#lance dagger shield

[sunchasingstar]

Why tf did they make Maya and the Three so fucking sad???? It’s supposed to be a kids show but it broke my heart 😭

[we-are-knight]

Some evening fun between Knight and his student/co-instructor. ⚔️

The vibe was "Bretonnian knight Vs Empire soldier". ⚜️

[a-kind-of-merry-war]

After emerging from its egg, the humble squire, but one of a clutch of as many as fifty, gorges itself on porridge oats before finding itself a safe space beneath a shield or within the buttresses of a castle where it can undergo its extraordinary transformation into a knight.

Once safe, the squire wraps itself in spun chainmail which develops into a sturdy, protective cuirass to guard it from natural predators such as clergymen, lords, and even fully mature knights.

After a sennight, the squire begins to emerge from the cuirass as a juvenile knight. This time and energy intensive process, aided by the squires specially developed dagger, can take a full day.

Once freed from the cuirass, it takes a further three days for the juvenile knight's plate armour to harden. This armour is formed of interlocking plates, which depending on the genus of the knight may be made from iron, steel, or in some cases even bronze or copper.

During this process, some sub-species of knights also develop their heraldic colours. These are typically displayed through shielding or upon the knight's cape, which will usually fully unfurl in the few hours after they emerge from the cuirass. These colours are often used to attract a mate, indicate allegiance, or as showy threat displays.

Once a knight has reached sexual maturity, it will develop a lance; a hard, long protuberance used to attack and ward off competitors. Territory challenges are regular and deadly, and mature knights can often be observed jousting in the field, during which they rush at each other with their lances. Often, this results in the shattering of a lance, which will lead to the knight's death.

During breeding season, knights will construct an intricate bower to attract a mate. The choosing of a mate is demonstrated through the giving and receiving of a favour, entering the two knights in a season-long bond. Favour-stealing is extremely common, especially amongst younger knights.

Despite their territorial nature, wild knights are very social, and thrive best in areas where they are able to feast and play fight with other knights. Solitary knights can become depressed and reclusive, and have been known to create vast, maze-like bowers, steal mates, and invade pack knight's feast days. Solitary knights are often easy to identify thanks to the vibrant green patina of their armour.

[novaursa]

The Wolf Who Challenged Fire

- Summary: A short story where Brandon Stark steals you and starts the Rebellion.

- Pairing: targ!reader/Brandon Stark (The Wild Wolf)

- Note: Lyanna Stark does not exist in this AU.

- Rating: Explicit 18+ (for the death scenes)

- Next part: extra chapter

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround

The crowd's roar of excitement feels almost suffocating as you sit upon the high dais, a living ornament of regal grace and Targaryen beauty. The silk of your gown, dyed a deep shade of crimson and embroidered with silver thread, glints faintly in the sunlight. Beside you sits your father, King Aerys II, his nails clawing into the armrests of his ornate chair. His pale hair falls in unkempt strands over his shoulder, and his violet eyes dart between the two knights below with a mixture of irritation and suspicion.

Your mother, Queen Rhaella, sits on the other side, her hands trembling as they clutch the edge of her cloak. She looks far too frail to be attending a tourney, her pallor nearly blending into the ivory silk she wears. Her gentle whispers to you earlier—pleas to keep your head down and avoid catching undue attention—linger in your ears.

But avoiding attention has never been your gift, not when your lilac eyes gleam like polished amethysts beneath the sunlight and your hair catches the wind like a cascade of molten silver and gold. The eyes of the realm are always on you, including, it seems, those of Brandon Stark.

You try not to meet his gaze as he sits astride his stallion, his broad shoulders and wolf's-head cloak making him look every bit the Stark heir that he is. Yet, the air crackles with unspoken words as his gray eyes flicker to you once, twice, before shifting back to his opponent: your older brother, Rhaegar.

Rhaegar looks serene, as always, the perfect picture of a prince. His armor is brilliant in the sunlight, polished to perfection, and his hair silver falls in elegant waves. His hands grip the lance as if it were merely an extension of himself. The dragon and the wolf, facing each other on the field, as if the gods themselves had orchestrated this moment.

“Do you see how the Stark boy stares at you, daughter?” Aerys mutters, leaning toward you. His voice is a rasp, low and sharp like a dagger drawn across stone. “He thinks himself worthy of what is mine.”

Your chest tightens, but you do not answer. You know better than to draw your father’s wrath in public, even though your heart hammers with dread at what he might do later. Instead, you keep your gaze fixed on the jousting field below, willing yourself to stay calm.

“Brandon Stark is a fool,” Aerys continues under his breath, though his tone is low enough that only you can hear. “Like his father. Wolves do not belong in the company of dragons.”

Rhaella shifts uncomfortably beside you, her hand trembling as it rests briefly on yours. A silent plea: endure this.

The herald’s voice rings out, announcing the final tilt. The crowd erupts as Rhaegar and Brandon lower their lances and spur their horses forward.

You grip the armrests of your chair tightly, your breath catching as their steeds charge toward each other. The earth beneath them trembles with the force of their gallop, and your heart clenches as Rhaegar’s lance strikes Brandon’s shield with a deafening crack. But Brandon’s aim is truer. His lance collides with Rhaegar’s chest plate, shattering upon impact and sending your brother tumbling from his horse.

The crowd gasps. You shoot to your feet, your hands clenching the edge of your seat.

“Rhaegar!” you call, fear lacing your voice.

Rhaegar moves almost immediately, pushing himself to his feet with a grimace but no visible injury. Relief floods you as he raises a hand to signal his well-being, and the crowd erupts into cheers.

Brandon wheels his horse around, his expression victorious yet restrained. He dismounts smoothly, handing off his shattered lance and accepting the victor’s crown from the herald. It is a wreath of blue roses, the color vibrant and fresh against the dusty field.

You expect him to crown his betrothed, Lady Catelyn Tully, seated among the northern contingent. But he does not. Instead, Brandon mounts his horse once more, his wolf’s-head cloak billowing behind him as he rides toward the royal dais.

The murmurs in the crowd swell into a crescendo of astonishment as Brandon halts directly before you. His steel-gray eyes meet yours with an intensity that sends a shiver down your spine.

“My queen of love and beauty,” he declares, his voice carrying over the stunned silence. Slowly, deliberately, he reaches out and places the crown of blue roses in your lap.

Your heart stops. The world around you seems to blur as the enormity of what he’s done settles over you. This is no simple act of admiration—it is a public claim, a defiance of the natural order. He has passed over his betrothed, and he has chosen you.

“Brandon, no,” you whisper under your breath, your voice barely audible. But it is too late.

Beside you, Aerys stiffens. His nails dig into the armrest, and his eyes narrow with barely-contained fury. “He dares,” he hisses, so quietly that only you and Rhaella can hear. “That wolf dares.”

Rhaella’s trembling hand grips yours tightly, silently urging you to keep your composure. Across the field, you see Lord Rickard Stark rise from his seat, his face pale and drawn. He descends the stairs quickly, presumably to speak with his son in private. But the damage is already done. The crown in your lap feels like a brand, scorching you with the weight of its implications.

Brandon inclines his head slightly, a shadow of a smile playing on his lips as he turns his horse and rides away.

The crowd erupts into cheers once more, but you barely hear it over the sound of your own pounding heart. You glance at Rhaegar, who has remounted his horse. His expression is unreadable, though his gaze flickers to you briefly before he turns his attention back to the field.

Aerys leans closer, his breath hot against your ear. “He has signed his death warrant,” he mutters, his voice laced with venom. “And his father’s. I will see to it.”

You swallow hard, your hands trembling as you clutch the blue roses in your lap. Brandon Stark’s defiance may have ignited the spark, but it is your father’s madness that will set the realm aflame.

Brandon barely dismounts his horse before his father, Lord Rickard Stark, strides toward him with long, purposeful steps. His cloak of gray wool lined with dark fur trailing behind him, and his expression is as cold as the snow of his homeland. The crowd’s cheers fade into a dull hum as Rickard seizes Brandon by the arm, his grip firm but not violent, and pulls him toward a quieter corner behind the pavilion.

“What were you thinking, boy?” Rickard���s voice is low but cutting, the tone that always made Brandon feel like a chastised pup.

Brandon shrugs off his father’s grip, his gray eyes fierce and unyielding. “I was thinking of her,” he says simply, his voice steady but firm. “Y/N deserves better than to be caged in King’s Landing, surrounded by her father’s madness. She deserves—”

Rickard cuts him off with a sharp gesture. “You crowned a Targaryen princess as Queen of Love and Beauty in full view of the court and her father, the Mad King! Do you realize what you’ve done? This isn’t the North, Brandon. Down here, every word, every gesture is a weapon.”

Brandon’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t look away. “You think I don’t know that? I don’t care. I won today, Father. Me, not Rhaegar. And when I saw her sitting there, looking like something out of a song, I knew I couldn’t let it pass. She’s more than just a Targaryen—she’s the woman I—”

Rickard raises a hand, his eyes darkening. “Don’t finish that sentence. Not here. Not now.” He glances around, his instincts honed from years of navigating court politics. “You may have won the tilt, but you’ve dragged our house into dangerous waters. Aerys won’t forget this, nor will Rhaegar.”

Brandon smirks, a flash of his wolfish grin showing. “Let Aerys stew in his madness. And as for Rhaegar—he knows he’s lost her. That’s why he tilted against me so fiercely.”

Rickard’s expression softens slightly, a glimmer of concern breaking through his stern facade. “Brandon, this isn’t just about her. It’s about the North, about our family. You’ve made enemies today, powerful ones. And you’ve slighted Catelyn Tully in the process. Have you thought of that?”

The mention of Catelyn makes Brandon’s grin fade. He sighs, running a hand through his dark hair. “I didn’t mean to dishonor her. But I can’t pretend to love someone I barely know, not when—” He hesitates, lowering his voice. “Not when my heart belongs to Y/N.”

Rickard steps closer, lowering his voice as well. “And do you think Aerys will simply allow you to take her? That he’ll overlook what you’ve done today? The man burned his own courtiers for less, Brandon. He’s mad, yes, but not stupid. He’ll see this as a challenge to his power.”

Brandon’s defiance wavers for a moment, the weight of his father’s words sinking in. “Then what should I have done? Sit back and let Rhaegar crown her? Let her be his, or worse, left to wither in her father’s shadow?”

Rickard exhales heavily, his hand briefly resting on Brandon’s shoulder. “I know you think you’re protecting her, but you’ve made things more dangerous for her, for all of us. The court is a viper’s nest, and you’ve kicked it. Now we’ll all feel the venom.”

Brandon’s eyes harden again, his stubbornness flaring up. “I’d face a hundred vipers for her. You know that.”

Rickard studies his son for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, he sighs, his shoulders slumping slightly. “You’ve always been headstrong, Brandon. Too much like your mother. But headstrong doesn’t win wars, and make no mistake—war is what you’ve invited today.”

“I’ll face it,” Brandon says, his voice steady. “I’ll face whatever comes. For her.”

Rickard doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, he steps back, his gaze shifting toward the royal dais, where King Aerys still sits, his expression unreadable but his violet eyes burning with something dangerous. The old wolf’s instincts scream at him to act, to salvage what he can before it’s too late.

“Come,” Rickard says finally, his voice quieter now. “We need to leave this place before more damage is done.”

Brandon hesitates, his gaze flickering back toward the dais. Your lilac eyes meet his for a brief moment, filled with worry and something unspoken. He nods slightly, a silent promise passing between you.

Rickard notices the exchange and sighs. “The heart of a wolf will always defy reason,” he mutters under his breath. “Let’s pray it doesn’t cost us all.”

With that, he steers his son away from the pavilion, the blue roses in your lap the only lingering reminder of what Brandon Stark has done.

The night is heavy with the lingering scents of spilled ale and crushed flowers, the din of the tourney fading as lords and ladies retreat to their pavilions. You walk alone through the dimly lit garden adjoining Harrenhal’s grand hall, your heart pounding in your chest as you glance over your shoulder. The festival atmosphere still hums faintly in the distance, but here, surrounded by ancient stone walls and shadowed paths, the air is hushed, conspiratorial.

The blue roses Brandon placed in your lap earlier remain tucked into the crook of your arm, their delicate petals bruised from your grip. You press deeper into the garden, past hedges and fountains, until you reach a secluded alcove where the lanterns do not reach. The moonlight filters through the overhanging branches, casting silvery shadows on the ground. You wait, the stillness broken only by the faint rustle of leaves and the distant murmurs of drunken revelers.

“Y/N.”

The voice is low but unmistakable. You turn swiftly to find him emerging from the shadows, his wolf’s-head cloak blending into the darkness. Brandon moves with a predatory grace, his broad shoulders framed by the dim light as he approaches. There is no hesitation in his stride, no hint of regret in his eyes, only determination.

“You shouldn’t have come,” you whisper, though your voice lacks conviction. “If anyone sees us—”

“They won’t,” he interrupts, his voice steady but fierce. He steps closer, his gray eyes locking onto yours. “I couldn’t leave without seeing you.”

The intensity in his gaze makes your breath catch, but you quickly avert your eyes, clutching the roses tighter. “Brandon, do you have any idea what you’ve done? My father—he’s furious. He didn’t say much, but I could see it in his eyes. He’s plotting something. And Rhaegar—” You pause, your voice trembling. “Rhaegar won’t forget this insult.”

Brandon reaches out, his hand brushing against yours, his touch warm despite the chill of the night. “Let him plot. Let Rhaegar brood. None of it matters.”

You shake your head, stepping back from him even as your heart aches to stay close. “It does matter. You’ve put yourself—and your family—in danger. My father is mad, Brandon. Truly mad. He’s burned men alive for less than what you did today.”

“I’d do it again,” he says without hesitation. “A hundred times over. I won that tilt, and I wasn’t about to hand that crown to anyone else. You deserve better than this—better than being paraded around as some prize in a mad king’s court.”

“Better than being the reason your father and brothers suffer?” you retort sharply, your voice cracking with the weight of your fear. “Do you think Aerys will stop at just you? He’ll find a way to punish all of you for your defiance. And me? He’ll—he’ll—” Your voice falters, and you look away, tears threatening to spill.

Brandon’s hand cups your cheek gently, his thumb brushing away a tear that escapes despite your best efforts. “I won’t let him hurt you,” he says softly, his voice steady but laced with unyielding resolve. “Whatever comes, I’ll protect you. I swear it.”

“You can’t make that promise,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “You’re just one man, Brandon. You can’t fight a king.”

“I’ll fight a hundred kings if it means keeping you safe,” he replies fiercely, his grip on your cheek firm but tender. “You’re worth it, Y/N. You’ve always been worth it.”

Your resolve crumbles under the weight of his words, and you lean into his touch, closing your eyes for a moment. “You’re a fool,” you murmur. “A brave, stubborn fool.”

“And you love me for it,” he says, a hint of a grin breaking through his intensity.

You open your eyes, meeting his gaze, and for a moment, the weight of the world fades. In the moonlight, he looks like the wolf you’ve always known him to be—wild, fierce, and unrelenting. Your lips part to respond, but before you can, he leans in, capturing your mouth in a kiss that is both tender and desperate.

The roses fall from your arms, forgotten, as you cling to him, your fingers tangling in his cloak. His hands find your waist, pulling you closer as if he can shield you from everything beyond this moment. The kiss deepens, a silent promise of love and defiance, of everything you wish the world could allow you to have.

When you finally part, both of you breathless, he rests his forehead against yours, his voice a whisper. “Say the word, and I’ll take you away from all of this. Tonight. Now.”

You shake your head, tears spilling freely this time. “And where would we go? My father would hunt us to the ends of the earth. Your family—your brothers—they’d pay the price.”

He closes his eyes, his jaw clenching in frustration. “Then what? Do we just keep sneaking around like this? Hiding in shadows?”

“For now, we survive,” you say softly, placing a hand against his chest. “For now, we love in secret. Until we can find a way to be together without bringing ruin to everyone we care about.”

His hand covers yours, his warmth grounding you despite the chill of the night. “Then I’ll wait. For however long it takes.”

You nod, your voice trembling as you reply, “And I’ll hold you to that.”

The two of you linger a moment longer, stealing what little time you can before the weight of the world presses down once more. Then, reluctantly, Brandon steps back, his eyes lingering on you as if memorizing every detail.

“Go,” you whisper, your voice breaking. “Before someone sees us.”

He hesitates, then nods, pulling the wolf’s-head cloak tighter around him as he slips back into the shadows. You watch until he disappears, your heart aching with every step he takes away from you. Only when you are certain he is gone do you stoop to pick up the blue roses, their petals crushed but still fragrant.

As you make your way back to the hall, the weight of his love and your fears settles heavily on your shoulders. You know this affair is dangerous, reckless even. But you also know that for Brandon Stark, you would face every shadow in this world.

The journey to King’s Landing was supposed to be routine—a formality, Lord Rickard Stark had said, though there was tension behind his words. Aerys had summoned them to court after Brandon’s brash actions at Harrenhal moons prior. The blue roses, the crown, the whispered conversations in shadowed corners—it had all led to this.

Brandon Stark, the Wild Wolf of Winterfell, had ridden alongside his father with his jaw clenched, his mind racing. He had not shared his full plan with anyone, not even his father. But now, as the Red Keep loomed like a blood-red sentinel in the morning sun, he knew there was no turning back.

The Red Keep’s air was stifling, heavy with the weight of unseen eyes and whispered schemes. Servants scurried about like mice, their heads bowed, while guards in Targaryen black stood like statues, their hands resting on their swords. Brandon walked alongside his father, his cloak trailing behind him, the leather of his boots scuffing against the cold stone floors.

"Keep your head down," Rickard muttered under his breath, his voice low and firm. "This isn’t the time for your pride, boy."

Brandon bristled but said nothing. He wasn’t here to grovel, not when so much was at stake. The thought of you—your lilac eyes filled with fear as you clutched your stomach, your voice trembling as you begged him to leave you behind—gnawed at him. He had promised to protect you, and this was the only way.

As they turned a corner, Brandon's steps faltered, his hand brushing against the hilt of his sword. He glanced over his shoulder, his keen eyes scanning for any sign of pursuit.

"You’re distracted," Rickard observed, his voice sharp. "What have you done, Brandon?"

Brandon hesitated, his heart pounding. He could feel his father’s eyes on him, piercing and unyielding, demanding the truth. But he couldn’t tell him. Not yet.

"Nothing you wouldn’t have done in my place," Brandon replied cryptically, his voice tight. "Just trust me, Father."

Rickard frowned but said nothing, though his suspicion was visible.

It wasn’t until they reached the small chamber set aside for them that Rickard cornered his son. The room was sparse, the only furnishings a table, two chairs, and a narrow bed. A single window overlooked the city, its sprawling streets winding toward the distant horizon.

Rickard shut the door firmly, his face grim. "Out with it. What madness have you brought upon us this time?"

Brandon leaned against the wall, his arms crossed, his expression defiant. "I did what needed to be done."

Rickard’s patience snapped. "Stop dancing around it, boy! What did you do?"

Brandon pushed off the wall, his voice rising. "I sent her away."

Rickard’s eyes widened, his jaw tightening. "You what?"

"I smuggled her out of the Red Keep last night," Brandon confessed, his voice steady but his heart racing. "She’s gone, safe, far from here."

Rickard took a step closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "And where, exactly, have you sent the princess of the Seven Kingdoms? With whom?"

Brandon shook his head. "I won’t tell you. It’s better if you don’t know."

Rickard stared at him, his disbelief turning into fury. "Do you have any idea what you’ve done? Aerys will see this as treason! You’ve not only defied him but stolen his daughter from under his nose. You’ve doomed us all."

"I had to," Brandon said, his voice breaking slightly. "Don’t you understand? They would have hurt her. Or worse."

Rickard’s anger faltered for a moment, replaced by confusion. "Hurt her? What are you talking about?"

Brandon’s hands clenched into fists at his sides. He looked away, his voice barely above a whisper. "She’s with child."

The room fell silent, the weight of his words sinking like a stone into the air. Rickard’s face paled, his breath catching. "By the gods… Brandon, is it—?"

"Mine," Brandon said firmly, meeting his father’s gaze. "The child is mine. And I wasn’t going to let them use her—or our child—as pawns in their games."

Rickard staggered back a step, his hand gripping the back of the chair for support. "Do you know what this means? Aerys will burn us for this. Both of us. And when he finds her—"

"He won’t," Brandon interrupted, his voice steel. "She’s gone, and no one will find her unless I want them to. I made sure of it."

Rickard’s eyes narrowed, his anger rekindling. "You arrogant fool. You think you can outmaneuver a king? Aerys will burn the North to ash to get to her."

"I couldn’t leave her here!" Brandon snapped, his voice echoing in the small room. "Not when I knew what he’d do to her. Not when I knew they’d take our child—use them, hurt them. I won’t let that happen, Father."

Rickard stared at his son, a mix of anger, disbelief, and something resembling admiration flickering in his eyes. He shook his head slowly, his voice heavy. "You’ve set the realm on fire, Brandon. And we’ll both pay the price for it."

Brandon’s jaw tightened, his gray eyes unwavering. "I’ll pay whatever price I have to. But I won’t let them touch her—or my child."

A knock at the door shattered the moment, and a guard’s voice called out from the other side. "Lord Rickard, Prince Rhaegar requests your presence in the great hall. His Grace awaits."

Rickard straightened, his face hardening as he turned toward the door. "This is it," he said quietly, his voice tinged with resignation. "We’ll die in that hall, you know that."

Brandon squared his shoulders, his wolfish defiance returning. "Then so be it."

Rickard hesitated for a moment, then nodded, opening the door. Together, they stepped into the corridor, the sound of the guards’ boots echoing around them as they were escorted toward the great hall—and their fate.

The great hall of the Red Keep is a cavern of shadows and firelight, its high vaulted ceiling seeming to echo the weight of the accusations hurled across the chamber. Rows of courtiers, guards, and lords line the walls, their faces painted with a mixture of curiosity, fear, and malice. At the far end of the room, the Iron Throne rises like a jagged mountain, its ominous blades reflective in the flickering torchlight.

Seated atop the throne is King Aerys II, his frail frame nearly swallowed by the massive seat of power. His silver hair falls in wild, tangled strands around his gaunt face, his violet eyes blazing with an unholy fire. His nails, long and yellowed, tap erratically against the armrests, the sound reverberating in the sinister silence.

At the base of the throne stands Prince Rhaegar, his expression carefully composed. His indigo eyes flicker to Brandon and Rickard Stark as they are led into the hall, his lips pressing into a thin line.

Brandon walks with his head high, his wolf’s-head cloak draped across his broad shoulders, his jaw clenched in defiance. Beside him, Rickard Stark’s face is a mask of stoic calm, though his eyes betray the storm brewing within. They are the embodiment of the North—unyielding, proud, and unbroken.

Aerys leans forward on the throne, his voice slicing through the silence like a dagger. "Rickard Stark," he hisses, the words dripping with venom. "You come before your king as a traitor. As a thief."

Rickard steps forward, his voice calm but firm. "I am no traitor, Your Grace. I have come to answer your summons and to demand justice for my son."

Aerys’s laughter erupts, high-pitched and manic, echoing through the hall. "Justice? Justice? You speak of justice, yet your wild wolf has stolen what is mine!"

Brandon steps forward before his father can reply, his gray eyes blazing. "She is not yours!" he snarls. The words reverberate through the hall, causing a ripple of gasps from the gathered courtiers. "Y/N is not a prize to be kept in a cage. She’s free now, far from your madness."

Aerys’s face contorts with rage, his nails clawing at the armrests of the throne. "You dare defy me, boy? You dare steal my daughter and think there will be no consequence?"

Rhaegar’s expression tightens, his hands curling into fists at his sides, but he says nothing. His eyes, however, flicker briefly to Brandon, a flicker of suspicion passing through his gaze.

Rickard steps forward, his voice rising over the chaos. "Your Grace, I came to King’s Landing in good faith, to answer your summons. My son’s actions were not sanctioned by me. I demand trial by combat, as is my right."

Aerys’s lips curl into a cruel smile, his eyes alight with glee. "Trial by combat, is it? Very well. You shall have your combat, Stark." He gestures to the pyromancers standing by the walls. "Bring the wildfire."

The room erupts into murmurs as pyromancers begin to move, fetching the green liquid that glows with a sickly light. Rickard’s calm demeanor does not waver, though Brandon stiffens beside him, his fists clenching.

"You call this justice?" Brandon spits, his voice cutting through the murmurs. "This is madness!"

Aerys’s laughter cuts him off, a shrill and terrible sound. "Madness, you say? No, boy. This is power. This is the price of treason."

Two guards seize Rickard, dragging him toward the pyre set in the center of the hall. The wildfire is poured into the brazier, its noxious fumes filling the air. Rickard glances back at his son, his eyes calm and steady. "Brandon," he says quietly, his voice firm. "Do not lose yourself."

Brandon shakes his head, his voice breaking. "Father—"

The guards tie Rickard to the pyre, stepping back as the wildfire is lit. Green flames roar to life, climbing hungrily around Rickard’s form. The heat is unbearable, the air thick with the stench of burning flesh. But Rickard does not scream. His eyes remain fixed on his son, unyielding to the very end.

"Father!" Brandon roars, his voice raw with anguish. He surges forward, but guards grab him, forcing him back. Aerys gestures with a flick of his hand, and a noose of Tyroshi rope is brought forth. It is looped around Brandon’s neck and tied to the brazier.

"Let the wolf choke on his own defiance," Aerys says with a sneer.

The guards begin to tighten the rope, pulling it taut. Brandon fights, his hands clawing at the noose, his boots skidding against the stone floor as he struggles to reach his father. His face turns red, veins bulging as the rope cuts into his neck.

Through the haze of pain and fire, Brandon’s gaze finds Rhaegar, who stands motionless at the base of the throne. His lips move, a whisper barely audible over the crackling flames and Aerys’s mad laughter.

"Y/N," Brandon whispers, his voice hoarse. The name carries through the hall like a ghost, reaching Rhaegar’s ears.

Rhaegar’s eyes widen, his composure cracking for the first time. He takes a step forward, his gaze flickering to his father, who is too consumed by his triumph to notice. The name lingers in the air, a spark in the dry kindling of the North’s fury.

Brandon’s struggles slow, his strength ebbing away as the noose tightens. His vision blurs, the last thing he sees the green flames consuming his father. With one final, ragged breath, he collapses, his body limp against the restraints.

The hall falls silent, the only sounds the crackling of the wildfire and Aerys’s quiet, satisfied laughter.

Rhaegar’s fists clench at his sides as he stares at the lifeless form of Brandon Stark. The name whispered in death echoes in his mind. Y/N.

The North will not forget. And neither will he.

The gates of Winterfell groaned open as Eddard Stark rode through, his grim face framed by the gray fur of his cloak. The chill wind of the North cut through the courtyard, carrying whispers of his return as servants hurried to greet their lord. His bannermen followed close behind, their horses weary from the long ride. At the center of the company, wrapped tightly in thick furs, was the child.

The infant stirred, his small cries barely audible over the clatter of hooves and the rustle of banners. Eddard held him protectively, his jaw clenched, his expression as cold and unreadable as the snow-dusted landscape around him.

At the top of the stairs leading into the great hall, Lady Catelyn Stark stood waiting. Her auburn hair spilled down over her shoulders, a stark contrast to the pale blue of her gown. Her face was pale, her lips pressed into a thin line as she watched her husband dismount.

The sight of the bundled infant in Eddard’s arms was like a blow. Her heart sank, dread pooling in her stomach as the truth dawned on her. A bastard. He’s brought a bastard into our home.

When Eddard finally reached her, the tension between them was palpable. He paused, cradling the child, and looked into her eyes. “Catelyn,” he said softly, his voice steady but distant. “We need to talk.”

Her gaze flickered to the child, then back to him, her expression tight with fury. “You dare to bring him here? After everything?”

“Not here,” Eddard said firmly, nodding toward the doors of the great hall. “Inside.”

The warmth of the great hall was nothing to the frost in Catelyn’s glare. She stood rigid near the hearth, her hands clasped tightly in front of her as Eddard laid the baby in a cradle brought by a servant. The child, with dark hair and pale skin, cooed softly, unaware of the storm brewing around him.

Catelyn’s voice trembled with barely contained anger. “You bring this… this boy into my home, and you expect me to accept him? To raise him among our children, as if he were one of them?”

Eddard turned to face her, his expression unreadable but resolute. “He is my blood.”

“Your blood,” she repeated bitterly, her voice rising. “A bastard! Do you know what they will say, Eddard? What they will whisper behind my back? They already called me the jilted bride of The Wild Wolf. Brandon’s betrayal humiliated me before the realm, and now this?” She gestured toward the cradle. “Another Stark disgrace for me to bear?”

Eddard’s face hardened, his voice sharp. “I will not let this child suffer for the choices of men.”

“Choices you made!” she snapped, her voice echoing in the hall. “What of me, Eddard? What of your wife? Did you think of me when you lay with another woman? When you fathered a child out of wedlock?”

Eddard flinched, but his resolve did not waver. “You know nothing of what I’ve done,” he said quietly, his voice heavy with unspoken pain. “And you never will.”

Catelyn stared at him, her chest rising and falling with the force of her emotions. “You owe me more than that, Eddard. I am your wife. The mother of your heir.”

“You are,” he said, his voice softening slightly. “And I will never dishonor you again. But Jon is here now, and he will stay. He is innocent in all of this.”

“Innocent,” she repeated bitterly, her gaze flickering to the cradle. “And what of Robb? What of our son? What will he think when he grows older and learns his father brought a bastard into his home? How do I explain this to him?”

Eddard sighed, running a hand through his hair. “You will tell them the truth—that Jon is my son. That he is their brother, no matter the circumstances of his birth.”

Catelyn shook her head, her voice trembling with anger and pain. “You ask too much of me, Eddard. Too much.”

Eddard stepped closer, his gray eyes meeting hers. “I ask only for your kindness. For the sake of the boy.”

Catelyn’s throat tightened, her nails digging into her palms. “You’ve already asked for my forgiveness. Don’t ask for my kindness too.”

Eddard’s face remained impassive, but his eyes betrayed a flicker of sorrow. He nodded once, then turned back to the cradle, his hand resting on the edge as he looked down at the child.

“This is Jon,” he said softly. “He will be raised as a Stark. And I will ensure he knows he is loved, no matter what the world says.”

Catelyn turned away, unable to bear the sight of her husband and his bastard child. The pain of betrayal cut deep, the wounds still raw. She knew she had no choice but to endure, for the sake of her family, but the bitterness in her heart was a cold comfort.

As Eddard stood by the cradle, the weight of his decisions pressing heavily on his shoulders, Catelyn left the hall, her footsteps echoing through the empty corridors of Winterfell.

[aceyalonso]

champagne & lace - LANCE STROLL

pairing : rival!lance stroll x fashion designer!reader

summary : the fashion industry has always been a dog-eat-dog world or a rival-fuck-rival world (for lance and y/n, at least)

warnings/notes : swearing, smut, nipple play, unprotected sex (always use a condom guys!), rough sex, fingering, praise kink, HEAVY degrading kink, oral (fem!receiving), spanking, biting, slight overstimulation, use of "good boy", creampie, multiple orgasms, porn with a little plot (most of the plot is after the smut), i lowkey don't understand the power dynamic here

word count : 2.3k

a/n : god i love this SO MUCH

main masterlist | kinktober masterlist

Lance stood in the middle of his opulent office, his eyes narrowed as he stared out the floor-to-ceiling windows at the sprawling city below. The sun was setting, casting an orange glow across the skyline, but Lance barely noticed. His mind was consumed with thoughts of Y/n, his rival in the fashion industry.

He had always admired her designs, even as he despised her. Her creations were innovative, daring, and always seemed to be one step ahead of his own. It was infuriating, and yet, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of excitement every time he saw her latest collection.

A knock at the door startled him out of his thoughts. "Come in," he called out, his voice sharp and authoritative.

The door swung open, and there she was. Y/n stood in the doorway, her black hair falling in sleek waves around her face, her eyes hidden behind a pair of oversized sunglasses. She was wearing one of her own designs, a sleek black dress that hugged her curves in all the right places.

"Lance," she said, her voice cool and dismissive.

Y/n strode into the room, a bottle of champagne tucked under her arm. She let the door click shut behind her, her sunglasses still shielding her eyes. "Do you know why I'm here, Lance?" she asked, her voice dripping with contempt. "I won. I won Designer of the Year.:

Lance's jaw clenched as she sauntered over to his desk, setting the bottle down with a flourish. "Congratulations," he muttered, his voice thick with bitterness.

Y/n pulled out two glasses from a drawer and began pouring the champagne, the bubbles fizzing as they filled the crystal. "Thank you," she replied, handing him a glass. "But I'm afraid it's not just a celebration. I want to make sure you understand that this is the beginning of the end for you."

He took a sip of the champagne, the bitter taste mirroring his mood. He set the glass down on his desk, his eyes never leaving hers. "And what makes you think you've won?"

Y/n's lips curled into a smirk as she took a sip of her champagne. "Oh, Lance. You're so naive. I'm not just more talented than you; I'm redefining the fashion industry. My designs are fresh, innovative, and speak to a new generation. Meanwhile, you're just playing dress-up with daddy's money."

Lance's face flushed with anger, his hands clenching into fists on his desk. "You think you're some goddess, don't you? Just because you have some flashy designs and a few awards?"

Y/n laughed, a cold, harsh sound that echoed off the walls. "Flashy? Oh, you mean like your tacky, overpriced suits? Please, Lance. You're a joke in this industry. And now, with this award, everyone knows it."

She took another sip of her champagne, her eyes never leaving Lance's. "I'm better, Lance. Better at designing, better at business, and better at being a human being. You'll see. Soon, your name will be nothing more than a footnote in fashion history."

With that, she set her champagne flute down on his desk, the glass clinking against the polished wood. Then, she poked him in the chest, her finger jabbing at his heart like a dagger. "And I'll be the one to bury you."

Lance's face twisted into a mask of rage, his eyes blazing with fury. "You think you’re better than me? let’s see how much you can take.”

Lance's anger boiled over, his hands gripping Y/n's shoulders as he pulled her close. She gasped in surprise, her eyes widening behind her sunglasses. Before she could react, Lance crashed his lips against hers in a brutal, punishing kiss.

Y/n struggled against him at first, her hands pushing at his chest. But as the kiss deepened, she found herself melting into it, her body responding to his touch despite her mind's protests.

Lance's hands roamed over her curves, his fingers digging into her flesh as he claimed her mouth. Y/n's own hands slid up to tangle in his hair, tugging roughly as she kissed him back with equal fervor.

They stumbled backwards, Lance's desk creaking under their weight as he pushed her down onto the polished surface. Papers and pens scattered to the floor, forgotten in the heat of the moment.

"This is what you wanted, isn't it?" Lance growled against her lips, his hands already working at the zipper of her dress. "To prove you're better than me?"

Y/n's breath hitched as Lance's hands slid the zipper of her dress down, exposing her lacy black bra. "You're right," she hissed, her voice laced with desire and hatred. "I want to show you exactly how much better I am."

She reached for the buttons of his shirt, her fingers deftly undoing them one by one. Lance's chest heaved with anticipation, his muscles rippling under her touch. As the last button came undone, Y/n pushed the fabric aside, revealing his toned torso.

Lance's hands slid up her thighs, pushing her dress higher and higher until it bunched around her waist. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of her panties, tugging them down her legs. Y/n kicked them off, her eyes never leaving his as she reached behind her back to unclasp her bra.

He watched as Y/n unclasped her bra, her breasts spilling free. He couldn't resist the temptation, leaning down to take one of her nipples into his mouth. Y/n gasped, her back arching off the desk as he sucked and nibbled at the sensitive bud.

"See how pathetic you are," she taunted, her voice breathless. "Desperate for me, even though you're openly against my winning. You can't resist me, can you?"

Lance released her nipple with a pop, his lips curling into a smirk. "You're right," he admitted, his hands sliding down to grip her hips. "I can't resist you. But that doesn't mean I'm going to let you win."

Y/n pulled Lance up into a searing kiss, her lips curling into a wicked smile against his. "I'll make you a deal," she purred, her voice low and seductive. "If you can be a good boy and make me cum, I'll convince the board that the both of us will be mentioned as designers of the year."

Lance's eyes darkened with lust, his hands gripping her hips tighter. "And if I refuse?" he asked, his voice a low growl.

She traced a finger along his jawline, her nail digging into his skin. "Then you'll never hear the end of it. I'll make sure everyone knows what a fucking coward you are, too scared to even try."

Lance's pride bristled at her words, and he knew he couldn't back down. He nodded, his gaze never leaving hers. "Fine. I'll do it."

Y/n's smile widened, her eyes glinting with triumph. "Good boy," she said, her voice dripping with satisfaction. "Now, let's see what you're made of."

He slid down her body, his hands gripping her thighs as he settled between her legs. He looked up at her, his eyes dark with desire, before leaning in and running his tongue along her slit.

Y/n's head fell back, a moan escaping her lips as Lance's tongue delved deeper, exploring her most intimate parts. His skillful ministrations sent shockwaves of pleasure through her body, her hips bucking against his face.

"That's it," she gasped, her fingers tangling in his hair. "Finally, something you're good at."

Lance growled against her, the vibrations adding to her pleasure. He redoubled his efforts, his tongue flicking over her clit as he slid two fingers inside her, curling them just right.

Y/n's moans grew louder, her body tensing as she neared her peak. "Don't you dare stop," she demanded, her voice strained.

He continued his assault, not daring to stop despite the degrading words. Y/n's insults only seemed to fuel his desire, his tongue and fingers working in perfect harmony.

"You're nothing but a leech off your dad's money," Y/n spat, her voice laced with contempt. "You're only good at tarnishing your family's company and eating me out. How pathetic is that?"

Lance ignored her words, focusing on the task at hand. His tongue flicked over her clit, his fingers pumping in and out of her. Y/n's body shook, her nails digging into his scalp as she cried out, her orgasm washing over her.

Lance continued to pleasure her, even as her body shuddered and went limp. When she finally came down from her high, Y/n lay panting, her chest heaving.

Y/n's eyes fluttered open, her expression a mix of satisfaction and false disappointment. "You know, I expected better from you," she said, her voice dripping with scorn. "You're still not good enough to be mentioned alongside me."

Lance's jaw clenched, the insults stoking the fire within him. He grabbed Y/n by the hips, flipping her over the desk so that she was bent over it, her ass in the air.

"Then I'll show you how good I can be," he growled, his hands sliding between her legs to find his throbbing erection.

Y/n let out a soft moan, her body trembling in anticipation. "Prove it, then," she challenged, her voice thick with desire. "Show me how you can be better than me."

Lance positioned himself at her entrance, his hands gripping her hips tightly. With a powerful thrust, he entered her, filling her completely. Y/n cried out, her body arching as he began to move, his hips slamming against her ass with a sense of urgency.

Lance's thrusts grew rougher with each passing moment, his hands leaving bruising imprints on Y/n's skin as he spanked her with each powerful impact. The desk creaked and shook beneath them, the force of his movements enough to dislodge her champagne flute from the desk, which shattered on the floor.

Their other champagne flute precariously balanced on the edge of the desk, swayed with each thrust. The bottle, too, began to slide closer and closer to the edge. Y/n's breaths came in ragged gasps, her body trembling with each impact.

Their bodies moved in a frenzied rhythm, driven by a need to prove dominance. Lance's teeth sank into Y/n's shoulder, his growls of frustration and desire muffled against her skin.

Her fingers clawed at the desk, her nails digging into the polished wood. "Harder," she cried out, her voice hoarse. "Show me how much better you are."

He obliged, his thrusts becoming almost punishing in their intensity. The desk shuddered and shook, the champagne bottle teetering on the edge, threatening to fall at any moment.

Y/n's cries grew louder, her body quivering with each impact. She could feel the pressure building within her, her orgasm approaching rapidly. "Don't you dare cum before me," she demanded, her voice strained.

Lance's only response was a low growl, his hips snapping forward with renewed vigor. The desk creaked and groaned, the champagne bottle finally losing its precarious balance and falling to the floor with a loud crash.

The sound seemed to spur them on, their movements becoming more frantic, more desperate. Y/n's nails dug into the desk, her knuckles turning white as she clung on for dear life.

As the champagne bottle crashed to the floor, the sound mingled with Y/n's scream of ecstasy as her orgasm crashed over her. Her body shook and convulsed, her walls clenching around Lance's throbbing member.

Lance groaned, his hips stuttering as he fought to maintain control. He wanted to prolong her pleasure, to make her cum again and again until she was a writhing, incoherent mess. But the feeling of her walls fluttering around him was too much, and with a final, powerful thrust, he buried himself deep inside her, his own orgasm overtaking him.

They collapsed onto the desk, their bodies slick with sweat and other fluids. Lance's chest heaved as he tried to catch his breath, his heart pounding in his ears. Y/n lay limp beneath him, her eyes closed, a satisfied smile on her face.

"Not bad," she murmured, her voice husky. "For a pathetic leech."

Lance chuckled breathlessly, his hand coming down on Y/n's ass in a playful spank. "I see you're still full of insults," he teased, his fingers trailing along her spine. "But you can't deny that was incredible."

Y/n's eyes fluttered open, a mischievous glint in them. "I suppose it was," she conceded, her voice laced with amusement. "But don't get too cocky. This doesn't change anything between us."

Lance leaned down, his lips brushing against her ear. "Oh, I wouldn't dream of it," he whispered, his voice low and seductive. "But I'm looking forward to our next encounter. Who knows, maybe next time I'll be the one walking away with the title of Designer of the Year."

Y/n scoffed, pushing Lance off her body gently. "You're delusional," she said, her voice laced with amusement. "But I'll be waiting to see if you can back up your words."

Lance smirked, watching as Y/n gathered her clothes, which had landed on his chair and the floor. He did the same, his movements slow and deliberate.

Once they were both dressed, Lance straightened his tie, his eyes never leaving Y/n's. "Consider this a challenge, Y/n," he said, his voice low and intense. "I'll see you at the top."

She nodded, her expression unreadable. "Until then, Lance," Y/n replied, her voice a soft purr.

Y/n picked up her phone and dialed a number as she spoke to Lance. "You know, you should probably get a janitor to clean up the champagne and glass," she said, her eyes never leaving his. "Wouldn't want anyone to slip and fall, would we?"

Lance's eyes narrowed, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face. "I'll take care of it," he said, his voice tight.

She nodded, a small smile playing on her lips. "Good." With that, she turned and walked out of his office, leaving him alone with the mess they had created.

As Y/n walked out of Lance's office, the ringing tone disappeared, before a voice greeted her. She answered it immediately, "Hello? Fernando? Can I talk to you about the Designer of the Year award? I have someone in mind that... deserves equal recognition."

taglist

for all post; @nepobbylver @wobblymug @xoscar03 @irishmanwhore

kinktober taglist; @cloud-55 @emryb @sie17136 @jaimeleannavanlloman @wosof1 @wholetmewritethat @glitterbitch1 @under-seasoned-pasta @sinners-98-world

[azurecanary]

We almost had an Agents of SHIELD Cinematic Universe at one point

Like we almost had a Bobbi Morse/Lance Hunter spinoff

And then we almost had a Robbie Reyes/Ghost Rider spinoff

And then if you consider that Agent Carter is a prequel, and Runaways vaguely references AoS (and also crosses over with Cloak & Dagger)

And then AoS and Daredevil shares some in universe stuff (Daisy and Matt's orphanage) which then leads into the Netflix shows

We could've had this interconnected Marvel TV Universe with crossovers, cameos, etc. Like imagine Arrowverse or MCU but with those characters.

WE COULD'VE HAD IT ALLLLLLLLLL

[ask-mikitama-suzuki]

A tall woman with curly golden copper blonde hair that's tied into a ponytail and ruddy blue eyes is traversing through an unfamiliar land. She seems lost and is beginning to slightly panic, trying to get a hard grip on her surroundings. She's carrying a blood-letting dagger, a shield, and a peculiar claymore. Her shield depicts a one-horned dragon with a lance piercing its heart. Her claymore has three closed eye-like markings in a vertical row above the hilt.

She cautiously observes the environment, looking for a potential way out. She's also on high alert for danger.

*She witnesses a young girl being dragged by a much older man. The girl looks terrified. She has cat ears, a tail, and whiskers. The girl is small and thin. The man is quite large but not as large as the woman, around 5’8, and fat. The girl is wearing a stained, old looking kimono. She looks quite pitiful*

[whencyclopedia]

How to Become a Medieval Knight

In medieval society a knight enjoyed a position of high status and often wealth, they were feared on the battlefield and known for their chivalry off it, but it took a long time and a lot of training to get there. Trained in weapons handling and horse-riding from childhood, a young man could be made a knight by the local lord he served, through exceptional bravery on the battlefield, and, at least in later times when European monarchs desperately needed funds and men of skill for their armies, the position could even be bought. In any case, a knight underwent an elaborate initiation ceremony, after which they were expected to uphold the chivalric traditions of their rank and courageously face the best-equipped and most heavily armed opponents in battle, the knights of the enemy's army.

Although there was no fixed system, age ranges varied, and some youths never qualified for the next stage, the general steps to become a medieval knight were as follows:

Page - from age 7-10 to 13, become familiar with horses, hunting and the use of mock weapons by serving a local knight, baron, or royal court.

Squire - from age 14 to 18-21, assist a full-knight, learn to use the weapons and armour of war, and improve one's general education, especially the code of chivalry.

Dubbing - When aged 18-21, the ceremony of being made a knight performed by another knight.

Service - Act as a guard for a baron and his castle, fight in wars for one's sovereign and the Church, and perform in medieval tournaments.

Training 1 - Being a Page

Most knights were probably sons of knights, but there are records of the sons of a burgess or freeman being put forward for the necessary training, as well as wealthy merchants and government officials as those classes grew in the later Middle Ages. An ordinary soldier might also be made a knight for courage on the battlefield. As warfare grew ever bigger in scale and barons increasingly preferred to send knights to do service in their place, the social background of a knight became less important during wars when a sovereign needed all the armed men they could get. Generally, though, by the 13th century CE, the idea of noble lineage and preserving knighthood as a mark of a class with restricted access had taken hold across Europe. There were exceptions, notably in France and Germany and on a case by case basis, but in the main, only the son of a knight could become one.

A knight had to be accomplished in riding a horse while carrying a shield and lance, so he needed to practise guiding his steed using only the knees and feet. He must be capable of using a long and heavy sword for a sustained period of fighting and fit enough to move around with speed while wearing heavy metal armour. A proficiency with additional weapons such as a dagger, battleaxe, mace, bow, and crossbow might come in handy, too. Accordingly, a young boy earmarked by his parents or sponsor to one day become a knight had to start training young, typically as a page from the age of 10 (or even 7 in some cases), with mock weapons and basic riding skills. A young noble was likely sent to the royal court for such training while a youth from a more modest aristocratic family would be enrolled at the local castle or that of a relative to train with the knights and men-at-arms stationed there. There they would, along with other pages, serve at table, act as stable hands, perform menial tasks, and begin the education that was to continue in earnest as a teenager.

Continue reading...

[vxmpirehunterd]

Pale Fallen Angel and The Demon Chase-- Bayonetta/Devil May Cry Verse Graphics credit @cosmicresource A beast of a man descending from shadows, comes to smite all those who terrorize humanity akin to a pale fallen angel of Death. A reaper was he. The only one that can terrify both the forces of Heaven and Hell. The hunter known as D.

Billions of years ago, before the dawn of man, before the planets fully formed in this vast universe; there was only darkness. The void. And from that darkness, a being of vast power spawned, gave himself form and would later create the race mortals knew today as--vampires. The Sacred Ancestor is what he was dubbed among his kindred, Dracula is what mortals know of him today. But unbeknownst to most from all the corners of the world. The ancient force had a son(Twin sons)--born from a mortal woman.

He was a man born from Darkness most ancient, from an entity that usurped the name and inheritance of Vlad Dracula the third. D is a dhampir--half man, half vampire and an enigma to all that encounter him. A reaper that walks between worlds and does not align himself with the ranks of Inferno nor Paradiso. He considers himself a neutral party--only cutting down those that prey on humanity. No angel, no demon, and no vampire is safe from his cold wrath.

D is a swordsman that lived for centuries, and prefers a pragmatic and lethal quickness to his strikes. Quick enough to bend time and space to his whim, moving through shadows in a blink of an eye. His style of fighting was even praised by the Dark Knight Sparda himself when they had crossed paths before the legend's passing. Before the birth of his own twin sons.

{D's Abilities in this verse are very similar to his canon universe}

A most unusual companion he has, a sentient parasite that lives in his hand. Making crude, vulgar remarks. Luckily for D--the homunculi is quite helpful when it comes to crowd controlling enemies.

Left Hand Homunculi: Forbidden parasite

Absorption of Souls & Power: consumes demonic, angelic, and human energy to restore health or temporarily enhance abilities.

Reality Manipulation: warps space to some degree, like shadows folding into themselves.

Soul Devouring Black Hole: devours enemies whole, bypassing traditional durability.

Spell eater: Like a vacuum it sucks up enemy spells cast onto D, negating any trickery.

Midnight Phantom: The Abyss-Walker

D moves like a living shadow, making his combat style feel like something out of a nightmare.

Tenebrous Shift: D dissolves into pure darkness, moving across surfaces as a two-dimensional shadow before emerging instantly behind his opponent.

Nocturne Clones: By splitting his shadow into multiple forms, he can create phantom clones that fight alongside him. Unlike Vergil’s doppelganger, these clones attack independently and unpredictably.

Eclipse Veil: D can shroud an entire battlefield in darkness, making only himself and his blade visible--his enemies cannot see or hear anything.

Shadowbound Chains: From beneath his enemies, black tendrils emerge, wrapping around them and draining their lifeforce.

Ultimate Technique: Abyssal Execution D steps into his enemy’s shadow, vanishing completely. A moment later, the enemy erupts in blood, as if they were torn apart by an unseen force from within.

Son of Bloodlust: Crimson Executioner

Blood is not a weakness--it’s a weapon. D can weaponize his own lifeforce, forging it into blades, shields, and monstrous constructs.

Crimson Armory: D can solidify his own blood into weapons in real time, forming razor-sharp scimitars, lances, or chains mid-combat.

Hemokinetic Blades: When struck, his blood splashes out and hardens into floating daggers, turning his wounds into an offensive advantage.

Blood Requiem: D can summon a storm of crimson spears that rain down upon enemies, impaling them in a ritualistic execution.

Vampiric Healing: Any blood he spills can be reabsorbed, allowing him to heal mid-fight while growing stronger.

Scarlet Puppeteer: With a mere gesture, he can manipulate an enemy’s spilled blood, using it to bind, crush, or even possess them like a marionette.

Ultimate Technique: Red Eclipse D impales himself with his sword, unleashing a blood explosion that forms a giant crimson eclipse in the sky. Time slows, and every drop of blood in the air transforms into a blade, slicing through everything in its wake.

Blood & Shadow: Nightmare Reaper

At the peak of his power, D blends blood and darkness into an unholy force, making him something beyond death itself.

Sanguine Phantom: He forges his blood into shadow beasts, forming spectral lions, wolves, or winged abominations that rip through enemies.

Crimson Eclipse Armor: D cloaks himself in living shadows and crystallized blood, making him impervious to all but the strongest of divine or demonic attacks.

Black Sun’s Maw: A fusion of his Left Hand’s devouring power and his blood manipulation. A swirling void of darkness and blood opens behind him, consuming everything like a living black hole.

Heartless Dominion : The air turns black and red, as blood pools up from the ground and shadows twist into jagged, unnatural forms. In this state, D’s blade is an extension of the abyss itself.

Ultimate Technique: Blood Eclipse: Midnight Sovereign D impales the ground, and a monstrous tidal wave of blood and shadows engulfs the battlefield, turning everything into a storm of razors and darkness.

BloodRage: Vampire Trigger

When D is in a heightened state of anger or once he drinks his own blood, he temporarily transforms into a full-fledged vampire. All his physical attributes and vampiric power increase by 50%. In this form, D's canines and claws elongate, and his eyes develop into a hellish crimson. His gaze emits a powerful and terrifying glow, potent enough to bath the entire area in RED.

[livelaughlovezaya]

W.IP

MY GIRLYSSS!!!

Am finally done with the final sketch (even though it still looks shit)

I gave chimi the name "monsty" because, well she was called a monster and I gave Maya the name "M.A" because I have no creativity (maybe gonna change it)

So idk random facts:

•in this AU, Maya and Chimi aren't sisters they're only friends

•Chimi was found by Rodolfo (if anyone is wondering who that is, is White Pantera in "El Tigre: The Adventures of Manny Rivera"oh and also Maya's parents are dead in this AU ) after the uprising between Zaun and piltover that happened in the beginning of episode 1, and also Maya and her brothers were taken care by Rodolfo, so I guess Manny is Maya's brother (do you guys like that or no?)

•The reason Chimi was called a "monster" is because when she was hiding from one the thug that was trying to take the loot they found(? Stole), she throws her homemade grenade (she called it "monky" actually half of her gadgets are named "monky", like monky bombs, or monkychine guns or something like that idk), that grenade actually malfunction and ending up killed the thug (don't ask how it malfunction) she said never attended to kill the thug, but unfortunately Shield (he's Mylo in this AU, Claggor is either Lance or Daggers) did NOT believe her, so he start to call her a monster (in the past he called her monster just for eating his cookies)

•After the Explosion that Chimi caused, she went to find Maya to make sure she was ok but when she found her, she didn't get a hug or something, she instead got a punch to the face (imagine getting your ass beat by someone who is Younger than you 💔 this is so random omg)

Honestly I don't know what am fucking talking about 💔 just yapping for some random AU that I probably never gonna continue instead studying for my exam tomorrow

[the-plushie-friendships]

Roleplay session: @floofgryph

A tall woman with golden copper blonde hair and ruddy blue eyes was wandering through an open meadow in Scotland. She's mounted on her bluish-black unicorn steed with a lavender mane and tail, and golden eyes. The meadow is a luscious green with the gorgeous Scottish flowers. However, the sky has been affected by a volcanic winter, making the world around her seem eerie.

The woman has numerous freckles and a jarring scar of hers has its own horrid story to tell. Her cuirass depicts the Ellén Trechend and she has a gilt-brass gorget. Her pauldrons show a human-faced sun on the left and the right is designed like the head of a tarasque without the lower jaw. Her vambraces and greaves mimic serpentine scales, and her sabatons have four draconic claws. Her armour has managed to keep a clean, vibrant reddish-black hue with a blue-green sheen for many years despite it being slightly battle-worn.

She's carrying a blood-letting serpentine dagger, a two engrailed top shield, and a claymore of unknowable metal. Her shield depicts a one-horned dragon with a lance piercing its heart. Her 7 ft (213.36 cm) claymore has three closed eye-like markings in a vertical row above the hilt.

*Meanwhile, in her bedroom at an orphanage, Ames was playing with her life like plushies, unaware of the woman approaching the area*

[samuel-azazel]

Roleplay session with @floofgryph

Samuel Azazel would find himself in a dense forest based in Scotland, hearing the dying breaths of monsters. After investigating what happened, he would find a beautiful knight with curly golden copper blonde hair, ruddy blue eyes, a freckled face, and a jarring facial scar. She's sitting against an oak tree, slightly panting from the fierce battle.

Her cuirass depicts the Ellén Trechend and she has a gilt-brass gorget. Her pauldrons show a human-faced sun on the left and the right is designed like the head of a tarasque without the lower jaw. Her vambraces and greaves mimic serpentine scales, and her sabatons have four draconic claws. Her armour has managed to keep a clean, vibrant reddish-black hue with a blue-green sheen for many years despite it being slightly battle-worn.

She's carrying a traveller's backpack, a blood-letting serpentine dagger, a two engrailed top shield, and a mysterious claymore. Her shield depicts a one-horned dragon with a lance piercing its heart. Her claymore that's larger than her has three closed eye-like markings in a vertical row above the hilt.

"hm. " He slowly gets closer

"What are you doing here."

[theladyregret]

Drow Name Tables

Something I did as a special favor to @kimmurielsscryingmirror (@eldritchmist ) who showed interest. Because it’s...pretty big I decided to make it into it’s own post.

These are a few Drow naming tables that were originally found in an issue of Dragon Magazine. It’s two d100 tables of prefixes and suffixes commonly used in first names. The second couple of tables is a list of common house name prefixes and suffixes.

EDIT: Just a little something for those who care which I didn’t add before because it took me so long to finish the transcription I just wanted to post it lol. The gender difference is noted in the related Dragon Magazine article as being significant. Non Drow may not notice but a Drow will notice the difference. Female names sometimes borrow parts that are normally only considered male and this is considered fine...but a male with a name that borrows a typically only female part would be seen as extremely taboo.

Prefix (Female/Male) - Meaning

Akor/Alak                 beloved, best, first

Alaun/Alton             lightning, powerful

Aly/Kel                     legendary, singing, song

Ang/Adin                  beast, monstrous, savage

Ardul/Amal               blessed, divine, godly

Aun/Ant                   crypt, dead, deadly, death

Bae/Bar                      fate, fated, luck, lucky

Bal/Bel                       burned, burning, fire, flame

Belar/Bruh                 arrow, lance, piercing

Briz/Berg                    graceful, fluid, like water

Bur/Bhin                     craft, crafty, sly

Chal/Chasz                earth, stable

Char/Kron                  sick, venom, venomed

Chess/Cal                  noble, lady/lord

Dhaun                          infested, plague

Dil/Dur                         cold, ice, still

Dirz/Div                       dream, dreaming, fantasy

Dris/Riz                        ash, dawn, east, eastern

Eclav/Elk                      chaos, mad, madness

Elvan/Kalan                 elf, elven, far, lost

Elv/Elaug                     drow, mage, power

Erel/Rhyl                      eye, moon, spy

Ethe/Erth                    mithril, resolute

Faer/Selds                   oath, sworn, vow

Felyn/Fil                       pale, thin, weak, white

Filf/Phar                     dwarf, dwarven, treacherous

Gauss/Orgoll              dread, fear, feared, vile

G'eld                              friend, spider  

Ghuan                           accursed, curse, unlucky

Gin/Din                         berserk, berserker, orc, wild

Grey/Gul                       ghost, pale, unliving

Hael/Hatch                   marked, trail, way

Hal/Sol                           deft, nimble, spider-like  

Houn/Rik                       magic, ring, staff

Iiv/Dip                             liege, war, warrior

Iim                                   life, living, spirit, soul

Illiam/Im                         devoted, heart, love

In/Sorn                           enchanted, spell

Ilph                                  emerald, green, lush, tree

Irae/Ilzt                           arcane, mystic, wizard

Irr/Izz                               hidden, mask, masked

Iym/Ist                            endless, immortal  

Jan/Duag                       shield, warded

Jhael/Gel                       ambitious, clan, kin, family

Jhul/Jar                         charmed, rune, symbol

Jys/Driz                         hard, steel, unyielding

Lael/Llt                           iron, west, western

Lar/Les                          binding, bound, law, lawful

LiNeer/Mourn            legend, legendary, mythical  

Lird/Ryld                   brand, branded, owned, slave

Lua/Lyme                       bright, crystal, light

Mal/Malag                     mystery, secret

May/Mas                         beautiful, beauty, silver

Micar                                lost, poison, widow

Min/Ran                           lesser, minor, second

Mol/Go                            blue, storm, thunder, wind

Myr/Nym                       lost, skeleton, skull

Nath/Mer                        doom, doomed, fate

Ned/Nad               cunning, genius, mind, thought

Nhil/Nal                 fear, gorrible, horror, outraged

Neer                                  core, root, strong

Null/Nil                             sad, tear, weeping

Olor/Omar                       skin, tattoo, tattooed

Pellan/Relon                    north, platiunum, wind

Phaer/Vorn                      honor, honored

Phyr/Phyx                        bless, blessed, blessing

Qualn/Quil                        mighty, ocean, sea

Quar                                   aged, eternal, time

Quav/Quev                        charmed, docile, friend

Qil/Quil                               foe, goblin, slave

Rauv/Welv                         cave, rock, stone

Ril/Ryl                                 foretold, omen

Sbat/Szor                           amber, yellow

Sab/Tsab                            abyss, empty, void  

Shi'n/Kren                          fool, foolish, young

Shri/Ssz                             silk, silent  

Shur/Shar                          dagger, edge, stiletto

Shynt                                 invisible, skilled, unseen

Sin/Szin                              festival, joy, pleasure

Ssap/Tath                          blue, midnight, night

Susp/Spir                           learned, skilled, wise

Talab/Tluth                        burn, burning, fire

Tal/Tar                         love, pain, wound, wounded

Triel/Taz                           bat, winged

T'riss/Teb                           blade, sharp, sword  

Ulvir/Uhls                           gold, golden, treasure

Umrae/Hurz                       faith, faithful, true

Vas/Vesz                            blood, bloody, flesh

Vic                                       abyss, deep, profound

Vier/Val                               black, dark, darkness

Vlon/Wod                           bold, hero, heroic

Waer/Wehl             deep, hidden, south, southern  

Wuyon/Wruz                      humble, third, trivial

Xull/Url                                 blooded, crimson, ruby

Xun                                       demon, fiend, fiendish

Yas/Yaz                       riddle, spinning, thread, web

Zar/Zakn                             dusk, haunted, shadow

Zebey/Zek                        dragon, lithe, rage, wyrm

Zes/Zsz                              ancient, elder, respected

Zilv/Vuz                             forgotten, old, unknown

Suffixes (Female/Male) - Meaning

a/agh                  breaker, destruction, end, omega

ace/as                                savant, scholar, wizard

ae/aun                             dance, dancer, life, player

aer/d                                    blood, blood of, heir

afae/afein                         bane, executioner, slayer

afay/aufein                        eyes, eyes of, seer

ala/launim                          healer, cleric

anna/erin                            advisor, counselor to

arra/atar                             queen/prince

aste                                      bearer, keeper, slaver

avin/aonar                           guardian, guard, shield

ayne/al                       lunatic, maniac, manic, rage

baste/gloth                         path, walker

breena/antar                   matriach/patriarch, ruler

bryn/lyn                               agent, assassin, killer

cice/roos                             born of, child, young  

cyrl/axle                               ally, companion, friend

da/daer                                illusionist, trickster

dia/drin                                rogue, stealer

diira/diirn                             initiate, sister/brother

dra/zar                                  lover, match, mate  

driira/driirn                         mother/father, teacher  

dril/dorl                                 knight, sword, warrior

e                                           servant, slave, vessel

eari/erd                                 giver, god, patron

eyl                                       archer, arrow, flight, flyer

ffyn/fein                               minstrel, singer, song

fryn              champion, victor, weapon, weapon of

iara/ica                                 baron, duke, lady/lord  

ice/eth                                 obsession, taker, taken  

idil/imar           alpha, beginning, creator of, maker

iira/inid                                 harbinger, herald

inidia                                     secret, wall, warder

inil/in                                     lady/lord, rider, steed

intra                               envoy, messenger, prophet

isstra/atlab               acolyte, apprentice, student

ithra/irahc                         dragon, serpent, wyrm

jra/gos                                 beast, biter, stinger

jss                                          scout, stalker

kacha/kah                            beauty, hair, style

kiira/raen                              apostle, disciple

lay/dyn                               flight, flyer, wing, wings

lara/aghar                         cynic, death, end, victim

lin                                         arm, armor, commander

lochar                                   messenger, spider

mice/myr           bone, bones, necromancer, witch  

mur'ss                                   shadow, spy, witness

na/nar                                 adept, ghost, spirit

nilee/olil                             corpse, disease, ravager

niss/nozz                           chance, gambler, game

nitra/net                              kicker, returned, risen

nolu                                 art, artist, expert, treasure

olin                                   ascension, love, lover, lust

onia/onim                           rod, staff, token, wand

oyss/omph                       binder, judge, law, prison

qualyn                                 ally, caller, kin

quarra/net                           horde, host, legion

quiri/oj                                  aura, cloak, hide, skin

ra/or                                     fool, game, prey, quarry

rae/rar                                   secret, seeker, quest

raema/orvir                         crafter, fist, hand

raena/olvir                            center, haven, home

riia/rak                       enchanter, mage, spellcaster

ril                                 bandit, enemy, raider, outlaw

riina/ree                     enchanter, mage, spellcaster

ryna/oyn                         follower, hired, mercenary

ryne/ryn                      blooded, elder, experienced

shalee/ral                 abjurer, gaze, watch, watcher

ssysn/rysn          artifact, dweomer, sorcerer, spell

stin/trin         clan, house, merchant, of the house

stra/tran                             spider, spinner, weaver

tana/ton                           darkness, lurker, prowler

thara/tar                             glyph, marker, rune

thrae/olg                          charmer, leader, seducer

tree/tel                         exile, loner, outcast, pariah

tyrr                    dagger, poison, poisoner, scorpion

ual/dan                                speed, strider

ue/dor                                  arm, artisan, fingers

uit/dar                                  breath, voice, word

une/diin                         diviner, fate, future, oracle

uque                              cavern, digger, mole, tunnel  

urra/dax                       nomad, renegade, wanderer

va/ven                             comrade, honor, honored

vayas                         forge, forger, hammer, smith

vyll punishment, scourge, whip, zealot  

vyrae/vyr                     mistress/master, overseer

wae/hrae                           heir, inheritor, princess

wiira/hriir                           seneschal of, steward

wyss/hrys                          best, creator, starter

xae/zaer                             orb, rank, ruler, sceptor

xena/zen                         cutter, gem, jewel, jeweler

xyra/zyr                             sage, teller

yl                                          drow, woman/man

ylene/yln         handmaiden/squire, maiden/youth

ymma/inyon                      drider, feet, foot, runner

ynda/yrd        captain, custodian, marshal, ranger  

ynrae/yraen                       heretic, rebel, riot, void

vrae                                   architect, founder, mason  

yrr                                         protector, rival, wielder

zyne/zt                                finder, hunter

House Name Prefixes - Meaning

Alean                        the noble line of

Ale                             traders in

Arab                          daughters of

Arken                        mages of

Auvry                        blood of the  

Baen                          blessed by

Barri                           spawn of

Cladd                         warriors from

Desp                          victors of

De                               champions of

Do'                              walkers in

Eils                              lands of

Everh                         the caverns of

Fre                              friends of

Gode                          clan of  

Helvi                          those above

Hla                              seers of

Hun'                           the sisterhood of

Ken                            sworn to

Kil                               people of

Mae                           raiders from  

Mel                            mothers of

My                              honored of

Noqu                         sacred to

Orly                            guild of

Ouss                           heirs to

Rilyn                           house of  

Teken'                        delvers in  

Tor                               mistresses of

Zau                              children of

House Name Suffixes - Meaning

afin                              the web

ana                               the night

ani                                the widow

ar                                   poison

arn                                fire

ate                                the way

ath                                the dragons

duis                              the whip

ervs                              the depths

ep                                  the underdark

ett                                 magic

ghym                            the forgotten ways

iryn                               history

lyl                                  the blade

mtor                             the abyss

ndar                              black hearts

neld                              the arcane

rae                                 fell powers

rahel                             the gods

rret                                the void

sek                                 adamantite

th                                    challenges

tlar                                 mysteries

t'tar                                victory

tyl                                   the pits

und                                 the spider's kiss

urden                             the darkness

val                                   silken weaver

viir                                  dominance

zynge                             the ruins

[akzgaj-writing]

List of weapons in a fantasy world

Contents by @akzgaj-writing

Sword.

Wand.

Scepter.

Axe.

Bow.

Ice axe.

Poison.

Dagger.

Mace.

Spear.

Shield.

Flail.

Staff.

Quarterstaff.

Warhammer.

Hammer.

Knife.

Sabre.

Lance.

War scythe.

Crossbow.

Sling weapon.

Trident.

Lightning.

Magic.

Cannon.

Battering ram.

Ballista.

[cerastes]

Chronicles of the Sword - feat. YOUR blorbos

Gamers and sports fans, GREETINGS, I'm planning something for a stream, involving Soul Calibur III - Chronicles of the Sword mode: We make a small army of YOUR OCs, and we take them through the game, where they'll fight alongside the one and only, the Scourge of New York, D-Mob's Finest, Wrathful Jebediah.

Your traumatized extension of your psyche could be picked to be a FIGHTING GAME CHARACTER and beat the shit out of crap on stream!

So! I'm hard at work right now unlocking all the classes and as many customizable options as possible for this! In the meantime, if you want your OC to be a featured swashbuckler or perhaps a dogged pugilist, maybe even an obstinate kerkuffler, send an Ask or Submission to me with the following:

Name.

Visual Reference: Reference art/character sheet/whatever you have, as long as it is visual.

Class and/or weapon from the valid combinations noted below; you can pick one if you want, and I'll pick the other: - Barbarian: Greatsword, Grieve Edge (AKA bladed boots), Wave Swords (dual reverse grip curved blades). - Dancer: Tambourines, Steel Fan, Grieve Edge. - Thief: Dagger & Bombs, Wave Swords, Sickle (it's more of a chain/whip) - Ninja: Kunai, Katana & Fuuma Shuriken, Sickle. - Saint: Extending Staff & Barehanded Combat, Dagger & Bombs, Steel Fan. - Monk: Nunchaku, Extending Staff & Barehanded Combat, Grieve Edge. - Samurai: Katana, Katana & Fuuma Shuriken, Sickle. - Assassin: Wave Sword, Kunai, Chinese Sword. - Gladiator: Sword & Shield, Wave Swords, Grieve Edge. - Pirate: Chinese Sword, Rapier, Greatsword. - Sage: Chinese Blade, Sword & Shield, Extending Staff & Barehanded Combat. - Knight: Lance, Greatsword, Rapier.

And that's it! Send these right my way and your beloved creation might just make it into the annals of transcending history via immense amounts of carnage, overheads, command grabs, and ring outs. The order of priority when picking who makes it in will be:

OCs > established characters.

Stream regulars > the rest.

That said, as long as you stick to the guidelines, your OC/entry is never out of the ruling, and if I like them a lot, they'll make it in, so even if you're not a regular, your blorbo can absolutely still make it in.

I'll try to speed up the unlocking process on my end so we can do this sooner rather than later, so send 'em in the meantime! I think it'll be a fun activity, so looking forward to your submissions, glandular gladiators, see you at the Circus.