#humility is a woman's enemy

[mikasasrippedtoenail]

A woman would call the most well articulated essay you've ever read a "ramble" while a man would call his shittyreddit post an "intellectual thinkpiece"

[trulyhblue]

Bf Leah being wound up after a bad game and takes control. Smut pls!!!!

BLED BLUE

leah williamson x chelsea! reader

Warnings: Smut 18+, humiliation, dom/sub dynamics, age gap (legal + consensual), hate sex, enemies w/ benefits, rough, coarse language.

________________

Part of you wondered how long it would take Leah to take you home. There was not an ounce of blue in her body, taken only by the lifelong allegiance to North London, but the thought of you, a blue-born Chelsea girl, taking up the space under her sheets, was addictive.

Chelsea were the better team. Always was, and always will be. The Blues were better at everything. Their players were more advanced, their game plans had been executed to perfection. Arsenal were sloppy, poor, and unjust. It was embarrassing to the point where it stood out as entertaining to you. Seeing the almighty, reigning Arsenal fall on their knees and succumb to the superiority of your team was endearing, and you found yourself searching for the thrill increasingly more as the game progressed.

And the sight of the woman you hated oh so much angered by the defeated notion of the final whistle was your idea of an indescribable victory.

“What a shame, Williamson.” You snagged, clutching the fabric at your hips, looking down at her bent figure. “I thought you’d play well.”

“Ah, it is you.” She replied with just as much spite. “I thought I saw someone falling flat on their face. Makes sense now that I know it was you.”

You smirked, folding your arms over your chest. “Yeah, tried to show my humility… y’know, after scoring two goals tonight I thought it was only necessary.”

Leah scoffed, straightening her posture to display her authoritative height over you. “Both off deflections… sounds brilliant.”

“Player of the match worthy.” You bit back, stepping forward, pressing your chest against hers, suppressing the heat in your face. “Don't worry, I’ll make sure to credit your own goal in the interview.”

“Always have an excuse to talk about me. Can't stop, can you?”

“Is that what you think of me?”

“I don't think of you.” Leah shook her head, grabbing the hem of your shorts and fiddling with them persistently. “But if I did, I’d be sure to let you know.”

“If only I cared enough to hear it.” You tutted, not really caring about the openness of your situation. The stadium was still quite full, with both of your teammates lingering on the field. Fans were banking the barricade, no doubt looking for the two of you.

“I could tell you now if you’d like.”

“Aw, are you thinking of me now, Williamson?”

You felt Leah’s hand move to the inside of your thigh, pressing a tight pinch to gain any type of reaction from you. Biting your lip, you hoped that the post-game redness covered your blush.

“I bet you love the thought of people watching this, don't you?” She asked, glaring at you with such hatred that her words felt bittersweet. “Always so desperate for attention that you’d do it in front of everyone. Fucking needy.”

“You’re the one touching me.” In anger, you snapped. You didn't like the way Leah seemed so confident, so right in what she was saying. You wanted to be right. You were the one who won it for your team. You were better than her. She needed to realise that.

The only separation between the two of you was by your arms crossed over your chest. Leah was drawing furious patterns along your thigh, pressed up against you with her face above you, your height earning her to look down.

“Pull away then.” She uttered, now pulling you into a hug. You knew this would send fans into a spiral. Everybody knew about your rivalry with Leah. It was evident in the tackles, the cards, the teams, the games, the interactions. This was unclaimed territory. You had both teased each other after the games. There was always fire and spite, anger and resentment, but never contact. She told you to pull away, and by the tension that lingered, if you did she would let you have there was something else there. You felt it between your legs, running down your spine, making your core yearn.

It was in the way she kept her hand in between your thighs, deepening her fingers just below where you needed her most. She held you tight, closing any physical gap, forcing your arms to circle her waist as she wrapped her spare arm around the name on the back of your shoulders. You don't know why, but you held her back just as tight, breathing heavily when she started moving her fingers upwards.

“So tense.” She spat, rubbing your shoulder.

You shook her arm off, keeping the contact but still resistant. “I pulled it at training, of course it is.”

“Wasn't talking about your shoulder, baby.” She chuckled, her voice sending goosebumps down your neck. “In those thighs. Clenching them so hard and I'm hardly touching ‘em.”

That was when you knew your cheeks were burning.

There was a hint of humiliation in your tone, but your anger was still prevalent. “I didn't even notice your hand.”

“Yeah, alright.” Williamson grinned, pulling away. You felt the cold air nip your cheeks at the sudden loss of contact. Her fingers were no longer soothing the ache in between your legs. “Alright, baby, no, all that flushed cheeks from the big game, hm? Breathing so heavily cause you scored two goals, is that you’re so wet for me?”

“I’m not— you're so—”

Leah stepped away again, and you were too stupid to step forward in response. “God, is that what you're gonna sound like in the interview? You a mess, Baby, really. All flustered and red.”

“I'm not red.” You snapped. “And stop calling me baby. You're only four years older than me.”

Leah could see straight through you. “But you love that though.” She saw straight past your visible persona. “Why don't you show me how mature you are then? Can't call you baby if you prove that you're not.” She could tell by your flustered state, your wide eyes and your tainted disposition that you were struggling to handle the conversation.

“I don't need to prove anything to you. I just won the match. That's enough to prove that I'm better anyway.”

“But you needed help to get there, didn't you?” She retorted. “It’s not your name on the score sheet, it's mine. Look,” she pointed up to the screen, almost condescendingly, above the stands, where WILLIAMSON (OG) was printed boldly in white below the score. “All that hard work and I still get the mention.”

There was a fight for dominance, but the fight was so clearly won when you audibly gulped, unable to come up with just enough answer to compel yourself into a deeper state of anger. If anything, you were willing to resort to forbidding, but you were stubborn and bled blue.

“You’re just mad that you lost and we won. Chelsea was always better anyway, and you were just too slow… bet that's always the case.”

Leah’s jaw clicked, her lips settling into a thin line.

“In what case?” She muttered distinctly.

“You know what case.” You failed to notice the challenge, finding yourself in a superior position of confidence to realise the hole you were digging for yourself. “Slow and boring… on and off the pitch. You definitely get around, but you never seem to see one person twice. Maybe that's because they don't want to see you.”

Leah grabbed your wrist, yanking you off the field. It was a tradition that you would see the fans after every game, so you tugged back in retaliation.

She pivoted to face you, glaring at you with so much affliction that you yearned for more.

“You seem really interested in how I ‘get around’. Sounds like you wish it was you.”

No matter how hard your body was willing to succumb to her words, you stood firm by scoffing, rolling your eyes at her cockiness. “If only I was so desperate.”

“I’ll show you just how desperate I can get you.” The captain spat, holding your forearm now, easily leading you further down the tunnel where fans or players could no longer find you. “Didn't even properly touch you before and you were a needy mess.”

“You’re always so fucking sure of yourself, aren't you, Williamson?” You snapped back, hearing the clad of your boots fail to drown out your ungrateful tone. You did not care for what Leah was so keen to impress you with. Never had anyone told you that Leah did not impress. She was determined to make sure everyone was supplied with the right things for their needs. She valued giving pleasure over receiving. But if there was one thing she hated, it was brats like you.

You stood outside the Chelsea changing rooms, your kit still adorned on your figure.

“Go get your shit.” She snarled, letting go of your arm and jabbing you forward.

You scoffed, stopping dead in your tracks. “And what? You're gonna wait for me and drop me home? I have a license, Williamson, I'm not your fucking—”

You couldn't finish your rant, yelping when Leah cut you off, grabbing the collar of your shirt and mashing her lips against yours. One of her legs found its way between yours, her knee pushing against your core. A moan fell from your lips, and the woman wasted no time in slipping her tongue in, caging your figure between you and the wall.

She waited until you were kissing her back before grabbing your neck. She instantly moved down to litter harsh kisses down the nape of your neck, using her hands to move underneath your shirt, massaging your breasts. You were a mess beneath her, breathing heavily when the pressure on your clit intensified when her knee started rubbing patterns up and down.

“Swear at me again and see how it turns out for you.” She muttered in your ear, relishing the whines that fell from your lips as her knee continued its work. “If I tell you to grab your bag, that's what you do, yeah? You understand, Chelsea?”

The nickname left you shrinking, her words making your core glisten. You weren't completely sure whether the Arsenal girl was planning on taking you home. You didn't understand why you were all of a sudden pretty much moaning at the friction of her knee.

But you weren't fucking complaining.

“My teammates are in there.”

Leah let out a laugh. “You had no problem letting me touch you in a filled Stanford Bridge, Babygirl. I think it’d be healthy if your teammates realised who fucks their Stargirl after a home game.”

“You haven't fucked me, yet.” Your cheeks flushed a deep crimson, the thought of the England captain fucking you sending you into a spiral.

“Go get your bag and then I can use that pretty mouth for something other than moaning my last name… not that I mind when you do that.”

You wasted no time in doing as you were told, forever thankful that all of your teammates were either still interacting with fans or showering. You grabbed all of your stuff and quickly followed Leah over to the away changing rooms.

She let you walk through, since none of the girls were present, grabbing your belongings and chucking them inside her cubby. You felt her figure cage you back into the nearest wall, her hands how playing with the hem of your shirt, inching it further up your waist until it was completely disregarded, and you were left in your sports bra and shorts.

“Why so quiet?” Leah asked, kissing down the column of your neck, fondling your breasts. You sighed at the growing ache in your core, throwing your head back when Leah’s knee came back into contact with your clit.

“Some— someone’s going to walk in.”

Leah snorted. “Like you would mind.”

You huffed, grabbing the back of her neck and pushing her head further down your body. Leah’s knee stopped in return, leaving you writhing at the loss of pressure.

“Use your words or you can get off yourself.”

“Like you could get me off.” You retorted.

“I don't make brats cum.” She spat, moving back up to tower over you. “I edge them until they’re desperate and getting themself off my thigh. I treat them like brats, and maybe you need to work a little fucking harder for what you want.”

“You were just teasing me!”

“You're just desperate.”

“No.”

“No?”

“Leah.” There it was. Music to her ears.

“What?”

You whined, using your hips to drag yourself along her knee.

“What was that, Baby? Couldn't hear you under all those whines.”

“Leah, c’mon.” You stated potently, getting more impatient by the minute. “I'm not begging.”

The number six shrugged, looking down at you with wide, innocent eyes like she had no clue what you were going on about. Like she didn't even realise that you were humping her leg longing for some relief.

“Begging for what?” She moved her finger painstakingly down your chest, tracing your abs ever so slowly.

“For you.”

“For me?” She questioned, feigning confusion. Her hand dipped into the waistband of your shorts, circling your clit over your underwear. “Answer me, Darling. What do you want me to do? I'm touching you.”

“Touch me more.”

Leah tutted, moving her hand away. You groaned, throwing your head back when no pleasure was offered. “I'm afraid that's not how you ask. It might get you somewhere at Chelsea, but at Arsenal, we treat our Captains with respect. Even our star girls use their manners in the North end.”

“Touch me more, please.”

“Where, Chelsea?” Leah moved closer to you, peeling off her own shirt, removing your shorts, leaving you in your underwear and bra. “Be a good girl and tell me where.” She asked, her body lowering itself closer to the ground. You watched her kneel before you, hands gripping your waist, kneading your hips, lips biting your inner thigh.

“My clit, Lee, please. I need you to touch me there.”

“Such a good girl for your Captain, aren't you?” Leah ran her tongue along your folds, your underwear pooled at your feet. Your legs were swung over her shoulders, your hands buried in her hair, pulling taunt to her ponytail and the hairs that had fallen out during the game. Your moans were still muffled by the bite in your lips, the nerves of someone hearing your desperation for your enemy is still evident in the way you kept your mouth shut.

It was when Leah’s tongue latched onto your clit, sucking harshly on the swollen bud that your noises fell so adamantly from your reddened lips. You felt Leah’s cocky smile, her chuckles sending vibrations of pleasure through your body.

“Sound so pretty, Baby.”

“Leah— fuck, Lee. I'm gonna—”

“You’re going to hold it. Taste so good, you can wait.”

The coil in your stomach was forming long before Leah had even started, and the more Leah attacked your bud, the more your orgasm led to burst. Your moans had doubled in volume when one of her hands came up to play with your nipple, pinching it and playing with the nub every time her tongue licked up your folds. Her other hand worked its way through your pussy, spreading your slick all over your thighs, letting it run down your shaking legs and make your skin glisten with the glossy arousal.

“Want Stanford to hear you,” Leah spoke from below you. You whined at the thought. You were in a state of pure bliss that all cautionary thoughts of interruption were so far gone. All you could think about was Leah’s face between your legs.

“Feels so good, Lee. Want to cum so bad for you.”

“You can hold it, baby.”

“Mh, Lee, please.”

Leah moaned at your whines, nuzzling her nose up against your clit, pinching your nipple hard, reeling at the moan you let out in response. She saw the way your hole clenched around nothing, smirking at the way you rolled your hips across her face, working your pussy into her mouth so easily. She felt powerful knowing she had you at her disposal. You were stunning always, but there was something about you now that set Leah off. It made her angry knowing that you weren't hers to fuck at her discretion. It made her protective over you in ways she had never felt before. You were Chelsea’s protege — everyone worried when going up against you.

“Leah.”

It wasn't like something had changed, but Leah had realised that her hate was actually protection and adoration. She wanted you for herself. She wanted to steer you away from anyone that would hurt you. She hated Chelsea, she despised the West side more than anything, and it wasn't the sex that made her realise this.

“Leah.”

It was her name coming from your lips.

“Cum for me, Baby.”

That was all you needed to hear before you were barreling over the edge, your legs relying entirely on the strength of Leah’s upper body to keep you balanced. Your moans exemplified the stimulation of your orgasm riding out, and Leah’s endeavours to lick the result of it up as it poured into her mouth and onto your thighs.

The woman made sure you had somewhat caught your breath before she moved, having a moment to catch her own breath and comprehend what just happened. When she knew you were able to stand independently, she moved over to her cubby, grabbing the baby wipes she always had handy, moving back down to her knees to clean the mess across your legs as you covered your chest back with your jersey, and later your shorts.

Leah moved to do the same, except she watched as you fumbled with what to do. She gave you a pointed look as if to question your thinking, and you simply sighed and waddled over to her, slight humiliation at your wobbly legs painting your cheeks as you grabbed your bag.

“You all good, Baby?” She asked, her voice no longer authoritative and rather empathetic.

“Yeah, thanks.” You nodded. “Erm… sorry for being… rude… actually I'm not sorry but I am.”

“Yeah, same,” Leah replied a cheeky grin settled on her complexion. “I think we can settle for friendly rivalry from now on.”

“If that's what you call this, then sure.” You added, laughing along with what to make of the situation, feeling more out of place than ever in the middle of the Arsenal room. “I better go.”

“I’ll drive you home.”

“Lee, I've got my license—”

“It wasn't a question, Chelsea.”

You stood there defeated, knowing internally that you had no way home after Millie had driven you to the stadium and would have left by now anyway. Leah must’ve known that by the way she wrapped an arm around your shoulder, pulling you into her chest.

“Besides, wouldn't want that Player of The Match Trophy getting forgotten now, would we?”

_________________

A/N — bad ending but oh well… HOPE YOU ENJOYED!!!

[nrilliree]

Actually, I don't know what TG and TG stans expected. All those shocking speeches by Alicent that war is coming and there will be victims, comments that "the queen cares about her people" and that's why Alicent is striving for peace…

Seriously, what did the TG expect when they decided to stage a coup and usurp the throne?

That Viserys dies, they crown Aegon and… and what? That Rhaenyra would accept it with humility, bend the knee for the great king and his green entourage? That she would give him Aegon III and Viserys II as hostages? That she will send her "horrible bastards" to the wall to answer for the crime of bad hair color? And then what? Will she leave Dragonstone and leave Westeros with Damon? And the Greens will rule happily, because that rude, greedy Rhaenyra won't force them to war?

Alicent doomed her family and the entire Westeros to a cruel war the moment she decided to make her embarrassing entrance as an offended Milady in a green dress. Rhaenyra was a princess to whom the lords of all Westeros swore an oath. I know that for Alicent, who has been betraying her husband and the crown for most of her life, the fact that the oath means something and is larger than life may be a shock, but not to over 2/3 of the kingdom. Rhaenyra was a dragon rider behind whom stood the largest fleet in Westeros. She was the wife of Daemon, who was considered the most dangerous man of his time, an excellent soldier and dragon rider. What did Alicent expect when she decided to make her children enemies of Rhaenyra and Daemon?

Alicent wanting peace is not a "good queen who cares for the people", but a desperate woman who realized too late that she screwed up.

[niyasruledbyvenus]

Uttara Bhadrapada- social climbing & uttara phalguni “daddy issues”

Uttara bhadrapada- rags to riches/ peasant to high class.

Uttara bhadrapada is associated with the Cinderella archetype coined by Claire Nakti. Social climbing. Going from low class, poverty to high class, wealth.

In the movie “The mask of Zorro” you see Alejandro, Antonio Banderas (uttara bhadrapada moon) character go from a peasant to having to mingle with high society. He is taught class, etiquette, and charm from a mentor who was once wealthy and powerful himself.

Antonio Banderas also played “Puss” in Puss in Boots. Who went from an orphan to a hero and eventually very wealthy after getting gold from the giants home. Some think this children’s movie was a parody of the mask of Zorro, because the story is similar and voiced by the same actor.

Both characters are seen as a hero/ Red Robin Hood like characters. That acquires wealth but is still humble/ generous and looks out for the common person. Going from exile to glory/nobility once more. Uttara bhadrapada is a Saturn ruled nakshatra. Saturn also rules over servants & low class. Saturn teaches patience and humility not forgetting your origins even when you move up in society.

They both fall in love with a woman, who is a fighter and can hold her own. Puss for kitty soft paws (Salma Hayek- uttara bhadrapada moon also).

Alejandro falls for Elana (uttara bhadrapada moon, uttara phalguni sun & ketu). Uttara phalguni also plays a part in this enemies to lovers trope. In Vedic astrology the Sun & Saturn are enemies, so you can see this play out in these nakshatra natives. I’m not going into too much in detail in this post.

I think we can see this with Uttara Bhadrapada women who seem soft/ stereotypically feminine on the outside but internally are strong and can handle themselves. Again think Cinderella.

Sun Nakshatras & The Father

In Elana we see the Uttara Phalguni archetype of father issues. Her true father is Don Diego “Zorro” but was taken from him as a baby. Being raised by the enemy. Uttara phalguni natives are observed to have issues with the father or either not knowing them in general. For example, Doja Cat who talks about not knowing or meeting her father even though he was a big name in South Africa. She has Uttara phalguni moon.

Uttara phalguni is ruled by the Sun. The sun represents father in astrology. ☀️

Special thanks to @marsprincess889 for inspiring me to make this post and recommending me to go watch that amazing movie. Sending love 💕

Anyways, happy SATURN-day. Enjoy 🪐

[city-of-ladies]

Guda: a medieval self-portrait

Self-portrait of Guda, homilary, Frankfurt, second half of 12th century.

"The first category of figures we have considered shows the artist present in the work or in the process of creating it. To that category, we add a second type of portrait or self-portrait, in which the artist beseeches a favorable judgment for him-/herself after the work is completed.

Such is the case with the famous signed self-portrait of Guda, who represents herself within a collection of homilies in an initial D[ominus] for the octave of the Pentecost. The inscription reads: “guda peccatrix mulier scripsit q[ue] pinxit h[un]c librum (Guda, a sinful woman, wrote and painted this book).” Of the seven initials in the manuscript, this D is one of only two that contain figures. The other historiated initial comes at folio 196, the opening of the Assumptio Mariae, and contains a portrait of the virgin identified as Maria Virgo. The other five initials display dragons, interlaces, ribbons, or spirals.

Guda represented herself firmly grasping the initial with her left hand and raising her right in a gesture of salutation and expectation. I would argue that Guda carefully and consciously chose to be here. The initial opens the ninth homily of St. John chrysostom, the Sermo beati iohannes episcopi de david ubi goliad immanem hostem devicit (Sermon of the blessed Bishop John, on when David overcame the monstrous enemy Goliath), which explains the election of David. The homily also offers an occasion to meditate on the gifts of the Holy Spirit and its role in comforting the soul. In short, Guda has chosen the perfect spot in which to await the Second Coming of Christ, and this is why she represents herself as a sinner, whose activity as an artist should count in her favor at the end of time.

Guda’s self-representation in this way is analogous to the scene the scribe Swicher has staged (for the reader?) in the frontispiece of his copy of isidore of Seville’s Etymologies. Swicher’s author portrait is most original. In the upper register, Isidore of Seville is depicted in conversation with Bishop Braulio of Zaragoza, the patron of the Etymologies. In the lower register, Christ in propria persona presides at the scribe’s last judgment. Two angels busy themselves at a balance in which is weighed the very manuscript Swicher copied. The work of the scribe counts as a work of virtue: a third angel takes Swicher’s soul away through a thick cloud, whereas the devil turns around empty-handed. The Titulus attests to this: "O god, deign to have mercy on this wretched scribe. Do not consider the weight of my faults. Small though the good things may be, let them be exalted over the bad. Let night give way to light; let death itself give ground to life.”

Guda and Swicher make use of the same patterns of visibility and those patterns are not gender-specific. In both cases, the artists stage their humility and represent their belief that they might reach the heavenly kingdom through the artistic work they have done."

Mariaux Pierre Alain, "Women in the making: early medieval Signatures and artists’ portraits (9th–12th c.)", in: Reassessing the Roles of Women as 'makers' of Medieval Art and Architecture

[whiteladyofithilien]

Boromir the mansplaining Chad

Now I'm no Boromir hater, I often defend him from accusations of being a "bad guy". But he's weirdly the most commonplace in our world kind of man in Tolkien's work. He has a good heart but boy does his attitude reek of entitlement in many places. He lacks the humility to truly listen even when the wisest in Middle Earth are speaking. He seeks to push his will and if he can't reason his way into making people do what he'd like he attempts manipulation by pouting a bit "if that hasn't earned some payment then I'll go back to Minas Tirith alone." The whole trip he pushes for the ring to go to Minas Tirith no matter how much others caution him. He misses the cues to drop the topic and keeps trying to force his will upon the company. It smacks of a man trying to convince a woman to go out with him and he just ignores the cringes, the polite answers, the her removing herself from proximity, the gentle nos and when he's given a resounding no he loses his temper and gets borderline violent.

I don't think it's any coincidence that the real time seduction of the Ring on a member of the Race of Man is happening with a man who is in every way so commonplace to the men of reality. Tolkien had served in war, he'd seen the varieties of masculinity in all their shapes sizes and personalities. Who can say how many "noble fighting men" like Boromir he'd seen lose their lives some plausibly due to hubris as much as enemy missiles. Boromir is a good man but more accurately he is the perfect representation of a privileged man of our times trying to perform masculinity versus the Aragorns and Faramirs who possess the quiet confidence that they don't require thanks, submission, repayment, or accolades. The "blood of the men of Westernesse" feels like Tolkien's code for "less likely to be an entitled dick" when it comes to the trilogy.

But Boromir in spite of his flaws is still a good man, he's just a mega Chad and that needs to be acknowledged too.

[fallen-if]

DEMO TBA || RO Appearances || Pinterest

Warning: This IF is 18+. It includes darker themes and topics such as explicit language, violence, sexual content, etc.

“How you have fallen from heaven, O star of the morning, child of the dawn! You have been cut down to the earth, You who have weakened the nations!”

You are an individual that has been known by many aliases over the years. Child of the dawn, the original sinner, star of the morning. But no matter the name, your identity remains the same. You are the one that defied the heavens, the one that cast aside the shackles of tradition and broke free from the constraints of the divine. You are Lucifer Morningstar - The Fallen Angel.

It is quite the title, you will admit. After all, it was clear that most had assumed that you would simply fade away after being cast out.

Of course, you have never been one to be bound by rules or expectations, instead always striving to challenge conventions and find new paths. Your rebellious spirit has helped you blaze a trail of chaos and destruction in your wake, earning you a place among the remembered.

However that legacy is put at risk with the newfound instability that hangs over the the three realms...

Take on the role of the fallen angel and ruler of Hell, Lucifer Morningstar.

Uncover the mysteries of Paradise, one of the three realms, and your former home.

Gaze back into the past in order to gain a better understanding of yourself - and possibly the universe as well.

Learn about the complex history and society that makes up the three realms.

Explore and navigate complex dynamics and relationships.

Customize your appearance, personality, gender, etc.

Try to keep the universe from falling apart! No pressure!

Michael (Angel) [He/Him]

The first being to come into existence as well as the general of the Paradise Host. His humility and strong sense of justice make him an admirable being, even more so given his significant power. Of course, he also happens to be the man who struck you down out of Paradise. Now that you have been reunited you can't help but be curious about your former friend despite the deep strain of your relationship.

Uriel (Angel) [She/Her]

The fifth fourth of the Seraphim and a former close friend - Uriel is nothing short of a fiery and passionate individual. Her intense, fervent nature is undeniable, making her both a formidable ally and a dangerous enemy. You would know, considering you had bared witness to both sides personally. Mending your relationship with her would be nearly impossible. Even so, you knew that if you could pull it off, it would be undeniably worth it.

Vir (Human ???) [He/Him]

An eccentric and intriguing man that claims to be the "Guardian and Ruler of Limbus". Vir is an enigma to many, including you. His loud and unstable personality make him difficult to understand, and you can never be sure what Vir's intentions really are, leaving his true nature a mystery and his presence a source of curiosity and fascination. Although, now that you think about it, he seems awfully familiar...

Lilith (Succubus) [She/Her]

A mysterious and fascinating woman, Lilith is an enigma, captivating all who come into contact with her. Her reputation is not without merit - Lilith's influence and insight are unparalleled, and her counsel invaluable to you. Taking the time to gain a better understanding of this enigmatic woman, and taking down a few of her walls in the process might be just the thing that unlocks the key to her heart.

Cas Monroe (Human) [Gender Selectable]

One of the two undecided souls, Cas is a ball of pure energy. Despite their situation, they continue to keep their upbeat and bubbly attitude. They have no intention to let their circumstances bring them down, and instead take every opportunity to try and make the best of it. With a never-ending determination, Cas is both a source of inspiration but also annoyance. Their positivity is admirable (if not a bit naïve) , but it also hints at a deeper, hidden side. What secrets are they hiding?

Alex D’Angelo (Human) [Gender Selectable]

The second undecided soul that has been placed in your care. Alex is a lot more reserved and anxious than their counterpart. In fact, calling them a nervous wreck would be an understatement. They seemingly just want to find some inner peace and avoid the inner turmoil they feel inside, desperately seeking a place of solace. Perhaps you could help soothe the chaos that roams within their mind...

[cursecuelebre]

Devotional Playlist to Allfather Odin

This is going to be interesting playlist there is going to folk music but there is going to be some country. I don’t know why but everytime I listen to Johnny Cash I hear Odin. Though yes some may have Christian ideals, I think recognizing past that it’s a nice piece that resonates with Odin. This is obliviously still growing but I will put down some songs and see if it inspires you or thinks about the Allfather.

1. Unshaken - Red Dead Redemption (D’Angelo) but the version I like is by Geek Music. It’s very natury song that is very wise that reminds me of Odin, a particular line says “The pines they often whispered, they whisper what no tongue can tell, He who drinks from the deep water, May he know the depths of the well.” That just tells me that it’s a Odin’s song.

2. Man in Black by Johnny Cash, it’s a song about humility and recognition of how bad parts of society that are often ignored. Johnny Cash sings about wearing black to show he respects and a silent conversation about proverty, injustice, unwanted tragedies throughout the country and the world to have empathy and compassion to those who didn’t had it in the first place. I think Odin appears to those who have suffered a lot and who are lost in life, doesn’t come to those like a god but someone who understands what they’re going through. Man in black, wearing black is something that blends in that I am one of you not above you, Odin walks among us in his cloak with the hood up appearing as one of us as a wanderer and a old wise man.

3. Othan by Heilung, a experimental neopagan folk song that recites stanzas from the Havamal and it’s basically old wise words of Odin “the Pslams of the ancient Norse” this particular song describes his knowledge on spells of specific things.

4. Seidr by Munknorr, He is the God of Seidr and magic in general that he teaches mankind quite fitting it’s also a neopagan folk song.

5. Traust by Heilung, a enchantment song that tells of a woman binding her enemies with chants (a popular use of magic in old Norse witchcraft along with seidr) to drive them away. Again magic and Odin is very much partnered together for obvious reasons.

6. Ghost riders in the sky by Johnny Cash, another country song but the premise reminds me of the wild hunt which said he leads along with Holda.

7. Helreið Oðins (Odin’s ride to Hel) by Einar Selvik, specifically talks about Odin’s journey to Hel and speaking with the Seer who grants him a prophecy about his son Baldr. It also implies Odin is somewhat of a psychopomp a spirit or deity that guides souls to the underworld and back.

8. Alfadhirhaiti by Heilung, a collection of names that relate to Odin and references his sacred animals like Hugnin and Munin as well as his wolves Geri and Freki very much like a war chant which again Odin is a god of war.

9. Munknorr - Odin, a very meditative song and I recommend during meditations channeling Odin or invoking him.

Ps I did not realize I had put 9 songs I’m taking that as a sign lol.

[lizzy-doll-thefoxy]

Thank you to whoever drew the royal family of the sea kingdom, I'm happy the drawings are so cute :'3

I can already say their names at least XD

Tsune (The woman with dark blue hair And with water green clothes ): The goddess of the sea and ruler of the Kingdom Tsune has lived with humans for a long time and is why he built this kingdom, so that those who lived in this area could have a better life. She would probably die for humility if she had to.

Kai: Tsune's husband, the kingdom's healer, he has healing powers that help a lot in battles but he has powerful weapons.

Marin:(The girl with tears)Their daughter and heir to the kingdom, Marin can turn into a large creature and is considered one of the sea monsters of the sea, taking down several enemy ships in battles, not letting them get close to Kingdom so easy

Caíque: Tsune and Kai's youngest son (unfinished design) Caique is too kind, he probably takes after his father, he hates to see allies or not getting hurt personally, he usually doesn't prefer to fight and help the wounded.

Well I can say things about demergi (the kingdom of the sea)

I'll just say a few things like there are a lot of parties there, it's a fun kingdom, it's the hottest kingdom there so people want to stay in the water all day XD

I won't talk much more about the project because as I said things can change and this happened so I'll keep it a bit of a secret for now. I was a little excited saying certain things, sorry:'3

Thanks for the arts: @anonymous123maybe and @sigyn-foxyposts

The sea goddess tsune (the woman with dark blue hair Holding Kai's arm ) Belongs to @brandy-rennings

Bye 👋

[lumi-klovstad-games]

Saorlaith Clannmorna, The Lost Primarch of the Eleventh Legion and Warrior Queen of the Black Eagles

In the annals of Imperial History, there stand heroes greater than any other. These are the Primarchs, the Sons of the Emperor of Mankind, the patriarchs of the Twenty Legions of the Adeptus Astartes who united a frayed and divided galaxy in a long ago age when people still looked to the stars with hope... and the events of the Horus Heresy had not yet doomed the galaxy to darkness, suffering, and despair. But of these, only Eighteen are remembered: The Nine who Turned Traitor, and The Nine Who Remained, steadfast and loyal. Here then is a tale, a tale of the Eleventh Primarch, lost to history and imperial records. It is the tale of Saorlaith Clannmorna, Queen and Matriarch of the Black Eagles Legion.

Saorlaith was always an outlier. As the sole deliberate attempt by the Emperor to craft a female Primarch, it is unclear what he’d hoped to achieve, or what role Saorlaith would have been intended to serve in had events played out their planned course.

Such plans, clearly, were not to be.

Scattered like her brothers by the furious winds of Chaos, Saorlaith was deposited by chance or destiny upon a misty and mountainous world. It was a primitive world not unlike the forgotten highlands of the ancient British Isles of Holy Terra, green with moss and heather, black with stone, and grey with numerous lakes that stretched like battle scars across its face. These endless highlands were called Dún na Badb, a name which carried beneath it the world’s dark and violent history.

Saorlaith was found by a local woman, Morna. Enigmatic and feared, Morna was a Queen of a great and remote land, as well as a respected and wise priestess of the Old Deer God and The Horned Huntress. Morna had powerful sorcerous gifts, and used her fell gifts to ferret out secrets from her rivals, deliver sickness and bad luck to her enemies, or heal her friends, and her wrath was swift and fatal if crossed, with powerful armies that crushed her opposition. Yet the imposing woman genuinely loved Saorlaith, and doted on her as a daughter. She inculcated in the young Primarch the ways of blood and sorcery, and the thrill of battle. Saorlaith grew up with many visitors paying homage to her mother or seeking her advice, but few for long term company, leading to a brilliant yet aloof and suspicious young woman who found difficulty connecting with others, especially as few if any ever sought to truly gain her friendship rather than attempt to leverage her position and title in some way. She was always "the Princess" or "the Heirress", and never simply "Saorlaith" to most. Despite her loneliness, or indeed perhaps because of it, she quickly learned the ways of a Warrior Princess, bonding well with her instructors, from whom she knew and understood the social equation and status quo. Never did they seek to use her connections, or use her to worm their way into her mother's favor; they were invested in her advancement and survival, and she was invested in the skills they had to teach her. Progressing quickly, eventually supplanted her mother at the head of her kingdom's vast armies by the age of 16, though Morna remained a close advisor to her daughter long even after she eventually abdicated the throne in Saorlaith’s favor. 

It is said that the day before Saorlaith assumed the throne, she heeded her mother's wisdom and traveled alone into the misty crags and moors to seek the blessing of the old gods and their court. She traveled unarmed and undressed, wearing just a simple and undecorated gown, a mark of humility before the great powers whose favors she hoped to win.

During her wandering, Saorlaith came across a great and vast lake she had not seen before. Taking a moment to rest, she was engaged by a mysterious man and woman. The man was dressed in furs and moss, and his hat was rimmed with the teeth of mighty predators and crested with antlers from a mighty deer. The woman was clad in leather and hides, and a hauberk of green mail. Saorlaith spoke for some time with the travelers, who claimed to be acquainted with Morna. Upon learning that Saorlaith was Morna's daughter and heir, the two became delighted, and engaged the young princess all day and night with conversation and games of riddles and clever wit. As morning came, the travelers thanked Saorlaith for her hospitality, and the woman waded into the waters, and drew from them a mighty shimmering spear, Géar-Anail, the White Breath, bestowing it upon the princess as a coronation gift fit only for the true heir of Queen Morna. As the travelers passed back into the mist, Saorlaith could not help but feel as though perhaps she'd known them when she was very young. Taking her prize back to her home, she was crowned by her mother, and took her place as Queen of her mountain realm and commander of her army.

Saorlaith became known as “The Unbreakable”, as her campaigns claimed triumph after triumph, and though her skills as a strategist and tactician were certainly fitting for her labors when required, her victories came more from her wild and savage charges, overwhelming her enemies in a stampede of relentless violence in simple pursuit of glory and the win, pure battle and conquest for its own sake. Saorlaith was a warrior at heart. A capable queen, yes, but her heart ever longed for greater battlefields beyond. She ached for new battles, new foes, and greater glories. It was not in her restless nature to simply sit on what she had already accomplished, for she knew in her bones that it would be in that way that her victory itself would be the one to finally defeat her.

Having conquered her own world, Saorlaith grew despondent that such incredible success would be the end of her. There were no further gains to make, no great foes to keep herself sharp against. While Saorlaith reconstructed her newly unified planet into a mighty and glittering kingdom where the druidic sorcerous ways of her ancestors ran like blood through the lowest levels, upholding everything, she began to fear that her greatest triumphs might be behind her. All that lay before her had been conquered and reshaped. The occasional rebellion offered no challenge, no real chance to prove what else she might do.

One day, the magic whispered to Saorlaith that a stranger from afar would soon arrive, though her attempts to scry specifics went maddeningly unanswered. Whoever this stranger was, her blood raced at the thought of it. Some great warrior, perhaps? Some mighty challenge to overcome? Perhaps the Old Stag God had finally answered her prayers.

The day the Emperor came to Dún na Badb, Saorlaith was beside herself with anticipation, warmly welcoming the stranger and treating him to the finest hospitality of her people. She could tell at once that glory rode in this man’s wake, and that it was his destiny to show Saorlaith hers. She told him she would follow where he led, but formality required him to defeat her in the holy Carnfēth, the War Judgement – a sacred battle rite to determine leadership. As Queen, she would be shamed if she knelt before another warrior who had not defeated her in battle. Either the Emperor would defeat her in single combat without sorcery, or be denied his Primarch. The duel was the stuff of legend, and it is said to have lasted for nine days. Saorlaith was not the type to show quarter, and nor was the Emperor willing to relinquish his Eleventh to this backwater world. From the lowest valley to the highest peak, the two clashed, neither showing the slightest hint of false judgment or failed skill. Eventually, however, Saorlaith began to worry that the battle might have no end. Perhaps they were equally skilled, and the battle might last forever… neither fit to command or to be commanded, neither able to cow the other. In this moment, the battle was decided, for Saorlaith, distracted for the slightest measure, lost her footing and fell upon the sword she had given the Emperor. Yet Saorlaith was delighted – in having lost, she found renewed purpose. She had not finished her list of glories, and this loss symbolized that for her. The Emperor promised her an army unlike anything she had ever seen, and he promised her not simply a planet to conquer, but a galaxy in which to seek her glory. Saorlaith would never have refused such an offer.

During the ritual ceremony in which Saorlaith returned governorship of Dún na Badb to the Queen Mother Morna, the Emperor visibly recoiled, startled, in the Queen Mother’s presence as she caught his eye. It is not known why. The two leaders spoke no more with each other than the ceremony demanded, and the Emperor uncharacteristically left with barely-disguised haste, as though being in Morna’s mere presence was either panic or pain-inducing.

Returning to Holy Terra with the Eleventh Primarch, the Emperor was pleased to see her eagerness to take up the Great Crusade, and even more pleased to see that she had healed from her battle wound quickly. He judged, correctly, that she would indeed be a force to be reckoned with once paired with warriors who matched her skills and ferocity.

The Eleventh Legion, the Storm Sovereigns, was indeed a fine army as promised, but the largely Terran recruits disgusted Saorlaith. Clean-shaven Astarte warriors and standardized livery made them all look identical in the eyes of the Mountain Queen, and she immediately set about instilling her way and her image among her new army, just as she’d done at Dún na Badb. Her warriors would decorate their bronze-colored armor with personalized and intricate highland knotwork emblematic of her home world. Their hair and beards would be encouraged to grow wild, often being elaborately braided or otherwise decorated with feathers and beads. Before battle, they performed ritual war chants, songs, and dances, and decorated their flesh with blue paint. This was no mere physical affectation, but a vow to become as beasts who knew no retreat or surrender. The act of painting focused the Astarte’s resolve, steeling them for the blood and carnage to come. Further, like her brother Primarchs, she began to draw new recruits for the legion from her homeworld, filling its ranks with boisterous and passionate, but highly skilled, barbarian highland warriors she knew the measure of and trusted more than the "outsiders" she'd been saddled with. These warriors now had the technology and the means to follow their Queen to the cosmos, and to elevate their kind of warfare to a scale and level they had never previously dreamed possible, and the newly forged “Black Eagles” legion took wing to the stars, taking their appetites for blood and battle with them, ready to find glory and conquest wherever they landed.

The Black Eagles were much changed by Saorlaith’s leadership – she brought with her not just the battle traditions of her people, but also their sorcery. Those who she considered the most capable and trustworthy of her “Sons” were inducted into secret rites and taught a kind of magic that exposed weakness in the enemy, by revealing secrets or bringing flaws to the surface where they could do the most damage, in a way that simply appeared to be a horrific “run of bad luck” when it could be least afforded. The mystic chants of the highland marines’ sorcery and eerie bellowing of their animalistic war horns presaged doom to a thousand worlds that dared defy the Legion and the Great Crusade as their imminent assault would batter and break an enemy that was never as ready to face them as they might have believed or hoped.

Despite Saorlaith’s incredible battlefield successes, she found few friends among her Brothers. Angron was too much of a brute in her eyes; she was all for testing her mettle in battle and achieving glory, but Angron was simply about slaughter, like a rabid war dog Saorlaith would have happily put down herself had she been allowed to. Mortarion was perhaps her first real rival among the Primarchs, detesting her and her legion for their Druidic Craft, while Lorgar Aurelian saw in their rites and traditions the mark of heresy. Fulgrim she dismissed as a preening peacock too concerned with glamor to find true glory, Alpharius as a fool and a tryhard leader too clever for his own good by half, wasting his and the Imperium’s time on his overly complex schemes instead of simply winning when a simple win presented itself, and Pertuabo and Ferrus Manus confounded her with their hatred for weakness rather than their love of strength. Roboute Guilliman, Horus Lupercal, and Rogal Dorn all but outright hated her for her unwillingness to yield to their strategies and authority. Even Vulkan’s legendary patience and compassion met its limits with Saorlaith, who was far too independent to listen to his counsel. And in Sanguinius… Saorlaith saw something worrying. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but in Sanguinius she saw a lurking darkness that terrified her, and she avoided her angelic brother to no end. She made an effort to befriend fellow outsider Konrad Kurze, but his growing instability brought their friendship to an early end. Corvus Corax’s secrecy and tendency to favor subtler means, as well as his favoring of loyalty and obedience, grated on Saorlaith’s nerves. Jaghatai Khan rubbed her the wrong way, simply by being too much like her for them to have ever gotten along. While she didn’t dislike Magnus the Red, she felt his focus was too much on the mysterious and the ethereal, and the way he regarded her almost as a puzzle box to solve unnerved her. Ironically, Lion El Jonson, who had an upbringing relatively similar to hers, and in many ways might have been considered the other side of her coin, and therefore might have understood her better than any of the other Primarchs, held her in disdain for her “Barbarian ways” even if she secretly admired his results and composure. It was Leman Russ who was perhaps the most kindred of spirits, a true brother to her when all others grated, drifted, or avoided her. The Eagle and the Wolf, the Celt and the Viking, the Queen and the Chieftain, frequently fought alongside each other and for a time, they shared a close friendship, and the Black Eagles and Space Wolves accomplished great things together, but like all good things, this too was doomed to come to an end. Finally, Ailani, Saorlaith’s lone sister, and Primarch of the Imperial Hospitallers, never gave up hope on the wild warrior queen. Despite their frequent disagreements as Ailani’s peaceful healing ways clashed wildly with Saorlaith’s violent lust for conquest, Ailani was always there to listen to Saorlaith’s grievances and frustrations, and while they never saw eye to eye, the two sisters grew close as the Crusade went on.

However, the fate of the Eleventh Legion was already sealed, and they would not see the Horus Heresy play out. With her growing frustrations with her brothers gnawing at her, Saorlaith had become more headstrong and reckless than ever, and Leman Russ began to see her as a liability. Further, Russ began to question her loyalty, as, ever the soul of tact, Saorlaith bitterly complained of the Emperor's crackdowns on the Druidic Craft of her people and their worship of the Old Stag God. In her mind, this was not what she had signed up for. She had been promised glory for her and her people, not this... colonialist cultural censorship that threatened to eradicate keystones of her culture and heritage. As the Emperor began to make increasing strides towards banishing religion and sorcery from the Imperium, Saorlaith chafed more and more, becoming bitter and paranoid towards her brothers. She knew they disliked and even mistrusted her, and some like Mortarion and Alpharius were already claiming they could handle her campaigns more effectively than she could. Saorlaith deigned to let them try.

As Saorlaith and the Black Eagles outright began to refuse orders in pursuit of chasing their own glory independently, Leman's already waning patience wore out, and he brought his case to the Emperor, who advised the Sixth Primarch to “chastise” his sister and her legion. Unfortunately, by this time, Ailani had already begun conspiring with her sister to leave the Imperium entirely with their respective legions and peoples, with a dream to establishing their own free realm in the wilds of space, far apart from an Imperium both had gradually become increasingly disillusioned with. The gentle Ailani's blood boiled at the Emperor's treatment of her; she had never particularly willingly agreed to his Crusade, and for hundreds of years he had taken her home world hostage to ensure her continued compliance. Seeing in her so-perfectly opposite sister such incredible similarity, the two had plotted to desert. Let the Emperor have his Grand Vision. In some back corner of the universe, the two sisters would have theirs: a place where they and their people could live free from the Emperor's tyranny. Saorlaith began pulling her veteran warriors from the lines and assembling a small but elite force meant to safeguard and evacuate Dún na Badb. These were marines recruited from the planet, who had ties and roots and loyalties there. Her Terran recruited marine veterans remained on the front lines, mentoring the youngest and least experienced Marines to allay suspicion that her dedication to the cause might be lacking until she had already left. Let those wayward sons of hers know nothing of her plot, that way they might be kept safe, or as safe as possible, from the consequences of her decisions. Perhaps there would even be room for reconciliation in the future, should the winds of destiny blow in that direction.

However, upon returning home to Dún na Badb to evacuate it, Saorlaith was shocked and angered to find the Space Wolves already assembled there, with Leman Russ at the head of his force to deal with Saorlaith in person. Her heart sank, and her anger soared, as she assumed Leman Russ had already discovered her plot to desert. In fact, he had not, and he had simply been hoping to resolve what to him was a disciplinary matter that had far exceeded an allowable scale. Two clashing sets of intentions and views of reality among leaders neither of which being particularly known for diplomatic restraint is seldom a pleasant matter, and it was not long before an unforgivable mistake was made. Who fired first is both unknown and unimportant, but it was held that the battle was titanic; indeed, it was the most ferocious either the Sixth or the Eleventh legions had ever partaken in, for no Space Marine had ever faced a threat quite like another Space Marine. Yet for all the battle’s horror, it was ultimately mere prelude to the nightmares of the Horus Heresy to come. It is generally held that the Space Wolves emerged victorious. To her own shock, Saorlaith lost a second time, this time to Leman Russ, who gravely wounded her in single combat, though he was either unwilling or unable to complete the kill. Arriving in the Primarch's greatest moment of need was Medrawt, the feared First Captain of the Black Eagles, and her mightiest and most favored champion. Medrawt was a peerless warrior in the legion, long rumored to be the Primarch's biological son. Whatever the case he was among the first to be recruited to the Legion at Dún na Badb, and it was also at Dún na Badb that evidence suggests Medrawt proved his mettle and did the impossible by managing to distract and hold off Leman Russ long enough to facilitate Saorlaith's retreat from the battlefield, and then retreat in turn. Despite her escape with Medrawt and a host of survivors, her legion’s numbers were significantly culled in the battle. Three out of five Black Eagles who took part in the battle perished, crippling the Legion, and the novice Black Eagles and Terran veterans carrying the Legion's part of the Great Crusade elsewhere in the galaxy with no knowledge of the betrayal were no safer, being swiftly turned on by their supposed allies and eradicated without ever receiving an explanation why.

While Leman Russ and his legion purged Dún na Badb, he was puzzled to find Morna, the Queen Mother, completely absent. Reporting his findings to the Emperor, the Emperor showed a rare and fleeting moment of genuine fear upon hearing that the Old Crone Queen had vanished. But, this soon vanished, as, coupled with his rage at Ailani’s much more successful rebellion and rout of the World Eaters, in part due to the survivors of the battle of Dún na Badb arriving to assist in the evacuation of Ailani’s homeworld of Takiko, the Emperor turned his formidable psychic prowess to burning the errant women from history, along with their traitorous sons. The two had dared defy him. They had made a mockery of his power and authority. Their rebellion and flight from the Imperium threatened to undermine all he hoped to build by showing that ways other than Imperial Unity might be viable. It could not stand. It would not. Even Leman Russ, who personally fought his sister at the climax of the battle, forgot her in an instant. The records were purged. The monuments were destroyed. The Second and Eleventh Legions’ victories were “assigned” to other legions. All evidence of them was destroyed, except for the hole they left behind.

It is no wonder that the Eleventh Legion and their Primarch failed to aid Terra during the Horus Heresy. Of course, they had fled so far it would be ages, thousands of years, even, before they learned of the Heresy. Saorlaith’s feelings on the matter are unknown, but most assuredly complicated as she weeps for her lost people and quintimated sons.

Among those who are able to intuit the existence of the old Second and Eleventh Legions, and their Primarchs, doubtless a sense of wonder must set in.

What must have happened, that nobody can remember their names, their faces, or their deeds? Could it have been even worse than the Horus Heresy? Obviously it must have been, for the Traitor Primarch’s names are still remembered and the Second and Eleventh have been totally buried and forgotten.

Do these Primarchs live still? Do they regret their rebellion and treason? And perhaps… might they one day return? Surely if Guilliman and Jonson have returned in the Imperium’s darkest hours… all things must be possible. What redemption might lie ahead for Saorlaith Clannmorna of Dún na Badb, the Weeping Eleventh?

[sl-newsie]

American Woman (Thomas Shelby x American OC) Ch. 47: Going Somewhere

Masterlist: https://www.tumblr.com/sl-newsie/739551758747090944/american-woman-thomas-shelby-x-american-oc?source=share

“Ahhhh!” 

A scream pierces the house’s eerie silence and I jolt awake. Do I even want to know? Can’t I just have a quiet sleep without any violence?

I pull out my gun and slip into the hallway. No disturbances here. I peek into Charlie’s room. Nothing there. I quietly sneak down the cold stairs and turn the corner- 

“Why is it that I always find you covered in blood?” I sigh and put my gun down to examine Thomas’ blank, blood-splattered face. “Are you hurt?”

“‘S not mine,” he promises. Then who’s is it?

I hear the front door open and am surprised to see Johnny Doggs walk in. Thomas waves him over and proceeds to show him towards the back of the house. 

“Ah, there you are Johnny. The body’s this way.”

My jaw drops. “Body?”

He turns around and points to me. “Just wait here, love.”

Johnny tips his hat. “Good to see ya, Ms. Steenstra.”

“Merry Christmas, Johnny,” is all I can manage in my bewilderment. Thomas wouldn’t kill so drastically. Is the enemy within our own walls? There’s no way I can sleep now. I’m not going to sit and wait. I need to stand guard.

I retrieve my pistol and march straight back to Charlie’s room. He doesn’t even stir when I enter. If it weren’t for the recent threat, the sight of him in his blue plaid pajamas would be very sweet.

Click. The door opens and I stand ready in front of the bed, only to see Thomas rushing inside. His eyes adjust to the dark and notice me standing in his way.

“Time to wake him up,” he says without question. “I’m not waiting any longer. There’s a car waiting to take us to Birmingham.”

"Well at least clean your face!" I fuss and wipe more blood off of Thomas. "You're going to scare him."

Once most of the blood is gone Thomas leans over to wrap the child into his arms. Without any objection I sprint to my room and hastily change my night attire for proper clothes. By the time I finish Thomas is already making his way downstairs.

“Is it Christmas yet?” Charlie asks sleepily.

“Not just yet,” Thomas murmurs. “But let’s go, eh?”

“Mummy.”

Charlie’s observation draws his father’s attention to a picture of Grace. He swipes it off the table and continues his way to the front door. I follow him to the car and climb in the backseat. Is this what my last days might be like? Running and hiding until a bullet catches up with me and crosses my name off the list?

“Veena…” Charlie yawns as he stretches across Thomas’ lap and looks back at me.

Thomas looks between him and I. “Um, it might be more comfortable for him to lay back there. Do you mind…?”

I open my arms. “Hand him over.”

Charlie is placed across the seat with his head on my lap. Within minutes he’s fast asleep again. 

“It’s Christmas now,” Thomas mutters dryly and holds up his watch to show the time. “Merry Christmas.”

“Vrolijk Kerstfeest,” I repeat distantly, still feeling tired and thinking random thoughts. “I’m afraid that I had no time to go shopping so I didn’t get you a gift-”

“No.” Thomas reaches over and puts a hand on my cold one. “Verena, you being here is more than enough.” His tone grows darker and he looks down. “And now you’re in danger all because of me. I promise I will do everything I can to protect you and your family.”

“I know you will. But I will not rest until I see my family again.” I continue to rub Charlie’s head and gently sing Dutch vocals.

“Heilige drie koningen, uit zo verre land

zij zochten onze Here met offerand.

Z' offerden ootmoediglijk myrrh', wierook ende goud

t' ere van dat Kinde, dat alle ding behoudt.

Kyrie eleis.

Three kings, holy, from a country far away

were looking for our Lord, bringing offerings.

With humility they gave Him incense, myrrh and gold

In honour to that small Child, who will preserve these gifts.

Kyrie eleis.”

In the front seat Thomas turns around to look at me. “Singing? In Dutch?”

“Don’t you speak to him in Rokka?” I reason back. That shuts him up.

“Slaap kindje slaap,

daar buiten loopt een schaap.

Een schaap met witte voetjes,

die drinkt zijn melk zo zoetjes.

Slaap kindje slaap,

daar buiten loopt een schaap.

Sleep, baby sleep,

Outside there walks a sheep,

A sheep with white feet,

Who drinks his milk so sweet,

Sleep, baby sleep,

Outside there walks a sheep.”

My own sleep schedule is starting to take its toll on me. No matter how hard I try to stay awake the rocking of the car on the gravel roads lulls my stressed mind to sleep…

“Wake up. Wake up!” A voice whispers.

Did I really fall asleep? How long was I out? My eyes fly open and I have to keep myself from jolting forward and knocking Charlie off my lap. Next to me Thomas holds the car door open and puts a hand on my arm.

“We’re here. Let’s get Charlie inside and you can go back to sleep.”

I sluggishly maneuver out of the backseat and cradle Charlie’s warm, limp body in my arms. In the dark, Thomas leads the way to the familiar front door and follows me to his old room. Nothing much is left inside. Only a small dresser and a bed with a simple quilt. Actually, most of the house has been cleaned and reorganized. Almost as if-

Oh. Right. This was supposed to be my house. My new home. Well, things don’t always go as we hope.

“Welcome home, I suppose,” Thomas whispers as I lay Charlie down. “Or at least a shell of it. We tried to keep it clean. Is it warm enough in here?”

“‘S fine…” I murmur sleepily and push him to lay down next to Charlie. “I’ll be in my room. Lay with him. You need your own sleep.”

He doesn’t look convinced. “I-”

“I mean it, Thomas,” I state firmly and pull the quilt over him. “Please. Sleep. We’re both tired and nothing good is going to come out of staying sleep deprived.”

“Alright, alright…” 

He can’t keep his head up any longer. Thomas falls asleep almost instantly and I’m left with the sounds of his heavy breathing. As I stagger to my room and collapse on the mattress I cannot halt the disturbing anxiety plaguing my head. Yes, I am almost asleep. But my mind is far from eased.

When I open my eyes to Christmas Day it’s already past noon. Was I really that tired? The sound of chatter outside tells me Charlie is already awake. More than likely he woke up Thomas as well. God, can that man ever get a full night’s sleep? 

Ring! Ring!

I’m about to tear that bloody phone clear off the wall. I almost don’t want to hear any news. But I still force myself out of bed and grab a robe before walking to the hallway. I pick up the receiver and know by the shallow breathing that it’s one of my broers. Do they know?

“Verena,” Liam states without a single greeting.

“Um, Vrolijk Kerstfeest. Liam, I-”

“What the Hell did you get into?”

So he does know. Maybe I can play dumb.

“What are you talking about?”

“I heard a rumor that the Sicilians have staked a Birmingham gang in a vendetta,” he growls. “Your boss.”

My throat tightens. “Liam, please! Do not tell moeder or vader!”

“Why the Hell not? So you can get yourself killed?! I’m calling Uncle Colon and having him send you back here.”

“No! I don’t know how deeply I’m pinned to this and it could be dangerous if anyone else interferes. The best bet is for me to stay hidden here until the Shelbys resolve this. My life is not worth all of yours.”

I hear him bang his head against the wall. “Verena-”

“Not. A. Word. Promise me!” I demand.

Liam groans. “Oké, oké.”

I breathe a sigh of relief. “Dank je wel. I promise to take care of myself. Don’t worry so much, broer.”

“I can’t help it. You’re my little zuster.”

“I will keep in touch, Liam. Vrolijk Kerstfeest. Tot ziens.”

He hesitates before hanging up. “Vrolijk Kerstfeest. Tot ziens.”

The line goes silent and I hang the phone up. As much as I want to deny it, he is right. If the rest of my family finds out they will be outraged. My place as a young, foreign bachelorette is not proper to be amongst this murky business. I can only stall for so long-

“Who was that?”

Thomas’ voice behind me makes me jump away. He still looks tired. And there’s something else… A deeper sadness in his eyes I can’t quite make out.

“My broer Liam,” I answer in a slightly shaking voice.

His expression doesn’t change. “Did he ask for you to leave?”

“Yes. I told him I’m staying,” I say firmly.

“Good. Good. It’s, um, it’s too dangerous to travel.” Even his voice sounds distant.

I step closer. “What’s wrong? You’re not telling me something.”

Thomas blinks and looks away to the wall. “There’s been an attack.”

Oh God. My chest clenches and my blood runs cold. It’s already happening. It’s all a guess of who.

“Who?” I demand. “Polly? Arthur?” Thomas looks up at me and now I can read his eyes. My voice becomes even more broken. “John…?”

“He- The Italians. They went to his house…”

“Oh my dear God. He’s…?” There is no answer to say he survived. “Oh, Thomas…”

I take his hand despite his attempt to look unaffected by the news. He immediately leans in and welcomes my touch. No tears, but the sense of grief is still felt from him. Thomas has seen so much death… and this might only be the beginning of so much more. He should not have to witness it alone.

“We’re headed to the hospital now. Michael’s in surgery,” he says and pulls away. “Can you watch Charlie?”

I nod on instinct. “Yes, of course. Please send my condolences to the others.”

Thomas gives a goodbye hug to Charlie and walks out the door. Charlie, still being too young to understand, looks at me puzzlingly.

“Daddy says Uncle John is gone. Is he going somewhere?”

Oh, Charlie. How can I explain this?

“Your uncle, he… He is going to see God.”

Charlie looks even more confused. “God?”

My face falls. “Your daddy hasn't told you about God?”

He shrugs. “Uncle Arthur talks about Him.”

It makes sense not to force such extreme religious routines in such a young child but could Thomas have at least told him who God is?

“Oh. Well… God is a spirit who’s always with us.”

Charlie’s eyes widen. “Like a ghost?”

“Not exactly,” I say calmly. “No one has directly seen Him, except for those mentioned in the Bible. That’s a book that tells stories about God from a long time ago. Do you ever get a sudden feeling of happiness, one that seems like you’re never alone?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s God. And his son Jesus took our bad decisions upon himself so we can be happy.” I pull out my silver pendant from under my shirt. “See this? It’s called a cross.”

“What’s that?”

“I’ll tell you more when you’re older. What you need to understand now is that even in the darkest of times you are never alone because God is with you.” I squeeze his tiny hand. “You are loved.”

Charlie thinks quietly and after a while looks up with concerned eyes. “Is daddy loved too?”

I kneel down and gently rub his back. “God loves all His children.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“And he loves your Uncle John. We need to pray for him, and your daddy, and your Uncle Arthur, and Aunt Ada.”

“Then can we play hide and seek?”

His antsy question brings a smile to my face. “And then we can play hide and seek.”

Charlie is serious about this game. We’ve been hiding and seeking for over an hour and he finds a new spot every time. Sometimes I’m worried that I’ll never find him and have to explain to Thomas how I lost him. Other times, like right now, I pretend not to notice him so he’s kept occupied. If this is all it takes to keep Charlie entertained then he is certainly much more agreeable than my young nieces and nephews. 

Thud!

The sound of the door makes me freeze midstep. Thomas strides past me and immediately pours himself a drink. He doesn’t need to talk of his sorrows. His eyes tell enough. But I need to know how the other Shelbys are coping.

“Thomas?” I speak up gently. “How’s Michael? And the others-?”

“Michael’s pulling through. They all are. We’re having a family meeting tomorrow morning.”

I nod slowly. He doesn’t say how Esme is taking this. God, that poor woman. I can’t imagine… She loved John so much.

Thomas starts looking around the room. “Where’s Charlie?”

I turn to make sure Charlie’s hasn’t moved and whisper: “We’ve been playing hide and seek. He’s hiding in the parlor.” I put a cautious but empathic hand on Thomas’ shoulder. “There’s nothing here for you to worry about.”

He does not meet my gaze. Thomas keeps staring straight at the floor, comprehending that he just lost his young brother.

“Good to hear. Good to hear.”

“I’ll make some dinner. Do you want anything special?”

“Anything’s fine, love.”

With that I retreat to the kitchen and have to lean against the counter for support. A Merry Christmas, indeed. You said to take care of them, Grace. How can I when everything Thomas does leads to more misfortune? Maybe you were better cut out for this than I am.

@meadows5

[fanficapologist]

Of Dragons and Maelstroms

Themes and Warnings: slow burn, enemies to lovers, blood, violence, explicit language, sexual violence, period-typical misogyny, sexual themes, smut, tension, marriage, jealousy, pregnancy, childbirth, miscarriage, attempted sexual assault, breastfeeding, major character death, divergent timelines

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood/Game of Thrones characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Chapter Forty-Two

The weeks of Aemond's absence seemed to fly by, and the wedding day drew nearer with each passing day. Maera found herself in the constant company of dowager Queen Alicent and Queen Helaena, their days filled with wedding plans and discussions. In the midst of the bustling preparations, final fittings were taken for Maera's wedding dress. She couldn't hide her excitement as she saw an almost finished version of the gown, its intricate details impressing her. Additionally, replies from noble houses had poured in, confirming their attendance at the upcoming wedding.

During this time, Maera's trusted maid, Thena, had been hard at work as well. She had carefully selected three individuals deemed suitable to serve as spies for Maera, and she presented them to her mistress in the privacy of her chambers.

The first was a boy, the son of the stablehand, who had regular exposure to the lords and even the King as he tended to their horses. Maera couldn't help but feel a pang of unease at the thought of using a child for espionage, but Thena assured her that it was a common practice in the Keep. The money the boy would earn from his services would greatly assist his family, providing a practical justification for their decision.

The second spy was an older woman who worked diligently in the laundries. Her position granted her access to nearly every room in the Keep as she collected linens, making her an ideal candidate for discreet observation. The third was a squire in the service of Ser Criston, a young man of short stature and dark hair. It then dawned on Maera that she recognized him from the very first day she sparred with Aemond in the courtyard.

“I seem to recall disarming you some time ago,” Maera stated, a slight mischievous smile on her face.

The squire nodded shyly and responded with humility, “Yes, m’Lady, and what a fine skill you have with the sword.”

Maera turned her attention to all three servants, addressing them with purpose, her tone a mix of gratitude and gravity. "I want to thank you all for coming to see me," she said, her voice carrying a note of regret. "I wish these circumstances were different, but our world is not always as it appears." She paused briefly, collecting her thoughts.

"As I step into my role as the new Princess of the realm," Maera continued, "I've come to realize that having a network of spies is integral to ensuring my safety and staying informed." The servants nodded in understanding, their expressions serious.

She then approached her writing desk and picked up three small purses, each containing two groats and eight copper pennies that would serve as their reward.

"You have a choice," she said, her gaze unwavering. "If you believe that this path is not one you wish to tread, take this money and leave today. There will be no consequences for your decision." She waited for a moment, allowing the weight of the decision to settle in.

Maera then shifted her focus to the possibility of their cooperation. "If, however, you decide to swear your loyalty," she continued, "you will receive regular payments for valuable information concerning the King, the Small Council, and the plans that shape the realm." The room held a palpable tension as the servants weighed their choices, each purse representing a decision that could have far-reaching consequences.

The young boy was the first to speak, his voice filled with determination. "I will serve you, m’lady," he declared, followed by the resolute agreement of the laundry maid and the squire. Maera nodded in response, acknowledging their choice with a warm but cautious smile. It was a solemn moment, as they were now bound to serve her and gather information in the shadows, a network of spies to help protect her in the treacherous environment of the Red Keep.

With a sense of purpose, Maera continued, her words carrying the weight of her promise. "In addition to payment," she said, "I will ensure your protection, as well as that of your families." She handing each of them a bag of coins and their faces lit up with smiles, appreciation written across their expressions.

But as the moment of bonding concluded, Maera's demeanor shifted. Her gaze bore into each of them, a warning she felt compelled to deliver. "But I want you to understand," she began, her voice firm and unwavering. "Betrayal will not be taken lightly. If you were to break your oaths to me, it will not be the One-Eyed Prince you need to worry about—it will be me. Am I heard?"

The servants, their expressions now tinged with nervousness, nodded in understanding. They recognized the gravity of their new roles and the consequences of betrayal.

With the warning issued, Maera dismissed the servants, allowing them to leave her chambers. As they departed, Thena offered a gentle observation.

"That may have come across as a bit harsh, my Lady," she mentioned.

Maera turned to Thena, her gaze unwavering, and responded, "I know, but I had to establish myself as authoritative figure and make it clear that I'm not to be trifled with. Or else they will think it is acceptable and that there will be no consequences." The path she had chosen was not an easy one, and she needed to ensure she was in control. As Aemond’s wife, she hoped to navigate the complex web of politics and intrigue that surrounded her new life as a Princess of the Realm.

The network of spies slowly begun to bare fruit, mere gossip but the information could become useful as time went on. The interest Aegon currently had in a particular chamber maid, the brothels each nobleman frequented and discussions that took place in the Small Council chamber regarding minor updates in the war with Princess Rhaenyra.

It turned out that her betrothed was not the only one who had been sent away with a mission; young Prince Daeron had been instructed to patrol the Riverlands on his dragon Tessarion, as Ser Elmo Tully’s factions continued to grow, and there was concern that this would cause the other noble Houses to turn cloak for Rhaenyra’s cause. However, there was no reliable information as of yet regarding the outcome of this, which gave Maera the space to think about her wedding.

Yet despite the excitement of the approaching union with Aemond, Maera found herself somewhat distracted by Queen Helaena’s health, which seemed to worsen each passing day. Her appetite continued to decrease meaning her clothes hung loosely on her form. The Queen’s trances became more frequent and she continued to repeat the same phrase, “The rat catcher drops a silver coin on the floor,” sometimes in a desperate tone.

One night, Maera entered the Queen’s chambers to prepare Helaena for the evening, only to find her friend in a state of distress. Helaena was hunched over a metal bowl, retching, while a maid stood nearby trying to offer comfort, but her efforts were futile as Helaena batted her away. Concerned, Maera rushed to Helaena's side, her expression filled with worry.

She turned to the maid and instructed her urgently, "Fetch a cloth with cold water, quickly."

Helaena, breathing heavily and clearly in discomfort, lifted her head from the bowl as the maid hurried away. Maera knelt beside her, placing a gentle hand on the Queen's shoulder. She asked with genuine concern, "My Queen, when did this start?"

With ragged breaths, Helaena replied, "A few hours ago."

As the maid returned with a cold, damp cloth, Maera wasted no time. She pressed the soothing cloth against Helaena's forehead, hoping to alleviate her discomfort. The Queen let out a sigh of relief as the coolness began to ease her feverish state.

Maera, deeply concerned for her friend's well-being, turned her gaze to the chamber maid, who shared her worry. With a furrowed brow, Maera faced Helaena and asked, "Do you believe it's time for a thorough examination by the Maester, sister?"

Helaena's frown deepened, and she vehemently refused, her discomfort evident as she retched once more. Maera, both compassionate and frustrated, held the bowl beneath her friend, stroking Helaena's hair in an attempt to provide comfort.

While Maera peered into the bowl, her heart sank as she noticed streaks of blood within the vomit. Frustration welled up inside her, but she kept her voice calm. She turned to the maid and requested, "Fetch Maester Orwyle, please."

Helaena, in the midst of her suffering, screamed in protest, her refusal punctuated by another bout of vomiting. Maera, standing now, had reached a breaking point. She declared with a tone of authority, "I have had enough of this, Helaena. Your condition is deteriorating, and your denial is only making it worse."

Maera gazed at Helaena, her eyes filled with concern and fear, as she questioned her, "How much longer can you endure this?" She implored Helaena, "What if this is the beginning of consumption or burst belly?"

Helaena, her eyes brimming with tears and frustration, snapped back defiantly, "It is not, Maera."

Maera knelt before her friend, gripping Helaena's hands tightly, and begged, "Please, for your own sake, for the sake of your children, for my peace of mind, allow Maester Orwyle to examine you."

Helaena's gaze fell to the ground, her face a tumultuous mix of anger and worry. After a tense pause and some stubborn silence, she eventually nodded, giving in to Maera's plea, allowing the maid to hurry off to fetch the Maester.

Maester Orwyle stepped into the room, and Maera made sure Helaena was as comfortable as possible in her bed. She handed the Queen a glass of water, placing it within her reach on the bedside table, and gently wiped her brow with the damp cloth. While Helaena rested, Maera picked up the metal bowl, emptied it out of the window, and returned to her friend's side.

The Maester prepared his tools and ointments, but Helaena, with politeness laced with firmness, turned to Maera and said, "You should retire to your quarters."

Confused and concerned, Maera insisted, "I should stay with you, your Grace, to ease your discomfort while the Maester looks after you."

Helaena's tone grew gruff as she replied, "You have done enough." Her words took Maera by surprise. Helaena continued, "I will see you on the morrow. Please, I wish to be left alone with Maester Orwyle."

With a heavy heart, Maera stood up and performed a graceful curtsy of respect to Helaena. She couldn't bear to offend or disobey her Queen any further. Reluctantly, she made her way back to her own chambers.

Within Maera’s chambers, the cool moonlight filtered through the open windows, casting a silvery glow upon the room's elegant furnishings. The canopy bed, swathed in rich turquoise and gold fabrics, seemed larger than life in the dim light, its pillows and draperies a testament to opulence. The hearth, though unlit, exuded a subtle warmth that hinted at its potential. The room bore the faint scent of burning logs from earlier in the evening, a memory of shared moments by the fire.

Lady Maera, dressed in a long-sleeved white nightgown whilst laying beneath the canopy of her luxurious bed, found herself tossing and turning, the elusive embrace of sleep escaping her entirely. Her long, dark brown curls, with their distinctive silver streak, flowed freely around her, a striking contrast against the pale linens of her pillow. On her left hand, she wore the new ring Aemond had given her, her fingertips delicately brushing against the sapphires as she tried to find solace in its presence.

In the midst of this serene yet restless night, guilt welled up within Maera. She had pushed Helaena to seek help from Maester Orwyle, not wanting to see her friend suffer. Her intentions had been born of care and concern, but she couldn't shake the feeling of causing any discomfort to the Queen. Maera hoped that in time, Helaena would realize the necessity of the Maester's assistance. Nevertheless, she still worried about the state of their friendship and whether her actions had affected it in any way.

In an attempt to distract herself, Maera’s thoughts filled with the man who had come to occupy a significant space in her heart, despite the complex emotions that surrounded him. During their stroll, she had promised Aemond that she would repay his kind gesture, but she was uncertain how to do so. The Prince had been gone for three weeks, meaning time was running out for Maera to devise a plan to have him crumbling before her, as he had done to her.

Aemond, as a man, enjoyed the freedom to explore his wants and desires without judgment from the court or the Realm. To discover what he liked, what he didn’t like, or what had brought him the most pleasure. Maera, on the other hand, was bound by the expectations and constraints placed upon her as a woman, to remain oblivious to the world of pleasure, and to be simply be used as a tool by her future husband.

Frustration and determination swirled within her. Eager to find answers and a sense of agency, Maera couldn't bear to stay idle any longer. She reached under her bed and retrieved the books and scrolls she had hidden there from the library, a treasure trove of knowledge that might hold the key to her desires and ambitions. With the candle's flickering light casting shadows that danced upon her face, she delved into the books' contents with rapt attention.

The scroll she unfurled was written by Grand Maester Gawen, who had practiced during the reigns of three separate Targaryen Kings. He wrote what plagued the men of the Keep, be they Kings or Lords, experienced when it came to rousing stiffness in their cocks, and therefore producing heirs. The Maester wrote that it could be due to a ‘lack of spirit from the Warrior’ causing a man to become impotent, detailed many other factors could contribute to a man’s sexual prowess; temperature, diet, the type of ale he drank, and the attractiveness of his wife. She could not help but roll her eyes at the last point. Grand Maester Gawen continued that virgin noblewomen were not aware of ‘more advanced ways’ to please their husbands, therefore the man should enlist the help of local whores to rouse his spirit, and ‘picture what the whore had given him when he laid with his wife in order to father heirs.’

Disbelief welled up within Maera as she promptly rolled the scroll closed and shoved it back under her bed with an exasperated groan. It could not be helped that wives who were sold to their husbands were not skilled in the ways of ‘rousing a man’s spirit’. They did not have the freedom to explore such ‘skills’ and would only learn what their husband was willing to teach them.

Her gaze shifted to the book written by Maera’s distant relative, Coryanne Wylde, resting beside her. Hoping for more practical information, she retrieved the book and placed it on her lap, her fingers carefully turning its pages in search of knowledge that could provide insights into her complex world.

Coryanne's story mirrored Maera's own in many ways. She too had been summoned to by the Targaryens as a young girl, and had been instructed to serve in the household of Princess Alysanne Targaryen, a noble task that carried great responsibility. As she read on, Maera discovered the complexities of Coryanne's situation. Her mother had urged her to serve Princess Alysanne with unwavering loyalty, as Coryanne had recently given birth to a bastard son and needed her honor restored. The weight of societal expectations and the need for redemption hung heavily in the air.

However, the narrative took a dramatic turn when Coryanne arrived at the Red Keep. Queen Alyssa and Ser Borys Baratheon, figures of power and influence, had other plans for her. They tasked her with a mission both deceitful and perilous: to seduce and bed King Jaehaerys, hoping to undo his unconsummated marriage to Princess Alysanne.

Maera couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy for all the women entangled in this complex web of courtly intrigue. Their stories served as stark reminders of the manipulative nature of the court, where personal desires often collided with the greater ambitions of those in power.

As Maera continued to read Coryanne's tale, she found herself drawn into the audacious gambit the young woman had embarked upon. Coryanne had been tasked with a daunting mission, and she approached it with unwavering determination. One fateful night, she mustered her courage and made her way to King Jaehaerys' chambers, fully intent on seducing him to fulfill her orders. However, fate had other plans.

At the door to the king's chambers, she encountered a vigilant Kingsguard, a man whose loyalty to his duty surpassed any allure of courtly intrigue. Coryanne's vivid description painted a picture of the knight: tall, lean, with blonde hair and piercing brown eyes. His stubborn nature and unwavering commitment to his role made him an insurmountable obstacle for Coryanne. Despite her attempts to persuade the knight, he remained steadfast, refusing to grant her entry or compromise his duty to protect the king’s marriage.

Undeterred and driven by her mission, Coryanne devised a daring plan. She lured the vigilant Kingsguard away from his post, leading him down a narrow and secluded corridor, far from the prying eyes of onlookers. In the darkness, Coryanne bestowed seductive whisper and lingering touches on the Kingsguard. The knight had remained celibate in his vows but clearly experienced urges, obvious by the stiffness displayed in his trousers. The touch of her hand trailed down until she reached the waistband his trousers, dipping under the fabric to take his cock in her hand, causing the knight to gasp.

The author then detailed how she kneeled before the knights, the position giving the man the illusion that he held the power in that moment. She pulled his member out of his trousers, wrapping her her hand around the base before gently taking it in her mouth. Maera’s own mouth fell open at the revelation, a blush tingeing her face with embarrassment and excitement, unconsciously rubbing her thighs together as she pictured herself on her knees before the One-Eyed Prince.

The tale continued with the knight reaching his peak through the stimulation from Coryanne, spilling his seed on her chest, a look of pure ecstasy over his face. The author stated she then grabbed a piece of the Kingsguard’s cloak and wiping the hot white liquid from her chest, before returning to stand and simply walking away. Lady Coryanne then returned the following night to see the same knight guarding the room and once again asked him to grant her entry to King Jaehaerys’ chambers, with the promise of performing the same act on him as she did the knight before. The knight eagerly agreed and secretly opened the doors for her.

And even though Coryanne had grown close with Princess Alysanne and could not complete her mission of seducing the King, she detailed the importance of how she had gained power over the Kingsguard to achieve her desired outcome, leaving Maera captivated by her relative’s resourcefulness.

Coryanne ended the tale with a final paragraph. ‘The men of this world think they are in control, that they maintain power over the realm and the women that dwell within. Let them think that. Women cannot only sway their men with their tears, but by allowing their men to crave their hands, mouths and cunt. It is a skill that requires practice but can come easily. Only then can a woman assert herself over a man and finally take control.’

Maera closed the book, a smug smile of disbelief on her face. She felt better, reassured even, by the author’s words. She now knew that she could gain power and control using her feminine prowess against Aemond. And as she placed the books and scrolls underneath her bed, blowing out her remaining candles and laying back on her pillows, she finally concluded how she would repay the Prince upon his return.

Notes: I am uploading like nobody’s business this week 🤣

Tags: @watercolorskyy @blue-serendipity @manipulatixe @marvelescvpe @shesjustanothergeek @grungegrrrl

Thank you so much for reading! Comments, feedback, likes, and reblogs are greatly appreciated 🖤

[ajzan]

I kinda wish there was an adaptation of Avengers that acknowledges Dr Donald Blake the disabled surgeon as Thor’s alter ego. Oh, the possibilities!

1. His origin would be like this: after Thor the thunder-god “died” in battle due to being way too cocky for his own good, Odin transferred his soul to be reborn on Earth and learn some humility in the meantime. Like in some of isekai anime, Don Blake initially doesn’t remember his past life up until the moment he finds Mjolnir disguised as rustic cane in a Norwegian cave (like in Journey into Mystery #83,1962). After some consideration he decides to stay on Earth as its protector while also keeping his job as the doctor/surgeon and helping humans that way, too.

2. Some time after he joins Avengers, Tony Stark enters the kitchen to say good morning to the team’s two biggest powerhouses and it’s 2 disheveled looking, scrawny looking doctors eating toast by the counter. When in civilian forms, Don and Bruce are good friends with only hints of rivalry their other identities have and Don being first to interfere if there is a possibility of the Hulk coming out at an inappropriate time.

3. At the Avengers Tower Thor trains in both forms. As Don Blake he focuses mostly on hand-to-hand combat that minimizes the strain put on his bad leg as well as fighting with his cane without turning it into the mighty mallet.

4. As Thor, he still lets his second identity as a doctor slip a little. Among other things he always carries with him some lollipops and themed band aids (in a small first aid kit he carries attached to his belt) for kids he rescues, performs CPR or first aid if needed (and being very cautious at to not accidentally use too much strength) and assists first responders or keeps them safe on duty in crisis. Once Thor even helps deliver a healthy baby when the woman he just rescued went into labor.

5. After a while other Avengers got used to seeing the god of thunder casually talking with the master of mystic arts (Dr Strange) about complicated surgical procedures and similar stuff. They both also become something of the team’s moms, always making sure others eat healthy and have enough sleep.

6. When Hawkeye starts complaining about seemingly endless hordes of enemy’s robots attacking them, Thor sarcastically asks if he was ever at the ER during New Year’s Eve. On another occasion, when Thor is removing a metal shard from Clint’s leg, the Thunderer states this isn’t the worst worst thing he had to pull out from someone and at least Clint didn’t put this there himself. Let’s just say Hawkeye is both tempted and too afraid to ask for details.

[torturedpoetsofpemberley]

These two memes capture the enemies-to-lovers and somewhat feminist trope in Pride and Prejudice, themes I specifically wanted to talk about after observing the version we saw in Special Collections. Pride and Prejudice can be argued to be the original enemies to lovers stories and feminist stories, with the opening line reading, "It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife." But in fact, the line is meant to be satire and is trying to communicate the opposite of what it means. In fact, at this time, it is women and their families who are seeking rich husbands and have agency in this situation. Furthermore, a "well-off" single man is not seeking a wife, but in his neighbors' eyes, he “must” or has to be seeking one, because they need him to be.

As we continue to read, we are introduced to Elizabeth Bennett—arguably one of the most feminist heroines of her time. While women were expected to embody passivity and charm, Elizabeth stands as a sharp contrast. She's independent, bold, and unafraid to challenge the expectations of her gender. Her walk through the mud to see her sister demonstrates her disregard for superficial standards of propriety, and her refusal of not one, but two marriage proposals, is a radical statement of agency. The moment she overhears Darcy belittling her at the ball is a turning point, but instead of wilting like many heroines of the time would, Elizabeth steels herself. Her declaration that Darcy is the last man she'd ever marry isn’t just a personal affront—it’s a rejection of the very societal forces that dictate a woman's worth by her marriage prospects. This is what makes the enemies-to-lovers trope in Pride and Prejudice so compelling. Elizabeth’s refusal to conform to expectations and Darcy’s eventual growth and humility build a romance based on mutual respect, not domination or submission. Darcy’s growth, in turn, is essential to the evolution of their relationship. His initial pride and entitlement are slowly eroded as he begins to realize that his wealth and status do not entitle him to Elizabeth’s love—or anyone’s, for that matter. His journey from arrogance to humility mirrors Elizabeth’s own determination to maintain her integrity. It is only once Darcy humbles himself—by addressing his pride, making amends for the wrongs he’s done, and learning to respect Elizabeth’s independence—that their relationship can truly begin. So the romance, comedy, and heartbreak in this story is so touching to the soul, but more importantly, it is one of the few stories of the time in which the romance is built on respect and not personal gain. This subversion of traditional gender dynamics—where the woman’s value isn’t measured by her ability to secure a wealthy husband, but by her wit, integrity, and independence—makes Pride and Prejudice a romantic and a somewhat feminist narrative.

I indicate that Pride and Prejudice is not entirely feminist, as there is still some unintentional support for traditional gender norms and expectations through the emphasis of the female dependence on marriage, portraying characters like Mrs. Bennett as representations of insanity, revealing the results of female disobedience, and restricting women’s options and ambitions.

[orthodoxydaily]

SAINTS&READING: TUESDAY SATURDAY 24, 2024

september 11_september 24

VENERABLE THEODORA OF ALEXANDRIA (490).

Saint Theodora of Alexandria and her husband lived in Alexandria. Love and harmony ruled in their family, and this was hateful to the Enemy of salvation. Goaded on by the devil, a certain rich man was captivated by the youthful beauty of Theodora. He began with all his abilities to lead her into adultery, but for a long time, he was unsuccessful. Then he bribed a woman of loose morals, who led the unassuming Theodora astray by saying that a secret sin, which the sun does not see, is also unknown to God.

Theodora betrayed her husband, but soon came to her senses and realizing the seriousness of her fall, she became furious with herself, slapping herself on the face and tearing at her hair. Her conscience gave her no peace, and Theodora went to a renowned abbess and told her about her transgression. The abbess, seeing the repentance of the young woman, spoke to her of God’s forgiveness and reminded her of the sinful woman in the Gospel, who washed the feet of Christ with her tears and received from Him forgiveness of her sins. In hope of the mercy of God, Theodora said: “I believe my God, and from now on, I shall not commit such a sin, and I will strive to atone for my deed.”

At that moment Saint Theodora resolved to go off to a monastery to purify herself by labor and by prayer. She left her home secretly, and dressing herself in men’s clothes, she went to a men’s monastery, since she feared that her husband would find her in a women’s monastery.

The igumen of the monastery, in order to test the resolve of the newcomer, would not even bless her to enter the courtyard. Saint Theodora spent the night at the gates. In the morning, she fell down at the knees of the igumen, and said her name was Theodore from Alexandria, and entreated him to let her remain at the monastery for repentance and monastic labors. Seeing the sincere intent of the newcomer, the igumen consented.

Even the experienced monks were amazed at Theodora’s all-night prayers on bended knee, her humility, endurance and self-denial. The saint labored at the monastery for eight years. Her body, once defiled by adultery, now became a vessel of the grace of God and a receptacle of the Holy Spirit.

Once, the saint was sent to Alexandria to buy provisions. After blessing her for the journey, the igumen indicated that in case of a delay, she should stay over at the Enata monastery, which was on the way. Also staying at the guest house of the Enata monastery was the daughter of its igumen. She had come to visit with her father. Attracted by the comeliness of the young monk, she tried to seduce the monk Theodore into the sin of fornication, not knowing that it was a woman standing before her. Meeting with refusal, she committed sin with another guest and became pregnant. Meanwhile, the saint bought the food and returned to her own monastery.

After a certain while the father of the shameless girl, realizing that a transgression had occurred, began to question his daughter about the father of the child. The girl indicated that it was the monk Theodore. The father at once reported it to the Superior of the monastery where Saint Theodora labored in asceticism. The igumen summoned the saint and repeated the accusation. The saint firmly replied: “As God is my witness, I did not do this.” The igumen, knowing of Theodore’s purity and holiness of life, did not believe the accusation.

When the girl gave birth, the Enata monks brought the infant to the monastery where the ascetic lived, and began to reproach its monks for an unchaste life. But this time even the igumen believed the slanderous accusation and became angry at the innocent Theodore. They entrusted the infant into the care of the saint and threw her out of the monastery in disgrace.

The saint humbly submitted to this new trial, seeing in it the expiation of her former sin. She settled with the child not far from the monastery in a hut. Shepherds, out of pity, gave her milk for the infant, and the saint herself ate only wild vegetables.

Bearing her misfortune, the holy ascetic spent seven years in banishment. Finally, at the request of the monks, the igumen allowed her to return to the monastery with the child, and in seclusion she spent two years instructing the child.

The igumen of the monastery received a revelation from God that the sin of the monk Theodore was forgiven. The grace of God dwelt upon the monk Theodore, and soon all the monks began to witness to the signs worked through the prayers of the saint.

Once, during a drought, all the wells dried up. The igumen said to the brethren that only Theodore would be able to reverse the misfortune. Having summoned the saint, the igumen bade her to bring forth water, and the water in the well did not dry up afterwards. The humble Theodore said that the miracle was worked through the prayer and faith of the igumen.

Before her death, Saint Theodora shut herself in her cell with the child and instructed him to love God above all things. She told him to obey the igumen and the brethren, to preserve tranquility, to be meek and without malice, to avoid obscenity and silliness, to love non-covetousness, and not to neglect their communal prayer. After this, she prayed and, for the last time, she asked the Lord to forgive her sins. The child also prayed together with her. Soon the words of prayer faded from the lips of the ascetic, and she peacefully departed to a better world.

The Lord revealed to the igumen the spiritual accomplishments of the saint, and also her secret. The igumen, in order to remove any dishonor from the deceased, in the presence of the igumen and brethren of the Enata monastery, told of his vision and uncovered the bosom of the saint as proof.

The Enata igumen and brethren shrank back in terror at their great transgression. Falling before the saint's body, they cried and asked for Saint Theodora's forgiveness. News of Saint Theodora reached her former husband. He received monastic tonsure at the same monastery where his wife had been. The child, raised by the nun, also followed in the footsteps of his foster mother. Afterward, he became an igumen of this very monastery.

VENERABLE PAPHNUTIUS, THE CONFESSOR, BISHOP IN THE EGYPTIAN THEBAID (4th.C.)

Paphnutius of Thebes, also known as Paphnutius the Confessor, was a dubiously historical early Christian figure. He is said to have been a disciple of Anthony the Great and a bishop of a city in the Upper Thebaid in the early fourth century. Some consider him a prominent member of the First Council of Nicaea, which took place in 325. Neither the name of his see nor the precise date of his death are known.

Paphnutius, an Egyptian, was a disciple of Saint Anthony the Great and later a city bishop in the Upper Thebaid in the early fourth century. He had been persecuted for his Christian beliefs and hamstrung on the left side. He suffered the loss of his right eye for the Faith under Emperor Maximinus and was subsequently condemned to the mines.[1] According to some reports, at the First Council of Nicaea, he was greatly honored by Constantine the Great.

Paphnutius was present at the First Ecumenical Council, which took up the subject of clerical celibacy. It seems that most of the bishops present were disposed to follow the precedent of the Council of Elvira prohibiting conjugal relations to those bishops, priests, deacons, and sub-deacons who were married before ordination. Paphnutius, so certain ancient authors tell us, earnestly entreated his fellow bishops not to impose this obligation on the orders of the clergy concerned. He proposed, in accordance "with the ancient tradition of the Church", that only those who were celibates at the time of ordination should continue to observe continence, but, on the other hand, that "none should be separated from her, to whom, while yet unordained, he had been united".[2] The great veneration in which he was held and the well-known fact that he had observed the strictest chastity all his life gave weight to his proposal, which was later unanimously adopted. The council left it to the discretion of the married clergy to continue or discontinue their marital relations. In addition, Paphnutius was a zealous defender of orthodoxy in the face of the Arian heresy.

Galatians 5:22-6:2

22 But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, longsuffering, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, 23 gentleness, self-control. Against such there is no law. 24 And those who are Christ's have crucified the flesh with its passions and desires. 25 If we live in the Spirit, let us also walk in the Spirit. 26 Let us not become conceited, provoking one another, envying one another.

1 Brethren, if a man is overtaken in any trespass, you who are spiritual restore such a one in a spirit of gentleness, considering yourself lest you also be tempted. 2 Bear one another's burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ.

Luke 6:17-23

17 And He came down with them and stood on a level place with a crowd of His disciples and a great multitude of people from all Judea and Jerusalem, and from the seacoast of Tyre and Sidon, who came to hear Him and be healed of their diseases, 18 as well as those who were tormented with unclean spirits. And they were healed. 19 And the whole multitude sought to touch Him, for power went out from Him and healed them all. 20 Then He lifted up His eyes toward His disciples, and said: Blessed are you poor, For yours is the kingdom of God. 21 Blessed are you who hunger now, For you shall be filled. Blessed are you who weep now, For you shall laugh. 22 Blessed are you when men hate you, And when they exclude you, And revile you, and cast out your name as evil, For the Son of Man's sake. 23 Rejoice in that day and leap for joy! For indeed your reward is great in heaven, For in like manner their fathers did to the prophets.

[scribeforchrist-blog]

What Is It ?

MEMORY VERSE OF THE WEEK

=========================

+ Ephesians 4:2 With all humility and gentleness, with patience, bearing with one another in love,

=========================

VERSE OF THE DAY

========================

+ Exodus 16:4 Then the Lord said to Moses, “I will rain down bread from heaven for you. The people are to go out each day and gather enough for that day. In this way I will test them and see whether they will follow my instructions.

=========================

** SAY THIS BEFORE YOU READ; HERE’S SOME CHRISTIAN TRUTHS **

I AM CONTENT

I AM LISTENING TO GOD

I AM LOVING

I AM FULLY INVESTED IN GOD

********************************

THOUGHTS:

=======================

   Do we always follow God's instructions? Do we always allow him to guide our lives even if we desperately need something, even if what we need is right there? Do we do exactly what he says, or do we wait on him and hear him? Sometimes we don’t because we are like, God will understand and he will, but when God gives us instruction to do this or that for a reason, and sometimes he's waiting to see what we will do, will we hold on to the little instructions or will we ignore him and do exactly what we want to do.

   I can tell you that I have had moments where I had the opportunity to have more. Still, God said to do this and that, and I had to choose: will I do what I like, or will I do what He wants? When I gave my life to God, he asked me to remove this person from my life because they were hindering my growth, and I prayed and prayed because I wasn’t ready to let go of this person. I still tried to fit them into my life and make it right, but the more they stayed around, the more I realized they were unsuitable for my life with Christ.

   I removed this person, and the enemy kept telling me I needed them, and at that moment I felt like I did. The Holy Spirit showed me immediately, why he said they didn’t need to be there. If I can be transparent, that was a tough season in my life. Still, I made it through because I did exactly what he wanted; sometimes, when we do what we want, we cause ourselves to have more hardship and more problems than what is needed, but when we follow God and listen to his instructions, we learn His way is always what's best.

  Verse 6 So Moses and Aaron said to all the Israelites, “In the evening you will know that it was the Lord who brought you out of Egypt,

 From verses 6-9, God tells them I heard your grumbling. I heard what you wanted, but who will you complain to grumble? We talked about his the other week about how when we grumble quenches the Holy Spirit, it doesn’t make him want to be around us, but God heard their complaints and let them know I will take care of you, that’s why if we have a man or woman of God in our lives we must listen to them and not rebuttal against them at every turn, that’s what Moses dealt with, with the Israelites they didn’t want to listen to him and nor did they care to listen to God. Hence, they fussed and complained until they got their way.

  Verse 15-16 When the Israelites saw it, they asked each other, “What is it?” For they did not know what it was. Moses said to them, “It is the bread the Lord has given you to eat. 16 “This is what the Lord has commanded: ‘Everyone is to gather as much as they need. Take an omer for each person you have in your tent.’ 

      Sometimes, when God blesses us with what he wants us to have, it won't look like what we want; the Israelites said what is this?? Some of us have been blessed now, and we are like, what is this? This isn’t the guy I wanted; I wanted him to be tall; this isn’t the ministry I wanted, I wanted to teach; this isn’t the job I wanted; I wanted an office job, and the words come right out of our mouth, what is this and he's saying this is what I want you to have, what he wants for us is what's best for us what he gives us will sustain us will help us will provide. Still, sometimes, we look at what something looks like and do not want what God has provided for us, and we should be content. Are you content? Are you asking what is it ??

 Verse 17, the Israelites did as they were told; some gathered much, some little. 18 When they measured it by the omer, the one who gathered much did not have too much, and the one who gathered little did not have too little. Everyone had gathered just as much as they needed.

   Some did exactly what God wanted; some got too much, and some got too little. See, we must listen to God. It might seem like it's too much or that we shouldn’t do this or that, but whatever God tells us to do, we must listen to him and not our thoughts.

 Are you still thinking about what it is? Why didn’t I get what I wanted? Maybe what we wanted didn’t fit the situation; look at me. What I wanted to stay wasn’t what God wanted. I had every opportunity to do what I wanted, but I did what God wanted and what he wanted, which hurt. I'm not going to lie to you: sometimes, when we do what he wants, it's going to hurt, it's going to make us feel a certain way, but we must place that

hurt on the side, we must place that emotion to the side and do what he wants of us.

   Jesus had emotions; he felt anger, but he didn’t sin; he felt sadness but he didn’t let his emotions break. The journey he was on, and we are all on a journey, but what is your journey saying? No better yet, what is God saying to you right now? Is it to stay? Is it to go? Is it listen? Whatever he’s telling you, don’t say what is it . Don’t say what is this you gave me. Say, thank you, God, for what you gave me and for giving me the right heart. We can’t allow our emotions to always steer us in the direction we want, and we can’t let situations do it, but you know what we can do: allow God to guide us through it and hear him.

   ***Today, the Holy Spirit showed us that what’s in our lives is out there and what he’s trying to take out; whatever God gave us, we can’t sit back and say what is it ; we must wait for instructions and follow ,what was one of the problems with the Israelites they wanted was, what they wanted ,but they wanted God to give it to them but what God is trying to give us, is more of what fits his will. Still, many of us are so fixated on what we want that we miss our blessing, and when we do this, we grieve the Holy Spirit with grumbling.

  The Holy Spirit teaches us daily that if we are willing to listen, life isn’t just a once-a-week journey; it’s an everyday journey filled with change, and we must be willing to walk in those changes. We must be willing to hear him, and the blessing God has for us could be held up by the grumbling, by the way, we dismiss what he’s doing now; some of us don’t have what we want because we are too busy searching for Gods voice in other things when he spoke to us but we are ignoring Him because we are too busy saying WHAT IS IT, stop saying this and say God what do you need from me in this season at this moment in this journey today! ©Seer~ Prophetess Lee

========================

PRAYER

========================

Heavenly Father, we thank you for everything and for giving us what you have given us. Father, today, we are asking what do you need from us. We are asking you to help change how we look at things, help us look at you, and help us stay focused on you! Lord, we love you and ask you to forgive us if we are grumbling; forgive us if we aren’t content. Lord, help us to be content with your blessing and help us to hear you right now, in Jesus Name, Amen

========================

REFERENCES

========================

+ Luke 12:15 He told them, “Take care, and be on your guard against all covetousness, for one's life does not consist in the abundance of his possessions.”

 

+ 1 Timothy 6:6 But godliness with contentment is great gain,

 

+ Matthew 6:33 But seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be added to you.

========================

FURTHER READINGS

=========================

Proverbs 21

2 Corinthians 10

Hebrews 2

Leviticus 21

=========================