#our bloody oath

[whistle-whisper]

[devoutjunk]

thought I was entering my annual Winter breakdown but it turns out I just needed to start MENEWOOD

[heroesneedalancer]

Post by u/DJConvex to r/AskReddit on Nov 6, 2024:

People who work in DC for the government, what is the vibe?

Comment by u/Meduselde:

Resigned. We are generally very good about not discussing politics in the workplace but the vibe was obviously off. My more conservative colleagues who were happy Trump won were extremely respectful. There wasn't smug gloating and they were very obviously being cognizant of others' feelings even more than normal. It was extremely appreciated. Ultimately, we survived the first administration and will survive again. It's not necessarily Trump who was the problem last time, but his inexperienced senior appointees. The world isn't going to end nor do I feel democracy will crumble at his feet. It's just gonna be chaotic, and that's the worst part as a worker bee. At least with Biden we had consistent leadership and clear guidance, even if you didn't agree with it. Under Trump, your "yes man" says "no" and that's how you rotate through four SECDEFs. But as a sign of hope, it also means that even the most loyal DO say "no" sometimes, especially when businessmen are finally confronted with the realities of governance.

They chill out REAL quick on their dismantlement plans when they see the work these agencies do and what's at stake if they don't stand up for their people. It's easy to say you will dissolve or cut funding for something when you do not truly understand it. And as much as people say we can ALL be magically replaced with "yes men," even the most stone-hearted appointees recognize that the last thing you ever want is to lose the entirety of your skilled workforce. They learn it's best to get the skilled people to work towards their vision and not hire enthusiastic but stupid people to attempt the same. If they do, they risk looking inept themselves. You don't get skilled federal workers in a blue portion of the country to work for you by being a fucking Nazi. We're cranky and will make your life hell if you behave like that. I'm not talking about some sort of organized resistance movement because we feel like it. That's wrong. But just imagine hundreds of thousands pissed off at you. If that's the Deep State at work, then we aspire to be the quality of swampy Deep State your racist uncle thinks we are. If implementing dictatorship was that easy, Trump would have taken out every agency his last term and fired us all. I am actually extremely proud of the resiliency and checks and balances that the American federal government has in place to prevent most of the shit he says he can achieve by waving a magic executive wand. (He's done this once. He knows he can't. He just lets the majority of the population believe he can.) Us feds will make it, as we always have.

And we will live up to our oath to serve the Constitution, not a president. We serve every official of every party faithfully within the bounds of legalities and our oath. Working for administrations you may not like it's just a part of the job that we all recognize. Public servants at the federal level generally hold that extremely close to their heart. The ones that don't (I'm talking to YOU, WaPo "informants!") put us to shame. We're just tired, man. I can't believe it has already been four years since the last round. There's going to be some waves, no doubt, and some people definitely are going to be hurt at upper levels. But grab a Twisted Tea and buckle up. We'll at least pretend it's meant to be a roller coaster and ride it. TL;Dr Democracy is not going to die. But a drink and "thanks" would go a long way.

EDIT: Woah! I woke up this morning and am surprised by how much traction this got. I'm sad that this was the most positive thing some people had read. I'm sorry it's been that bad. I am not predicting outcomes. I have no idea how it's going to go. It's going to be bloody. But the hope I am trying to get across is that we are a resilient people and a group of (generally) good people. It will be okay, okay? The people that really make or break your daily life are those around you and your local government. Hold those around you close to your heart and always be kind. Everybody go outside, take a deep breath, eat something you love, and hug your grandma (even if she voted differently). The world is still turning and the sky is still blue. Being surrounded by spiraling anger on the internet only makes us the losers, not those we disagree with. The only thing we can do right now is wait. We have a few months to cool off! Enjoy your holidays!

EDIT 2: I think everybody has forgotten about this, but go check out the memorandum signed by the Joint Chiefs of Staff at the end of Trump's first term after January 6. The feds basically said "fuck that" when people were scared that the government was going to turn the military on them to help Trump in some way. While it was specifically addressed to our armed forces members, it was spread throughout the DOD and beyond. Partially as a result of federal workers' fear (not actually ordered, to be crystal clear) that they would be asked to turn on citizens. This sentiment was echoed across the entire government via internal emails (from Trump appointees!) as well to the civilian workforce. That's one of my proudest moments as an American and why I know we will get through it.

Emphasis mine. Link to original Reddit Post. Link to an article about the aforementioned memorandum signed by the Joint Chiefs of Staff.

Don't give up. We will get through this.

[halyasgirl]

One thing I loved in season 7 is the reexamination of the Moonshadow Assassins’ oaths, culminating in Rayla preparing to give her heart (Callum) for Xadia, both of them with full understanding of the compromise and sacrifice they’re willing to make to save their world.

But I also want to highlight the reexamination of Runaan’s oath. During the original bloodribbon binding in season 1, the assassins offer up vital parts of themselves for the ideals they believe they kill for, the self-sacrifice element clear in their pledges. At first, Runaan does not appear to swear an oath himself, only officiate the ritual. But at second glance, his oath is actually the most severe: "Tonight we bind our lives to justice." Symbolically, Runaan has given up his life, and the lives of every participant in his ritual, until their mission is completed. If they cannot secure (vengeful, bloody) justice, their lives are forfeit.

But Runaan’s view of justice, and his own life, shifts with his character development. What kind of justice requires its executor to give up all they are and symbolically enter into a state of death? And what have they done, when they completely dissociate from their moral compass in service of their mission? When Runaan comes face to face with the harm he’s done, for the first time, he’s shocked. But after he reflects, realizes all the pain he’s caused, he’s remorseful, and with the support of his loved ones, he tries to make amends.

Runaan returns to Katolis not because he had to, but because he chose to. Justice will not be denied and Runaan never breaks his promises. But this is a different justice than he brought before. He offers his life, not as an agent of death, but a living, breathing person who loves and is loved. And that offer means so much more now that both he and Ezran truly understand how valuable life is.

[auspicioustidings]

https://www.tumblr.com/auspicioustidings/734619885087375360/i-cannot-write-for-shit-right-now-so-any-little

Hmmmm I’m seeing so many x single mom readers and not sure if this is something you’re even interested in BUT

Simon meeting his pretty new neighbor while she’s moving I and realizes she is either a.) heavily pregnant or b.) has a very young baby so Simon goes “hmmmm mine now :)” and helps her out a little? (Alternatively, if you don’t wanna do Simon for this, then maybe Price?)

(Also if you haven’t read @peachesofteal’s Light On fic, Simon x single mom reader, I implore if you to do so!!! It’s so good)

Peaches Light On fics, and I am being so deadass serious, give me such a flood of serotonin any time I see a new one. Everyone get your butt over there because they are the standard for single mother content as far as I am concerned!

That being said, I've put a bit of a twist on this so it's not really what you requested at all, sorry :') I could not do a similar idea to Peaches because there is nothing I can do to improve perfection!

Tactical Action

Words: 1.1k

CWs: mentions of death

“It's not a shame Price, it's fucking ridiculous.”

Simon Riley was furious looking at the paperwork. It wasn't often that TF141 kept tabs on a promising rookie so when they did he expected nothing but excellence. What he did not expect was a large ‘Early Service Leaver’ stamp over an otherwise exemplary record.

“Their brother died in that warship collision, can't blame them for wanting out.”

“My brother was murdered, I kept fucking going.”

He had met you once when Johnny had dragged him. His Sergeant was both excited and annoyed that someone had gotten the new record for the 3rd selection phase. It made sense to get some feel for you then, if you were as good at escape, evasion and tactical questioning as the test scores suggested then the 141 needed to have you on their radar because the PMCs certainly would. 

You were a determined thing, shoulders back and addressing them with just the right amount of respect. Not arrogant, but not a pushover. Soap had been talking about how much he wanted to get his hands on you the whole drive back to base because he was a horny idiot and you were a challenge he found intriguing. Simon had just rolled his eyes and added your record to the small pile in Price's office. 

He knew a little of your background. Both parents gone, one sibling in the navy. Well one sibling now KIA. He could have understood taking leave, but to quit entirely? It made him angry, he thought it was a waste of potential. Price could see how it affected him and he sighed. 

“Go talk to them then. But do not get yourself reported for harassment and intimidation Simon, if they don't want back in then we make our peace with that.”

That was all the permission he needed. He probably should have taken Soap really, someone who could be comforting and coax you back. But fuck it, you were supposed to be good under pressure so he was going to give you some hard damn advice on not bloody giving up.

–

Exhausted didn't even begin to describe how you felt. This was the hardest thing you had ever done, but you were not going to just give up. You couldn't, not with this tiny thing relying on you. 

She had never even got to meet her parents. Your brother died just before the due date in that accident and then his girlfriend had died from complications in childbirth. You had promised her you would look after their baby if anything happened, made an oath that you'd not let her parents anywhere near such an innocent little thing. 

So you were on your own with nothing but grief and exhaustion and an ever dwindling death in service payment. They would pay part of your brother's pension out each month at least for the baby, but you were terrified that it wouldn't be enough to give her a life she deserved. She certainly deserved her parents and not her fathers ill equipped sibling, but you could only do your best even with the knowledge it would never be enough. 

You flinched when there was a hard knock at the door of your flat, freezing but taking a breath when the baby remained sleeping in your arms. You needed to move at one point you knew, a flat in a bit of a rough area was fine for a soldier (ex-soldier you reminded yourself) but not so much for a baby. 

The security you had upgraded as best you could at the moment and you checked the door camera to see Lieutenant Riley. Ghost. You had met him briefly once, but what was a legend like him doing here? Shit. You knew you looked a wreck but it wasn't like you could ignore him so you opened the door, bouncing baby girl gently to keep her sleeping. 

Simon's planned tirade died the moment he saw the situation. You had a baby. Oh that changed his tirade significantly. Your marital status had listed single, so he could only assume you had gotten yourself knocked up by some casual hookup. That was unacceptable in a soldier, so bloody stupid. 

“Shit” you cursed when she woke up, heading back inside and giving him a nod of invite.

You bounced her and tried to coo at her to go back to sleep. To please God go back to sleep. You never knew what she wanted, it felt like whatever you did was always wrong. And of course then she started wailing and the Lieutenant was in your flat closing the door behind him witnessing your absolute failure to take care of a baby. 

“Oh for Christ sake, give her here.”

Simon took the baby and hoisted the little thing up onto his shoulder, rubbing hard at her back. 

“When was the last time you fed her?”

“I- well, just before you got here. 10 minutes ago maybe? Just got her to sleep.”

“Did you burp her?”

“Oh. I…” you replied, straining yourself in an attempt not to cry. “No. I forgot.”

While his eyes were sharp on you his hands and voice were gentle and soothing for the baby. He was good at this. Did he have kids? Fuck was everyone just innately good at caring for babies but you? 

“Didn't stop to think if you could take care of her before having her?” 

“She's not mine. Well I suppose she is. I'm her only living relative, or only decent one at least. I, um… that warship accident from a few months back. My brother died during it and her mum passed during the birth. I'm her legal guardian now. I'm what she has sir, it was the best tactical action given the circumstance” you said, straightening up despite your exhaustion and prolonged terror at being responsible for such an innocent little thing. 

Simon cocked his head to the side as the baby on his shoulder burped and gurgled, now trying to get back to sleep. You were still a soldier he saw then, you were fighting back your emotions to give him a report on the situation. He reevaluated after the sitrep and took a moment to find the best course of action.

“Marry me then.”

“Sir?”

“We can get it done tomorrow. Might take a bit of time to get a decent house but we'll stay in my flat until then, better area. Still going to be out on assignment a lot but any death benefit would go to you and the widows pension would set you up for life. I'm what you have rookie, it's the best tactical action.”

“Yes sir.”

[sems-diarie]

king!yuji x goddess!reader, devil!(canon)sukuna x goddess!reader. corruption, manipulation; ummm yeah 🙂‍↕️. you and sukuna are advisors to yuji’s kingship but sukuna isn’t satisfied with that and ofc wants more?? tries to get u on his teammm. idk what this is tbfr. yuji isn’t even in this i feel insane for mentioning his name so much.

“He’ll never love you, y’know?”

Your lashes flutter. If looks could kill, Ryomen Sukuna would be torn apart. He’d be decimated. The archangel you are, you take his joy in your misery to a painfully personal degree. An ode to your soul, yes—but most insurmountably, your pride. You’d tear into this foul-blooded creature with your teeth and tear his Adam’s Apple out. Eventually.

“Or maybe,” Sukuna sighs, awfully wistful and horrifically persistent. “Maybe he does love you—but never in the way you’ll need, sweet goddess.”

“You know nothing of love, arrogant lord.” Who was this over-stationed filth to scoff at you in your lovely, lonely turmoil? Your adoration for Yuji is like the archaic sky you once rolled around with him in. Vast, wondrous, free. An ancient oath calls for the blood in your heart to fall belly-first beneath Yuji’s whimsy—but just as equally his burning ambition. In return, Yuji accepts the wisdom of his goddess gratefully, gracefully—and runs forth a kingdom that adores him.

“You amount to nothing more than a pair of foul-smelling testicles.” You nearly spit at Sukuna when next addressing him. The thought is surely tempting. “How dare the filthy likes you speak so wrecklessly to me in a domain I take pleasure in owning?”

Sukuna is smooth. His tone promises your rebellion a nasty punishment. “Watch your mouth, lackey.”

Your love for Yuji is swift, blinding, cutting. Your favorite king cleaves apart something deep in your soul. He’s beared you vulnerable for all the world to see, to laugh at. Sukuna gorges himself upon your aching heart. The fall from grace is all the more devastating with no one to catch you or your tittering feathers.

You jerk back. Hard. It’s nearly a stumble; you think for a moment he’s pushed you. Pushed you. You’ll have his head—Yuji may yet have it before you.

But there Sukuna stands, yet, eyebrows raised in far more amusement than you’d like to acknowledge. Solid, and still. He hasn’t moved at all.

“Away from me, you foul, wretched, whorish, innocuous thing,” you’ve never heard yourself break such news in a voice so even, so pristine. Save a crack or two, which the demon before you eats up. Not unlike, you take note, of his four devouring eyes as they pour over you—pretty, little you, stood trembling before him. “Take your fucking nonsense to the cretinous hole that bore you.”

“We are better than that little shit,” Sukuna scowls. “Better than all of those shits—humans.”

It takes you aback, if only slightly. His pride, as it swelled in his shoulders and ached in his fingers. Even after serving Yuji for so long, Sukuna harbors still so much resentment for your king. So much envy boils in the commander’s chest for Yuji’s power, his people, his hopelessly devoted constituents You almost call him on it.

“I don’t want to upset my beloved Yuji should this spat of ours conclude bloody. I am taking my leave from you.”

“Sweet goddess, Yuji will not save you from these claws,” Sukuna promises. “Nor will he save you from my hungry mouths on your pretty little cunt. Eventually.”

“Yuji will have your tongue, again. Dirty-mouthed slut. I’ll watch with hearts in my eyes when he claws it from your jaw. How long did it take to heal last time, cursed demon?”

Sukuna bristles, mouth parted in delicious silence. You’re a harpy.

“Y’know,” you take a tone he hates. Awfully sweet, and fake. “For some all powerful, life-snuffing demon, you leave so much to be desired. So often, Sukuna, I look to you and think, How will this meathead prove to be an utter humiliation today? Why my wonderful Yuji keeps you around is cause for trial. You do nothing but take joy in this tender plight of mine. As your kind do.”

But you do know. To be king is to wage war. Ryomen sits and waits, fiends for the opportunity to take Yuji and the rest of their knightship to war. To hardwon battles, and hardwon victories.

That is precisely why renowned warlock Megumi Fushiguro was to summon the wretched Ryomen Sukuna: The kingmaker, slayer of power-hungry mongrels. Slayer of unworthy tools.

Your Yuji was no tool.

“Such venom you speak at me with,” Sukuna tuts. “I’ll have your head full of cock for that. And Yuji shall be chained to watch, just like you’ve dreamed, dear goddess—,”

Your love for Yuji builds endlessly; woefully, but thankfully, you spill it into him, with of course no crescendo in sight.

Yuji burns bright, blinding inside of you. Your pride? Is searing.

Searing like your palm as it aches in the wake of Sukuna’s ridiculously fortified jaw. You aimed lower than you’d have liked. You almost go in for another, to slam your palm right into the heart of his pretty, mirthfully dark eye. He catches your hand. Presses his thumb right into the heart of your wrist, somehow directly hitting a pressure point in your terrifically human host body.

All the strength in your body slips through your fingertips and spills through your knees. But oh, Sukuna is there to catch you—with an arm twice the size of your head wrapped firmly around your thick waist.

“Settle down. Once was fun, but twice?” His eyes narrow. “You are meant to fill gowns,” he doesn’t miss the chance to roam your body as he says it, “and play in Yuji’s crown like the good girl you want so desperately to be.”

He leans down close, nearly nudges your temple with his nose. His vessel’s body towers over you. Still, your eyes refuse to betray yourself—nor does any fear live in your heart for such gems to express so.

“Fill gowns?” You tilt your head up more. To be outdone, by a worthless curse on humanity no less, was non-negotiable. “You think your goddess not merely a whore, but a vapid one.”

“A goddess sat warm and inviting, warm-ing the cock of some pathetic king. A tale older than time, silly succubus.”

“Sat quite prettily, indeed,” you muse. “Are we reminiscing? I was there to give my king what he needed—,”

“Such disposition must be made mine,” he shrugs. “Everything in this world and thereafter is mine to take, to keep, and to shred apart. But I thrive when taking such fine treasures for myself.”

You glower. “I serve Yuji.”

“You serve Yuji?” Sukuna scoffs, venom burning through his eyes as he settles them upon you. “You serve your cunt to him on a platter, and give him the strength he’d otherwise be sorely missing.”

“A lovely, little cunt,” you interject, “that he worships in mind, body, soul—kingdom. What do you give me besides headaches and stress?”

“I found you,” Ryomen Sukuna growls, seething. Ah. There it is. The crux, the core, the spill. “I did. You’re mine, my booty—yet here your pussy is, the pussy I liberated, stretched by the minuscule cock and drenched in the impotent seed of some lowly man.”

“A king,” you correct him swiftly. “I belong to the honorable king whom of which you bestowed me to. Yuji thought me such a clever gift, he returned your sentiments with politicial asylum. He redeemed you, because of me. Something you clearly seek, despite your insatiable impulse to seek and destroy all things human.”

Half of his mouth tugs into a quick, almost impossible-to-catch smile. “Pain is the most human thing, the most raw we could ever see the humans.”

“They’re weak,” he protests further. “The brat doesn’t even know the first thing to do with you.”

“Nor did it pain you hand me over to your king,” you continue on, over his meaningless rambling and take your point home. “Ripped me from the caverns of my sweet island and dumped me onto the lap of a ruler that you.. vehemently hate.”

“I am a king. I need nothing from that boy.”

For the first time since encountering this freak, do you smile so genuinely.

“You were.”

For a few moments, Sukuna is quiet. He regards you with a silent contempt that leaves you shifting on your feet.

“Your hundreds of whores shall wet your cock exactly how you like, my lord. And I shall… comfortably aid my lovely Yuji through these turbulent times!”

“Yuji won’t love you how you need,” Sukuna guarantees. The conviction in his tone almost makes you falter as you take flight in fleeing from Sukuna’s chambers. Surely Yuji must be searching for you.

“But I will,” Sukuna rasps, “I worship the ground you walk on now, don’t I?”

You give him little regard.

“Worship it as I take my leave.”

[moonlit-hexes]

Witchcraft Practice & Disability

I have often struggled and grappled a lot with the concept of my practice being able to co-exist with my disabilities. I have been practising witchcraft since before I was made aware of my disability, but my disability sure made themselves aware throughout my practice.

From being unable to get up, plan or do Anything for major events and days, to the simple mundane task of going up to my altar and saying thanks to all my spirits. Every single task was dictated or rather, negated by my disability and my inability to function or do anything.

The only discourse for the same, is a persistent reminder of, "meditate everyday only then are you a witch," "you cannot be a witch unless you have a daily routine and do something everyday" and the list just goes on.

When will we have a collective talk about how such ideas are rooted in sheer ableism and the capitalistic idea of constantly working and being active? Rest is objectively a part of the cycle of nature, periods where we flourish and are active and others when we rest.

Why are we not allowed to extend the same to our bodies and our spirit?

And this is not to say that all spirits and deities you will be working with, will be okay with you vanishing for months on end. Unfortunately promises and oaths made to the spirits do not follow the same rules for disabilites. There are deities and your spirit team that might excuse you and give you that time, but not every spirit you make a contract or contact with are obligared for the same. They are not obligated to stay or do anything in the period that they are not being fed or given something in return. And that is okay. That is why we bite how much we can chew.

But that is in very specific situations, with very specific spirits. You are not ruining yourself or your practice by not being active for a week or for months or hell, even years.

Your disability does not make your practice "armchair witchcraft" (i really bloody hate that phrase).

You are allowed to take breaks. You are allowed to come back later. You are allowed to mourn being unable to practice when you want to. And you are allowed to ask for grace and time from your spirit team and deities.

Your practice is your own and it is horrifying how norms are policed by non-disabled, able-bodied and neurotypical witches for what they feel entitled to.

If you are one of them, clearly, this space and post are not for you. If you do not understand how people go months and years away from their practice, then this is also clearly not for you.

I want to talk more about what can be done during the major periods of breaks, and what not to do. This is not to throw shade at the posts that talk about - pulling 1 card from your bed because sometimes even the energy for that is lacking. (and that is for future posts)

We are disabled. We have needs. We will take up space. We matter.

And a special fuck you for the people who believe that taking medications will "hamper" your intuition.

I would love for other disabled witches to also share about their experiences and how they navigate these periods <3

Happy witching to you and a protective period of Samhain for your loved ones ✨🎃🍂

[ego-meliorem-esse]

He broke the Hippocratic Oath.

I am an enthusiastic "Dr. Matthew Williams" enjoyer. Him being in the medical field just makes sense. But on the other hand this good lad is so good at spotting out, aiming and shooting a rifle at the enemy that Lord Admiral Arthur Kirkland (Lord Father - derogatory) simply didn't want to hear about his bastard sons preference for healing and caring and set the boy up with a rifle as soon as he stepped foot into the trenches. And by God did the bastard excell! It took mustard gas blinding the poor lad to a point where even after he recovered, he'd still have to war glasses, AND another world war for Arthur to concede and allow him to become a medic.

Though, good things (if Matt can even have those) don't last. Especially not for this forest frenchie. Of course fate had other plans and stranded him alone in a forest with his comrades dead, and him surrounded by enemy soldiers. Our boy had to pick up his damn rifle and find his way back. Behind him a trail of left behind corpses and a bloody medic brassard buried in shallow, unfamiliar snow.

I do love a bit of drama/irony :)

[jozor-johai]

Ser Arthur and Ser Jaime, the Maiden

Jaime’s knighting by Ser Arthur is, in so many ways, Jaime’s deflowering. I did not come up with this idea on my own—credit to @mylestoyne for pointing this out first, or at least for bringing this idea to my dash—but I’ve been thinking about it for a few days now, and I wanted to do a closer examination of this idea.

It had been years since his last vigil. And I was younger then, a boy of fifteen years. He had worn no armor then, only a plain white tunic. The sept where he’d spent the night was not a third as large as any of the Great Sept’s seven transepts. Jaime had laid his sword across the Warrior’s knees, piled his armor at his feet, and knelt upon the rough stone floor before the altar. When dawn came his knees were raw and bloody. “All knights must bleed, Jaime,” Ser Arthur Dayne had said, when he saw. “Blood is the seal of our devotion.” With dawn he tapped him on the shoulder; the pale blade was so sharp that even that light touch cut through Jaime’s tunic, so he bled anew. He never felt it. A boy knelt; a knight rose. (AFFC Jaime I)

Arthur Dayne reaffirms that “blood is the seal of our devotion,” which is true for this religious vigil just as it is true for the marriage bed. A marriage that is not consummated can be annulled:

Do I need to remind you that a marriage that has not been consummated can be set aside? (ASOS Tyrion IV)

Therefore, the revealing of the bloody sheet after a bedding is proof that the oath of marriage has been matched by a blood oath:

“Did you chance to see the marriage bed the morning after?” Cersei asked. “Did she bleed?” “No sheet was shown, Your Grace.” (AFFC Cersei VI)

So Jaime’s memory of his knighting ceremony is like a metaphorical wedding—and deflowering—in this way.

The imagery of the bloody sheet is present in this knighting ceremony, too. Jaime is cut through his plain white tunic, leaving a bloody mark on his clothing identical to the blood of a maiden on a white sheet.

We can also look to Barbrey Dustin for the significance of a bloody sword used this way:

Brandon was never shy about taking what he wanted. I am old now, a dried-up thing, too long a widow, but I still remember the look of my maiden’s blood on his cock the night he claimed me. I think Brandon liked the sight as well. A bloody sword is a beautiful thing, yes. It hurt, but it was a sweet pain. (ADWD The Turncloak)

Like Brandon with Barbrey, we have Arthur Dayne bloodying his sword on Jaime. For his part, Jaime “never felt it,” because of the significance of the moment—not unlike Barbrey, who says it was a “sweet pain.”

Finally, we have the significance of deflowering as representative of the transition to adulthood.

Sex is frequently described as one marker of the transition from boyhood to manhood:

His sweet innocent Tysha had been a lie start to finish, only a whore his brother Jaime had hired to make him a man. (ACOK Tyrion VII)

For Sansa, we see that her blood, as well as the image of the bloody sheet, marks her transition from girlhood to womanhood when she wakes in a bloody bed after “flowering” —a term notable for the implication that she can now be deflowered.

The blood is the seal of your womanhood. (ACOK Sansa IV)

Unpacking the reasons why a girl would ascend to womanhood with a natural process, and not an action, while a boy’s ascension to manhood would be an act would be a whole other issue, but it’s significant here that both situations result in the “bloody sheet,” whether it be Sansa’s flowering, a maiden’s deflowering, or Jaime’s knighting with the blood welling up through his white tunic.

The loss of innocence and skipping manhood

Part of this relationship with Jaime and Arthur is tragic: let’s not forget that Jaime is knighted and then subsequently is elevated to the Kingsguard both at fifteen, after having been entering tourneys and melees at thirteen. While he was clearly capable, there is something tragic about his youth here: this is someone who was clearly barely out of childhood being thrust directly into an adult role without any of the preparation required.

Consider how Jaime thinks of this transformation:

A boy knelt; a knight rose.

He’s skipped over manhood here—he’s gone directly from boy to knight. Soon after this, he will enter the Kingsguard and be expected to take a vow of chastity and forsake his familial ties in service to the king.

Consider a similarly young man—Jon Snow—considering a future in a similarly chaste and isolated role, and the difference in his mentorship here. Benjen warns him that he is too young to understand what he is entering, and tries to insist Jon live more of his life—to become a man first, and then a Man of the Watch:

Uncle Benjen studied his face carefully. “The Wall is a hard place for a boy, Jon.” “I am almost a man grown,” Jon protested. “I will turn fifteen on my next name day, and Maester Luwin says bastards grow up faster than other children.” “That’s true enough,” Benjen said with a downward twist of his mouth. He took Jon’s cup from the table, filled it fresh from a nearby pitcher, and drank down a long swallow. … “You don’t know what you’re asking, Jon. The Night’s Watch is a sworn brotherhood. We have no families. None of us will ever father sons. Our wife is duty. Our mistress is honor.” “A bastard can have honor too,” Jon said. “I am ready to swear your oath.” “You are a boy of fourteen,” Benjen said. “Not a man, not yet. Until you have known a woman, you cannot understand what you would be giving up.” “I don’t care about that!” Jon said hotly. “You might, if you knew what it meant,” Benjen said. “If you knew what the oath would cost you, you might be less eager to pay the price, son.” Jon felt anger rise inside him. “I’m not your son!” Benjen Stark stood up. “More’s the pity.” He put a hand on Jon’s shoulder. “Come back to me after you’ve fathered a few bastards of your own, and we’ll see how you feel.” (AGOT Jon I)

Benjen fails to convince Jon, of course, but he tries to warn Jon of this experience, of the tragedy of growing up too suddenly.

Jaime receives no such warning, especially not from Ser Arthur Dayne; instead, Dayne coldly acknowledges that “all knights must bleed,” even those who are fifteen.

This too is a common theme with this loss of virginity, especially in connection with a sudden ascension to power. At the same age Jaime was entering and winning melees against grown men, Daenerys Targaryen was losing her virginity to Khal Drogo and cementing her role as khaleesi. With her, the shock of her young age is much more clear, and GRRM makes it much more clear, closing a chapter with these haunting words:

They were on the far side of the Dothraki sea when Jhiqui brushed the soft swell of Dany’s stomach with her fingers and said, “Khaleesi, you are with child.” “I know,” Dany told her. It was her fourteenth name day. (AGOT Daenerys III)

However, she’s in a similar situation as Jaime. Whereas Jaime’s deflowering was metaphorical as he bypassed manhood and ascended from boyhood to knighthood, Dany’s deflowering is literal—with all associated horrors—as she ascends suddenly from girlhood to the role of khaleesi.

Like Jaime, this is tragic, and we shouldn’t forget that it should not be the responsibility of one so young to bear the weight of a khalasar, of her blood and heritage, and of her for a lost people. Like with Jaime, whose childhood becomes increasingly sad the more we learn of its nonexistence and corruption, we should not forget to mourn Dany’s age and loss of childhood even when we cheer her successes.

The Kingsguard White

As an aside: especially since Jaime and Arthur enter the Kingsguard later, we can also imagine the bloody white Kingsguard cloak, another even better analogue for the bloody sheet of a deflowered maiden. This image appears in a major way elsewhere when Sandor visits Sansa at night and leaves behind his bloody Kingsguard cloak.

Since the Kingsguard are expected to hold to their vow of chastity, we can see the bloodying of the Kingsguard cloak to be as much a deflowering as the bloodying of the white sheet on wedding night. For the Kingsguard, who share the same notion of chastity-as-purity as a virginal maiden, this deflowering can almost be seen as identical: it is the loss of innocence, chastity, and purity all in one.

Consider the circumstances that lead one to bloody the Kingsguard cloak, however: simply the act of killing, an act which is expected and demanded of the Kingsguard from the moment of their initiation.

Killing is the realm of knights, as Sandor points out to Sansa:

“Just as if I was one of those true knights you love so well, yes. What do you think a knight is for, girl? You think it’s all taking favors from ladies and looking fine in gold plate? Knights are for killing.” (ACOK Sansa IV)

So it is no surprise that Jaime’s deflowering—and loss of innocence—comes with his ascension from boyhood to knighthood.

A boy knelt; a knight rose.

However, it is therefore ironic that all Kingsguard are expected to be knights, and knights are meant for killing, and yet killing results in the red blood spatter on the white Kingsguard cloak, a symbol of their metaphorical virginal purity and chastity lost.

Here, then, we see that the bloody white cloak, when placed in comparison to the bloody sheet of the maiden’s wedding bed, illustrates the inherent contradiction of the Kingsguard.

In this scene with Jaime and Arthur, we see that this begins from the moment of knighthood: Arthur initiates Jaime into a world where “all knights must bleed.”

The myth of Maidenhood (and it’s significance)

I do want to add a disclaimer that I know (and we should all know in this century) that the concept of a virgin bleeding when she loses her virginity is pretty much a myth, and that if there is blood with penetration it has nothing to do with the “virginal” nature of the woman and rather more to do with arousal or other circumstances.

GRRM includes a passage, eventually, that seems to hint that even in Westeros, this is unofficially understood to be a myth, even as the practice of “examining” to prove the maidenhood of those marrying the king is still carried out, and even as the “bloody sheet” of the wedding night is still trotted out to appease family and tradition.

“Did you chance to see the marriage bed the morning after?” Cersei asked. “Did she bleed?” “No sheet was shown, Your Grace.”A pity. Still, the absence of a bloody sheet meant little, by itself. Common peasant girls bled like pigs upon their wedding nights, she had heard, but that was less true of highborn maids like Margaery Tyrell. A lord’s daughter was more like to give her maidenhead to a horse than a husband, it was said, and Margaery had been riding since she was old enough to walk. (AFFC Cersei VI)

Cersei, at least, has an understanding that the “maidenhead,” and perhaps even “maidenhood” does not actually work the way that is believed, although this even is a poor excuse for an explanation because it still allows for the existence of the myth elsewhere, and for allowing the idea that the “maidenhead” will bleed, only not in the ways that are alleged.

Since this concept of the virgin bleeding is really an outdated myth with little real-life relevance and yet is foregrounded so often in the story, I tend to imagine that GRRM has included and highlighted the concept so frequently because there is some non-literal importance to the idea or the symbols it offers.

For one, it’s one way to being the ever-present blood motif to yet another relationship, which I think is probably the key point here. Blood is a huge motif in ASOIAF; it appears in many different contexts with many layered meanings. There’s blood sacrifice, blood magic, blood heritage, blood ties, blood oaths, bloody weirwood sap, bloody weddings, blood sausage, blood and fire, black blood, etc etc. Being able to add blood into the wedding rite offers beneficial symbolic opportunities.

In that vein, highlighting the concept of “virgins bleeding” allows for a lot of the comparisons between swords and penises I’ve mentioned above which I assume are thematically central because of the penetration of Azor Ahai and Nissa Nissa.

Arthur Dayne

The one remaining notion here is that which I began to think about this scene with.

While Jaime spends so much of his storyline unpacking what this means for him, I wonder what this interaction says about Ser Arthur Dayne, who played this role in Jaime’s life?

If it’s about devotion and oaths, what does this deflowering say about Dayne’s relationship to Jaime’s relationship with oaths? If it’s about innocence, what does this say about Dayne’s relationship to Jaime’s innocence? If it’s about sex, what does this say about Dayne’s relationship to sex?

What does it mean for Dayne’s character that he’s the one who metaphorically took Jaime’s innocence here?

Or, alternatively, perhaps this says something about Dayne more directly. “All knights must bleed” and “blood is the seal of our devotion” may be true in the grander sense of Westerosi culture, but they’re hardly normal things to say. Does this say something about Dayne’s attitude specifically?

Should we be seeing this as Dayne personally being somewhat responsible for Jaime’s loss of innocence? Should we be seeing this act of metaphorical penetration as a power dynamic which Dayne is specifically enforcing?

[acourtofthought]

Lucien when it comes to Elain:

"Don't just leave her on the damned floor!"

Lucien took off his jacket, kneeling before Elain.

Water poured forth, Lucien hoisting Elain in his arms and out of the way.

"Where is he keeping her?" Tell me anyway. List all of them." "I I need to find her."

Given that his own status as a mated male made him uninterested in any sort of female company these days.

"I'm a mated male now."

"I'm getting my mate back."

"Tell me about her - about Elain."

"Is....is there anything I can get for you?"

"Too thin. She must not be eating at all."

Looking at her now....She was pale, yes. The vacancy still glazing her features. But she couldn't breath as she faced him fully. She was the most beautiful female he'd ever seen.

Her eyes were the brown of a fawn's coat.

"I know. I'm sorry."

"She needs fresh air."

"Take her to the sea. Take her to some garden. But get her out of this house for an hour or two."

"It wasn't just about what he thought - it was the ... feeling. I sensed no ill will, no conniving. Only concern for her. And ... sorrow. Longing."

"Let me do something. About Elain. I heard - from my room. Everything that happened just now. It wouldn't hurt to have a healer look her over. Externally and internally."

"I think she went through something terrible."

"Please tell me," Lucien said when I crossed the threshold into the foyer, "What the healer says. And if - if you need me for anything."

Lucien inclined his head in a bow, the movement hiding the gleam in his eye—the longing and sadness.

Lucien. It was Lucien. Lucien, haggard and bloody, panting for breath. As if he'd run from the shore. His gaze settled on Elain, and he sagged a little. "Are you hurt?" he asked, coming toward us. Spying the blood speckling Elain's hand.

"I heard - what happened. I'm sorry for your loss. All of you. "He was a good man, he loved you all very much."

Elain fell into step beside me, peering at Lucien. He noticed it. "I heard you made the killing blow," he said.

To where Lucien now stood in the sitting room, close to Elain's side.

"How is she?"

"Does she still mourn him?

Lucien had encountered him, I realized. Somehow, in living with Jurian and Vassa at the manor, he'd run into Elain's former bethrothed. And managed to leave the human lord breathing.

"The bigger box is for you. The smaller one is for her."

"The pain etching deep into Lucien's face as he tried to hide his disappointment and longing."

Lucien as Lucien:

“She refused, and … Lucien told her to go back to the shit-hole she’d crawled out of. She took his eye as punishment.

I wondered—wondered if being emissary also meant being spymaster.

he’d already made many friends across the courts and had always been good at talking to people,

I found that he was running—fast. Faster than anything should be able to move.

“I thought you would have learned your lesson, Lucien. Though this time your silence will damn you as much as your tongue.” Lucien kept his eyes shut. Ready—he was ready for Rhysand to wipe out everything he was, to turn his mind, his self, into dust.

Then, shattering the silence like a shooting star, a voice—Lucien’s—bellowed across the chamber. “TO YOUR LEFT!”

Didn’t you realize I would help you after that? Oath or no oath?”

“Please,” Lucien said, bowing his head gracefully. “The effort to rebuild is our burden to share. It would be our honor.”

Lucien had gifted both to me—the dagger during the months before Amarantha, the belt in the weeks after her downfall, when I’d carried the dagger, along with many others, everywhere I went. You might as well look good if you’re going to arm yourself to the teeth, he’d said.

Lucien cleared his throat. “She meant no harm, Tam.” “I know she meant no harm,” he snapped. Lucien held his gaze. “Worse things have happened, worse things can happen. Just relax.”

Lucien had gone on, his tone pleading, Tamlin. Tam. Just let her train, let her master this—if the other High Lords do come for her, let her stand a chance …

a pattern of thinking and feeling that was old, and clever.

“I did it for you, too, you know.” Cold, hard words. “I went with him to get you back.”. “That day you—went away,” he said, struggling to avoid that other word—left. “I beat Tamlin back to the manor—received the message when we were out on the border and raced here. But the only trace of you was that ring, melted between the stones of the parlor. I got rid of it a moment before Tam arrived home to see it.”

Believe me, I’ve asked.” “For me—you asked them for me.” “Yes. I went last winter to inquire about breaking your bargain with Rhys.” “Why didn’t you tell me?” “I—we didn’t want to give you false hope.

I begged him for more time, but you’d already been gone for months.

My blood chilled. “You didn’t stop him.” “I tried. I begged him for mercy. He didn’t listen. He couldn’t listen.”

Lucien loosed a heavy sigh and slid an arm around my waist, the other threading through my hair to cradle my head. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "I'm sorry.". He held me, stroking soothing lines down my back.

Leave him. I should and could leave him. But to a fate perhaps worse than death. His russet eye gleamed. "Go."

But Lucien was there. / Lucien's sword refracted the light of the sun leaking through the canopy. And then met flesh and bone.

"I could train for as long as I liked, since no one believed I’d be dumb enough to kill my way up the long list of heirs. And when I grew bored with studying and fighting … I learned what I could of the land from its people. Learned about the people, too.”

He waded into the stream, boots off and pants rolled to his knees, and caught one with his bare hands.

Lucien picked them up by their tails as if he'd done it a thousand times. "I'll clean them while you start a fire."

"I had the element of surprise on my side." "No," Lucien said quietly. "That was all you".

Of all the sounds that Lucien so carefully sorted through while he kept watch.

I dreamed that he removed his cloak and added it over my blanket. / I'd been wearing my cloak but he'd indeed given me his.

I think Lucien shouted my name.

Like Rhys, he usually opted for words to win his battles,

He knew how to handle a weapon. How to kill, if need be.

Lucien, to his credit, didn’t back away a step. From Rhys, or me, or the Illyrians. The Clever Fox Stares Down Winged Death.

I counted the heartbeats, debating how much I’d interfere if he said something truly stupid, when he at last murmured, “There is a longer story to be told, it seems.” Smart answer.

He added to Lucien, who did not balk from those writhing shadows,

His talent was wasted in the Spring Court. There was a reason he had that fox mask, you know.”

He’d always had a casual grace about him, but here, tonight, with his hair tied back and jacket buttoned to his neck, he truly looked the part of a High Lord’s son. Handsome, powerful, a bit rakish—but well-mannered and elegant.

Lucien considered. “Can I offer my unsolicited advice?”

Lucien is loyal—fiercely so.

Especially since Lucien had left before breakfast for a library across the city to look up anything in regard to fixing the wall, a task I'd been more than willing to hand over. I might have felt guilty for never giving him a proper tour of Velaris, but.... he seemed eager.

Lucien had offered to make himself useful while we were gone by reading through some of the texts now piled on the tables throughout the sitting room.

"Let me guess: they said yes, but picking the location is now going to be the headache." Mor frowned, "Any suggestions?" Lucien tied back his hair with a strip of brown leather. "Do you have a map?"

“You will be going into the human territory,” Rhys warned. “I can’t spare a force to guard you—” “I don’t need one. I travel faster on my own.”

“It will be—very dangerous.” A half smile curved Lucien’s mouth. “Good. It’d be boring otherwise.”

"It was time," Lucien said quietly, giving me a squeeze. "For me to do something."

Cassian had given him free rein yesterday afternoon to loot his personal cache of weapons, though my friend had been economical about which ones he’d selected. The blade, plus a short sword, plus an assortment of daggers. A quiver of arrows and an unstrung bow were tied to his pack.

Rhys extended a hand to Lucien. Lucien studied it—then my mate’s face. I could nearly see all the hateful words they’d spoken. Dangling between them, between that outstretched hand and Lucien’s own. But Lucien took Rhys’s hand. That silent offer of not only transportation.

Seems like Lucien can still play the fox.

Lucien had remained behind to help with any of the human wounded still needing Fae healing, but had promised to come here when he finished.

Lucien had come here out of pity. Mercy.

The male had grown up alongside Eris. Had dealt with Eris’s and Beron’s cruelty. Had his lover slaughtered by his own father. But Lucien had learned to keep his cool.

The male was somehow able to move between his three roles - an emissary for the Night Court, ally to Jurian and Vassa, and liaison to Tamlin - and still dress immaculately.

"Set up the handsome one as High Lord of Autumn"

Perhaps you'll get a handsome fae lord as your mate, too "

"Lucien's cruel beauty"

Sculpted chest

Hard muscles of his shoulders

Broad hands

[odditycircus-2002]

Mortal Kombat 1 Intros Part III

THE VOTES HAVE SPOKEN! I hope y’all enjoy this, and don’t forget to like, reblog, and or comment! I do love hearing y’all’s thoughts and suggestions! 😁😁😁Featuring Medusa!Reader. If you want to see the others, click one of these

Batch1

Batch2

Quan-Chi

Quan-chi patronizing: It must enrage you that you couldn't have finished me.

Y/N hissing: If it weren't for Li Mei's jussstice, I would've had your ssspine by now!

/

Quan-chi disgusted: Why do you pine for a diseased cretin over Shang Tsung?

Y/N: Because that sssnake is below my standards, now.

/

Quan-Chi: You were Shang Tsung's wife, yet Lui Kang has gifted you a better life than either Shang and I!

Y/N: Everything I have earned in life, I have earned by my handssss and my hands alone.

/

Y/N coyly: I have to thank you for adding some spice to my meal.

Quan-Chi taken aback: That poison I slipped into your stew was enough to kill a full-grown taigore!

/

Y/N: Tch, what's good is relying heavily on your magic if a single gaze is enough to stop you in place?

Quan-chi smirks: It's fortunate then that I know how to avoid your gaze then.

/

Y/N narrows her eyes: It's bad enough that Shang Tsung knows The Island’s secrets!

Quan-Chi: Whether or not you do so willingly, I will learn witch.

/

Quan-chi: I hope your infatuation with Y/N won't put a wench in our partnership

Shang Tsung chuckles: Are we feeling a touch envious, Quan-chi?

Reiko

Y/N: I remember bandaging the bloodied boy Shao took into camp.

Reiko: I am not that boy no longer, Healer! /

Y/N: You're fortunate it was Li Mei who apprehended you, otherwise there'd be nothing to throw in Lei Chin.

Reiko: *Barks out a laugh* HA! I just need to blind you to beat you!

/

Y/N: You are no warrior but a mindlesssss blood-hungry brute, I would know.

Reiko scoffs: As if a Healer would know anything about what a true warrior is.

/

Y/N smirking: It's a shame that I couldn't have kept you in the Hanging Gardens.

Reiko growling: Care to try so again, witch?!

/

Reiko: You have forgotten your oath to Outworld!

Y/N: How is not wanting to see the Empire fall to the disease that is war, breaking my Healer's oath?

/

Reiko: The lieutenants' illness... *growls* Have you no honor?!

Y/N darkly: Not towards traitorsss of the throne.

/

Reiko: It's a shame that we could not have recruited you to the cause.

Y/N with her snakes writhing in anger: *Hisses* As if I would align myself with the brutes that would encourage Sssshang Tsung's depravity!

Tanya

Tanya: You have truly chosen better than that traitorous Sorcerer.

Y/N sighs in exasperation: I'll have to talk with Mileena about spreading rumors about my love life.

/

Tanya: You have a sister among the Umgadi?

Y/N rolls her eyes: I only know this since my mother would never ssshut up about it.

/

Tanya astonished: Shang Tsung did what to you?!

Y/N hisses at the memory: It's because I got too close to learning of hisss real laboratory.

/

Y/N: I hope you aren't the reason why Mileena missed her mandatory meditative practices today.

Tanya: I was told by her that you canceled them for the day!

/

Y/N: It is difficult, to love someone afflicted with Tarkat and watch them suffer.

Tanya: If Mileena and I can overcome these obstacles despite the risks, so can you and Baraka.

/

Y/N: I am happy to report that most of your Umgadi sisters will make a full recovery.

Tanya: It's still regrettable to lose any of my sisters, but I am happy to hear that.

/

Y/N: Did you really think I would betray the Throne?

Tanya: Honestly, there was so much deceit and conspiracies going around, I wasn't sure.

Ermac

Ermac: Neither Jerrod nor Sindel hold you at fault for their deaths.

Y/N in surprise: I- Uh um... Thank you, Ermac.

/

Ermac: Can you aid us?

Y/N: I haven't learned the same magic as Quan-chi, but I has picked up a spell or two on Shang Tsung's island.

/

Ermac: We apologize, but the answer is still no.

Y/N angrily: You're the one who freed Quan-chi in the firssst place! The least you can do is return to the palace!

/

Y/N: Why not inform Mileena instead of freeing Quan-chi?!

Ermac: We were not sure she could have ensured our continued existence

/

Y/N: If you wish to reside in the Colony, then I'll need some assurance that you won't kill my patients.

Ermac: We understand, but you just have to trust our word.

/

Y/N narrowed her eyes in suspicion: I was told by Ashrah, you nearly killed Baraka and Syzoth.

Ermac: That is not Us anymore, Y/N.

/

Y/N: How is the Collection today, Ermac?

Ermac: Thanks to your remedies, We feel more... stable.

Nitara

Nitara mockingly: Having seen your Titan self, I wonder what it says about you?

Y/N hisses: I am nothing like her!

/

Nitara: Your blood tastes like a Vaeterunian's!

Y/N angrily: Of course, Shang Tsung would think to make me monstrousss just to ssspite me!

/

Nitara: My blood magic is superior to your water magic.

Y/N: It'll do you no good once I have you choking on your own blood.

/

Y/N: Care for another demonstration on whose bite is deadlier?

Nitara: You have to actually catch me to bite me.

/

Y/N: Not till death will I ever stop fighting for my home!

Nitara: Why do you think I fight for Vaeterunus?!

/

Y/N: Even just hearing your voice sends disgussst down my spine

Nitara: The disgust is mutual even with your mask on.

/

Y/N snakes out and ready to bite: The fact that you aided that sssnake!

Nitara: A mistake and waste of time, I'll admit.

Peacemaker

Peacemaker: So how do you and that Baraka guy bump uglies? Considering how you're both-

Y/N vexated and flustered: That is NONE of your concern!

/

Peacemaker: The bleeding is mostly internal which is where most of the blood is supposed to be anyway, right?

Y/N internally screaming: That is NOT at all how it worksss!!!

/

Peacemaker: What the FUCK happened to your face?!

Y/N: A sssnake named, Shang Tsung. That's what.

/

Y/N: While I might not always agree with her, I trust Li Mei's judgment.

Peacemaker: Yet, it would've been easier if she just killed those wizard fucks!

/

Y/N: Those herbs you gave me are pretty weak.

Peacemaker: How? I gave ya the best kush I got!

/

Y/N: I can heal much of the body, but an addled mind isn't one of them

Peacemaker: If you think I'M insane, you should see the crazies in Arkham!

/

Y/N: How in the 10 hells are you still breathing?!?

Peacemaker: I honestly have no fucking clue.

[whistle-whisper]

[calisources]

𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐎𝐍: 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐍𝐒 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐒.

All sentences in this meme are taken from all of the house of the dragon season two teasers and new trailers so far up to date. Change names, locations, pronouns as you see fit.

Errors were made in the hours following King Viserys' death.

The war will be fought,many will die,and the victor will eventually ascend the throne.

There is no war so hateful to the gods as a war between kin, and no war so bloody as a war between dragons.

We fight for our queen! 

My father chose me, his firstborn child, to succeed him. He held to his decision until death.

 And yet, Alicent's son sits on my throne. 

I mean to fight this war, and win it. 

The realm will soon tear itself apart if men do not remember the oaths sworn to King Viserys, and to his rightful heir.

The Hightowers are marching. You must crush this beast at its head.

Our terms are very simple: renounce the false king, and bend the knee to the queen, or your house burns.

When the desire to kill and burn takes hold and reason is forgotten, we will not even remember what began the war in the first place

 I fear what I have begun.

There are two sides of a story. 

Choose your side.

For the one true king, Aegon!

Only weeks ago, my lord husband was alive and the realm was at peace.

On his death bed, he knew the realm would never accept a queen.

Rhaenyra's supporters will believe what they wish, but Viserys wanted Aegon to succeed him.

They wish now not for the good of the realm, but for the satisfaction of vengeance.

Plot against the king, and I will pay it back a hundred times over.

I'm as fearsome as any of them.

You have no idea the sacrifices that were made to put you on that throne.

My uncle is a challenge I welcome, if he dares face me.

We will prevail and bring forth peace.

You must accept that the path to victory now is one of violence.

Good....to war then.

All my life, I've endeavored to serve both my house and the realm.

Whose side are you on?

When the desire to kill and burn takes hold and reason is forgotten, we will not even remember what began the war in the first place.

[ms0milk]

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sparks x fly | bkg x winged!reader

recent graduate and new rookie agency owner, Dynamight, is anxious to get into the field and bloody new gear, but a moving-day collision with some shitty winged civilian turns into his own feathery nightmare when she shows up at an established agency– as their new chart-topping rookie no less. fist fights, shoujo manga, bathroom surgery, hawks as your terrible boss, hyperhidrosis, wings are kind of a hassle, fire escapes, hearing aids, drunken rescues, feather care, a hero ball, and secrets kept under oath of death. (rivals > lovers)

cw varies by chapter, in general: violence/injuries, inevitable smut, kats has mellowed out some but isn't a peach, reader has dapple brown wings but is otherwise not described in detail. i love personality hire x grouch w too much in common

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a simple show of treason | sanemi x reader

sanemi's tsuguko no more, your hashira promotion is just over the horizon! one more untimely death and you'll have the job security you've longed for. nightmares, injuries and lost time, a lost life safe at home, unrequited love– soon it'll all be worth it. your mentor doesn't share your optimism however, and you find him near at all hours of the day. no more or less moody than usual but overbearing and always on the precipice of saying something.

cw nsfw, mdni. part three of my sanemi/tsuguko series, ie the smut™. long-waited confessions, starving love. reader w vagina, teasing, banter, penetration, oral (reader receiving), clingy nems.

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we're so bad at our jobs | mechanic!choso x writer!reader

writing is a famously lucrative career field, it's why you're only $30 short for the oil change that cost $35. the quiet mechanic shrugs at your short change and tells you not to worry– not that you hear him. not when he shakes his hair out of its messy bun and wipes at the grease on his cheek with the back of a big fist. you find yourself at the car shop a lot suddenly, never stopping once to think why a mechanic would be so blood-spattered.

cw nsfw, mdni. down bad reader, deer in headlights choso. car sex, reader w vagina, penetration, fingering, oral (giving/receiving), moisture on all conceivable surfaces. i just think choso is weak for strong-willed women.

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Hymn to Black Water: Annexes | prince!bkg x royal gaurd!reader

what happens after Takoba? What do Aldera and the world have in store for our royal captain and her prince? dragon nests, oaths, a promotion of sorts, and the need to always be near.

cw: varies by chapter, in general: violence/injuries, periodic smut, two idiots in love & situations. a continuation of Hymn to Black Water (+80k) which is coming to a close soon (hardly acquainted > begrudging teammates > enemies > bewildered friends > lovers > soulmates)

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[tanoraqui]

Eldamar!Buzzfeed’s Top 5 Maglor Fëanorion Songs

9/26/422 Fo.A

[read on AO3]

The votes are in and the people have spoken! Thanks to our poll last week, Elf!Buzzfeed is excited to present our and your Top 5 Maglor Fëanorion compositions, with commentary from experts—including the infamous Singer himself!

5. First Age Northern Beleriandrin Songs of Warding and Warning

After the sheer number and variety of write-ins, we decided to credit Maglor with the whole genre of Songs of Warding and Warning of Siege-Era Northern Beleriand. Top write-ins included “Campfire Warding Song”, “Wind in the Grass” and “Song of the Gap.”

Expert Opinions:

Eglatarwen Lindambar, a Court Minstrel of Üdoriath: This is an insult to Queen Melian. The Noldor did naught but modify and build upon pre-existing Songs, and all or nearly all the popular Songs of Warding in Beleriand were taught or inspired by Melian, even before she created the Great Girdle. I will concede their effectiveness—against most things pettier than dragons, at least—but to credit him with the genre? So much for journalistic neutrality.

Timpenindë Cuilemë, preeminent bard among the Noldor: Oh, I don’t know if I’m qualified for this one—I was only in Beleriand for a few decades for the War. But I did recognize Maglor’s work when I found it, and we found it in quite a few places. I think he deserves more credit for the endurance of Himring, actually—I saw that immediately. It may be Maedhros’s will sunk deep into those stones, so deep that neither Morgoth not Ulmo could wear them down. But it’s Maglor’s classic Songs, all love and faith and bloody-minded stubbornness, that served as the final mortar.

Maglor: I’m flattered, but I really don’t think I should be taking credit for this. I did compose my first warding-Song entirely organically, to keep annoying younger brothers out of my bedroom. But everything— almost everything in the First Age was collaborative. “Campfire Warding Song” is ancient—I learned it in my youth from my father, who learned it from his, who Sang it in Cuivienen and during the Great Journey. All I did was modify it to be more attuned to the enemies we faced later, as orcs and such were new and rare for our forefathers. “Song of the Gap” is a call-and-response with constant improvisation—I did compose the basic melody and rhythm, but it varies every time it’s Sung! Likewise “Wind in the Grass”, “Lullaby for Foes”, “Tread Thee Not (or Suffer our Wrath Resplendent)”…I’m not saying we didn’t compose some good Music, but it was all very collaborative!

4. Noldolantë (Full)

The complete story of the Fall of the Noldor: the prologue of Finwë’s first visit to Aman, then the tragedy of Miriel, the division of the Noldor and the slaughter of Finwë, the Oath, the First Kinslaying, the Burning of the Ships, the Siege, the Breaking of the Siege, the Nirnaeth Arnoediad, the Falls of Gondolin and Nargothrond, the Second Kinslaying, the Third Kinslaying, the War of Wrath and final theft of the Silmarils, the suicide of Maedhros and the lone Singer himself wandering remorseful forevermore; with a postscript for the forging of the One Ring, the deaths of Celebrimbor and Gil-Galad, and the Fall of Númenor. It isn’t pure grief—there are bright spots in the Rescue of Maedhros, the Tale of Beren and Lúthien (borrowing melodically and lyrically from the Lay of Leithien), the rise of Gil-Estel. However, its wide range of tragedies is famously able to reduce even the stoniest heart to tears at least once.

Composed in pieces mostly over the course of the First Age, and refined into a single piece over the course of the Second and Third Ages, as the singer wandered alone and repentant on the shores of mortal Arda. Takes six and a half days to sing all the way through, unstopping.

Expert Opinions:

Timpenindë: This is not Maglor’s best work. I don’t even think it’s his fourth-best work, honestly. It is impressive that he maintains the intensity of emotion throughout—deftly waxing and waning, but mostly waxing—and maybe only Maglor could do that for six and a half straight days! But even if it's strong throughout, the whole 'throughout' is just...too much. Even a powerful Singer has to half-kill themselves to perform this, and it's not much more gentle on the audience. Admittedly, I'm not sure what he could possibly cut, but... It is what it is, but it's just not his best work. Also, the lyrics could use work—more poetry in a couple places, less in others, and I know the faltering meter and rhyme represents his descent into madness but... Well, it suffers from the fact that he was genuinely descending into madness.

Finrod Felagund, High Prince of the Noldor, etc etc: I think this might be ranking so high based on name recognition, honestly. I usually start crying within the first hour, and don't stop... But laced through all my grief for...everything...is the question: if Maglor could produce this sustained tidal wave of craft and raw emotion while wandering lost for 6,000 years, what could he have done if he'd been found instead? It makes me dream wistfully of what greater, kinder marvels he could have wrought... Which only ties into the themes of the song, of course—what could the Noldor have been, if we hadn't gone down the roads we did? What could Arda have been? So, all the more credit to the composer for so thoroughly manifesting this masterpiece!

Maglor: I believe this piece speaks for itself, and for myself.

3. Noldolantë (Original/Standard)

Written in the style of a traditional Noldorin history-song, the original Noldolantë is an accounting of the events of the Darkening through the death of Fëanor, with references at the end to early First Age events including the Rescue of Maedhros and the Dagor Aglareb. Focus is primarily on the Kinslaying at Alqualondë, and secondarily on the Burning of the Ships. Though Maglor originally composed it in Quenya during his brief reign as King of the Noldor and added events throughout the First Age (see: "4. Noldolantë (Full)", this translation into Sindarin, first performed publicly in 68 FA, is the version that was widespread and popular throughout First Age Beleriand and thereafter, and remains most identifiable as "Noldolantë."

Major themes include loss of life and loss of innocence; grief, regret and repentance over the same; and determination to take all this hurt, and all the hurt in Arda, and throw it back at the Enemy tenfold, with sword, Song and fire. Takes about four hours to sing in full, though individual sections were often excerpted as marching chants or battle hymns.

Expert Opinions:

Eglatarwen: The Noldolantë is an undeniably impressive work of technical song-craft, engaging and well-paced narrative, heart-wrenching passion...and propaganda. To not treat it as propaganda would be to do it a disservice, because it's also a very impressive work of propaganda! It takes betrayal and atrocity and turns it into...not 'necessity', to be fair, and nor does it shirk the fault of the Noldor—though it certainly blames Morgoth as well. But it takes the irredeemable and almost inexorably turns it redeemable. Horrors and darkness which can and will be moved on from. Terrible mistakes which can and will be learned from. If only that had been true.

Eärwen Olwiel, Princess of the Teleri, High Queen-Consort of the Noldor: Surprisingly factual and earnestly apologetic, I think, for all its spin.

Finrod: I still hum it sometimes. I still hum parts about Alqualondë sometimes. I hate how good at this he is.

Maglor: Of course it's propaganda. It was propaganda just for me, first, when I needed to make some reassuring sense of everything or I would shatter like a wedding glass. Then I sang it to buck up my people, not least my younger brothers, and keep us going through some of the worst years of my life. Then word came of Thingol's Ban and we needed a response of equal—though not directly contradictory, you'll note!—social impact—and, appropriately, I had this piece that only really needed to be translated into Sindarin in order to serve. Though of course I did need to rewrite every single word and note in subtle, crafty ways to accommodate the new language, and sometimes in very obvious ways. I still miss the original recursive arpeggios... Shoutout to Glauriel of the Plains for thrice saving my life: once from an orc arrow, once from dragonfire, and once for not killing me herself when I recruited her to help me with the translations, said I only needed a quick Sindarin-native judgement on a few scattered verses, and then made her help me rewrite the first bridge alone six times in six days.

2. “The Song That Never Ends”

Infamously annoying short tune which loops both lyrically and melodically, sung most often by children. Composed pre-Darkening. No true potency save, it is rumored, as a means of tormenting enemy prisoners.

Expert Opinions:

Eglatarwen: This song is a malicious attack.

Timpenindë: This is in second place? Stars, I can't believe I was ever engaged to that elf.

Finrod: [staring into the unseen distance as one haunted by memories of torment] The Edain learned this, somehow. The thing about the children of Men, you know, is that they're only children for a very short amount of time relative to us... But there are always more of them...

Maglor: I genuinely regret this one. I’m not sure I even remember why I wrote it. I think to annoy my parents, or maybe Nelyo—hey, Nelyo! [to his brother, passing by] Do you remember when or why I came up with that annoying looping song?

Maedhros Fëanorion: [upon further explanation of the question and context] This is in second place? [to Maglor] I should've killed you when I had the chance. When I still did things like that. [upon being told Finrod's comment on the song] 'Mannish children'? Ha! You can give those back to their parents, not like siblings—of which he only had four, I’ll note, and none of them composed this monstrosity. And speaking of Man-ish children, whom you can’t give back to their parents, he should try righteously vengeful, maliciously compliant teenage—

[He cut off as our host, Elrond Peredhel, walked in, whistling a few idle, familiar notes before offering everyone another round of tea. Maglor and Maedhros both winced, though they said nothing save to accept tea.]

1. Ardamirë

Unofficial subtitle: (Father) It's Not Only Ours Anymore

An ode to Gil-Estel—the jewel, the Light, the ship and captain, the Star. Elements composed and gathered over nearly 6,500 years of wandering on mortal shores, including elements of the Noldolantë; arranged into a complete song in the decades after Maglor’s return to Valinor at the start of the Fourth Age. Takes about three hours to sing in full, reducing most listeners to mostly-joyful tears.

Expert Opinions:

Maglor: Good choice, people—this one is the best.

Fëanor Curufinwë, Crafter of the Silmarils: I won't pretend to be as expert in musical composition as my son, in Songs of Power or simply in casual music-craft. However, I'm certain this isn't his best work, technically speaking. Did truly so few people vote for "The Great Journey” or “On the Slopes of Túna"? [shaking his head] The wisdom of the Eldar truly has been diluted... And surely the recency of this composition biases voters in its favor. Are you certain you've balanced your data properly? …But the song is persuasive. And sticks in one's head very effectively. I've been thinking about it.

[maehwajuuuu-chu]

[Seiren • Starsilver Sparrow]

“Eula, how would you feel if I suddenly get amnesia, hm? You know like Vetur finally having enough of me and shoving me off the balcony—" “Sister, Sir Meier would have a stroke if he were listening to our conversation,” Eula briskly piped in, lowering her chipped teacup with a delicate clink before shooting an eagle-like glare at her older sister. “However, more importantly why would you suggest such wretched events? Is Vetur being bothersome, once again? I thought he had become responsible and stopped after I had made him slip on his own clothes—MMF.” The older sister groaned, plucking another biscuit from the tray and warningly held it up to the younger’s girl’s indignant glower as she menacingly munched.

“It’s only hypothetical, you funny little lemon. I’ll get a mirror - you’re all blown up like an angry pufferfish.” She tapped the biscuit against Eula’s scrunched up nose and slowly pushed it into her mouth. “Keep this up and you’ll only get porridge for the next week, you hear me?” - - -

Pain rattled through her gritted teeth as a gloved fist yanked her up by her knotted hair. Smouldering eyes of glowing coal glowered down resentfully at her behind a cracked mask, with the distant groaning curses of fallen Fatui heard in the background as they attempted to crawl out from pieces of rubble and jutting stalagmites of golden creedite.

“What the hell is this?”

She smirked, blood smudged across her battered lips. Past the shattered frame of the tavern’s window, the hilt of the scythe glinted in the flickering broken light and Adrik’s hand curled over its blade in a last futile attempt.

How bloody damn hilarious.

“Hey! What are you gawking at?” The agent jerked onto her hair, his fire-water tinged breath spewing against her face, “Damn it, are you deaf?! Listen to me, you knight fool!!”

Blunt spikes dug into her cheek as a gauntlet slammed against her face. She spat out a hoarse curse, blood spattering from her lips and she venomously fixed a glare at the bloodless grin. Knees immediately slammed to the rocky ground, as the agent dropped her to the ground. Gloved fingers reached to peel away the draped bloodied locks of hair from her face, crooked teeth stretched.

“Now, I can see my punching bag a bit more clearly.” He leered, flicking a strand of copper with deep chuckle rumbling from his throat, “Oh! Look at this blood - So young and vibrant!”

Acrid burning crawled up her throat, eyes dilated in trembling rage. She smacked away the lingering touches, letting wisps of hair tear out from her bloodied hairline.

“Get ya damn mitts out of my hair.” she hissed out, defiance sharply flashing across her glower, “And just get this over and done with, you bastard.” The agent coughed out a surprised laugh, flexing the stained brass reinforcers with eager clicks. He stepped back as he pulled the flask from his jacket and popped its lid off, swinging its contents down his mouth. He wound in his fingers into an anticipating fist while he drew it back. Bracing for the impact, she closed her eyes as she tightly held her vision in her bleeding hand.

“I’d rather die remembering the lifetime we spent together, than not recognise your face when I see you again.” - - - YIPPEEE finally was able to finish this phew. Anyways say hello to Seiren, my chaotic little limb-hogging treasure hoarder! She's one of my older guys, she's been in my brain since 2022! She's one of Rai's old friends and I can't wait to yap about her, about her wife and about her daughter, and also yap about the whole Aster's Oath. She's one of the characters who are highly important to the main storyline! (Yes I did look at the genshin treasure hoarders and went what if murderous lesbean. and yes that is how she was birthed) Ok lols I'll stop rambling, but please keep an eye out for her in future stuff! :D

-> Got the drip marketing background from @/chie_zuu on twitter!