#Oath Day

[handledwithgloves]

assigned auror partners drarry

[chicagobeerpass]

Chicago Beer Pass: WGN

Welcome to the Chicago Beer Pass: Your ticket to all the great beer events happening in and around Chicago.

On this episode of Chicago Beer Pass, Brad Chmielewski and Nik White are opening cans of Chicago's Very Own WGN by Metropolitan Brewing. This was a beer the guys somehow missed last year when it was first released so  it's nice to see it back in cans. 

As the guys crush a few cans of this perfect beer for summer they talk about Orkney, Sox Park, Oath Day, and an Illinois Golf Outing. Summer in Chicago makes for some great drinking around the city. Grab a beer and enjoy the 4th of July!!

Having issues listening to the audio? Try the MP3 (65.8MB) or subscribe to the podcast on iTunes!

[vaguely-concerned]

the mourn watch background gives you such a GIFT in having other characters notice and call out on-screen that rook code switches like a motherfucker. the whiplash of hearing my snarky 'heeey I'm just a little guy! :>' funnyman rook speak the heightened ritualized phrases of the mourn watch with perfect seriousness and gravity completely naturally and/or break into an academic tone that can keep up with emmrich at the drop of a hat never stops giving me such endless delight. truly their real mind is a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside some hideous mourn watch casual wear

[trappedinafantasy37]

"Minthara is so abusive to the player" *INCORRECT BUZZER NOISE*

Minthara would literally go to fucking hell for the opportunity to personally beat the absolute shit out of the person who actually did abuse you. She will throw hands with gods and devils just to avenge you.

And you will not be able to convince her not to.

[silverskye13]

Trying to draw my Oath of Conquest paladin, take two.....

[todayisafridaynight]

[victorie552]

Kind of a weird AU but hear me out:

Finwe marries Indis, right? Most controversial thing Finwe ever done and that includes leading elves from their ancestral home to a new continent to live with gods. Silmarillion says that it happened because he fell in love and I believe it BUT what Silmarillion doesn't tell you is WHEN Finwe marries Indis. I saw posts that say the canon is inconclusive and Tolkien probably changed his mind a lot, and half of what of what Tolkien wrote is thrown from the window by fandom, so.

Anyway, one of the versions said Feanor was at least a teenager when Finwe/Indis happens (I think). What Silmarillion states is that Feanor married VERY young by elven standards, and that Nerdanel was below his station (classism? in elven society? apparently!).

Last thing before I get to the main point: Fingolfin marries Anaire, a Noldo lady, who I saw often enough written as a noble or a court lady, perfectly fine that, no idea if that's canon. And Finarfin very much marries Teleri princess.

...I don't know guys, it feels very convienient. For princes to fall in love with exactly the kind of women who would be approved by royal court and strenghten political ties with other elven factions. If it was anything else than silm, I would call political marriages.

Time for crack: based on what I wrote above I propose an AU where it was FEANOR who was supposed to marry Indis. For politics! Vanyar are the most important faction in Aman! Let's marry into that!

But the MOMENT Feanor became an adult and they could process with courting without making it creppier than it already is, Feanor runs off to elope with his coworker and there's nothing they can do. Well, that's what Finwe tells Ingwe when Ingwe rages about it to him.

Finwe loves Feanor, he wants him to marry for love, and that's exactly what happens. But, uh, all Vanyar are pissed that there's no political marriage when they were promised one (they mad cause they look stupid now), and, well. Finwe decides to bite the bullet. For his son.

It's not true of course. But imagine family dinners after that.

[eri-pl]

"Vala, emu, człowiek, elf..."

("...Vala, emu, Man or Elf...") this is drawn from a reference photo from Wikipedia, but not like traced. I hope that's ok for you.

Yes, @dfwbwfbbwfbwf , Celegorm would be able to talk to it, but would it listen? Nobody ever listened to the Feanorians' demands. Nor would the emu. (It can, however, run away faster than the Sindar)

[tanoraqui]

Be he foe or friend, be she foul or clean, brood of Anti or bright Staff, Elda or Maia or Aftercomer, Man yet unborn upon Middle-earth, neither law, nor love, nor league of swords, dread nor danger, not Blocking itself, shall defend him from Fëanor, and Fëanor's kin, whoso liketh or rebloggeth, or in file saveth, finding shareth or afar queueth a Silmaril. This swear we all: boops we will deal them ere Day's ending, booping unto world's end! Our word hear thou, David Karp Allfather! To the everlasting Cancellation doom us if our deed faileth. On the holy mountain hear in witness and our vow remember, Manwë and Varda!

[braxix]

Elrond: *Holds up a book.* TADA!

Maedhros: Where do you keep finding that?

Maglor: I thought we burned that.

Maedhros: We did.

Elrond: Nothing can stop the need for knowledge.

[kaiserouo]

[erynalasse]

What if Maedhros wasn’t nearly as protective and patient with his little brothers as fanon makes out?

A Maedhros who in Valinor lets all of his younger brothers dig themselves into holes, because it makes him look downright saintly by contrast

A Maedhros who scatters his brothers across the east of Beleriand less because it’s efficient and more because they’ll all drive each other insane if they don’t have their own things to control

A Maedhros who gives up the crown to Fingolfin as much to achieve peace as to get his loose cannons of younger brothers out of the succession

A Maedhros who (rightly) disdains the pride and foolishness of most of his brothers, and doesn’t hesitate to say so to their faces

A Maedhros who disdains all his younger brothers for failing to hold their lands during the Bragollach (“a king is he that can hold his own”) when he saved Himring

A Maedhros who never forgives Caranthir for obtaining the traitor Ulfang as an ally in the Nírnaeth Arnoediad

A Maedhros who secretly believes Celegorm and Curufin got what was coming to them at Doriath: they made the problem with Lúthien’s Silmaril, and then it killed them

A Maedhros who quashes Maglor’s desire to surrender after the War of Wrath less because of the suggestion and more because it came from his little brother

A Maedhros who is relieved as much as grieved when his brothers die one by one, because they can’t cause trouble when they’re dead

[hythlodaes]

the gold and the rust

emile/avi'li (belongs to @lilas) 947 words PLD AU: as knights, emile and avi'li are sworn to the same lord, and in their service they realize the depth of their feelings for each other. in an attempt to exert control over their shifting loyalties, avi'li is sent away for a mission on his own, but their love is not so easily parted.

ty azia @coldshrugs for the gpose!!

Emile stares at the ground. 

It is the only safe place to look. He has been taught to keep his gaze low out of respect, but today it is for control, his nerves beating the blood through his chest too fast, and he knows himself—knows the way he cannot keep his expression calm, each emotion transparent for all to see. 

I never have to ask how you feel, Avi'li teased once, finger poking at his cheek. It's all right here. 

But for him, Emile would try. 

He stands beside the Archbishop, the man to whom he has sworn his service, his protection. Stand and serve like a good knight, like a good man, like someone who doesn't dream of leaving this all behind, bound only by honor, bound only by the ties that have turned to another. 

There's the sound of horses outside—Emile's heart thunders in his chest. Steady, he tells himself, taking one deep breath that he hopes will go unnoticed by the man beside him. Steady, he tells himself as the door creaks open, the sound of boots striding a confident rhythm across the floor. 

Emile will not look. 

Is there blood? 

Stone floors, grey and worn smooth. He memorizes each mark and scuff that lead to the edge of his boots. 

Is he hurt?

And then there's Avi'li's voice. He was sent with a small squadron to scout a crevasse in the Highlands, where there's been multiple reports of disappearances as of late. He sounds steady—no sign of weariness from his voice alone, but it does not quell the worry in Emile's heart. You were not there to protect him. 

Avi's words linger in the back of his mind, just like the smirk he gave him before he left a fortnight ago: By staying behind, I'm protecting you.  

Devotion is a wavering mask these days. 

No sign of threat, Avi'li reports. Locals spoke of myths drummed up to sow fear, when the truth is more likely the foolish draw of the slippery depths. He’s dismissed not long after, and only then does Emile let his gaze rise to meet him, catching his profile as he turns to leave. 

There is slight relief that there is no obvious sign of injury: he walks as usual, his armor is intact, and the sharp white of his hair still sticks out beneath his helmet. Emile can feel the trace of a grin on his lips at the sight, and he curses his own foolish heart, the thing that always gives him away. 

He averts his gaze, settled by the fact that at least he's home, and he waits until it is safe to leave the Archbishop’s side to track him down, taking the stone steps of the fortress by two, each long stride filled with purpose. 

He finds him in the infirmary. The healer looks up as he enters, stepping aside to reveal Avi'li still in his armor sitting at the edge of the cot. He’s taken his helmet off, and his bright eyes turn to him immediately. There is a different kind of relief in his gaze as he speaks softly. "A moment, please." 

The healer casts a knowing glance at Emile before leaving the room, and Emile takes a single step closer, then another, his gaze never leaving him. 

"Worried about me?" Avi'li asks, his voice light, teasing. "I should think that you'd know better." 

"Says the man in the infirmary." 

Avi'li waves him off, the hint of a smile at his lips. "'Tis merely routine."

But it isn't. Because they're always in this together, always sent out together. They’ve fought side by side for so long that his absence has formed its own presence. Emile has grown too used to the comfort, the reassurance of Avi’li beside him, to his warmth along his back as he falls asleep at night, even if he’s gone by the morning. 

Emile is uncertain about love, but he knows love's loyalty. He knows the strength of his conviction. 

"Lia," he breathes out, cursing himself. They started this because it was supposed to be simple, it wasn’t supposed to mean anything. Emile liked his confidence, his sharp tongue, the ease with which he flirts. A little touch, a little relief—and yet here they are. 

Emile takes the last step to close the distance between them, kneeling before him at the edge of the bed. He keeps his hands on either side of his thighs as he looks up, the distance not so far between them as he gazes into those green eyes. 

"Was he watching you?" Avi'li asks quietly. He lifts a cool hand to Emile's face, sweeping his thumb along his cheekbone. 

Emile leans into his touch, nodding. "We have much to discuss." 

"Tonight." 

"You should rest."  

"After a fortnight apart?" Avi'li asks with a raised brow, leaning in close. "Would it not ease your mind to strip me of my armor and search me for injury?" 

Emile's face grows warm as he bites down on a smile. Oh, how he wants to say, I've missed you. 

Instead he leans in closer, just a breath apart. “Tonight, then.”

They may be bound by their oaths to another, but they forge new ones between themselves as they discover who they truly serve. If you asked Emile now, he would speak of the throne, but in his mind he would see the way Avi'li winds a hand through his hair and pulls him in, the way he kisses him with a hunger fueled by distance. 

It's what will undo him in the end, but as Avi'li's lips part against his—warm, comforting, and safe—he knows, undoubtedly, that he’s making the right choice. 

[trappedinafantasy37]

Minthara is a paladin of her word. She does not make promises, she makes vows. She makes oaths. Even as an oathbreaker, she heavily adheres to the tenants of it. Being an oathbreaker just gives her more flexibility and freedom to fulfill the oaths she makes. She never breaks a promise and she never breaks a vow, and when she says she's going to do something she is going to do it.

So when she says she will go to Avernus with or without Karlach, she means it. She will personally throw hands with Zariel, and the only thing that will stop her is Zariel's death, or her own. And it is one thing if Karlach does go with her, but a whole other thing if Karlach dies on that pier.

Not only will Minthara be grieving, she will be wrathful. And she's going to channel that wrath to the front to avoid feeling the grief (cause she doesn't always approach her emotions in the healthiest way). And she's going to take some of Karlach's rage and Karlach's fury with her. She will kill any demon or devil that gets in her way. There will be no distractions, unless the side quest gets her closer to Zariel or increases her chances in the fights to come.

Minthara is not doing this for power, she is not doing this for glory, she does not care for a crown or a throne. She is down there in Avernus to avenge the love that burned out too soon.

[patchodraws]

Aylin curls her fingers around Isobel’s hand, draws it towards her cheek with a tender regard set upon her; Isobel nearly flinches for a moment, that same fear pounding beneath her chest, until her fingers find the soft, porcelain skin of Aylin’s cheek, and that dark fear subsides.

“Tell me you do not see the brilliance your touch grants my soul,” she says. It’s a challenge, but spoken like a prayer. “Tell me you do not feel your chest aflutter in its presence.”

“I do, but—“

Aylin cracks the faintest smile, so distant from the radiant bluster she exhibits in the everyday and far closer to the intimate grins they once shared in private moments of reverence and selfish prayer.

“Then your heart is all your own, my darling.” Insistence, assurance, and — yes, even relief colour her words, soak them in the soothing balm of her presence and esteem. “Ketheric’s had rotted long before he had ever known the grave. Yours is your own even long after. You are my Isobel, and you could never harm me.”

The grip on her hand tightens faintly, and a small trickle of gold leaks from the corner of Aylin’s closing eyes before meeting the edge of Isobel’s thumb; an old but nigh-forgotten impulse tightens her chest, sets a warmth beneath her cheeks, and she wipes the tear away with a feather-light flit of her thumb, wondering how many of those Aylin had to shed in the years she’d been gone.

How many she wishes she could have wiped away in that time.

“Have I not hurt you enough?” Isobel whispers, though the words ring hollow. She never intended to leave the greatest joy in her life, the most brilliant beacon in her faith. Still, it’s hard not to wonder how deep that loneliness struck, how far that heartbreak had settled beneath the ancient scars she wears.

Aylin shakes her head as her eyes drift open, and the adoration she sets within Isobel’s own longing gaze steals her breath for but a moment. “After all the hurt I’d endured, being with you again heals me. No matter the years.”

[hurlingdown]

dragon anon, i never regretted the day i married you

ah, i would love go impregnate original form sukuna. doesnt matter if he aborts the baby 100 times or somehow eats the fetus, god he'd be beautiful pregnant

- oath anon

i was thinking about heian form sukuna but it doesn't fit the premise of the fic so i backed out :(