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giftofshewbread · 7 months

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We Must Be Getting Close

Biblical prophecy is coming to life like never before. The convergence of a myriad of signs tells us that the Day of the Lord is on our doorstep and, with it, the Rapture. In 1 Thessalonians 5:10, Paul said that Jesus would come for His church before the “sudden destruction” of the Day of the Lord falls upon an unsuspecting world.

The Old Testament Prophets predicted that this day would include an outpouring of God’s wrath on the world ahead of the Lord’s coming to earth to set up His kingdom. The book of Revelation depicts 21 judgments that will fall upon the world during this period that we also refer to as the Tribulation.

There’s one particular recent news story that, for me, points to its nearness.

As a continuation of the Abrahamic Accords, the U.S. is seeking to broker a deal between Israel and Saudi Arabia that would formalize peace between the two nations as well as resolve the Palestinian issue (no small task). On September 1, 2023, the Jerusalem Post reported that Benjamin Netanyahu was willing to step down as Israeli Prime Minister if it meant completing the “peace deal with Saudi Arabia.”

In a September 10, 2023, article on his blog, Michael Snyder provided a comprehensive update on the progress of the negotiations, citing several sources. He stated that although the “negotiations are fairly advanced at this state,” many details still need to be worked out between the parties. Snyder quoted a source as saying:

The Biden administration told the Israeli government last week that it would have to make significant concessions to the Palestinians as part of any possible mega-deal with Saudi Arabia that includes normalization between the kingdom and Israel, four U.S. officials and a source briefed on the issue told Axios.

We know Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu will never support an independent nation for the Palestinians. However, the leaked terms of this agreement state that “Gaza and the West Bank would be demilitarized and reincorporated as part of Jordan, perhaps the West Bank first and Gaza sometime later.” Perhaps that is more agreeable to him.

Snyder quoted a reliable source in the Muslim world as saying that in return for a national identity, the Palestinians would give up all claims of the city of Jerusalem, including the Temple Mount.

(It’s rather difficult for me to imagine that the Palestinians or Saudi Arabia would give up such rights.)

What makes this deal significant prophetically?

First, it would formalize the dividing up of the Land that God gave to Israel. Joel 3:1-3 cites such action as something that will bring the Lord’s wrath upon the nations during the Day of the Lord. A future completion of this accord will result in the kindling of God’s fierce anger toward all those involved, including the U.S. for its role in negotiating the agreement and putting great pressure on all the parties to make it happen.

Second, even if never agreed upon, this proposed covenant might further the agenda of the Antichrist. Can you imagine how the push for such a peace accord would accelerate after the Rapture and Gog/Magog War? All the parties might then be quite eager to sign such a peace deal even if it allows Israel complete control of the Temple Mount. And the “man of lawlessness” will be more than happy to make it happen.

(Update: On August 14, 2023, the Times of Israel reported that Saudi Arabia wants a “two-state” solution, which sounds different than the one that would join the West Bank and Gaza with Jordan. Could this be a roadblock in the current negotiations?)

I cannot leave the topic of the Day of the Lord without mentioning the great wickedness and violence of our day, which surely grieves the Lord and will someday bring His wrath to the earth.

When one considers the evils that brought God’s judgments on ancient Judah and other places such as Sodom and Gomorrah, it’s clear that much of the world, including the U.S., is living on borrowed time. The evils of our day go far beyond what happened in biblical times, which resulted in His fierce anger.

The blood that flows from abortion mills in the U.S. will surely lead to an outpouring of His wrath, such as the Bible says will happen during the Day of the Lord. The sex trafficking horror for so many innocent children is sanctioned and promoted at the highest levels of the U.S. government. How close must we be to the destruction of America?

How much longer can such sickening behavior continue before God shouts “enough,” sends His Son to retrieve His Church, and brings His wrath to an unsuspecting world?

Psalm 75:8 assures us that the Lord sees what’s happening and is preparing His response:

“For in the hand of the Lord there is a cup with foaming wine, well mixed, and he pours out from it, and all the wicked of the earth shall drain it down to the dregs” (ESV).

The nearness of the Day of the Lord, along with so many other signs, screams with the message that we must be getting ever so close to our homegoing(Rapture).

We dare not set dates, but neither do we make the mistake of assuming the Rapture cannot happen today or in the very near future.

Maranatha!

-Jonathan

#peace #accord #abrahamic #saudis #jesus #israel #feast of trumpets #jewish #holidays #rapture #america #sin #earthquakes #fires #floods #birth pangs #trending #today #good #news #bible

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doulafaith · 1 year

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Childbirth Faith

“His Abide” Summary – Reflection – Prayer To God’s Word While Walking it Out Context: Matthew 24: 1-51 Focus: Matthew 24:8 “All this is just the start of the birth pangs.” Matthew 24:8 Jesus told His disciples that the temple they thought was so great, would one day be destroyed, leveled, not one stone remaining upon another. So they asked when would this take place, and so He proceeded to tell…

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#Be on the Alert #birth pangs #childbirth and faith #End of the Age #Matthew 24

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rabiesram · 2 years

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ayo shawty u good???

#cult of the lamb #BIRTH PANGS????

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grayluforever · 3 months

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There are people who die trying to bring their baby into the world, would you call that “easy”? I wouldn’t.

Childbirth can be incredibly hard. It can rip a persons body apart. It can destroy a persons mental health.

I am glad it was so easy for you, but if you have another child, it might not be that time.

#anti childbirth #tokophobia #God caused Eve and all women to experience pain at childbirth because of Eve’s sin #adam and eve #the bible #anti lucifer #anti pregnancy #anti labor pains #Eve would not have had the increase in birth pangs as a result of her disobedience.

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theiceandbones · 5 months

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A while ago I saw a reel that said “I should be crying to my mom about a guy not crying to a guy about my mom” and it hasn’t left my mind since

#my boyfriend has the patience of a saint because I have another issue with her every week #I can feel my blood pressure rise when she sends me a text or even walks in the house #my mom was never a MOM she was just someone who birthed me and paid for my food and clothes #the only time she made it clear she was my mother was when she was holding something over my head #she treats herself like my peer instead of my parent #she has no boundaries or concept of them. I live each moment of my life striving to be her opposite #I always feel a pang of jealousy when my friends have fantastic relationships with their supportive mothers

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cultoficarus · 1 month

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I kinda want some help interpreting a dream I had last night

I dreamt I gave birth alone to a baby, and while conducting the post natal care the baby birthed two organs, a human heart and another I can't remember. The baby was smiling and cooing after, though.

The other organ was kinda grey and triangular, maybe a liver? And the heart was weird too, it was much bigger than the baby's could have been, and it was mostly anatomically correct, but as if it was actually 2 hearts.

#i felt a pang of loss when I woke up #and even though the baby obv gave birth I knew he was a baby boy #it could mean nothing but i want to hear what somebody else thinks anyway

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arminsumi · 7 months

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THE HORNIEST

↳ GOJO さとる + fem!reader

Summary : Horny!Gojo needs you so bad, he's insatiable. A menace.

Warnings : minors do not read/interact : smut/explicit content, it's very horny lol, not proofread, c*mshots and creampies, unprotected sex, multiple rounds, implied drunk sex

Note : lmk if you want more horny gojo lol 👍 reqs open!! anyways lol the title cracks me up. he ain't the strongest he's the horniest :(

Horny!Gojo introduces himself to you in the flirtiest way possible, cooing a sweet and drunk "Who invited the goddess?" into your ear. He's sat on the couch with you, one night at a stupid frat party. Starstruck by you. And your reciprocation made his chest feel fluttery for the first time in years. It also made his dick stand up in his pants.

Horny!Gojo leans into you for the whole night, whispering flirty things and dirty jokes into your ear like his mind is a factory pumping them out. You match his playful energy so well, he says "I think we're made for each other."

Horny!Gojo has his sharp eyes wandering to your thighs, then your shoulders, then your lips as you speak — and he licks his lips to wet them.

Horny!Gojo showers you in compliment after compliment, relishing in your reactions and getting greedier; he needs to get you alone. "Wanna go someplace quieter?" he has to shout over the music to ask you.

Horny!Gojo assures you with cocky confidence, "Yeah, I could make you cum. Aw, don't give me that eyeroll, it's turning me on. I know for a fucking fact I could make you cum. I could make those eyes roll back. I could make your legs shake."

Horny!Gojo squeezes your hand tightly when he leads you upstairs, and giggles with you as the two of you escape into a quiet, empty bedroom. His heart is panging so hard in his chest. His body feels electric. He's so horny it's the only thing he can focus on.

Horny!Gojo whimpers when you crash your lips into his. He starts making out wildly with you like he's a sex-deprived loser. Because he is. A sex-deprived, touch-starved college boy.

Horny!Gojo hits those deep, hard strokes with no breaks just to destroy you. He never lets up. Never stops to have a breather or lets you catch your own breath. "Working up a sweat b—abyyy? Too much dick stuffing your little cunt? Yeah? Is it too much? Too big? Too deep? Fuck, you're gonna squeeze my dick off, haha, calm down. It's just a little dirty talk."

Horny!Gojo murmurs into your ear, "All I wanna do is make you finish over and over again." desperation and conviction in his voice. He really just wanted to fuck you into bliss, have you dumb on his fat cock, have you squirming and whimpering and going feral for him.

Horny!Gojo pins you down like a beast but also pounds into you like he's the bitch in heat. "Oh my god oh my god yes yes yes fuck fuck fuck fuck fuckkkk that pussy's so fuckin' gooooodddd" he's a mess, just swearing and moaning like a broken record.

Horny!Gojo almost sobs your name into your mouth when he cums, draining every drop of cum that he's worked up for you in the past hour.

Horny!Gojo turns his creampies into whipped cream with his thrusts, smacking his hips so hard into you that you feel his balls slap against your ass. They're so heavy and full, makes you think that if you weren't on birth control you'd definitely get knocked up with just one of his fat nuts.

Horny!Gojo goes round after round, becoming a melting sweaty mess of a man and feeling his muscles tire out. He pins you to the bed with his whole weight, and gives you his all just to show off a little.

Horny!Gojo has such a strained but enthusiastic voice after fucking you into next year with his dick. "Wow... that pussy's so fucking creamy." he grins toothily. A sweat drop beads off his cheek. His bangs are stuck messily to his forehead, some brushed to the side.

Horny!Gojo is insatiable, he calls you long after the party, over and over, shows up at your door and relishes in how his horniness rubs off on you. He's always a giggly mess in bed with you.

Horny!Gojo needs you so bad some days that he comes to you straight after his workout at the gym, no shower just sweaty gym boy abs, and fucks you as a way to "push his limits" for like three hours.

Horny!Gojo needs to cum everywhere he can. It's like he has a cumshot checklist. Thighs? Yes. Tummy? Yes. Ass? Yes. Chest? Yes. Face? Yes. Pussylips? Yes. Hands? Yes. In your panties? Yes.

Horny!Gojo is so fucking cute when he kisses you after sex, nuzzling your neck like a cat and telling you how good you treat him with that five star pussy.

Horny!Gojo jerks himself alone when you can't come over :( always to you, of course. Sexts like a menace. He's a bit too good at it.

Horny!Gojo gets so pussy drunk sometimes that he begs you to become his wife. His dick feels so raw and sensitive but he keeps squeezing it into that tight hole of yours.

Horny!Gojo is obsessed with you, mind body and soul. Just the sight of you and sound of you makes his dick stand up. And then he's whisking you off your feet and frantically throwing you onto the bed, and you're giggling at your horny boyfriend— oh... when did that happen? Hm. Well now he's your boyfriend.

Do not plagiarize / repost / translate / copy layouts / etc.

Do not steal what I've worked hard to create.

#smut #mdni #gojo #gojo smut #gojo x reader smut #gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru x reader smut #gojo x fem reader smut #gojo x fem reader #gojo x reader #satoru gojo #gojo x you #gojo satoru #gojo saturo #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu gojo #jjk gojo #gojou satoru x reader

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lundenloves · 10 months

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fatherhood II

*Standing on a soap box, pointing at every one of you.* I will not be responsible for the tears passed in this piece of written emotional catastrophe. It simply had to be done. Simon meeting his daughter for the first time. It's canon. Leave me alone! *Runs away*

↳ no warnings | f!reader | 1.2k

part one | dad!simon masterlist

i may as well be running from lions at this rate, i cannot believe this. yes i can. no one talk to me or ask me the colour of anything for at least twelve days. sigh.

Having a baby sleeping on his chest was not on Simon Riley’s bingo cards for this year. His own baby at that.

Ironically, it was like learning to walk all over again. Having a little person who was completely dependent on you was something he couldn’t fathom at all until the time came. And boy, did it come, straight to the deep end he was.

It started when he was stood on the doorstep to his own home, two days late, taking deep breaths and roughing his hair in attempts to alleviate the bubbling anxiety. He was mentally beating himself up for the fucking career he’d chosen, and the hardships that came with time. Time he wouldn’t get back.

“Fuck sake, Simon.” Came a mutter to himself, slapping one hand of motivation to his cheek before reaching to turn the handle. Baby cries were audible from outside, his jaw tightening at the sound. He hadn’t been home in two weeks. Many an argument had passed to get time off although it just simply wasn’t an option. Forcing his wife to give birth alone bar her family. Christ.

He stepped into the house quietly, as if subconsciously on a fucking stakeout. A shaky sigh came when he’d leant against the wall, dropping his bag and shutting the door behind him.

It was a lot and he hadn’t even met her yet.

His daughter.

A rush of guilt panged in his chest and forced the steps he took toward the living-room. His broad shoulders filled the doorframe, in complete contrast to the tiny baby who lay in your arms.

His cold heart attempted to ignite a spark at the sight, kickstarting a warmth that didn’t quite come. Not until you had caught sight of him and instantaneously teared up. It was like all hell had broken loose in his chest, experiencing emotions he hadn’t felt in years. Still, he couldn’t speak, nor move.

You brought her to him, standing up and pressing your forehead against his chest. “You don’t need to say anything.” He nodded quietly, looking down at the baby in your arms. The inner corners of his eyebrows had raised, jaw tensing and loosening between seconds.

You could practically see the thoughts race through his mind. Good and bad.

“Stop worrying, you’re home now.” His shirt had a central wet patch from your silent tears.

You weren’t going to tell him how it was hell, how awful it was that he wasn’t around, and just how much you cried the night you got home with her. Welcomed by an empty house and darkness.

“Simon.” You said weakly, looking up at him and catching the gloss of his dark eyes. He was just as devastated about the whole thing. “Don’t think about it. It’s over. We have her, she’s safe, I'm safe.”

He nodded slowly, eyes unmoved from the baby below him. “Do you want to hold her?” Your voice came as a whisper, aware of his anxieties.

“I don’t know how.” He cleared his throat, looking back up to you. The hardness in his eyes was still there, although exposed by the sheen of upset that threatened to spill. You’d never seen him cry. Not once in the seven years of being together.

You smiled a little at him, a quivering one at best. “You just have to support her head.” Your arms lifted toward his, lightly adjusting his positions before handing your daughter toward her father.

And fuck, did it hit you then.

Stepping back, you made an effort to mentally photograph the scene in front of you. His eyes cast down to the baby in his arms, holding her as if she could break any second. The large palm of his hand was bigger than her whole body, supporting her with his arm although she barely used a forearm's worth of space. Her little hands raised upward, entirely relaxed in his arms as opposed to the crying he had walked in on.

His energy had entirely calmed her down.

“How do you feel?” You sucked your lips inward, both hands on your head to calm the maddening amount of emotion running through your stomach.

His eyes remained fixed on his daughter, still frozen in the position you had put him in. “I don’t know.” He admitted, voice as deep as ever although it had a strain to it.

You nodded. “That’s okay.”

The two of you shared a silence for a minute or two, just entirely in the moment for your daughter and the small babbles she made every now and then. The only consistent sound was her breathing, only audible for the dead silence in the house.

He shifted, “Are you alright?”

You rubbed your arm, looking up at him to find his eyes already on yours. “Mhm.” It was the truth, although he was evidently searching for a different answer. “Just glad you’re home.”

“Have you slept much?”

“Not really. But that’s okay.” The sweet tone of your voice made his shoulders drop, arms relax and his eyes soften. Well, until the baby began to cry and he tensed up all over again, silently panicking while looking to you. “Relax, Si.”

He screwed his face, letting her small hand curl weakly around his finger in hopes she would stop crying. “She’s fine. You’re fine.” A warm laugh escapes you and a slight smile plays on his lips at the sound. “She’s just tired.”

He pushed his arms toward you, gesturing you take her back. He was tired. You could see it in his eyes, “She’s still crying.”

“I couldn’t hear that.” You quip and he tsks, holding his arms out a little further. “Sit with her, it’ll be easier on your arms.” It was a thing for you, wanting him to have her in his arms as often as he could and not scare himself away.

He gave you a predictably unsure look before moving to the sofa. Each step he took was cautious to not stir her even further, sitting down slowly. You leant against the dining table, looking at him from across the room as he mumbled words you couldn’t hear to the baby in his arms.

When he had relaxed, she too calmed down. The steady breathing of his chest created a rise and fall that drifted her to sleep, small fingers still wrapped around his the best they could.

“Are you alright if I shower?”

He looked up in your direction, a flash of a panic appeared across his features. “What do I do if she wakes up?” His glance directed back down to the unthreatening baby in his arms.

“Just talk to her, like you just did.” You walked over, leaning down over the back of the sofa to press a kiss to his cheek. “I know it’s hard, but don’t think about it too much.” Hands placed on his shoulders, massaging into his collarbones.

He hummed in response.

“I’ll be ten minutes.”

Simon only lasted three. Three minutes of staring down at his daughter, alone and full of emotion for her but it wasn’t willing to come out just yet. Fatigue had taken over and by the time you had gotten back, ready to put her down for the night, she was already deep in sleep along with her father.

She was on his chest, arm raised upward to his neck where her tiny fingers touched his skin. His head tilted to the back of the sofa, two hands supporting her while soft snores left him.

Fatherhood.

reblogs and comments are very much appreciated! i’ll sit in a hole if no one pats me on the head every now and then.

taglist? fill out this form.

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley #ghost x reader #ghost x female reader #ghost x f!reader #ghost mw2 #mw2 fanfic #mw2 x reader #call of duty mwii #cod mwii #cod mw2 x reader #cod mw fanfiction #cod mw2 #cod imagine

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writing-fanics · 2 months

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nothing lasts forever [part ii] sneak peek

Lucifer x Reader

this is still in the works

Part I

Lucifer sat there at his desk in his workshop alone, working on a new project. He lifted his head slowly bags under his eyes. He stared at the rubber duck swan, and felt a pang in his chest.

“Luci!” you shouted, wrapping your arms around him tackling him to the ground. He wrapped his arms around you, smiling and laughing.

“Oh, it's beautiful!” you exclaimed, and he how'd you put the necklace on. You opened the locket, and it played a little song. Yellow wisps of magic swirled creating little images moving, of his favorite moments with you.

“Promise to never betray me,” you asked, looking at him.

You looked at him, “You promise?” you asked, and he smiled. “I'll never eve betray you,” He said, taking both your hands into his own. Leaning in to kiss you on the lips passionately.

He remembered look of betrayal on their face. How years of trust seemed to go away in an instant, he saw as they heeled over hand on stomach as they placed their hand over their mouth. Yet he continued to betray you.

“I love you, Lilith,” he whispered, he could've sworn he heard you yelp quietly. You hadn’t noticed that he actually spotted you, and watched as you flew away heartbroken. He didn’t stop and should've ended it then and there. He shouldn’t even be doing this when he already had a lover.

He picked up the rubber duck swan and stared at it longingly, that he made years ago. When yearning for you crept it's way back into his heart, a yearning that never left but stayed hidden because of his marriage to Lilith, and the birth of his daughter.

He remembered how they talked about having kids, a little Lucifer or you running around. Tiny wings sticking out of their back as they ran around through the flower fields. How your eyes would light up talking about it, and he’d just stare at you in awe.

He missed dancing in the heavens among the stars with them. He missed everything and regretted ever hurting you.

His phone rang and he reached towards it, Charlie. He smiled, “H-Hey , Char Char how’s it-” he spoke

“Dad we need to talk,” said Charlie, her voice serious and stern. Yet unsure and nervous. His smile faltered hearing the tone in her voice.

Charlie stared at the necklace in her hand, and a note beside it. A letter addressed to her father from Azrael that explains everything that happened to you.

#x reader #fanfic #angst #romance #hazbin hotel #lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer morningstar #hazbin hotel lucifer x reader #Hazbin hotel Lucifer

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dhampling · 3 months

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little love girl!dadstarion, <1k

He doesn’t consider himself a clingy parent. He just endeavours to spend every waking moment he can with her. - dadstarion watches dhampling sleep for a lil bit and has some thoughts about life. floof. wc: 724

Astarion watches her as he sits, legs tucked up under him; with a chalice on the endstool to his side.

Despite his current book being one he’s looked forward to indulging for a while, he can’t lose himself in the pages quite yet. His eyes skim and reskim now familiar paragraphs while flitting to the small child asleep on the lounger.

The room is full of impossibly green tangling plants, and glows shades of orange in the late candlelight; incense blooming from the clay holder on the sill. A small trinket dish full of corvid gatherings. The boarded shutters, the curtains parted at either side; the painted mural in place of the window. Lanterns of coloured glass spilling forest greens and oranges soft.

Elven-pointed ears twitching, the occasional small shuffle. Each and every sleepy inhale and exhale from her tiny little body feels like a victory.

He doesn’t consider himself a clingy parent.

He just endeavours to spend every waking moment he can with her, hence her resting here now; in the den room, instead of her own well-loved bedroom. A wayward spider on the ceiling had turned into an evening of storytelling - a journal filled with tales of Grizzle the Arachnid in her spiky young hand.

She’s swaddled in a big patchwork throw he’d made early into his freedom following the fall of the Absolute, just as the idea of tailoring had come to mind. The stitching is a little skewed in places but the untrained eye would glide right over it, he’s sure.

He could carry her up the iron wrought spiral staircase and tuck her in - and likely will soon - but being able to sit and just observe feels like an indulgence. A rare treat.

A small part of him - he would never admit - was hopeful before her birth that she’d be his little nightling, although any lingering wants were blinded by unbridled joy at her ability to bask in the sun. He’d never expected the gaping hole in his undead heart at being unable to pick her up from a day of schooling, though.

He trances through it every time, or he fears he’d disintegrate trying it on big occasions. Her first day, missed. Many more to come.

He frowns.

He does stay awake to do her hair each morning before she heads off, though. Before she’d even reached her first birthday he’d sequestered away a book on Faerûnian Braids from the Night Market; her ringlets barely presenting then now flourishing atop her dozy head.

You. She looks like you.

Astarion’s heart pangs.

He misses you terribly. Dramatically. Wants to creep up the stairs in the style of Nosferatu and bite you in your sleep, fondly; doze the night away with his incisors reverently just beside your neck. His paramour. His well-bitten darling.

Sometimes, he reads the gaudy vampiric fiction novels slighted from the market and hidden away in one of the rafters when clients leave the shop earlier than expected. He thinks one day he’ll play into the notion - the skulker, the grand gestures, the one who stole his heart - then realises his life is wholly a mirror of the pages.

Gah. He’s a cliche. A horrid cliche. He shakes his head yet can’t find it within him to do anything but smile.

Nothing about this feels horrid.

It feels normal. Real. Home is home and it is the safest place in the world.

The dhampling stirs, stretching among the throw and rolling her tiny wrists. A small yawn tumbles from little lips.

“Darling?’

Astarion shuffles his leg from under him and turns his book, resting it on the lounger. Moves to kneel beside her.

‘Sweet thing. Come along, now.”

Her eyes open slowly. She looks at him with reverence. Her father. The balm of rest settles as a haze in this cosy room and nothing has ever felt so good.

Father. Him. Awful, nasty, terrible him. She could’ve been one of them, roaming the underdark in eternal childhood in another lifetime. He decides he won’t allow the thought to pass.

“Can you carry me?” She whispers, lifting her arms above her head.

“If I don’t; I fear we’ll be traipsing those stairs all evening, little love.” He speaks softly and gently lifts her sleepy self onto his hip.

She doesn’t understand his quips yet. She will, one day.

#astarion x reader #my writing #astarion #fluff #dadstarion #shorts

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lightman2120 · 9 months

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giftofshewbread · 1 year

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FALSE MESSIAH RISING: How Iran Riots May Lead to the 12th IMAM (Mahdi)

This message is a MUST HEAR Folks, we are definitely in the End Times.

The Year of the Messiah or Messiahs? False Prophet, False Beast, Antichrist?

It’s all Converging now, 2023 certainly is going to be a very revealing year, so much is coming together, the Great Reset/New World Order aka Antichrist System/Rule, Digital Money, More Depopulation, More Food Shortages, Rise in Natural Disasters, Apostacy, WEF & CDC taking control all over the world.

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doulafaith · 2 years

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Birth Pains

World in Labor Matthew 24: 6-8 Focus: Matthew 24: 8 “All these are but the beginning of the birth pains.” S- The disciples asked Jesus what would be the signs of His Return and the end of the age. Jesus told them there would be threats of wars and actual wars would take place between nations and kingdoms. In many parts of the world there would be earthquakes and famines, but all of this would be…

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#Abide in Him #birth pangs #Hosea 4:6 #Matthew 24: 6-8 #Psalm 91: 1-2 #Sons of Glory #The Earth in Labor

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thebibliosphere · 1 year

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In somewhat humorous news, my mother got into a quandary today involving some former coworkers.

Before Hunger Pangs broke containment, I asked my mother not to tell people back home what my author name was because I didn't want to deal with the homophobia I'd get from certain family members if they knew I was writing queer romance. I also didn't want certain people to know because I knew they'd find my social media and fucking doxx me. Not out of any maliciousness, mind you, but just sheer fucking Internet safety incompetence.

Like we're talking the type of people who'll go onto your Instagram and use your full birth name-- regardless of your preferred name -- while asking if you remembered hanging out that one time near your parent's house-- you know, the place with the [RECOGNIZABLE LANDMARK] next to the [PRACTICALLY A GPS LOCATION.]

Yeah.

Anyway, my mother was cool with that because she also, quite frankly, didn't want people to know her only daughter was writing queer filth for a living. (Does anyone else remember when she told me I should apologize to @mothman-etd's mother for writing sex in my stories? Because I sure do.) That was until Hunger Pangs broke containment, and my mother, to her own shock, decided she was proud of me.

I think it was when she logged onto Amazon, expecting to see people one-starring it and calling it degenerate filth, but instead found over 300+ 5-star reviews screaming about how much they loved it and how much it meant to them, that she realized that maybe, sometimes, sex stories are okay.

(Amazingly, she pivoted and latched onto Vlad smoking being the worst thing about it and how I should be ashamed to write about characters that smoke, lol.)

Anyway. She bumped into an old coworker today and was so excited to tell them how well I was doing she forgot that a) she doesn't like telling people what I write about and b) I'd asked her not to tell certain people that it wasn't until she'd gotten through the whole "oh yes, doing very well, living in America writing books" spiel that she realized what she'd done and clamped her mouth shut.

She didn't name me or the book title, but it was too late because said former coworker went and told everyone else she used to work with, and now my mother's been invited to tea at the local church village tea shop with an ensemble of formidable gossips, specifically to talk about my book.

So, anyway, I may or may not be about to get accidentally doxxed, but my mother is the one about to walk into the local church and tell everyone the kid they threw out 20+ years ago for being a disobedient pain in the ass with Views about Christianity is now relatively popular online for writing best-selling queer romance novels about vampires and werewolves fucking in a soft BDSM dynamic, featuring blatant magic use and a prologue which talks explicitly about imprisoning and killing God(s).

*jazz hands*

#loool #hunger pangs adjacent

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barbiedragon · 4 months

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Scarlet Bound Chapter 5

Scarlet Bound Masterlist

Daemon Targaryen x sister!reader

Rating: T (will be adjusted for each chapter)

Warnings: Canon divergence, Targcest, pregnancy, blood, violent imagery, canon death

WC: 3.5k

Summary: Born in 84 AC, you are the only daughter of Baelon and Alyssa Targaryen and the younger sister to Viserys and Daemon. The Stranger claims Aemma and you deal with the aftermath as your visions grow increasingly intense.

A/N: Sorry it took so long to update; motivation and real life simply got in the way! I’m happy to return to this series and see it through. The tag list for this series is simply too long, so I won’t be continuing it for this series

*comments/reblogs are appreciated

105 AC

As hooves thundered, shields splintered, and swords clashed outside, excitement bristled inside the castle as Queen Aemma had begun her labors. Two opposing yet oddly similar battles were waged. You thought she looked beautiful, glowing with the kiss of motherhood.

“It will be a boy this time, A son for my husband, an heir for the dynasty,” she whispered as you took hold of her hand. A pang of sadness rushed through you; Rhaenyra was a treasured blessing, but a son was valued above all else; how your grandmother had fought tooth and claw against that particular rule. “Men made the rules; men can easily change them,” her voice echoed in your ears.

“I shall hold out hope for a healthy boy then, sweet-sister,” you smiled as Grand Master Mellos entered the room.

Alicent and Aemma’s other ladies lingered nearby as preparations were made. As time passed, worry set in your bones. Surely the babe should be here by now—Aemma was young and in good health. The coppery taste of blood filled your mouth again as Mellos examined the queen.

“Fetch the king right away,” he sharply ordered.

“What is the issue?” You gently pressed a cloth to Aemma’s forehead.

“Nothing you need be concerned with, princess,” Mellos grumbled, and you frowned.

“Do not fret, sweet-sister,” you assured Aemma, trying to keep her calm. You thought of all the babes she had lost and all the Targaryen women lost to the birthing bed—your mother one of them. You often wondered if she would have adored you as much as your grandmother did, as much as Aemma cherished Rhaenyra. You would always carry the sadness of not knowing her, though you hoped part of her spirit lived through you.

Mellos and Viserys whispered in hushed voices, making anger boil under your skin. Aemma grasped your hands, panic prevalent in her blue eyes. “What is happening?” she quailed. Her voice tore your heart in two.

“Shhh, I shall find out. All will be well,” you promised, kissing her clammy forehead before approaching the men. “What is happening?”

“Tell her,” Viserys addressed Mellos, and you could see the worry etched across his face.

“The infant is in breech, and all attempts made to turn the babe have failed.”

“So what is to be done?” you asked, folding your arms across your chest.

“There is a chance to save the child, a technique taught at the Citadel, which involves cutting directly into the womb to free the babe,” Mellos replied.

“And what of the mother?” you frowned.

“There are times an impossible choice must be made….”

“Viserys! You cannot! She is your wife, not an animal to be butchered,” you hissed, hands curling into tight fists.

“The kingdom needs an heir. Our bloodline must survive,” Viserys whispered weakly.

“Seven hells, Viserys! You have a daughter who can easily wear a crown and be trained to rule, and if the realm is truly opposed, there is Daemon. Our bloodline is not lost. Our dynasty can continue to rule for centuries.”

Your words rolled off his shoulders as he turned from you, approaching Aemma.

“Do not be frightened, my love. They’re going to bring the babe out,” he whispered, holding her hand for a brief moment before stepping away.

Fear rippled through Aemma as she was dragged down the bed and restrained.

“No! Unhand her!” you screeched, eyes wide with horror as Mellos produced the blade.

You rushed forward in an attempt to restrain Mellos, but a member of the Kingsguard took hold of you, pinning your arms by your side and keeping you away.

“Viserys, stop this madness! Stop it at once!” you begged, but it was too late. The blade sliced through Aemma’s belly, blood gushing as her screams pierced the air. By the time the babe was pulled from her womb, your voice was raw and numb from your screams as tears streamed down your face. Another Targaryen woman vanquished.

You wished to twist your body into that of a dragon’s, to unfurl your mighty jaw and tear through the man who tore through Aemma’s body as if she was nothing but a sack of flesh. To dig in your talons and rip him to shreds just as he ripped open her womb. If only you could summon Silverwing to crash through the Red Keep, crumbling the bricks and stones to crush these men beneath them as she channeled your fury.

“Father, I do not t….”

The dagger in your hand trembled just as the rabbit beneath the blade did. Baelon laid a gentle hand upon your shoulder, and you could hear the soft snickering of your brothers behind you—even Daemon, who was meant to be on your side. You had begged to join in the hunt, and your father relented.

“I know it may seem cruel, but you will end her suffering and provide food to the court,” Baelon reasoned.

Your lower lip trembled, but you steadied yourself as you dealt the fateful blow, the stench of blood putrid in your nostrils. The rabbit twitched until all life was drained from the helpless creature, but you would never forget the cold look in its blue eyes and the blood that matted the white fur. It was cruel.

Sobs died in your throat as Aemma’s blood soaked through the white sheets and trickled onto the floor. Her blue eyes were cloudy and glazed, drained of all life, her silver hair plastered to her cheeks. She reminded you of that white rabbit many moons ago, a senseless life lost, and for what? For a bit of food to stuff into well-fed bellies or to produce a son, sending one to an early grave because a daughter was simply not enough.

“Tis a boy, Your Grace. An heir. What shall you name him?” Mellos announced, holding the bundled babe in his arms.

“Baelon,” you and Viserys whispered at the same time. All you could smell was death as Viserys avoided your enraged gaze.

“You’re pathetic,” you spat at him before storming from the room once free of the guard’s punishing grasp. You were certain to have bruises tomorrow.

“I want to see Mama, I want to see Mama,” Rhaenyra wailed through the halls as she struggled in the arms of her maids.

No, you don’t, sweetling. You don’t want to see her in such a state.

The boy didn’t survive the night. Heir for a day, you thought bitterly before a twinge of guilt hit you. Aemma had been ripped apart for naught. Your sweet-sister who so longed to provide a son for her husband. The husband who failed her in every way. Hatred burned in your heart as you collapsed onto your bed. You would never forgive Viserys for this.

Daemon’s warm touch roused you from your slumber. You blinked sleep from your eyes before turning to face him.

“I heard,” he said simply before drawing you close in his embrace.

“Daemon, promise me….”

“I would never let them tear you apart like that. I’d sooner smash their fucking heads in.”

Your grip tightened around him as you buried your face into his chest. He smelled of leather, embers, and sweat.

“How did you fare in the tourney?” you whispered.

“That cunt Cole bested me, fucking Dornish,” he huffed as a chuckle racked through your body.

“Seems we both suffered through disappointment today,” you hummed, trying to make light of the situation even though sorrow seeped through your body.

You found peace cradled in his arms. So long as you were by his side, all seemed right with the world.

When morning arrived, you found yourself in Rhaenyra’s quarters as you helped her prepare for the funeral. Her purple eyes were despondent as you helped fasten the golden buttons on the black dress for her. Silver hair fell in waves around her tiny shoulders. Much too young to be burdened with such despair.

“My mother died when I was just a babe. I never knew her. But you are lucky, little one. You will have memories of your mother to cherish, even on the days when the grief feels unbearable,” you told her softly, stroking her baby-soft cheeks.

“W..will you help me to re…member her? If I forget?” she hiccuped, tears splattered on her face.

“Of course, I will,” you promised.

Her hand seemed impossibly small in yours as she grasped tightly, shuffling along in her shoes to match your pace. Aemma’s funeral was held at the Hill of Rhaenys, her and Baelon’s body tightly wrapped and tenderly prepared by the Silent Sisters. Viserys stood before his guards, hands folded in front of him, head hung in grief. Or shame. Rhaenyra tilted her head up at him, waiting for a response that never came. You frowned before gently guiding her toward where Daemon stood with Laerion. Your son appeared stalwart for his young age; head held high and somber before quickly reaching out to hug his cousin. Jaela remained in the care of her nurses inside the Red Keep. She was far too young to withstand a funeral.

“How fares our niece?” Daemon whispered.

“Brave and strong, considering,” you replied, taking your place by his side as the Septon recited the funeral rights.

The words sounded garbled in your ears as you stared at Aemme’s body on the pyre. All else blurred away, tears welling in your eyes. A jolt surged through your body as the binding melted away, and Aemma’s body became replaced with Alicent’s, her auburn hair forming a halo around her head. You blinked, and the vision was gone. Slowly, you shifted on your feet before turning slightly. Ever the dutiful hand, Otto stood on one side of Viserys with Alicent occupying the other. You noticed her fingers graze gently down the sleeve of Viserys’s tunic, offering him a cloying smile. A bitter taste filled your mouth when he smiled back at her. Aemma was barely dead and cold. How dare he?

Your hands were kept from curling into fists by Rhaenyra’s gentle touch as Silverwing, directed by the keepers, made her way from the pit. How large she seemed, looming over the pyres.

“Come, will you say the command with me?” you asked the small girl as you walked forward. She swallowed hard before giving a nod. You squeezed her hand when it was time.

“Drakarys.” The word rang strong through the air, Rhaenya’s voice bleeding into yours as she said it steadily, following your lead. The flames engulfed the bodies of Aemma and Baelon, reducing them to ashes and embers. You bowed your head, uttering a Valyrian prayer Alysanne had taught you long ago. Our customs and traditions must live on through us.

“Hen sȳndrorro, ōños. Hen ñuqīr, perzys. Hen morghot, glaeson.” (From darkness, light. From ashes, fire. From death, life.)

The words felt heavy on your tongue, a strange feeling akin to lightning, pricking your skin and vibrating through you. The prince that was promised, the prince that was promised, the princess that was promised, the princess that was promised. Words glowing red hot on the cold steel of a dagger. Your knees trembled as you channeled all your strength to keep from passing out.

Somberness fell across the Red Keep. Aemma had been a beloved queen, and the loss of the infant prince quelled even the most hardened of men. You felt drained of all energy as you lay on top of the black fur in your cream night dress. The sweet smell of Jaela’s neck clung to your nose, a lingering remnant of kissing her goodnight. Laerion was tucked into bed with Rhaenyra, comforting her during this turbulent time. Daemon sat at the table, indulging in a robust red wine and succulent duck. You could hardly stomach the smell of food.

“You had a vision at the funeral,” he stated, slicing through the heavy silence in the air.

“I had many,” you admitted, your fingers fanned across your stomach.

“Do you wish to discuss them?”

While Daemon was well versed in the Targaryen lineage and while Daenys’s dream was hailed as the saving of the Targaryen line, he had always been skeptical of the dreamers. He preferred the warriors and dragons, taking theirs by fire and blood. You understood it to run more profound than that. Had Daenys’s prophecy gone unhailed, the Targaryens would have perished with the rest of Old Valyria. Fire can kill a dragon. Nothing is immune in this world. The Stranger comes for all in the end. Even the most powerful cannot escape death.

“I would be willing to listen,” he offered, draining his cup before laying next to you and taking your hand into his own.

“I saw Alicent take Aemma’s place on the pyre, and these words echoed in my head. A prophecy I have not heard before. Kivivo dārilaros,” you explained.

“The prince that was promised,” Daemon whispered.

“Or princess, the word could mean either.”

He chuckled, lifting your hand to kiss your knuckles. “And you thought your Valyrian tongue was not sharp,” he teased.

“I did manage to retain some, nowhere near as skilled as you,” you smiled.

“I will help you master our tongue and research this prophecy. I may have been too dismissive in the past of your….gift. Aemma’s death has weighed heavily on me and made me relook at certain aspects in a different light. You and I are one, and you have always supported me, so I intend to do the same.”

Your heart fluttered in your chest. “Touching words, dear husband. Thank you.” You shifted in his arms, curling against him as lips pressed together.

The days passed as the court and realm slowly adjusted to a normal routine. Any time you heard the whisperings of Viserys needing to remarry, you took to the skies on Silverwing to soothe your anger; on the back of your dragon, with the wind whipping your cheeks, brought you peace. Daemon would sometimes join you, as would Rhaenys or Nettles on the backs of their dragons. You found joy in the smallfolk when you would land Silverwing on the city's outskirts, showing the children how to touch her scales as they marveled at the robust dragon.

You spent time with the children, cradling them close. You had taken Rhaenyra under your wing, wanting her to know she was not forgotten as the distance with Viserys grew. How could he ignore his grieving child in such a way?

On a particular afternoon entertaining the children, you heard snickering from your ladies. “What is the gossip at court?” you hummed, glancing up from the wooden blocks.

They quieted down, clasping their hands and glancing down.

“Come now, clearly you found it amusing.” You had not meant for your tone to be so sharp.

“They say King Viserys is to take Lady Laena for his wife,” Aelinor said.

Your eyes widened. “She is merely a child! Surely Rhaenys is against this!”

“Her husband, Lord Corlys, suggested the match to the small council,” Cassella whispered.

The small council? Why hadn’t Daemon mentioned this?

“I see. I would advise you not to pay mind to such rumors; most often, they are created from vapid mouths,” you huffed.

“Yes, princess,” they chorused before attending to their duties.

Later that evening, you took flight on Silvering as the sun set over King’s Landing. The bright pinks and oranges of the sky melting into muted blues and violets. A calm breeze wafted from Blackwater Bay, and you could smell the sulfur from Dragonstone. How you missed your home, mayhaps it was time to return. As you returned to the pits, settling Silverwing as you praised her, you heard the familiar voice of Viserys followed by the lilting laughter of a woman. Curiosity got the best of you as you followed the sounds.

“Dragons have long been part of Targaryen history. They are powerful creatures, but we are fools to believe we could truly tame them.”

“They are magnificent, and you once rode Balerion. How did it feel to claim such a powerful creature?” The flickering light of the flames illuminated Alicent’s red hair, and your blood curdled.

Her arm was looped through his as they studied the form of Dreamfyre, the more docile of the dragons, especially when she slumbered.

“Words cannot describe. I will never forget such a feeling,” he smiled.

“Do you think you might claim another? You are the King, after all. Seems a shame for you not to have one while your siblings do.”

“I’m afraid those days are behind me, Alicent. I’m content wearing the crown and ruling the kingdom.”

“And how wonderful you are at it,” she giggled before kissing him.

You watched in shock as his body melded against hers, drawing her close in a passionate embrace. You stormed off, angry tears streaming down your face before you nearly collapsed from the vision that overtook you.

“Dārilaros!” Nettles cried out, quickly rushing to your side as Silverwing roared.

Threads of green, threads of black, pooled through your fingers as you weaved an intricate web. A storm brewing, seeds implanted, a bloodline ripped in two. Kin slaughtering kin. Blood oozed from your mouth before you choked on it.

A cold sweat broke out across your body as you clutched Nettle’s hand. “I…am fine,” you assured her, though your legs felt like jelly.

“I will help you back to the Red Keep, princess,” she stated, helping you to stand slowly. You leaned gently against her for support.

Once you were safely inside, your ladies prepared a hot bath with rose oil for you to soak in. A daze settled over you, and the soft movement of a cloth across your back roused you from it.

“I’m beginning to worry, dear wife. Your visions have not incapacitated you in the past,” Daemon hummed.

You swallowed, trailing your fingers around the murky water. “Did you know?” You danced around his question.

“Did I know what?”

“Of Corlys’s proposal for the small council….of Alicent and Viserys,” you stated.

A heavy sigh fell from him. “Yes to Corlys, and merely suspicions of Alicent warming Viserys’s bed. That fat leech Otto would love for his daughter to be queen.”

“You should have told me,” you seethed.

“Mayhaps, but your anger seems worse than mine these days.”

You hated that he was right. It clouded your head and twisted in your heart; it was no way to live.

“Help me chase it away, lekys (older brother)?”

A smirk curved across his lips. “It would be my honor, hāedus (little sister).”

As you took Daemon between your thighs that evening, the anger dissipated quickly.

106 AC

Alicent was now Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. You swallowed the bitterness and accepted their union, though you disapproved. The shy, young girl you once knew, who had once served among your ladies, was no more. A conniving young woman now stood in her place, undoubtedly molded by her father’s hand. You took small comfort in the fact that Laena had been spared, even if it sparked ire deep within Lord Corlys. The noblemen of the realm did not handle rebuffment well. He turned his vexation on the Triarchy brewing unrest in the Stepstones, holding council with your husband on many a late evening. You would pour them wine, leaving them to discuss matters until dawn broke.

“You should assist Lord Corlys in his endeavors,” you whispered to Daemon as he warmed your bed that evening instead of entertaining the Sea Snake.

“I’m not certain our brother would approve,” Daemon snorted.

“I do not care. His allegiance lies with the Hightowers now. We needn’t support a man who has turned back on his blood. Viserys was never suited to rule…it should have been Rhaenys.” Or it should be you, Daemon. Treasonous thoughts occupied your mind as of late.

“I never imagined to hear such words from your mouth!” he laughed.

Your fingers tangled in his long, silver hair as you twisted his face toward yours. “I have changed, lekys.”

His hand cupped your cheek. “I can see that, hāedus.”

You ran your fingers tenderly through the silken strands, enjoying the feel of them. His hair would be shorter by the time he returned. He studied your face, tracing your cheekbones with his fingertips.

“I suppose it’s time to heed my wife’s words. I shall inform Lord Corlys on the morrow that I’ll join his call to battle.” Though you suspected he had decided to join Corylys after their first discussion.

Your lips crashed passionately against his. A crown of bone. A crown of steel. King of the Narrow Sea. King of Westeros.

Two days later, Daemon departed on Caraxes. You would miss him immensely, but he would return to you. While he was gone, you would build your allies at court and use the skills that Alysanne had taught you. A hand pressed against your belly as Caraxes’s red wings disappeared into the sky. Daemon’s babe would keep you company until his return. A new dawn was on the horizon.

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