#mêlées

[dfartproject]

Audrey Jeamart🔻 II etait plus que temps de vous #montrer cette #série, #Abîmés #Nacrés, que j'ai #exposée à la @lagonnoir.librairie l'hiver dernier. Une série que j'affectionne énormément, #mélange de #coquillages et de #femmes, #volutes #mêlées, #formes enlacées. * * * * * #collage#pariscollagecollective#rippedpaper#an alogcollage#handmadecollage#collagewave#coll ageartist#collageoftheday#collageartwork#colla ge_creatives#bnwcollage#shell#contemporaryar #contemporaryartist#vintagepaper#vintagepapercollage (at Paris, France) https://www.instagram.com/p/CoF6Np-LPsn/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[illustratus]

Nelson in conflict with a Spanish launch, 3 July 1797

[arcanetrivia]

Artist's website (original sold)

Nautical Twilght -  Mia Bergeron ,  2023.

American, b. 1979  -

Small color oil on flat panel , 5 x 7 in.

[sigalrm]

To and fro by Pascal Volk

[arcanetrivia]

Note: Long image is long but very narrow. Tumblr has reduced it to "only" about 3000 pixels tall, but it might stretch the width and make it look blurry depending on exactly how you're viewing it. If so, I encourage you to click on it to better see it, or on the source link if you want to see its full glory of 25.5k or even 51k (yes 51,000) pixels tall.

The Secret! ANSI art by Mr.R0b070 of Hermanas del Perro Magnético

[boulebilderberlin]

[milfsloverblog]

Oooh. How about a fic where the reader gives Brienne her favor at every melee and Brienne is just clueless

Tokens of Devotion

Brienne of Tarth x Fem!reader

A/N: I started writing this so many weeks ago, sorry it took so long anon! I hope you’ll enjoy what I did with your request, it was a lovely idea!!<3

Brienne could hardly believe it the first time she’d seen you waving a ribbon at her, calling her name in the hope of catching her attention.

“Me?” She mouthed, pointing at her breastplate.

“Yes, you!” You nodded and waved the blue ribbon more vigorously.

The woman hesitated. What if this was some sort of sick joke? What if once she’d get close to you, the whole crowd started laughing at how much of an imbecile she was for thinking a lady would ever give her, Brienne the Beauty, her favour.

“Please!” You insisted, knowing the mêlée was about to start.

After a few more seconds of hesitancy, Brienne eventually made her way to you. She kept her head up and her shoulders straight, readying herself for the inevitable mockery.

“Thank you,” you said when she was finally close enough. “For a second I thought I would have to give my favour to another knight…And I really did not want to.”

The tall woman dared to look at you then and the beauty of her features nearly made the ribbon slip from in-between your fingers. It took everything within you to tear your eyes away from her face and tie your favour to her pauldron.

“I should be the one thanking you, my lady. I will fight for your honour.” The blonde said, letting her eyes roam on your face while you looked down at your working hands.

You knew it was simply a polite way to address you, but your heart fluttered anyway. Oh, to be her lady.

Your fingers lingered on the steel of her armour for a couple of seconds too long before you eventually pulled away.

“May it bring you luck.” You gestured to the ribbon.

“It already did.” Brienne said, giving you an awkward nod before walking away back to the field, her heart beating loudly inside her rib cage. Her very first favour. She would carry it proudly, and she would make sure to be victorious.

The mêlée lasted for over an hour, men falling left and right, some being disarmed and others simply yielding to their opponent.

“Yield!” Brienne barked at the last man standing, still firmly holding her sword in front of her.

It had been the two of them for a moment now, Brienne’s muscles burning and begging the knight to let go of her sword. But she wouldn’t give up, she didn’t want to disappoint the lady in the crowd who was rooting for her.

“I yield.” The knight spat the words out after another couple of minutes, being too exhausted to keep fighting even if it meant losing to a woman.

You loudly cheered when Brienne was announced victorious, louder than anyone else in the crowd did. Butterflies bloomed in your stomach at the thought that maybe your favour had given her the strength to win. Not that you doubted she would have won anyway.

Brienne removed her gauntlets and her helmet, slicking her short blonde hair back before she made her way over to you again.

“I knew you would be victorious!” You said excitedly, your fingers fidgeting with the fabric of your dress to prevent them from reaching for the tall woman.

“Well, I had to fight for both your honour and mine, didn’t I?” Brienne pushed a shy smile and offered you her hand to shake. “Thank you, my lady.”

“Thank you, Brienne of Tarth.” You smiled and gently grabbed her hand, bringing it to your lips to press a kiss on it instead of going for a simple handshake.

Brienne was left at a loss for words, her cheeks taking a pinkish colour as you let go of her hand. No one had ever done that before, certainly not a woman.

“Well, I suppose there will be people waiting to celebrate with you at the tavern. Until we meet again!” You winked at the knight, disappearing into the crowd before she could say anything else.

Brienne stood there for another minute, dumbfounded by the whole scene that had just happened until she was practically dragged to the tavern to celebrate.

She found that drinking did not help to forget the feeling of your lips on her hand, if anything it only made it worse.

When she showed up to the next melee a month later, Brienne wasn't expecting to see you. Not that she wasn't wishing to see you again; she simply didn't think you would come back for her. Why would you?

How wrong she was, she realised when she heard the familiar voice calling her name. There you were, a smile that reached your ears as you waved something that, from afar, looked like a piece of fabric.

Four long strides were enough for Brienne to be standing right in front of you, your heart once again starting to beat uncontrollably fast when you noticed that your previous favour was still tied to her armour.

“Well, will you start collecting my favours then?” You joked, showing her the piece of fabric that you were holding.

Brienne looked away for a second, desperately trying to hide the blush on her cheeks. She had thought about removing the ribbon from her pauldron, but couldn’t find the courage to do it. Not when she was reminded of your face every time she’d look at it.

“It was only a joke. Although I would not mind seeing a collection of favours on your armour. Only mine, though, or I might get jealous.” You smiled at the blonde. “Will you accept my favour, Brienne of Tarth?”

“Of course, how could anyone decline such an offer?” She nodded and took another step closer. Looking down at your hands she noticed that the piece of fabric matched your dress, raising an eyebrow to silently question you.

“I lost my ribbon on the way here.” You admitted. “So I ripped a piece of my dress.”

“My lady, you didn’t have to! You shouldn’t have!”

“Oh, but I wanted to.” You looked up into her blue eyes and pushed a soft smile.

Have you ever been told how beautiful you are, you wanted to ask, how looking into your eyes feels like swimming in Tarth’s sapphire water?

“The mêlée is about to begin, my lady.” Brienne snapped you out of your thoughts, her hand gently wrapping around yours.

“Yes, yes of course. I apologise, I was…” You shook your head and chose not to finish your sentence.

You quickly tied the piece of fabric to her pauldron, right next to your previous favour. And it felt right, seeing a piece of your dress on her armour, knowing that you two were now matching.

“Think of me.” You whispered and let go of her before taking a step back.

Brienne swallowed thickly and quickly walked back to the battlefield, her mind filled with nothing but thoughts of you. She wondered for a second if you had cast a spell on her, if the ribbon and fabric tied to her armour were enchanted with a love spell.

The woman was brought back to reality by the tip of an opponent’s sword nearly poking her breastplate. She quickly parried the sword away, moving swiftly to avoid a counterattack.

You watched her fight for what seemed to be hours, cheering every time she landed a successful strike or avoided a blow. It almost looked like a perfectly rehearsed dance, the way she moved around effortlessly.

You could only imagine what she looked like under her helmet as she fought, snarling and groaning from all the effort. Your mind wandered and for a second you imagined her on top of you, groaning and sweating from another kind of effort.

It was only a silly girl crush, something that would pass in no time. At least you hoped it was. You’d heard about the rumours saying Brienne had had some sort of intimate relationship with Jaime Lannister. You knew you could never compare to the most handsome man in Westeros, if he was her type, you simply had no chance with her. It was only a silly girl crush anyway, it would pass in no time.

You were lost in your thoughts when Brienne was declared victorious, the crowd loudly cheering for her.

The knight removed her helmet and immediately turned to look at you, her eyebrows knitting together when she couldn’t find your face anywhere in the crowd.

-

“So, Brienne, tell us about the girl?” Tyrion asked, taking a sip of his drink.

“What girl?” Brienne huffed a little too defensively.

“The girl.” He insisted. “Don’t act like you have no idea what I’m talking about, you’ve been fidgeting with that piece of fabric since we’ve sat down.” He said, pointing at the favour on her pauldron.

“I’m not having this conversation with you.”

“Is it about my brother?” Tyrion smirked.

“Tyrion-“ Brienne warned him but to no avail.

“Oh come on! He chose Cersei’s cunt, you will have to get over it someday.” He shrugged.

“Shut your mouth!” Brienne barked and slammed her hand on the table, the whole tavern going quiet for a couple of seconds. “This has nothing to do with Jaime. I don’t know what you think you saw about that girl and me. Nothing is going on.”

“Oh, really? Is that why she always is the loudest cheer in the crowd? Or why she is the one you immediately looked for after your victory?” Tyrion cocked an eyebrow.

“I said I would not be having this conversation with you.” The tall woman hissed and emptied her cup before storming out of the tavern.

She almost felt like ripping the ribbon and fabric from her armour right there and then, grabbing them and being about to yank them off when she suddenly remembered how bright your smile was every time she’d acknowledged you.

She didn’t want to feel these things again, not after Jaime. She never wanted to feel these things again, and yet...

Love, what a disease.

“Brienne?” The tall woman’s back immediately straightened when she heard her name being called.

“My lady…” She turned around, her hand still firmly gripping your favours.

“Are you alright? You look…upset?” You took a step closer, gently wrapping your hand around hers. It was almost comical how small yours looked next to hers. “Would you like me to take these off for you?”

“No, no, I-“ Brienne closed her eyes for a second and took a deep breath. “Why are you doing this?” She asked looking at you.

“I’m sorry?” You frowned, confusion painting your features.

“This,” she said. “Acting like you care. Acting nice. How long will you keep the joke going? How long until you admit that you’ve been taking the piss out of me?!”

“Taking the piss out of-“ You huffed loudly. “You think I’ve been mocking you? Why on earth would I do that?! Why would I rip a piece of my most beautiful dress to give you as a favour? All for a joke?!”

“If not for a joke, then why?!” You could hear the pain in her voice, how it slightly trembled no matter how hard she tried to keep her composure.

“Because I like you.” You admitted in a whisper. “And I’m no Jaime Lannister, I’m no prettiest woman in Westeros, I’ve got nothing to offer you but those silly little favours. Those, and my devotion. I would never, ever be cruel to you.”

You barely had time to register Brienne’s hand cupping your cheek and pulling you into the softest kiss, her body trembling as if she was still fearing that this was all a joke. So you kissed her back with all you had, arms thrown around her neck to hold her close.

“It’s enough,” Brienne whispered when she pulled away, her forehead pressed against yours. “Those silly little favours and your devotion, it would be more than enough.”

“Good.” You smiled, taking her hand in yours. “How about we share a drink, mh? To celebrate your victory.”

Brienne nodded, her fingers intertwining with yours as she led you back to the tavern, holding the door open to let you in.

Tyrion grinned like the right imbecile he was when you sat down in front of him with Brienne. He introduced himself before turning to look at the woman by your side.

“Much more pretty than Jaime, if you ask me.” He smirked and pointed his chin at you.

You saw Brienne nod in agreement and looked down to hide the blush creeping on your cheeks.

Isn’t it crazy, you thought as you fidgeted with the ripped fabric of your dress, what those little tokens of devotion could lead to?

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Fighting

Any words related to fighting outside hit, punch, kick, cut, gut, slice?

Bastinado - to subject to repeated blows

Batter - to beat with successive blows so as to bruise, shatter, or demolish

Bludgeon - to hit with heavy impact

Calcitrate - archaic: kick

Clobber - to pound mercilessly; to hit with force

Combat - to fight with; battle

Cudgel - to beat with or as if with a short heavy club

Drub - to beat severely

Flog - to beat with or as if with a rod or whip

Fracas - a noisy quarrel; brawl

Grapple - to grasp with the hands; wrestle

Hector - to intimidate or harass by bluster or personal pressure

Incise - to cut into

Lambaste - to assault violently; beat, whip

Larrup - to flog soundly; whip

Maim - to mutilate, disfigure or wound seriously

Mangle - to injure with deep disfiguring wounds by cutting, tearing, or crushing

Mêlée - a confused struggle; especially: a hand-to-hand fight among several people

Mutilation - an act or instance of destroying, removing, or severely damaging a limb or other body part of a person or animal

Oppugn - to fight against

Pummel - pound, beat

Rive - to wrench open or tear apart or to pieces; rend; to split with force or violence

Ruckus - a noisy fight or disturbance : row, commotion

Scrimmage - a confused fight; scuffle

Scuffle - to struggle at close quarters with disorder and confusion

Spar - skirmish, wrangle; a movement of offense or defense in boxing

Stamp - to strike or beat forcibly with the bottom of the foot

Thump - to strike or beat with or as if with something thick or heavy so as to cause a dull sound

Thwack - to strike with or as if with something flat or heavy; whack

Tussle - to struggle roughly; scuffle

Hope this helps with your writing. Do tag me, or send me a link. I'd love to read your work!

More: Word Lists ⚜ Words for your Fight Scenes

[carolinahope]

My favourite

[bumblewarden]

If one or more is dead, it's up to you whether or not you take that into account. This can also just be a theoretical "them at their steongest". Setting and conditions of the mêlée à trois are up to you, and feel free go into detail of how exactly the fight would go down!

[maiamars]

"I earned my knighthood. Nothing was given to me. I won a tourney mêlée at thirteen, when I was yet a squire. At fifteen, I rode with Ser Arthur Dayne against the Kingswood Brotherhood, and he knighted me on the battlefield. It was that white cloak that soiled me, not the other way around."

[joselito28-1]

Dans la mêlée. (In from the side)

sortie en France, février 2024.

La tension est à son comble dans un club de rugby londonien : l'équipe est à court d'argent et divisée. C'est dans ce contexte électrique qu'au cours d'une soirée arrosée, Mark, une nouvelle recrue, couche avec Warren, l'un de ses coéquipiers les plus populaires. Le problème, c'est qu'ils sont déjà tous les deux en couple. Les deux hommes doivent cacher leurs sentiments naissants en conciliant leurs propres vulnérabilités avec des démonstrations de machisme sur le terrain. Ou risquer de détruire le club qu'ils aiment.

Tensions are running high at a London rugby club: the team is strapped for cash and divided. It's against this electric backdrop that, during a drunken night out, new recruit Mark sleeps with Warren, one of his most popular teammates. The problem is, they're both already in a relationship. Both men must hide their budding feelings by reconciling their own vulnerabilities with displays of machismo on the pitch. Or risk destroying the club they love.

[lemondeabicyclette]

84 paiements égaux et consécutifs ou 84 de QI ?

Tu sais trop bien où te le mettre ton majeur. Si tu ne sais pas chauffer ton char, fais-pas chier les cycliss, câliss de pétasse. En novembre 2016, le juge Cimon de la Cour du Québec a annulé le constat d’une automobiliste qui circulait à 141 km/h dans une zone de 70 km/h sur l’autoroute 15 Sud, à Montréal.  

Ah oui, j’oubliais : Bonus Anus.

[historia-vitae-magistras]

i’d never even considered how the civil war would affect alfred during ww1, that’s a really interesting idea. would you mind expanding a bit more if you haven’t already?

fuck yes I can expand on that. TW for historic nastiness.

Okay to prelude— I don't typically do 1:1 state/gov to character but considering the cession of the south into a separate state and the US itself is the Union, my boy is in blue. In this blog's universe there is no schizophrenia or split personality or Doppelgänger or any other representation of the south. It gutted him and he lost feeling in a lot of his usual area and it severely weakened him but he represented the United States and that means union blue. And considering the north really doesn't have all that much moral leverage on the south especially in matters of racism, it's not much of a jump. If you aren't crazy about that, look away now.

So. Trench warfare. It's as old as humans bashing each other's heads in. Defensive ditches are an archaeological feature across the applicable world. But it's the American Civil War that might hold the gold medal for largest gap between how technology designed to kill had advanced spectacularly over any innovation that might save lives. I won't say deadliest because you do have the Taiping Rebellion around the same time but a lot of that was sièges and counter sieges and river based naval engagements. But anyway— rifled artillery and direct fire techniques had changed the game and soldiers were driven underground behind parapets and sandbags. Around Petersburg especially. And it's towards the end of the war when the Confederacy is increasingly desperate and hand to hand fighting is getting more common and more brutal. Entire regiments were lost in hand to hand mêlée. And if a soldier didn't die instantly, it was off to a field hospital. Guts ripped open by iron shells, lungs hanging from the tips of bayonets, wounds so infected they glowed, limbs hacked off by a surgeon who hadn't washed his hands in six days and sepsis rot so foul someone can taste it on the air even with the mouth closed. Malaria and typhoid so fucking bad the army cots would literally shake apart from how bad men shivered when the chills aspect of the fever cycle hit. I know it's fashionable right now especially on vintage fashion YouTube to say people in history weren't disgusting but like, I've been in archives for years. Yeah it fucken was. Never was medicine so far behind the ability to kill.

So Alfred's probably died a solid dozen times half of which from shitting himself because he's probably riddled with parasites. He's been shot, stabbed, slashed. Shaken, rattled and absolutely steam rolled. And the final part of his almighty trauma is this is happening just up the river from where he was born in Jamestown. Alfred is on his belly in the earth beneath the feet of the people that bore him and then rejected him, begging his Protestant God and any of his own people listening and the very earth itself to protect him, to keep him alive as shell after shell lands around him.

When every battle is over, the dead rot in piles across the fields and trenches. The famous photos of the Antietam and Gettysburg dead are days old, you can see some of the bodies had been looted. There were so many dead and so many dying that upon its tardy entrance into world war one, the US had a more coherent body management and disposal program than any other of the entente powers. Who had already been at war for nearly four years.

So yeah, in my opinion he got ten steps into a front line trench where the British and especially the French were just causally walking on bodies, he vomited so hard New York felt California rattling around in there and said fuck it. My boy was either off to cleaner pastures like Belleau Wood or the air corps. It was too much too soon and he just couldn't keep it together in those conditions. They knew what bacteria were by WW1 and he was a burgeoning world power. So he probably only went full himbo with dysentery twice in France so it wasn't as bad as his civil war flop era but oof. That smell, the screams, pressing himself into soil that is not his own yet again is too recent and too vulnerable. He can't do it again so soon.

[arcanetrivia]

Island in the Night by BenjaminLefferts on Newgrounds

(Creative Commons BY-NC-SA license)

[fave-fight]

ROUND 1, SET 23

NO MAGIC, POWERS, OR WEAPONS

Elaine Benes:

“professional hater and girlboss, i think she could kill”

“Yeah I don't think she'll do well but with all the shit she puts up with from Jerry and George and Kramer I think she deserves to let loose as a treat.”

“She wouldn't win, but she'd go down fighting. She's scrappy.”

Harley Quinn:

“she can absolutely throw hands!!”

“Harley Quinn is incredibly agile and proficient at hand-to-hand and mêlée combat.  She also has a psychology degree. She's smart enough (and vicious enough) to viciously psycho-analyse and mess up their opponent's psyche. ”

“She does very much fight people in canon”