#dueling gauntlet

[armthearmour]

A spiked Dueling Gauntlet mounted with two blades,

Length: 32.9 in/83.5 cm

Width: 5.5 in/14 cm

Depth: 4.9 in/12.5 cm

Weight:3.9 lbs/1.75 kg

Italy, ca. 1540, housed at the Kunsthistorischesmuseum, Vienna.

[yugiohcardsdaily]

Gauntlet Launcher

"2 Level 6 monsters You can detach 1 Xyz Material from this card, then target 1 monster your opponent controls; destroy it."

[thedragonagelesbian]

how am i supposed to sleep under these conditions*

*thought about cyrus for too long and got excited

[shironezuninja]

I was busy all morning. My environment is slowly changing, making me too bunched up and anxious to put in a caption here.

[sw5w]

The Blast Doors Open

STAR WARS EPISODE I: The Phantom Menace 01:52:11

[gracefireheart]

Once again, did some fanart of @lenny-link TF2 x SU AU, but tried making more fusions! :]

First one is Andalusite [Heavy + Medic] (who I've drawn before already), second one is Iolite [Cheavy + Medic], and the third one is Ametrine [Demoman + Soldier].

[Below the keep reading line, I'll show off the fourth fusion I drew as well, but ended up just-- disliking to hell and back o(-( Also, some notes and such about each fusion]

First off, here's the fourth fusion I did, which was Cat's Eye Tourmaline [Scout + Sniper]. (Side note: I picked out Tiger's Eye as Sniper's gem)

After looking at Steven's fusions with other gems (since Scout's a half-human half-gem in this AU fusing with Sniper who's a full gem), I did notice that basically all of them (besides Obsidian) had some kind of oddity to them. Like Smokey Quartz has three arms instead of four or just two, Rainbow 2.0 is the first gem with male pronouns and has a tad bit strange legs, and Sunstone isn't as humanoid as the other (non-corrupted) gems and fusions.

So I wanted to show that off here, but uh, I just ended up giving up on it in the end o(-( Mostly 'cause I had no clue how I wanted to color them based on the Cat's Eye Tourmaline gem, but also 'cause the overall design ended up leaned a bit more towards Sniper's design than I intended it to do.

Anyways, onto the notes for the other fusions.

Andalusite [Heavy + Medic]:

The duo that imo would probably fuse the most out of the TF2 crew, whether for battle or to just relax together (like reading a book or whatever). So with that, Heavy and Medic would have had plenty of time to refine how their fusion would look like, and making sure both of them like how they look together.

For their fusion weapon, I was thinking about them either having something like Garnet's upgraded gauntlets (the ones with spikes jutting out of it's knuckles), or letting the gauntlets have claws or something.

Iolite [Cheavy + Medic]:

I mostly did this one 'cause of one of the drawings in Lenny-Link's original piece, which made me thinking of Lapis and Jasper fusing into Malachite and all that, which lead me to this. I wanted the design to 1. Make it look chaotic due to the two people that are fused here, but also 2. Make it lean a tad more towards Cheavy's looks to make said guy think that he's the one mostly in control of the fusion, only to have Medic take over take over and do something to trap the fusion and/or get them the hell away from the TF2 crew. Something something angst idk lol

Decided to make Cheavy a [blue] Topaz. Since Heavy's a Topaz as well. I don't have any other reason than that :') Also, I placed his gem on the side of his right shoulder.

The eye goggles change color depending on who is in control. If the two weren't fighting for it, it would be one eye blue and one eye magenta. But since they are, whenever Cheavy's in control, the eyes are blue. And whenever Medic's in control, the eyes are magenta.

Ametrine [Demoman + Soldier]:

Originally, I was going to have them be a Morganite, but decided on Ametrine instead as it fit their color scheme more. Also originally, I was going to give them a knight helmet, but I wanted to draw their hair, so I instead gave them a bandana covering their possibly one eye. Possibly.

Assuming Soldier's helmet (with or without the horns) is Soldier's gem weapon like Jasper's helmet, I thought it would be neat if their fusion weapon [(horned) helmet + sword] would be something like a Morningstar, which they would be able to duel-wield without much trouble.

I've got other lil' ideas as well for this AU, like how Jeremy/Scout was the one that gave these gems their nicknames (Spy, Sniper, Engineer, etc.), how Medic grew a fascination for the organic lifeforms of Earth and how exactly they healed/was able to treat their wounds, and how- instead of Spy being all dead and gone Rose Quartz style when Jeremy was born- Spy is a lot weaker than he should be due Jeremy getting half of his gem. But uh-- I don't wanna go too overboard when this ain't even my AU :')

Either way, I'll probably go and relax a bit before drawing some regular TF2 stuff. But I might do some more fanart for this AU whenever I feel up for it. 'Cause genuinely, I love this AU sm <3

[theresattrpgforthat]

Hi! I'd like to run a game that's Jane Austen-esque or a political/social drama with fantasy elements. Think A Court of Fey and Flowers, except I don't want to subscribe to their channel so I haven't actually seen it. Fairy settings in particular would be appreciated! Thank you in advance

THEME: Political and Social Drama

Hello, I think I have a really fun collection of options for you to take a peek at. We’ve got fairies, we’ve got secrets, and we’ve got drama!

Fey Court Chaos, by Mabbly.

Fey aristocrats party the equinox away. You have been invited by the most prestigious monarchs of this wild magical land. Parlay with potential allies, humiliate your enemies, & impress those worth impressing–but avoid getting kicked out yourself!

Fey Court Chaos is a party-based tabletop role-playing game designed to let you escalate a royal ball into dramatic highs and lows. You will need a pool of dice or coins to play. Any kind will do, but the fancier the better!

This is a game about trying to make a name for yourself while possibly ruining the status of your companions. You’ll wager points of Reputation every time you do something risky, with the risks rising depending on the status of the person you’re interacting with. Success means a rise in reputation or learning a juicy secret. Failure means losing someone’s favour, or even giving one of your own secrets away! If you love fantasy faerie settings, this game gives you all the basics, and has advice for the game runner as well. You should definitely check it out!

The 147th Annual Necromancer’s Ball, by Meghan Cross.

You are cordially invited…

The 147th Necromancer's Ball is a one page TTRPG about necromancy and feeling fancy for a GM and 3-6 players played with a single d6.

You are necromancers attending The 147th Necromancer's Ball, dressed to the nines with your familiars in tow. You are ready to have a wonderful time, but more than that you are ready to show your rival once and for all that you are better than them by displaying your social prowess (and maybe even winning Necromancer of the Year.)

But not everything goes according to plan when a party crasher shows up to ruin the evening for everyone - and it is up to you to stop them and save the party!

This is a game all about being dramatic as fuck and also petty as fuck. You can roll Necromancy when you want to do magic or command the undead, and you roll Feeling Fancy when you engage in social entanglements or navigate the ball. Showing that you’re the Necromancer of the Year won’t be easy, especially once a party crasher shows up to complicate things - and possibly steal your chances of winning!

If you love silly games, as well as taking time to describe just how drop-dead (pardon the pun) gorgeous you look, this might be your game.

Avalon Society, by Martian Machinery.

Avalon Society is a game about courtly love and intrigue, and the conflict between passion and duty. You'll play knights, lords, ladies, upstarts, pretenders, unknowns, or possibly a changeling or a sorcerer. Pull swords out of stones, break curses, ascend to the round table, duel your rivals, or even fall in love with them. It’s up to you.

Avalon Society is a setting created for Good Society, which is the game of social intrigue, and in fact, the game that helped build A Court of Fae and Flowers! Good Society takes place in the same time as Jane Austen’s novels, but Avalon Society replaces character roles and family backgrounds in order to represent an Arthurian story. The court also shifts seasonally, which feels very reminiscent of a fairy court. The biggest downside - you also have to buy Good Society in order to use this supplement.

Townhouse Dracula, by Tenbear.

You have the opportunity to attend a dinner party at the one and only Townhouse Dracula. Here you will vie for Dracula’s favour, which includes eternal life and power beyond your imagination.

To decide who gains this power Dracula puts party guests through a gauntlet of past memories. Guests do their best to impress Dracula and convince them that they would be an asset to have in the Dracula lineage. 

Townhouse Dracula presents the players with scenarios that their characters will have to navigate, trying to piece together Dracula’s memories when they might not have all the answers.

This is first and foremost an improv game, so it’s good for people who like coming up with pieces of a story on the fly. You’ll get tokens as rewards for being funny, clever, bold, kind, etc. At the end of the game, you’ll tally your score and determine whether or not you become part of Dracula’s lineage. If you like the mysterious allure of vampires and want to stretch your storytelling muscles, you might want to check out this game.

Tax Cuts and Pixie Dust, by Weird Blue Yonder.

The home of a sordid assortment of terrible woodland spirits doing terrible things in a desperate bid to sit atop the Fairy Throne.

You are those woodland spirits, and election season is just around the corner…

Tax Cuts and Pixie Dust is probably the most political game on this list. It uses pretty standard faerie tropes - you can be an elf, a leprechaun, a banshee… even a giant! All of you are supposed to be part of the same party, but you all secretly want the throne!

This is a game about dirty politicians, with the humour and camp turned up to allow you to get really ridiculous with it. The resolution system involves building small dice pools of d6’s, tallying successes to see how you fared. The GM is responsible for presenting scenarios and complications, which are present in a few roll tables. At the end of elections you vote on each player’s position in the new court, and that’s game!

Butterfly Court, by mishagw.

In Butterfly Court, you will play as a member of the titular Butterfly Court, the court of the monarchy of the kingdom Praecia. This is a court intrigue game that uses the No Dice No Masters system, based on Avery Alder's Belonging Outside Belonging games.

This is a storytelling, roleplaying game, where players portray members of a court, but not necessarily the monarch or the heir. Instead, the game focuses on everyday lives, intrigue, relationships, obligations, and myriad other concerns of the regular people in the court: nobles, but also staff, servants, artists, and other people that make court life possible.

Butterfly Court doesn’t dictate who you are exactly, but it leaves a broad space for different kinds of supernatural beings. So if you want faeries, this game is certainly able to take place in a faerie court. The game is designed to pit your characters into situations that are difficult for the country at large: rebellions, scandals, famine, crime, etc. You also create factions that have different methods and priorities.

Everything that you create together is shared communally, because Butterfly Court uses a GM-less, diceless game system. This means that you’ll each have shared authority over where the story goes next, although there is a cycle of play that helps you move from one scene to the next. I think that the idea of this being a game about different factions navigating political turmoil has the potential to be represented really well through a collaborative system like this.

Games I've Recommended in the Past

If you want something more like Jane Austen, you might like Le Bon Ton! If you like equal parts adventure and social intrigue, then Household might be for you.

[anipologist]

There is not nearly enough said about Tolkien's ability to encompass volumes into very short sentences. Mostly because, yes the man was a master of lush descriptions and certainly he loves to wax long and poetically about stars and trees and far green fields under the wind...

But the skill with which he can pack an emotional punch into a couple of words...

Consider the following

"Then Fingolfin beheld (as it seemed to him) the utter ruin of the Noldor, and the defeat beyond redress of all their houses; and filled with wrath and despair he mounted upon Rochallor his great horse and rode forth alone, and none might restrain him. He passed over Dor-nu-Fauglith like a wind amid the dust, and all that beheld his onset fled in amaze, thinking that Oromë himself was come: for a great madness of rage was upon him, so that his eyes shone like the eyes of the Valar. Thus he came alone to Angband's gates, and he sounded his horn, and smote once more upon the brazen doors, and challenged Morgoth to come forth to single combat. "

And the final sentence "And Morgoth came."

All of that imagery of Fingolfin coming upon Morgoth like a Vala himself and throwing down his figurative gauntlet and then the fallen Vala coming forth with just a three word sentence.

Or the entirety of the Duel of Sauron and Finrod (that is renowned) all gorgeous imagery, the Lord of Wolves against the disguised king of Minas Tirith...

"Reeling and foundering, as ever more strong The chanting swelled, Felagund fought, And all the magic and might he brought Of Elvenesse into his words."

....

"The wolf howls. The ravens flee. The ice mutters in the mouths of the Sea. The captives sad in Angband mourn. Thunder rumbles, the fires burn"

And the final line "And Finrod fell before the throne."

The brevity and the switch from Felagund to just Finrod, from the dwarf-given title to his Telerin-originated father-name as he falls defenseless to the reminder of the kinslaying is devastating in its simplicity.

There is a time for lush descriptions and a time for brevity, a time for gorgeous, expensive imagery and allegory and a time for literary simplicity and Tolkien knew it...

[steve-smackdown]

Welcome to STEVE SMACKDOWN!!!

This is the place for all your favorite characters named Steve to fight! Rules listed below the Google Form.

Rules about submitting:

1. Your character must be named Steve in some way. This includes: Steve, Steven, Stephen, Stefan, Stefano, Stevie, and Steph. Asks will be open and if anyone has any other form of Steve, they can ask if it’s okay.

2. No DreamSMP or Harry Potter characters.

3. Real people are allowed. However, they have a much lower chance of getting in, in favor of fictional characters.

4. You can submit multiple characters, just don’t send in the same character multiple times in a row.

5. Submissions will end one week from now on July 18, at 1:00 PM EST.

6. If you have any questions, send me an ask!

Quick side note: Do not submit these 4 characters as they’re already guaranteed to make it into the tournament.

1. Steve (Minecraft)

2. Steve (Wii Sports)

3. Steve (Blue’s Clues)

4. Steel Vengeance (Cedar Point) [Commonly abbreviated to SteVe by rollercoaster enthusiasts like myself]

Tags of inspiration under the cut:

@orangecharactersmackdown @obscurecharactershowdown @artificialkids-2k23-official @throat-goat-gauntlet @cut-content-contest @corrupt-officials-brawl @ultimate-poll-tournament @john-battle @best-bff-brawl @redcharacterbracket @retirement-home-rumble @best-bff-brawl @unlikely-adversaries-bracket @dwampyverse-tournaments @evil-doppelganger-duel @favcharacterpoll @ferbracket @generic-man-in-suit-battle @i-mustache-your-opinion @patheticmenscuffle @super-smash-bracket @siblingshowdown @the-worst-bracket @themiiofalltime @tournament-winners-tournament @videogamedogbracket @weird-al-song-tourney @worst-room-tournament

and also @blue-character-brawl @facial-hair-fight @jamesbracket and (the now defunct) @unluckiest-character-ever because they’re all me

[emberwritesinsight]

Thinking about how in Anthy and Nanami’s dynamic, they deal in mostly the same kind of cruelty (passive-aggression, subterfuge, sabotage, general covert violence), but Anthy is just... objectively better at it. Obviously Anthy is older and more experienced, but she also just... knows her target and strikes accordingly. To devastating effect.

Nanami tends to take wide swings. Sending her girl posse to slap Anthy around and intimidate her is awful, yes, but also pretty generic. Public nudity is horrifying and humiliating for just about anyone. Nanami couldn’t have possibly known that Anthy had personal baggage related to crowds- she had no idea that she was hitting a weak spot. And all the attempts to frame Anthy as a Total Weirdo have more to do with Nanami’s obsession with appearing normal than they do with Anthy herself.

Anthy on the other hand... she starts out relatively impersonal- subjecting Nanami to animal-related slapstick whenever Nanami tries to pull some nonsense. But it doesn’t take long for things to get personal. As early as episode ten, she intentionally recreates part of an incident from Nanami’s childhood (Touga being given a kitten) to trigger Nanami into throwing the gauntlet in the duels for the first time. That technically falls under Rose Bride duties though, so let’s look at the Cowbell Incident.

This prank of Anthy’s functions on two levels. The first, most obvious one is that by exploiting Nanami’s ignorance, she can be tricked into wearing something ridiculous (hitting two Nanami Hot Buttons at once- the fear of not being the best dressed AND the fear of being seen as a weirdo). The second is that by proudly wearing a cowbell, Nanami is unknowingly drawing attention to her status as a calf to the slaughter.

Nanami is pretty open about how her relationship with Touga works- she desperately chases his attention and jealously sabotages anyone who gets too close to him, and he gives her little scraps of affection, if she’s lucky (there’s more to it, obviously, but all this can be gleaned just from listening to what Nanami herself has to say about it). Nanami’s blind adoration of Touga and her unbalanced dynamic with him are extremely exploitable and extremely obvious. In the same way that anyone can look at a cow and know it’s going to be killed for meat one day, anyone can look at Nanami and know her relationship with Touga can’t possibly end well. Nanami wears her status as a cow to the slaughter on her sleeve- or, well, around her neck- without having any idea what it means for her.

It can be interpreted as a warning to Nanami about the road she’s on, especially if you think that dream she has is Anthy’s doing, and I do interpret it that way. But it’s also, undeniably, a very cruel joke. And it hits all the harder because it’s a personalized attack tailored to Nanami’s specific hangups.

[armthearmour]

A shielded Dueling Gauntlet with a folding blade,

Length: 37.8 in/96 cm

Width:10.6 in/27 cm

Depth:9.3 in/23.5 cm

Weight:4.6 lbs/2.1 kg

Italy, before 1596, housed at the Kunsthistorischesmuseum, Vienna.

[mattbracket]

Welcome to Matt Bracket!

Have you ever wanted to see your favorite Matts fight it out? If so, then this is the place for you! Rules for submitting are under the form link.

Here are your rules for submitting:

1. Your character’s first name MUST be a form of Matt. This includes Matt, Matthew, Matthias, and any other form of the name. Asks will be open if you have any questions about other forms of the name!

2. No Harry Potter and no Dream SMP.

3. Real people are allowed, however they have a much lower chance of getting in than fictional characters.

4. Submit as many characters as you want, just don’t submit the same character over and over again.

5. Feel free to ask me any questions you may have through the ask box!

6. Submissions will end on Sunday, August 6. Date is subject to change if I end up being busy that day.

Also: Do NOT submit these characters. They are guaranteed to make it in no matter what.

Matt (Wii Sports)

Matt (Eddsworld)

Matt (me, the pollrunner) [i don’t expect to get very far but i just thought it’d be funny]

Matt Neff (Papa Louie)

Tags of inspiration below:

@orangecharactersmackdown @obscurecharactershowdown @artificialkids-2k23-official @robot-riot @retirement-home-rumble @hot-take-tournament @every-character-ever-poll @super-smash-bracket @patheticmenscuffle @generic-man-in-suit-battle @cut-content-contest @dwampyverse-tournaments @evil-doppelganger-duel @favcharacterpoll @ferbracket @i-mustache-your-opinion @top-teacher-tourney @john-battle @michaeltournament @throat-goat-gauntlet @the-worst-bracket @themiiofalltime @videogamedogbracket @weird-al-song-tourney

and also @blue-character-brawl @facial-hair-fight @jamesbracket and @steve-smackdown because they’re all me. i really like doing name polls lmao

[sculptorofcrimson]

Snowfields

Synopsis: A cold walk atop the mountain with Valdor.

Relations: Valdor x female Emperor shard

Warnings: Suicide attempt

This is relatively tame for what I write, and I wrote it in one sitting when I had roughly 20 minutes to spare. Ty for your time!

“Do you remember Ararat, my liege?”

No. No, she didn’t remember Ararat. She has never heard the name before. But she will. By the gods, she will. 

The air was cold. It rattled through her lungs when she tried to breathe. The white seemed to stretch forever, like malignant bones, the wind laid bare and rattling its screams. It would rise like a frosty howl around the two of them, wailing like a soldier who had lost a limb, weeping its cries for eternity. The cold bit at her, tore at her, the snow would have frozen mortal blood solid in mortal veins. Thunder grumbles in the distance. A crack of lightning splits the sky in half, purplish white against the ghoulish grey. 

His cloak was warm when he wrapped it around her. But his touch, without doubt, without even question, was unfathomably cold. Without even thinking of it, she had shrunk away.

Valdor’s grip had only tightened then. He fastened the clasp of the too-large cloak, the stench of incense and parchment wafting from the silk. A small smile, the emotionless movement perfected by a mind that could not actually smile, flashed briefly across his visage as he took her wrist, trapped it so effortlessly between his fingers and kissed the soft skin there.

“There was a Primarch once. A magnificent man. One that even I respected, in some regards.” Valdor led her, slowly and patiently, holding her up when she stumbled through the knee-high snow. The mountaintop seemed to rage against her. Well, too damn bad. She hated mountains, and she hated snow, and she was about to teach him a lesson out of spite. It was pure pettiness, but it was hers, it was one last plan she held to herself, one last wish she was certain was hers and not his, and if she was going to die, drowned limb by limb into the unseeing gold, she wished to at least pain him with it. 

How had it gone so wrong? How had angels of such glorious aurite turned into nightmares wrapped in gold and crimson? 

She yanked her arm away. Valdor let her go without struggle, simply rising back with a singular, elegant motion, as if he were a dancer performing a long-awaited waltz. When she stumbles over another snow-covered rock mere moments later, he was there, as if he had never left, one arm gently wrapped around her waist as he hauls her upright. This time, when she tries to pull away, his grip only tightens, as if he was defying the very storm itself.

“The snow reminds me of him. The Cataegis Primarch of the IVth legion. You watched us duel atop a mountain not so unlike this one, my liege, when the storm ended. It felt like the top of the world. We were in a deadlock when you appeared, your attention straying just for a moment to our fight. I snapped his wrist with a twisting motion, and slammed him into the ground hard enough to snap part of his spine. Your attention had departed by then, but it was enough. You still remember the frost, do you not?”

No. No. She didn’t. She couldn’t. Valdor’s hand, so gentle, so damnably gentle, placed itself under her chin. It stroked her hair, his gauntlets’ touch heavy yet tender, the jewels flashing dully through strands of hair that were quickly becoming darker, swallowed first by brown and then by black. He had not forbidden her to cut it. Out of spite, she had ordered him to cut it for her. 

It didn’t matter.

The strands had grown back, with an unrelenting zeal, glossy and luxurious and flowing like ink over water. She was innocent once, she was mortal, she lived among men and walked amongst mortals, and she will never be again. She will never live again, and that truth was simply so jagged, so broken, so horrifyingly caught between her chest and her throat that it was as if something broke a little further every time she took a breath. Valdor had only quietly polished, brushed and glossed over her hair, his movements methodical and calculated, even when silent tears rolled their way down her cheeks, her vision blurred by the salt and the water but just visible enough to see the flakes of gold swirling in her pupils. Still clear enough to see herself die.

She had felt Valdor’s fingers through her hair then, braiding it carefully in an intricate style she had never seen before, but one that tugged at familiar roots she had never felt before. 

Her hair. Some mewling, broken part of her(was it her dream or His? Was there a difference anymore?) instinctively felt like it should be darker. Longer. Wreathed with gold, and weighed down by a crown. But it was her hair. It was her hair, once upon a time, and she had lost it strand by strand, inch by inch, as the gold swam up through her vision and blocked out her eyes.

A rock clattered over the side of the mountain, followed by dull, distant thunder. It jolted her back to her mind, to her body, to the world that she did not rule over and should have never ruled. 

Numbly, she felt herself shake her head. Valdor only raised an eyebrow, and adjusted the clasp.

“I remember the rock, my master.” Valdor was saying. His voice rose and fell like a litany, carefully retracing steps the Emperor had once guided him through, when He was a king and gods walked the earth. She felt so small against him, so tired, so far from the invincible god-warrior he had once served, but that was alright, He had returned to him, and he would shepherd Him, guide Him, protect Him, through this life and through this death till the last. “Even the rocks felt cold. It was black, and it glistened like oil whenever the sun shone. There were storms every day of that campaign, as if the heavens themselves were against us, as if the gods had conspired to strike you down, but yet you gave us the order to march. And the wind. You told me that you heard it screaming. Malcador jokingly asked that if you should live again, you would choose to enact Ararat during the summer instead, if only out of sheer annoyance from the wind.” Valdor’s smile was nothing more than a reflex. There was no humor in it, nor human emotion. “Do you remember it then, my master?”

The wind. Had it screamed then, as it screams now? Had it screamed, beneath the weight of the betrayal, wailing with the sheer horror of what it had taken? Did it scream, singing a threnody with the thunder, as the skies growl and hail shudders from overcast clouds ahead? She shivers underneath her layers. The finest climate suits had been prepared, coupled with the Custodian cloak over her shoulders, but she felt cold, so unspeakably cold that it was nearly painful. 

Oh Throne. She was cold, so cold. 

“Constantin?” she rasps. Her voice was not her own. It was rusty from disuse, and cracked, and weak, but yet some part of it resonated, it echoed like the tongue of a god, speaking through the plaintive shell of a mortal, just enough to hiss like a shadowy undertone. It should have been more sonorous, it should have been softer, it should have been the voice of a conqueror, it should have been the voice of a girl snatched away from her home by an angel and transformed into a god. It should have been hers, but it was His instead. She licks her lips and tries again. “Constantin.”

“Yes, my lord?” he was at her side(was he always so close?), the memory jarringly left unfinished. The hand once gently guiding her and became more insistent as he knelt down until they were eye to eye. 

“I don’t remember the mountain.” she replied flatly. Her voice was weaker than a whisper. She didn’t care. She knew he’d hear it anyway. And if he didn’t, she no longer cared enough to ensure he did. She no longer believed she had the strength to stomach that voice any longer. 

The cliff looked dizzyingly as she peered over the edge. She wondered if even a Custodian could survive a fall at such a height. 

“I don’t remember the snow, Constantin.”

“That is alright, my liege.” He was so sweet, so sickeningly sweet, so unerringly gentle. It made her want to claw at him, to crack him, to see what could finally burrow under that invincible flesh and make him howl. It made her wonder how the Emperor broke him to make him the man he had become, how deeply He must have laid His tongs in the forge of flesh and fire. 

She wondered what his screams would sound like, if he could scream at all.

“Do not trouble yourself, my liege. Your form is still young.” Of course, he could afford to wait. He had waited for ten thousand years, and he would gladly wait for ten thousand more. In that broken, delusional mind of his, it was only just, after all. He’d speak litanies of loyalty, roaring them over the screams of her brethren, he’d speak praises so numerous that they’d drown out the sobs of her family. “Your memories will return, when given due time. I can tell you about them. The preliminaries, the campaigns, the plans you undertook.”

Of course. They’d have to return. They must return. They will return, and He will live again, born out of this mortal shell under Valdor’s guidance. Valdor simply could not be, must not be, could not accept, could not live in a world where his liege has fallen forever. 

The snow was no longer biting her. It seemed to have been cowed, laid low beneath the vengeful eye of its rightful master. Even the storm seems to have settled, briefly, at least for now. For the eye of the King, the Emperor, the god-sorceror. 

It was so cruel, the revelation, the realization that welled up in her when she gazed dully back at him with listless eyes. The revelation that came for her, and not for him, for he would be nothing if not for his delusion. How quickly she understood the truth beneath why she had called him here, why she had suddenly finally accepted his offer to visit the mountain, when she had been delaying it, dreading it, putting it off for weeks upon months. 

The edge. 

The end. (And not the death).

She wondered if even a Custodes could survive a fall from this height. She wondered if it mattered anymore. 

The plan had been formulating itself for weeks now, brewing like boiled flesh in a cyst, nursing itself, grieving its wounds, growing stronger, gaining weight. First she had refused to eat, then to bathe, then to move at all, all the dreary, listless days crushed into the same monotony as brass as she had sat still upon a throne she did not want and stared off into oblivion, as he occasionally knelt by her and asked for her commands while she numbly stared off in the distance, her eyes a thousand yards away. Her gaze had been lost in a time beyond time, beyond memory itself, and not even dreams could steal her away. 

First it had only been how she stopped even trying to hide from him. She simply let him follow her, on her aimless, little walks aboard the massive ship that had become her only location. Then it had been how her tongue had stalled and she no longer even greeted the serfs that occasionally came by to deliver her food she did not eat, water she did not want, utensils she did not use, how she simply stared ahead, as reactive as a corpse, about as conscious to the world as the dead. Valdor had cared after her then, when even her memory had failed her, when she lay still and sullen like ash, the weight of the world upon broken shoulders, silent, painful tears trickling a cheerless trail from her eyes to her duvet. How he had lifted her up and cradled her to him, asking which stories she wished to hear, which glories she wished him to recount. Which memories that were not hers but soon will be, tales he regaled her of His conquests, of His victories and His lessons, His mantras drilled into her bones as they have been drilled into his.

She had left the world, bit by bit, husk by husk, until she felt as if she weighed no more than one of His eagles’ feathers did, frailly clinging onto the world with a whisper and a dream. It was as if she was sinking into some calm, clear, colorless water and feeling the waves close in above her, but there was no sensation of drowning, no voiceless cry in the deep. Simply the noiseless struggle in her own dreams, as she prepared herself for the final breath before oblivion. 

(Did she have the strength? Did it matter any longer, when he could overpower her no matter the answer?)

It was so beautiful, up here, at the edge of the sky. She could hear the storm breathing in the clouds. It was close enough that she could close her eyes, and dream of Ararat, listening to Valdor’s words. An end. An end, just like the Thunder Warriors He(and she?) slaughtered so long ago. The final unraveling. She didn’t want to die, but was she truly living? An immortality without life, without passion, without even joy itself, was that truly living when she was little more than a corpse, kept alive through obsession?

If the Emperor had loved them, He would have never created them at all. What merciful god would create such grotesque angels? 

If the Four were merciful, they would have sought Valdor, as they sought the Primarchs. They would have whisked him away, upon winds of change, tainted him with their mark, made sure He would never accept him as a servant again. They would have saved him, corrupted him, broken him, taught him what it felt like to dream, before the golden light shone again, and His dream took over his. 

But he was a servant, not a master. He was not a leader. He knelt, instead of ruling, and the Emperor had sunk in His claws so deep even the Four could not pry it out. And so he was His, forevermore.

He died ten thousand years ago. And somewhere, inside that twisted, broken Palace that was a mind, His dog was still waiting loyally at the door, waiting for Him to return. 

He was kneeling beside her now. She had never even heard him move. With infinite reverence, he cups her features, admiring the black strands falling over his gauntlets, the golden eyes - so broken, so gorgeous, so His - staring back at him.

“It was the end of the Unification Wars, my liege. And the start of your rule. The Imperium was born that day, your coronation happened atop that bloodstained snowfield, when Malcador held up that laurel, and crowned you King. How could you forget how I, the first of your Custodes, knelt first and rose last, when the ceremony ended?” 

So careful. So gentle as not to hurt her.

“Tell me about them.” a small, cruel smile had found its way onto her face. She was no longer looking at him, instead smiling serenely, blankly staring out upon the sky. The mountain truly was beautiful. It was such a shame this was where she would die. She should have felt something then. A sense of guilt, perhaps. A moment of horror for what she had become, for taking advantage of something so deeply broken into him that it was written into his very bones. Obedience was carved into his blood, seared into his marrow. He would know no other way but to obey. 

“The Unification Wars?” Valdor asks, the question poised so effortlessly, head tilted like a loyal dog, perfectly prepared to obey his master’s every word. 

It would be almost easier, she thought, if he had been a crueller man. Easier to break him, easier to hate him, easier to gaze upon that perfect, immaculate features and wonder what if he had lost those duels. If he had been taught to be mortal, what his screams would’ve sounded like, what sounds of pain he might wheeze out when his perfect, immaculate dancer’s grace falters and he learns, he learns the price for immortality. 

He was never meant to love. 

Not for the first time, she wonders if he can feel pain. If she’ll even care, if it’ll even matter. For a creature who loved no one but his master, would it even be a sin?A sin, to teach him what it meant to fear? To taste the copper tang of terror, to twist the knife in him as he had twisted the knife in her. And to die, exalted, knowing she would have hurt him, knowing she brought down a demigod. 

You can’t reason with a mad dog. You can’t plead with someone who knows they’re right. You can’t gaze into the eyes of Constantin Valdor and expect to see reason back, when his master was right in front of him and alive, so sickeningly alive he would rather kill than forget Him again.

Would he even mourn this time? Did he even know what mourning felt like? She had an inkling that he did, however twisted it may be. Because, for him, the tale isn't over yet, the tale must not be over. His Emperor is not dead, it cannot be, he cannot be, in a world without the Emperor, it simply is not possible. Without Valdor, the Emperor could not lead His Custodes, but without Him, the Custodes could not live. 

“No.” she replies. “The mountain. Tell me of them.” The smile that stretched across her face felt nothing like her. It did not belong to this life. It was too old, too heavy, too sad and too cruel for a face that was once joyous and wide with mischief. She had an inkling of the words Valdor was about to say, the bitter, treacherous words she would weep to hear, and regret ever having forced him to speak. 

“The Thunder Warriors.” she murmured. She had closed her eyes again by then. The plan was formulating, inking itself together with the same mindlessness of crawling, squirming things beneath the earth. And she didn’t want to see what the ground would look like when she fell. She didn’t want to see what it felt like to die a second time. This was only a distraction, a charade, a pitiful illusion built by a mind almost broken. There was no one here but a madman, a broken girl, and the ghosts of the storm calling out its mournful rage overhead. 

“Tell me what became of them. Of that Primarch you spoke so highly of. And no lies.” she sighs, and the voice that whistles out of her is too old, too broken. She brushes his hand away. This time, he doesn’t even insist on remaining. “Tell me what happened on Ararat. I want to hear the truth from your lips.” 

If there had been anything left of her heart, she might have mourned for him. For what he had become, living not for himself but for another. Living His life for Him. And when He died, what could become of him? What could become of him except to endure? When he had slaughtered brothers, lovers, children upon the snowfields, betrayed loyalists and watched life fade from their eyes, all in the name of Him, what could be left of him if not to serve?

He served, and loyalty was its own reward. Loyalty, unyielding, unbreaking, even in death his duty would not end.

Valdor tilts his head like a confused dog. “What good will it do now?” 

She utters a dry, raspy laugh. It had no inflection within it, no actual human emotion. 

“I command you, Valdor.” she spoke. There was nothing behind it, nothing even when the command hurt him. It stirred nothing but a deep, dull ache and the brief knife of guilt, which was quickly surpassed by the lasting numbness that did not seem to leave her bones. “I command you to speak of them. On Ararat. What happened on Ararat?”

She turns from him, walking slowly, and without care. She needed to be on a ledge. Distantly, thunder shrieks, and the storm crashes down. Lightning briefly illuminates her features, skin half-tanned, black hair flowing and golden eyes peering through the brume, and in that radiant flare of lightning she looked positively divine, a half-god caught on earth, if not for the weary, haunted gaze of a hunted animal. Her shoulders were hunched, her movements withered, as if her bones could no longer support her weight. She walked without a singular care in the world, and Valdor trailed immediately afterwards. She knew to jump was no longer an option. Even the stormclouds seemed to mock her. It was foolish, so foolish, she knew. He could not let her die. He would move faster than she could even think, he could catch her, snatch her around her waist and carry her to a safe distance before she could even advance an inch towards the edge. 

She could not die here. He would not allow her to die.

And they both knew that.

Voicelessly, soundlessly, she gazes up upon the stormladen sky. Its grey dances across her golden irises, the stormwind playing with her hair. Thunder crashes, and she feels herself scream back, wordlessly, soundlessly, without even conscious thought. Dully, she knew she was raging, screaming, that her mind was seizing at the clouds and tearing at them, begging them to save her, but physically she made not even a single move. Her body was frozen, the snow pelting her shoulders, Valdor’s cloak swirling from the wind. She felt frozen, too. Her mind was no longer wreathed with such self-pity it once had, it was churning, clawing, raging like a caught rabbit in a trap, desperately wishing the ground would open up and swallow it whole, not as a kind of freedom, but as a final form of spite to the hunter.

Thunder crashes around the two of them. Neither of them move. The edge was close, so dizzyingly close that she could feel the wind gusting around her. Valdor was watching her closely, the same way a starved wolf may watch a weakened deer.

When Valdor finally speaks, unable to resist the bluntness of her command, his eyes were still distantly focused on the memories of Ararat. And his voice was passionlessly dull, carefully kept neutral and utterly without pity. 

“I slit his throat.” he confesses dully, flatly, without even a hint of inflection. “The Primarch. I slit his throat on Ararat, from ear to ear, then from ear to clavicle. I only stopped when I felt bone scraping against the edge of my knife.”

Surprisingly she laughed, and the sound was garbled, as grim and as dry as bones. “I suppose you killed him then?” she asked. One more step. One more step and she would be at the edge. He would not let her. He would move faster than the earth could drag her down anyways. But it did not matter. Slowly, incredulously, she could feel herself smiling. It was going to be alright. She could feel it in her bones, the static, the storm. Even the snow seemed to be on her side. For a moment, she felt like a god, standing at the top of the world, the conquered earth groveling beneath Him, knowing that even the elements would fall beneath His gaze. 

She could taste the ichor then, sweet and lifeless and pouring from the sky along with the snow, the charge in the sky and the thunder. The vengeance it held. The sheer rage, an echo of her own. She would rule them. She did not want to rule. She would rule, for one singular moment in her wretched life, she would rule, and she would hurt him, as he had hurt her. For the serfs he terrorized, for the Sisters he slaughtered, for the martyrs he first betrayed and then hung out to die. All in her name. All for her wishes. She no longer wished to wish. She no longer wished to reign. 

Let her abdicate the throne of skulls. Just once. Just once, she prayed. 

“No.” Valdor shook his head. He was already moving, one hand reaching out to grasp her arm and drag her back before she could approach the edge. “It would have been a kinder fate if he had died then. It would have been a kinder fate if-”

“-if you had granted him an honorable death.” she finished for him. She spoke softly, plaintively, as if this was a comfort. She had turned her face a little, just enough to see him, just enough to see his elegant features illuminated by the storm. To gaze upon him, one last time. The way he held himself, like a dancer, his lean features accentuated by the lightning as the thunderbolt carved the sky open and struck the ledge beside her. The way his auramite had shuddered from the lightning as he had, for the first time in her memory, stumbled, his gait not utterly perfect before the divine rage. The first word she had heard him say that was not perfectly calculated.

The lightning snaps the ledge like bone.

The surprised intake of breath she had uttered, a squeal that was nearly a gasp as the rock beneath her feet had caved in, and then crumbled as she had desperately hoped, the weathered stone no longer capable of supporting its own weight bending and breaking and shattering as the lightning arced through it, the smite separating the ledge like the same way Valdor had carved through that serf. That poor, poor serf who had slipped her a kiss upon her request. It was little more than a peck, that poor thing. And he hadn’t even been able to scream when Valdor separated his bones like paper. 

In a silent vow to him, in a wordless vow to them all, the corpses he laid so she could climb atop her throne, she promised she wouldn’t scream as she fell.

Grimly, lips drawn in a tight line, she only felt the distant thunder as she descended like a one-winged eagle, her face utterly expressionless, lightning briefly dancing sparks against her hair as if in reverence. 

Valdor’s cloak, still wrapped around her, its silk as crimson as spilled blood, unfurled around her as she fell.

Distantly, from somewhere beyond the mountaintop, thunder roared. 

~~~~

It was warm, when she finally awoke. She muttered something, tried to turn, and decided to burrow deeper against the warmth instead. There was a rumble, a purr-like sound, and the slow, drifting scent of incense as one titanic hand came up to rest against her hair. 

With careful reverence, it adjusted the master’s laurel. 

“Welcome back, by lord.” the voice purred. “You expressed quite the interest in the Cataegis Primarch.”

She groaned. Golden irises flickered back and forth, as if in distress, beneath her lids. Valdor’s other hand reached up to stroke through her hair, careful not to upset the laurel.  

“I had thought you would have recognized him, my lord. It was, after all, his grave that I showed you that night upon the mountain.”

He makes a long, slow chuckle, almost like amusement, if he had been capable of it. “I had expected you’ve greeted him already, my master. You were standing atop his bones.” 

Somewhere, distantly, thunder growled. And without even being conscious of it, she shivered, and tried to burrow closer to his warmth.  

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[sourcherryandsprinkles]

Taking care of my dragon | Daemon Targaryen x Reader

Summary: After getting his pride hurt at the tourney, Daemon needs help to calm down and unwind

Word count:

Warning: pure softness and intimacy (no smut)

Request:  You are amazing♥️ You bring me a sense of comfort that I haven’t felt in a really long time and Daemon please🙏🙏🙏

-

You winced as you watched Daemon's back slide along the tilt rail, his armor screeching and hurting your ears, and got knocked down and unhorsed as he reached its end. One of the squires came to help him up, but Daemon and his pride shoved him off.

This joust was off to a bad start…

On the opposite end, Criston Cole got down his horse, both men wishing to continue in a contest of arms.

The duel was difficult to watch, but you couldn’t look away, worried for your man. Cole was relentless on Daemon; they weren't jousting anymore, the fight had gotten personal. One wanted to win to bring honor to his house by defeating Daemon Targaryen, and the other was a sore loser and letting his anger out on Cole, swinging Dark Sister and kicking him until he was down.

The crowd cheeked for Daemon, who relished all the acclamations all while having his back turn on Cole. That turned out to be a huge mistake because Cole stood up and hit Daemon with his flail square in the back, sending him to the ground.

Your heart leaped and stopped for a fraction of a second, shocked at Cole's brutality. You turned to the princess, expecting to see her shocked face, but Rhaenyra seemed enamored by the young knight. He even came and asked for her favor, which could have been sweet had he not done all that spectacle to get her attention.

The tourney continued, other knights coming and jousting in the list. You tried concentrating on the duels, but Daemon remained on your mind. You thought to go see him, to bring him a little comfort after his defeat, but he had his pride hurt big time and assumed he wanted to be alone.

‘’My lady?’’ One of the handmaids appeared at your side, quietly speaking. ��’It’s Prince Daemon, he…please come.’’

You followed the handmaid up to your and Daemon’s chambers as she informed you of Daemon's little outburst following his embarrassing defeat against Cole. According to her, he had been kicking and throwing things, behaving like a child and making a tantrum. One of the guards tried to control him, but Daemon pulled a dagger at him and that’s when someone suggested to get you.

If anyone could get the prince to calm down, it was his lady wife.

The bedchamber was in shambles and surprisingly quiet when you arrived. Daemon's dragon helmet was on the floor next to a broken vase – he must have chucked it in his fit of rage –, his breastplate, gauntlets and else were scattered around the room.

Your handmaiden, Alyse, emerged from behind the sheer curtain of the bathing area, seeming relieved to see you. ‘’Prince Daemon is currently soaking in the bath I have readied for him. I will bring in towels and wine for him.’’

You nodded. ‘’Very well. Thank you, Alyse.’’

‘’Does the lady require anything else?’’ she asked before leaving the room.

‘’No, that will be all. Leave the towels and wine on the table.’’ You smiled politely at the handmaiden who nodded and left. ‘’Leave us. Everyone.’’

The guards and other handmaids vacated the chambers, closing the door behind.

You crossed the room and pulled the curtain. In the middle of the bathing chamber, Daemon was immersed up to his armpits and steam was coming from the large steel wash basin, scalding hot just the way he liked it. The bottom of his hair was wet from dipping in the water, and the usual soft silver mane all tangled and dirty from the tourney. His under-clothes were left in a puddle by the bath and he was grumbling in High Valyrian.

‘’Husband,’’ you said, stepping in.

‘’This usurper cunt of a knight humiliated me in my city!’’

‘’A bruise to the ego won’t kill you, my love.’’

‘’Besides, I doubt you yielded. I’m sure you could have taken the man down with your dagger. It’s small, but you could have taken his eye out easily – but you didn’t.’’

Daemon cocked an eyebrow. ‘’His eye?’’ he repeated, not expecting that kind of brutality from his wife.

You hummed. ‘’Go for the throat if not harmed, and for the eyes if harmed. Your opponent’s chances are down if he is blinded.’’

‘’You’d be great at joust, my love.’’

‘’I’d rather be a spectator.’’

You walked over to the wash basin and sat on its edge. Automatically, Daemon let his head fall against your thigh, his defeat still heavy on his ego. You cradled the back of his head the way you would a small kitten and began undoing the braids from his hair.

‘’Would you like me to put some lavender oil? It’s has anti-inflammatory and analgesic properties, it should relieve your muscles after all that jousting.’’

Without waiting for his answer, you fetched it from the cabinet and poured a few drops of lavender oil in the scalding hot bath, then moved a hand through the water surrounding him to mix the oil to the water.

‘’It also had calming properties…for your temper,’’ you added with a glint of teasing.

Daemon chuckled, knowing how he can be. ‘’It’s Cole’s fault for waking the dragon.’’

You heard the chamber door open and close – Alysa bringing in the wine and towels – but paid it no mind. Her respect for privacy was the reason why you had personally requested her as your handmaiden.

You sat back on the edge of the wash basin and grabbed the sponge, plunging it in the water before running it over Daemon’s chest, watching the water dribble over his sculpted pecs. ‘’It doesn’t happen when I wake the dragon.’’

‘’That’s because you’ve tamed it and made it yours.’’ He flicked his violet eyes on you, a wash of desire in them.

A smile curled on your lips, running the sponge over his chest again. ‘’Would my dragon like to have his hair washed?’’

There's something so intimate about bathing with your lover. Washing each other, or just sitting in the warm water and relaxing. It's a bonding experiment, a moment of tenderness between a husband and his wife, an easy way to strengthen your relationship.

And it helps unwind after a long day.

The question was left pending, but you reached for the wooden comb and pitcher anyway. You combed out all of the knots and tangles with the comb, then filled the pitcher with warm water. You slid your hand up to Daemon’s forehead and made him tip his head back, pouring water at his hairline slowly, watching as it cascaded down his back and into the bath water.

‘’You’re so good to me,’’ Daemon purred, leaning into your delicate touch as you meticulously massaged his scalp through the sods of the soap. ‘’You bring me a sense of comfort that I haven’t felt in a really long time.’’

His words touched your heart, their softness showing a layer of Daemon only you knew of. This layer was hidden beneath layers and layers of arrogance, impulsiveness and…well, fire.

You filled the pitcher with water again, and rinsed and repeated until all the sods were out.

‘’All done.’’ You put down the pitcher and pressed a tender kiss to the back of his left shoulder.

Daemon let out a long, drawn out groan.

‘’Did I hurt you?’’

‘’No,’’ he immediately said, rolling his shoulders and furrowing his eyebrows. ‘’My shoulders are a little stiff. It’s all.’’

You took hold of one of Daemon’s tender shoulders and squeezed gently. He groaned again. ‘’You're all tense, my love.’’ You poured some lavender oil in your palms and slid your hands firmly across his shoulders and down his upper back, feeling the tension and knots under your palms. ‘’Does that feel good?’’

A soft moan escaped his lips.

The water must be getting lukewarm and unpleasant – he’s been bathing for a moment –, but Daemon didn’t seem to mind.

Ever so gently, you began making small circles with your thumbs, working your way from the middle of his neck down. You gradually made your way to his shoulders, your hands working their way across his back, fingers moving over the contours of his muscles until they were putty under your palms.

‘’Mmh, you've got the delicatest hands, my darling wife.’’ His eyes were closed and face smooth with contentment.

You paused your massage to loosely snake your arms around your husband’s shoulders and kissed his cheekbone. ‘’Only for you.’’ 

-

House of the Dragon/Game of Thrones taglist: @anastasiaxsworld @lollypopcrazylover @fin-never @dkathl @ayamenimthiriel @nerdy4itall @rraindrops @glors3 @beelanie @hc-geralt-23 @sweetybuzz25  @uniquenightsheep @kaywsworld @i-yam-awesome @caspianobsessed @kelssssxd @dilfsarebetterthanyou @missyviolet123 @leakycauldrns @brezzybfan @khaleesihavilliard @vexedvalerie @lollaa-puff @my-dark-prince @chevelledahuman @caspianobsessed @ayamenimthiriel @yor72 @mirandastuckinthe80s @newtsniffles @cleverzonkwombatsludge @justaproudslytherpuff @ren-ni @green-lxght @anginoguera @bubblebuttwade @comicsol1999 @rockerchick05 @baelavelaryonwp @tnu-ree @beccawinter @alexisabirdie @persage @hayleighloatx @kindaslightlyacidic @perdynerd @elsyyie @puffycreamcakes  @thirsty4nonlivingmen  @naty-1001 @xannybabyxx  @katiepie67 @kjones375 @moshpot24x @hc-geralt-23 @lovelynerdytraveler @saturn-sas  @zgzgh @sssjuico10 @tabloidteen @timetoten @deekaag @wondxrgurl   @queenofshinigamis @aerangi @strmborns @astridyoo15 @Wehi02 @daemonslittlebitch @queenbeestuffs @severewobblerlightdragon @agentstarkid @msliz   @cayleecook38 @yoyopolloobamadaddy @hayleighloatx @vane1999-blog @smptxx @fairyfolkloresposts @yassi-world @todaywasafairytale07 @ESobilal @otomaniac @zgzgzh @thebeardedmoon @golden-library @kikyrizuki @hnslchw @camy85 @winxschester @khaleesihavilliard @domoron @ididliquorice @lover-of-helios @lover-of-helios @shine101 @tanyaherondale @mikariell95 @Katelyn15m @serrendiipty @lantsovheiress @gilliananderfuckme @shine101 @tetgod @beggarsnotchoosey @vainillasmil157 @kizzyxren @clayzayden@memeorydotcom @Harryshousewhore @kodzuvk @tnu-ree @omgsuperstarg @futuregws @blackravena @ashlatano7567 @winxschester @mysteriouslydelightfulchaos @xxlaynaxx @uh-no-actually @secretsthathauntus @lemiqa @pilarxxxaguayo @emmavan39 @stargaryenx @erylilly @bbblackmamba @rainedrop97 @Hc-geralt-23 @dreamer087 @gothicgay14 @ashlatano7567 @superkittywonderland @justaproudslytherpuff @evesolstice @buckysmainhxe @mouldyfrog @padfootsvixen @scarletmeii @drusillaravenclaw @softtina @Jelly-fishy-babie @evesolstice @Thelilacmourning @dkathl @Thelilacmourning @kaywsworld @tetgod @padfootsvixen @xannybabyxx

[sunshinesmebdy]

Unleash Your Inner Warrior: Embracing the Power of the Moon in Aries

The vibrant energy of the Moon in Aries brings a dynamic shift to the world of business and finance. It’s a period characterized by bold initiatives, decisive action, and a surge of entrepreneurial spirit. As an astrologer and business consultant, I’m here to guide you through this potent transit and maximize its potential for your success.

Understanding the Moon in Aries Influence:

Fiery Leadership: This transit amplifies leadership qualities, encouraging assertiveness, initiative, and a willingness to take calculated risks. It’s an ideal time to step up, present your ideas confidently, and lead projects with courage and conviction.

The Moon in Aries ignites the inner CEO within! This fiery transit throws open the curtains on your leadership potential, boosting your assertiveness, initiative, and appetite for calculated risks. It’s prime time to shed self-doubt, step onto center stage, and confidently pitch your ideas. Lead projects with the conviction of a lion, unafraid to break new ground. But remember, true leadership isn’t a solo act — leverage your team’s strengths, delegate wisely, and inspire others with your fiery vision. Now go forth and conquer, leader!

Innovation & Creativity: The fiery energy sparks creative thinking and encourages out-of-the-box solutions. Businesses can leverage this time to brainstorm new products, explore niche markets, and implement innovative marketing strategies.

The Moon in Aries is creativity’s jet fuel! Unleash your inner inventor and ignite a brainstorming inferno. Dive deep into niche markets, explore unconventional possibilities, and let your ideas dance outside the lines. This is the perfect time to launch new products that disrupt the status quo, experiment with bold marketing campaigns, and implement innovative solutions that leave your competitors gasping for air. Remember, innovation thrives on a healthy dose of risk, so don’t be afraid to color outside the lines and ignite the spark of change!

Competitive Drive: Aries thrives on friendly competition. Utilize this energy to engage in healthy market competition, negotiate favorable deals, and strive for excellence in your industry. However, remember to stay ethical and respectful, avoiding aggressive tactics that could damage your reputation.

The Moon in Aries throws down the gauntlet, igniting a healthy competitive spirit within! Channel this fire to excel in your market, but remember, it’s a friendly duel, not a scorched-earth battle. Leverage this energy to secure favorable deals, negotiate with confidence, and push your industry boundaries. Remember, sportsmanship matters — compete fiercely, but ethically and respectfully. Think of it as a collaborative climb to the top, not a ruthless push to the bottom. By striking the right balance between ambition and integrity, you’ll emerge victorious, reputation intact and fire still burning bright. So, ready, set, go (with grace)!

Impulsive Decisions: The downside of Aries’ impulsive nature is the potential for hasty decisions and reckless investments. Before making significant financial moves, ensure thorough research, careful analysis, and a balanced perspective.

While the Moon in Aries fuels your fire, remember, impulse control is your armor! This transit can tempt you to dive headfirst into risky investments or hastily close deals. Don’t let the flames cloud your judgment. Before venturing into financial territory, douse the inferno with thorough research, careful analysis, and a healthy dose of skepticism. Seek diverse perspectives, consult trusted advisors, and prioritize long-term sustainability over short-term thrills. Remember, calculated risks are one thing, but reckless gambles can leave you singed. So, channel your fiery spirit wisely, and remember, slow and steady wins the financial race under this potent transit.

Tips for Harnessing the Moon in Aries Power:

Initiate New Ventures: This period favors launching new businesses, products, or marketing campaigns. Channel your creative spirit and develop strategies that stand out from the crowd.

With the Moon in Aries’ spotlight shining bright, it’s go time for bold initiatives! This is the astrological green light to launch that business you’ve been dreaming of, unveil that innovative product you’ve been tinkering with, or unleash a marketing campaign that blazes a trail unlike any other. Tap into your boundless creativity, ignite the spark of differentiation, and develop strategies that make your brand stand out like a supernova in a crowded galaxy. Don’t be afraid to break the mold — remember, Aries thrives on trailblazing and the world awaits your unique brand of brilliance. So, unleash your inner entrepreneur, channel your fiery spirit, and get ready to launch into the stratosphere of success!

Negotiate with Confidence: Don’t be afraid to express your value and negotiate assertively, ensuring you secure fair deals and partnerships. Remember, confidence is key, but stay respectful and collaborative in your approach.

Under the Moon in Aries, your negotiation game levels up! Don’t shy away from expressing your worth and confidently advocating for your goals. It’s okay to bring the fire, but remember, it’s a negotiation, not a battle. Assert your value with respect, collaborate to find win-win solutions, and remember, confidence is key to securing fair deals and partnerships. Think of it as a dance, not a duel — move with grace, power, and a clear understanding of your worth, and you’ll emerge victorious, leaving behind a trail of satisfied collaborators, not scorched earth. So, channel your inner diplomat warrior, and go forth and negotiate with confidence!

Invest Strategically: The Moon in Aries can be a good time for calculated investments, especially in innovative sectors or emerging markets. However, conduct thorough research, avoid impulsive decisions, and prioritize long-term sustainability over short-term gains.

While the Moon in Aries ignites the fire of investment fervor, remember — it’s a calculated burn, not a reckless inferno! This transit can offer fertile ground for strategic investments, especially in groundbreaking sectors or burgeoning markets. However, don’t let the fiery energy cloud your judgment. Conduct meticulous research, analyze trends with a cool head, and prioritize long-term stability over fleeting gains. Think of it as planting a financial seed — nurture it with knowledge, patience, and a sprinkle of calculated risk, and watch it blossom into a sustainable garden of success. Remember, impulsive bets might bring quick thrills, but informed decisions fueled by Aries’ fire will be the true key to unlocking long-term financial prosperity. So, invest wisely, fellow warriors, and let the Moon in Aries guide you towards a future as bright as your ambition!

Delegate Tasks Wisely: Delegate tasks wisely to capitalize on the team’s diverse strengths and prevent burnout. Encourage initiative and creativity within your team, fostering a dynamic and collaborative work environment.

Under the Moon in Aries, delegation becomes your secret weapon! Instead of trying to be a one-person whirlwind, tap into the diverse strengths of your team. Delegate tasks strategically, matching talents with workloads, and watch the collective fire ignite. Don’t micromanage, instead, encourage initiative and creative solutions. Foster a collaborative spirit where ideas flow freely, fueled by the shared energy of the transit. Remember, a united team with individual flames burning bright is a force to be reckoned with! By delegating wisely, you’ll not only empower your team but also avoid burnout and ignite a dynamic engine of productivity that propels everyone towards shared success. So, step back, empower your warriors, and let the collective fire of Aries work its magic!

Maintain Balance: While embracing the impulsive drive is important, remember to maintain a healthy balance. Take time for reflection, consult with trusted advisors, and avoid letting your enthusiasm cloud your judgment.

The Moon in Aries is a potent brew of impulsiveness and drive, but remember, even the fiercest warrior needs moments of calm! Don’t get swept away by the whirlwind of action. Breathe, reflect, and consult trusted advisors to ground your ideas and avoid rash decisions fueled by pure enthusiasm. Think of it as adding water to the Aries fire — it tempers the flames, allowing them to burn brighter, stronger, and for longer. Prioritize sleep, healthy habits, and moments of introspection to maintain balance. Remember, true success under this transit demands not just fiery drive, but also the wisdom to channel it strategically. So, embrace the passion, but fuel it with balance, and watch your Aries-fueled endeavors burn a path to lasting success!

Remember, the Moon in Aries transit is a fleeting opportunity to inject your business with dynamic energy and entrepreneurial spirit. By understanding its influence, employing strategic planning, and maintaining a balanced approach, you can turn this fiery transit into a catalyst for success and propel your business to new heights.

[magewisdumb]

Protector | Shadowheart x Reader (Tav) Pt.1

A/N: Made shadowheart a paladin for this one as gift to the homie @shartstan97

It was difficult to see in the heat of battle, Karlach’s rage makes the air around her blur into a mirage as her engine cuts into overdrive her great axe catching a Sharran spell caster’s pauldron and digging through their chainmail. Shadowheart bashes her shield against another heavily armored Dark Justiciar, staggering it and slamming the side of her Warhammer against its helm effectively crunching the Justiciar’s composure. Gale’s hands burn with raw heat as he directs a fireball towards the opposite end of the hall, eviscerating the Justiciars and novices gathered there. You, however, were engaged in a fierce duel with Viconia, her eyes reflecting a cold fury that could only be fitting of one of Shar’s most devoted clerics.

You know this is not a fight at your advantage, everyone else had some level of radiant weaponry or spell craft at their disposal, you were but a rogue good with the blade, you had to be on the defensive with Viconia. She barely gives you the time to react as she lunges at you; mace winding back for a strike. You make the mistake of anticipating her strike as it turns out to be a feint, she steps in closer after your dodge and jabs it at your chest catching your leather armor, a buckle breaking under the strike. It’s enough to knock the wind out of your lungs, but you attempt to stay limber and regain your balance relative speed. VIconia attempts to feint you again, but you sidestep and whirl, dagger slicing through the air with the momentum of your flourish. Viconia seems to always be another step ahead and raises her shield and pushes into the attack, your dagger's edge glancing off the polished metal of the shield efficiently staggering you. The drow takes a moment and yells an incantation, and her mace starts to crackle, dark magic coils around the mace's sharp edges. Snapping out of your daze, you raise your other dagger to defend yourself, but Viconia’s strength bests you, her mace connecting just under your breast plate, ribs crunching painfully as you’re sent flying a couple meters back. You attempt to ease your fall with your arm, but it twists under you and bends at an angle it wasn’t intended to. Shadowheart is heard shouting in terror, most likely for you as you’re downed almost immediately from the supreme justiciar’s strike.  A choked groan leaves your mouth as you attempt to get up, coughing up bloody globs of spittle as your arm caves in on itself, vision hazy as you see Viconia raise a hand with magic encircling her fingers, a necrotic spell ready to end your existence. Your eyes meet the drow’s with defiance, not willing to give her a look of surrender before death. Viconia only sneers in response “Shadowheart betrays Lady Shar to the likes of you? Very well, hopefully she sees the cost of her misguided actions.” She aims her hand at you as the wisps of shadow dancing along her psalm intensify. 

“The only one seeing the cost of my actions today will be you Viconia” Your vision of Viconia is obscured by Shadowheart, who skids to a defensive kneel in front of you, her shield catching the spell and fizzing it out. The paladin murmurs a brief chant, and you feel your body infuse with minor healing magic, stabilizing the immediate bleeding. Viconia readies herself and starts to cast another spell, but Shadowheart is quick to react, she leaps to her feet, armored boots cracking the stone floor beneath her and charges Viconia, her warhammer and shield glowing with holy radiance. Viconia stops her spellcasting in a meek attempt to raise her shield though it is no match for the paladin’s charge. Metal armor and shield crashing into Viconia and the momentum doesn’t stop as she is pinned and smashed into the nearest wall. Shadowheart tosses her shield down before reaching with a gauntleted hand gripping Viconia by the collar and slamming her against the wall, hoping that her mother superior was in as much pain as she looked. The paladin glances briefly in your direction and is relieved to find that you are being helped up by Karlach and Gale, Karlach clumsily tipping a healing potion in your mouth. The half elf once again turns her focus on Viconia who opens her mouth “Why, Shadowheart? We are your true family.” Shadowheart scowls and applies pressure against Viconia eliciting a pained breath from the drow. “I will be asking the questions, all hopes of reconciling went out the window when you attack my friends and the light of my life, there is one thing you have left to owe me. My parents location, If you any shred of decency in your conscience left, you will at least grant me this peace” Viconia’s lips quiver as she struggles to breathe out a reply and points weakly at the door “In there you will find them, now end me, send me to lady Shar’s embrace” Shadowheart's visage slips into something eerily calm as her eyes begin to glow with radiant magic and when she speaks her voice reverberates softly with a quiet strength  “May you burn before you find benevolence in darkness” sacred flames begin to lick up Shadowheart’s gauntlet before spreading across the drow’s body, the dark elf panics as she struggles against the unyielding grip of her old pupil. Viconia’s body is turned to ash in a matter of seconds with the holy flames burning eagerly to sear their enemy. Shadowheart shakes the soot of her armor and grabs her discarded shield, walking back in your direction, her hackles lowering as her emerald eyes meet yours. You are clutching on to Karlach as a makeshift crutch trying to smile reassuringly through the pain at your lover in shining armor. Shadowheart only grimaces when she takes in the state of you. Torn armor, leather caked in blood, and one of your arms hangs at an odd angle, she then looks to Gale who is already opening a portal to camp. “I’m out of magic I’m afraid otherwise I’d be able to ease your pain, but I found where my parents are being kept, this is something I need to do. You can be there with me if you like, but I won’t fault you for nursing your injuries at camp.” You and Karlach look to each other before looking back at Shadowheart you harden your expression back into something more appropriate for the atmosphere “After we fought hard to get you here, there’s no way we’re not going with you now” and you sent a pointed look at Gale who sighs before closing the portal. Shadowheart smiles and you’re quick to notice the tears welling in her eyes though she is quick to turn on heel as she marches towards the circular door at the epicenter of the wall “If you say so.”