coates relaxes a little more and even smiles, “Yes, Your Majesty.”

As the three of you walk up the steps to the right of the throne room to climb up to the small sitting room that had been set aside for you and your private entertaining, you steal a few glances at Ambassador Coates.

He still looks a little rattled and you stroke your stomach, the long silk dress you’re wearing, ruffled skirt and loose waist giving it a soft flowing quality is still noticeable and Ambassador Coates steals a few glances.

“Didn’t think I was really pregnant?”

He blanches, “What? N-No, Your Majesty! I had no reason to doubt you.”

“It’s okay. A lot of people didn’t believe it until I came back from my little vacation. I just wanted to make sure that it would take. We’re all so dependent on this little one and a lot is riding on my having Thor’s heir quickly.”

“No one who has seen you rule since your marriage would doubt your commitment to this union, Y/N,” Loki assures you gently.

He’s your number one supporter and you’re so damn grateful for him.

All three of you fall into silence but with your heavy belly and your slow walk, it stretches on.

“I’m sorry about Thor’s enthusiasm to put you in your place,” you give Coates a small apologetic smile but he quickly shakes his head. “He can be a little passionate.”

“No, Your Majesty, the mistake was mine. I should have paid you the respect you deserved. It’s-You work in an environment for too long and you begin to adopt certain behaviors that you should know aren’t acceptable but when everyone is doing it and-I was wrong. I can’t blame Thor for setting me straight.”

“Thank you, for understanding,” you shrug.

“Thank you for not holding it against me and letting me do better.”

It takes only another few minutes to reach the sitting room and you make a beeline for the small loveseat before dropping into it and leaning back against the soft plush cushions.

“Whew, I probably should have done my research on how pregnancy would affect all aspects of my life before agreeing to it,” a joke and Coates gets it because he looks respectfully amused.

Loki scoffs, “With Thor, I doubt you’d have had much choice in the matter. He is also believed to be a God of fertility, you know?”

“Loki!”

The small shock on your face really makes Coates laugh this time and your neck, ears, and cheeks burn.

Not wanting to drag this meeting out for a long time you clear your throat and Loki sits down on the armchair beside you opposite Coates’s own seat.

“I should really be more formal, but I’m not kidding when I tell you that this pregnancy is taking a toll on me.”

“Think nothing of it, Your Majesty,” Coates assures you.

“I’m not sure what you’ll be able to do with this information and maybe it’ll be best if, with your help, you can get a meeting in front of both the United Nations and NATO scheduled for me to speak to them directly.

“Thor and Loki would be there with me, of course, but it was my idea to even bring this to your attention.”

“I will be of any assistance that I can be,” Coates nods, face serious and attentive.

“We wanted to wait until we had more concrete information to give Earth’s leaders but our Queen is adamant that an early warning is better than detailed information,” Loki explains.

“Is the Earth in danger?” Coates asks, worried now.

“Sort of,” you nod. “Truth is, we don’t know. What we do know is that there’s an energy signature that we’ve been monitoring for months. Almost my entire first year of marriage. What we do know is that the energy signal was strong enough to bring Doctor Foster here to look for an explanation and my brother-in-law has kept his eye on it too. It’s familiar to him and not unthreatening so we’ve been preparing watch stations across the globe. We have one in North and South America, Australia, almost every continent so that we won’t miss any kind of danger that comes falling from the sky.

“We don’t want a repeat of New York,” you look at Loki and Coates looks at him too but neither of you have any kind of judgement in your expressions.

Maybe a little for Coates, but he quickly turns his gaze back on you.

“I wanted to give the people of Earth time to prepare for that kind of attack. The Avengers are already on the case and have been helping build up a defense but they can only do so much. Their focus is going to be on the bigger fight if it comes to that. I want to give us a fighting chance on the ground where regular people are often the ones to get hurt and suffer from big threats like this.

“I don’t want the casualties to look like they have in the past when something or someone threatens us. So, I just want to give world leaders a briefing on what we’ve found, what we’ve built in defense, and give them the resources to keep track of what we’re keeping track of.

“We’re at a unique advantage with not only Asgard’s knowledge, technology, and resources. We’re still a growing nation and what we do have is lots of strength. I’ve been thinking about it a lot and while the Valkyrie have to stay here to protect my family, we have a sizable guard that can be split into a few regiments to send out to the places that will need it most and still have enough forces to protect New Asgard.”

Coates is thinking hard, then his hand dives into his pocket and he pulls out his phone, “I’ll start making calls and can probably have something set up the day after tomorrow. If the threat is serious enough to make you worry about us humans this much, I think the sooner the better.”

“It is serious enough,” Loki assures him. “Even if it turns into nothing, we would all rather have done everything we could to minimize damage to both the humans of Earth and New Asgard.”

“Then I’ll get started. Is there any kind of data that I should see in order to convince my bosses?”

You look to Loki and reach out, placing your hand on his arm, “Loki, take Ambassador Coates down to the dungeon and let him get a look at anything we’ve gathered in the monitoring station. You’ll forgive me for not coming with you, Ambassador Coates? I really can’t stand walking around much longer today.”

“Of course, please do not mind me,” he assures you, giving you a small bow.

“Shall I have your lunch brought in here?” Loki asks.

“Please?”

He nods and with a gesture at Ambassador Coates, leads the way to the door.

“When you’ve made any significant progress, I will be in here. Can you come and let me know?”

Coates nods, the phone now pressed to his ear, “As soon as I know something, Your Majesty.”

They leave you in an appropriate rush and you relax against the cushions of your sofa feeling like a small burden’s been lifting off your shoulders.

You’ve done your part now. You’ve warned your Ambassador, now it’s his job to convince his higher-ups and hopefully they listen.

Estrid does eventually come with your lunch and you eat slowly, thinking through your options for Coates and the rest of the governments of the world. Splitting the Asgardian army up isn’t ideal, but they pack a punch. Even just a handful of soldiers in a city would make a difference.

You finish eating and you finish your tea. You get up to walk a little around the sitting room but as the afternoon wears on, you start to feel suffocated inside and Estrid happily goes with you down to your gardens.

Most of your plants have been well taken care of.

“His Majesty made sure that we kept all of your plants healthy for you,” Estrid informs you, moving to walk a few steps behind you as you walk around with a small watering can.

His consideration brings a smile to your lips.

Thor really can be so sweet. So loving. You hate that some of the time from your first year was stolen by what happened with Jane, but it couldn’t be helped. He had to discover what it would mean to lose you and you had to learn that depending on yourself is still just as important married as it was when you had no one.

Maybe it’s even more important now? You can get lost in your relationship with Thor and while that’s super tempting, to have your world start and end with Thor and your married life together, you are still your own person.

You have goals for your career and shared dreams with him too. You’ve got your hobbies and Thor has his. Both of you needed the distance.

Despite that, even though you know that the space was good for both of you, even if it hurt like hell to get it the way you two did, you’re actually really happy to be back home.

As you reach over to water one of your taller butterfly bushes, you gasp and pull your arm back against your body as a small sharp pain rocks your senses and blinds your vision for a split second.

“Your Majesty?” Estrid hurries forward.

“I’m fine, Estrid,” you assure her, waiting another second to see if the pain will come back.

Reaching down you rub the spot on your tummy where you’d felt it and wonder if maybe the baby is just kicking especially hard today.

“Shall I fetch the doctors?”

“No, really. I’m fine, Estrid.”

You move to the next plant and water a few more as you head towards the small greenhouse with the Asgardian plants you’re still trying to perfect the care for but as you reach for the door, you double over as a shooting pain stretches across the same side as before then moves down onto the base of your belly.

The watering can falls from your hand as you reach out to brace yourself against the door and hits the floor with a clunk as the water goes all over your flats, soaking your feet.

“Your Majesty!”

Estrid races to you, hands placed on your back and arm to support you as she looks to steal a glance at your face.

With your eyes shut tight, you groan and whimper as the pain just gets sharper.

“Estrid…” it takes a moment to catch your breath. “Get the doctors.”

“Guard!” Estrid calls, forcing you to let go of the door so that she can lead you to a bench. “Guard, send for the doctor!”

“Thor,” you whimper, sitting slowly and gasping as the pain intensifies. “Get Thor.”

“I’ll send for him, my Queen,” Estrid assures you and now that you’re seated, she leaves you to run and hurry the guard.

“What’s wrong?”

“Loki?” you call breathlessly, searching for his face for the comfort you know it’ll give you to have him close.

“Here,” he calls out for you and hurries around the corner. “I’m here. What’s happened? What’s wrong?”

He hovers over you, leaning over, his hands carefully pressed to your cheek and the other on your stomach.

“It hurts,” you sob without tears, “Loki…”

“It’s alright,” he promises. “You and my nephew will be fine. Come on, put your arm around my neck.”

His certainty does help and you get your arm around him. With ease he squats down and lifts you into his arms and with you moves back into the palace.

~~~~~~~~~~

It feels like a long time when you open your eyes again. You’re dizzy a little and weak. Your body feels heavy and it’s a struggle to sit up.

Looking around, you realize you’re in your bedroom alone. The sky outside is dark and the room is dim with only the fireplace lit to cast a warm orange glow around the dark room.

“Loki?” you try, remembering him carrying you when he found you in the garden.

No movement.

“Thor? Estrid?” You’d sent her to get the doctors and to get Thor. Had the doctors come?

Thor’s favorite armchair is placed by your bed, angled towards you so he must have been in here sitting by you waiting for you to wake up.

With a heavy sigh, you realize that he must have been out of his mind with worry when he heard what happened. Is the baby okay?

You put your hands on your tummy and wait for movement. He does wiggle around a little. Normal for you and him and that makes you feel better about the pain that had come out of nowhere.

It takes you too long to get up and out of bed. You’re in your nightgown, a long simple piece with modern touches but it’s also very similar to some of the long flowing white ones you remember seeing in history books.

Taking extra time to stretch up onto your feet just in case the pain comes back, you breathe a sigh of relief when you take your first step and find that you’re okay.

“Oh, baby,” you reach down and rub the sides of your bump. “You scared me, rascal.”

You know that you should probably stay still. Staying in bed is probably what your Doctors suggested but the empty chair has you worried about Thor and what state he might be in.

So instead of staying where you should, you open your bedroom door and step out into the hallway.

The spots to either side where there’s usually a guard are empty.

You look up towards the other end of the hall and see that the two soldiers have moved to stand at the center of the hall, shoulders tense and obviously distracted. Further down, at what you think they must be staring at is a grouping of palace staff. People you recognize. Estrid stands among them, frowning at the small crack in the door through which pours a line of bright white light from the sitting room you share with Thor.

Did something happen?

As you pass the two guards the jump and hurry back to the sides of your bedroom door where they belong. Their flurry of movement must have drawn the attention of the others standing by the door. They also seem to jump, look shamed and worried, before they move away from the door and head in all different directions to get back to work.

One of the maids that passes you curtsies before she scurries off stealing a look of regret at you.

Estrid stands rigid, hands clasped to her front before she steps back a bit to give you room.

“What is it, Estrid?”

She doesn’t say anything. She looks upset, her lips fixed into a severe line, eyes full of anger as she shakes her head.

“Where’s Loki? Thor?” you check, stopping by her and she only looks at the door.

You can hear muted voices from inside and your heart begins to pound.

Is it the doctors? Are Thor and Loki getting bad news? The baby was just moving though!

Your baby has to be okay. Healthy even. Nothing was wrong before you came back home.

Clinging to your bump, you move towards the crack in the door and with the breath leaving your lungs in fear of what you’ll overhear you just go ahead and push the door open because eavesdropping hasn’t served you well in the past.

If something needs to be said, you want to hear it without hiding.

Of course, what you aren’t expecting to find is Loki facing you by the long sofa where Thor usually lounges, resting his head on your lap. Behind Loki, what must have given him that frustrated look on his face is Thor, Jane clinging to his arm as she finishes speaking the thought you just interrupted as they all turn to look at you.

“-can’t help it. I love you. I-”

The absolute fury that engulfs you is indescribable.

For one year-long second, you inhale and a million thoughts cross your mind. The one you grasp onto, in favor of the ones involving murder and hurt and violence, is the one of your baby.

This kind of anger is bad for him. You can’t let it consume you. Not when you need to stay good for him.

Loki looks down at his feet, disappointment and shame overcoming his pale, handsome features.

Thor quickly jerks his hand out of Jane’s grip and moves towards you but stops when you speak only a few feet away.

“Jane?”

She swallows hard, then frowns, “I only came to warn Thor that the readings have gotten stronger. I-”

“I don’t care why you’re here. I only care that you are here. You aren’t welcome in my house, near my husband, or on any piece of land in this Kingdom,” you take a step towards them and stop as you stroke your belly to remind you to keep calm. “I want you gone. Out of my home, away from my people, and if you trespass here again, I’ll have you thrown in jail. You aren’t welcome in New Asgard.”

“You can’t ban me from an entire Kingdom,” she argues, moving forward towards you.

“Try me,” you warn. “Out of respect for what you meant to Thor in the past, I’ve kept your name clean. I haven’t told anyone what you tried to do here, but here you are trying again. Now either you want me to trash you, or you seriously can’t take a hint.

“We don’t want you here.”

“Thor invited me himself, if he didn’t want me here, why would he do that?”

You grind your teeth, again stroking your tummy, “You’re right. I don’t know why my husband would invite you here when I have made it very clear that you aren’t welcome. Whatever the reason, he and I will discuss it together, because we’re married. Husband and wife. Until the day I die, at least, since he’ll outlive me by two thousand years.

“And whatever you two had in the past is gone. So, get out or I’ll have you thrown out.”

She opens her mouth to argue and you take two steps towards her, “I might be pregnant, but I can still do plenty of damage in the minute that it’ll take Thor and Loki to pull me off of you. Please, say something. Please, please I beg you. Give me an excuse. I have a really bad temper and I am dying to express myself. Please.”

Jane turns towards Thor, waiting for some kind of rebuttal from him but he’s got his eyes trained on you and you alone. The shame on his face, the agony of what you finding them all here might mean is not lost on him.

When he doesn’t say anything, Loki clears his throat, “I think it’s time to go, Jane.”

His urging helps and with a look of hurt and disbelief, she tears her eyes off of Thor and stomps out past you.

You watch her go, Estrid scurrying after her to lead her out the back instead of the front where she might be spotted.

“Loki?”

He turns to you, waiting.

“I don’t want anyone to know she was here. Anyone other than the group of palace staff that was standing by the door fucking listening to what was being said in here. Can you get Heimdall and send her home that way?”

“I’m on it,” he assures you and hurries past you, disappearing into the palace.

“I-” Thor begins.

“Don’t!”

He shuts his mouth.

“Not here.”

Turning, you lead the way back to the bedroom and the guard opens the door for you, Thor following closely behind.

As the door shuts you don’t stop until you’re sitting on your bed, hands stroking your belly as you shut your eyes and try to calm yourself.

“I asked you for one thing. One thing, Thor. I asked you not to make a fool of me. Seven people from our staff were listening to you and Jane. Seven! By tomorrow that’ll be twenty and by the weekend the tabloids will have picked up on the story.”

“I’m sorry,” he starts but you growl in frustration.

“I stood in front of our people and told them that Jane Foster was not welcome in our Kingdom and you walked her right in! I-I can’t do this. I can’t do this right now.”

You get up and point at the large doors.

“I need you to get out. I need space and I don’t care why you let her in. I don’t care why you’d make me look like such a stupid fucking joke I only know that you did and I’m done. I need you out. Don’t come looking for me. When I’m ready, if I’m ever ready to talk to you again, I’ll find you. Until then, leave me alone.”

“Cherub-”

“NO! You don’t get to do this shit, Thor-You don’t get to undermine me and bring that woman back into our lives and still get to explain yourself after she lied to you about being pregnant, and making a mockery of our marriage. You don’t get a say. You get out of my room, you keep away from me, you wait until I’m ready to hear you. Until I’m not angry anymore. Until I’m not hurting anymore.

“I don’t understand what it is about this woman that you just-can’t you see what she is? What she’s done? Don’t you understand why she can’t be here? Don’t you get-You know what? Just get out. I don’t care. I don’t care if you get it or not. Get out.”

“Y/N, please, I-”

“GET OUT!”

The silence that follows your outburst is interrupted only by the crackling of the fire. In the dim light, Thor’s face is grave and broken. You can’t feel bad for him though.

As much as you love him, as much as you wish this hadn’t just happened, as much as you hate to see him hurt, you can’t ignore the pain in your own chest, drowning you again in betrayal.

This is why you’d wanted to keep your distance. This agony is why you’d wanted to keep him at arm’s length.

This is why you can only depend on yourself.

Eventually, Thor bows his head and with heavy feet, he leaves your room shutting the door behind him leaving you to sob and throw pillows in anger.