#parris the plaything

[babybeel]

— your lips don’t lie

title creds

fights with asmo always feel like a slap to the face, lust twisting into hideous displeasure. he shines a bright, vicious smile your way as sweet poison drips from his tongue and seeps into your skin. and his claws dig into the meat of your arms, never seeming to let go.

but you’d grown stubborn in your time in the devildom. stubborn and defiant and daring. all too used to being involved in dangerous quests and having to face the consequences for your thoughtless actions. so, when the corners of asmo’s lips begin to twitch upwards into something sick and sinister, you let your blunter teeth curl into a snarl and bare your own scathing words.

it’s an ugly fight, filled with savage looks and even crueller words. neither of you are willing to let the other have the last say, each sentence parried with growing harshness. and it’s only when lucifer emerges from his office, face holding all the trouble of a storm, that the both of you stalk back to your own rooms, feet stomping heavily against the floor.

brewing in your room, you know what asmo wants, what he expects: you - the pitiful, fragile human - apologising. better yet, on your knees at his feet, begging for forgiveness.

because asmodeus, avatar of lust, does not say sorry. he’s never had to, with a trail of adoring fans always climbing over each other to get his attention, always wanting more, more, more, so long as it got them closer to the demon. any issues and he’d turn to his next plaything, bumbling attempts to amend only half heard. asmodeus hadn’t even had to charm them. and yet, he couldn’t charm you. the bitterness of that truth had long been tucked away under his skin, pulsing beneath his veins.

“you’re different,” asmo had hummed in the midst of the night, limbs tangled with your own, hidden away beneath plush blankets. and you were, are. you adore the devildom, almost as much as the realm loves you in return, inhabitants immediately taken by you during the exchange programme. you adore his brothers, seven pact marks decorating your body for no small reason, though never once exploiting their powers or their inherent sin. and you adore him, in such a way that made asmo afraid of tripping and falling, afraid to play with you and cause you hurt as he had done to so many others.

asmodeus is soon reminded of his compliment, now causing a frown to settle upon his lips than a smile, previously sticky with fondness. come morning, you’re already sat at the dining table when asmo enters the room, looking much more presentable than the demon had hoped.

you meet asmo’s eyes with a steely gaze, refusing to share even a drop of emotion for him to recognise. it makes asmo purse his lips ever so slightly as his frustration gets the better hand over him, just for a split second. but it’s enough, and you hide your smile by taking another sip of your blood strawberry juice.

you finish your breakfast quickly, not letting your attention flicker to asmo again during the meal. and it’s only when you grin a “thank you” to belphie who’s on dish duty for the day, before linking arms with satan to head off to rad, that asmo loosens his grip on his knife and fork. you’re different.

the first change comes five days into your continued disregard of all things asmodeus. a giftbox sits in front of your bedroom door, tag advertising luscious soaps and candied lotions with more nourishing properties than you can begin to understand. you leave the present there, your silent treatment persists.

you hate to admit it but your will chips away with each gift - sweet perfumes gone unsmelt and silky clothes left unworn. and it’s only when a small mountain has formed in the hallway that you finally cave.

picking up the smallest box from the extravagant pile, you gaze at the tube of lipstick. simpler than you’d expected, but costly no doubt if the brand was anything to go by. back in the comfort of your own room and facing a mirror, you press it to your lips, painting them a deep red that you can’t help but admire. asmo always did know what you’d best suit, what you’d best like.

but if there’s one thing you knew about asmo, it was his cunning. he’s slyer than his brothers with tricky thoughts and a devious facade, able to widen his eyes and push forward his chest in all the right ways. because no sooner are your lips coloured crimson do they begin to sear.

your breath quickens at the sensation, lips burning hot. your chest is heaving in panic, fingers swiping at your mouth desperately, half ready to claw away at the terrible feeling.

but it’s too late.

because asmo had decided you’re different, and if you wanted to resort to not speaking to him, you’d not speak at all. lips sealed shut, a muffled scream echoes through the house of lamentation. sharp, threatening smirk returned, asmo wonders how long to wait before he tells you all it takes is a kiss for the curse to break - and how long to wait before he gives in to your wordless pleas.

[kthynes]

ok ok here's a request for you bb

ransom accompanies you while you shop for bridal lingerie. you’re marrying someone else.

his and yours

nsfw 18+ / minors DNI

a/n: thanks for the prompt nons <3333

Sometimes you do dumb shit for the people you love. Other times you do even dumber shit for the people you don’t. There’s definitely some misguided judgment when you drag your childhood best friend, Ransom into a Fluer Du Mal.

“What do you think?” You sashay a stringy one piece that could floss right through you. The barely there material leaves little to the imagination as Ransom reclines against the velour couch, sour faced and bored to death.

“Try it on.” For him. He quickly thinks to himself. You purse your lips, unsure of the fact.

“If I do then I’ll have to buy it.” You state.

He shrugs, “And I’ll pay for it. My wedding gift to you.”

Ransom wanted to gauge his eyeballs out for even offering. But then seeing your sweet, head tilting smile, he reconsiders. He likes you. An understatement at that.

“Aw thanks bestie! But that’s not appropriate.” You chide behind the drapes.

“What is?” He parries while quietly watching a leggy sales associate swoop in with a kimono, exuberant on completing the look. You accept the garment, stalling with some small talk. The associate steps out and glances at Ransom with a tight, courteous grin. She’s disingenuous, almost apprehending him as if he wasn’t here with his plaything the day before.

The metal curtain rings click and squeal. You gust out a breath of air to keep yourself warm and yielded. “So what do you think?”

“Fuck him.” Ransom disapprovingly curses at the sight.

“That’s the plan.” You giggle, letting your palms flatten and glide against the short silk kimono that perfectly hug your curves. You twist and turn in front of the long vanity, admiring yourself for the first time in a long time. It’s a sweet admonition that Ransom fiends on. Especially when he sees your erect nipples calling out to him.

“Let’s see what’s under.” He coyly beckons and pushes for his luck, chin up like a curious, conniving bastard. Your face heats up, viciously shaking your head at the mere thought of your best friend seeing the most intimate parts of you.

“No!” You childishly rebuke, pulling the rug from right under.

“Oh c’mon.” He groans, spreading his knees apart to relieve the ache you don’t see.

“I think Stevie will really like this one.” You happily proclaim while disappearing back into the change room.

“If only he was dead.” Ransom mutters to himself, aghast on somehow making you his.

Some day. One day.

[foxboyclit]

val and iphis side 2

inspired by @nightwardenminthara's drabble, thank you again for bringing these awful boys together. Val's pov can be read here!

Every noble worth their salt attended the gladiator arenas, some of them going as far to sponsor the fighters. The act of watching was a bloodsport on its own- whether a House placed bets or funded a gladiator directly, there was always more to the exchange than pocket money and jewels. 

For House Nydalla, the coffers tossed at the male currently parading around the arena was sweetener to the pot.

Iphis shifted in his seat as he watched the match come to an end. The sword-bard Valztefein had the younger male cornered, the tip of his blade pressed against his throat. He tosses a glance toward the audience, voice rolling over in a strike of thunder:

“What do you think? Shall I finish him or let our newcomer get another chance?”

Playing with his food. Had Iphis seen his earlier matches he would’ve rooted for him sooner. The loser sputters something, and Valztefein twirls his rapier once more.

“What was that? I don’t think we heard you. Speak up, now.”

It was a crime their high seats came with the disadvantage of the figures appearing so small. To see the fear on the male’s face would’ve been a real treat.

“It seems our dear fresh-faced fighter has lost his tongue.” Val pushes his heel into his opponent’s gut, “Louder.”

Oh Valztefein, have you always been such a tease? 

Fond memories flooded the consort’s mind of their own sparring matches, gods bless the art of fencing. He’s surprised the male begs louder, that Val hasn’t yet driven the rapier tip through his windpipe. His pleas echo throughout the stadium, an adorable sound when one thinks about it. He’s lucky there’s only one drow in the pit; the audience has made their views on him mercilessly clear.

Still, the victor continues his taunt:

“I must admit, I’ve always been soft. His appeal truly is touching, don’t you agree?”

Choruses of cheers and boos spill from the stands, and Iphis shakes his head in amusement. 

“Ah, that is true. It wouldn’t do to let someone off so easy, simply because it’s their first match.”  an ending flourish before Valztefein shoves the blade into the loser’s hand, his scream and the sweet crunching of bone carrying through the air. Who knew there were so many ways to write a melody?

Val pulls the rapier out of the crushed hand, kicks the mangled foe in the ribs. Salt in the wound. “Never let it be said I am not merciful. The lad will live to fight another day.” 

With that, he turns toward the crowd, soaking in the cheers as a drunk absorbs his wine. From this angle, Iphis can see his face more clearly. Bright eyes meet his own, and the bard’s smile deepens as he dedicates this last bow to him. He probably couldn’t see Iphis’ grin, but the sentiment should reach him all the same.

—-

Assuring his Mistress he’d catch up with her soon enough, he caught Val in the throngs of exiting spectators. The champion wiped his sweat-slick brow, trying his best to look relaxed. 

“Enjoy the show, Nydalla?” he asked, crimson eyes drinking in every inch of him. Charming, the male was, almost enough to make Iphis forget the strange feeling of being called by his House name. That belonged to his Mistress, not him. Still, he played along.

“Quite so; always a treat to bear witness to your sword.” 

“All I could think of with every thrust and parry of my blade was our own play at dueling.” Val’s fixated gaze is less subtle than the flirt.  “You were truly a more… thrilling opponent.”

“I take up that much residence in your mind?” Iphis laughs, keeping his voice a low purr. “Just say the word when you’re ready for another round, no use in drawing your blade with these less experienced foes.” 

Val had to be the most vibrant plaything Iphis had in some time, the only one to match his energy in sparring and provide excellent tension.

In another life you would’ve made a fine companion, sweet Valztefein.

[queenofyumcha]

never parted - excerpt of mother of mine

CW// FIC CONTAINS UNDERAGE, GROOMING - though this excerpt is not explicit

Even under the unforgiving midday sun in the heat of summer, Cahir's form is nothing less than exemplary.

Idling by the shade of the gazebo under the pretence of needing a moment's relief from the sun, Emhyr watches avidly as his latest investment demonstrates a high tolerance for discomfort and impressive stamina for a young boy.

Even his Impera have taken to shifting restlessly from foot to foot in discomfort, still clad in their usual full plate armour regardless of the stifling heat. It is unlike their usual motionless guard, stood unflinching by Emhyr's side in his every waking hour. It is a small but noted weakness. Emhyr doubts much can be done about it aside from asking the court sorceress to apply a cooling charm to the armour, but that is a waste.

Magic, spent needlessly to coddle men hardened by war? Magic can be useful when carefully and sparingly applied. There are seldom times when the outcomes a magic caster can achieve are incapable of being replicated by science, a pretty face or dedicated soldiers.

Emhyr makes a discontent sound beneath his breath, his brow furrowing. Cahir has begun to falter a little, unsurprising as according to his guard's report, the boy has been exercising since the crack of dawn with few breaks for water or sustenance. It is useful indeed to have a would-be tool so eager to become useful, yet if Cahir ends up indisposed for hours, if not days with a case of heatstroke- The returns on Emhyr's investment will be delayed.

It is with that idea in his head that Emhyr fills a goblet of water from the pitchers laid out beneath the gazebo and raises his hand to beckon Cahir to his side. It takes a moment, the boy whirling in swift motion through lunges, parries and swipes at imaginary foes, far too engrossed in his play fights to have a care for a flickering movement at his peripheral. Yet when Cahir does take notice, he immediately dashes towards Emhyr, sword dangling sloppily from his loose grip.

The boy approaches with a wild rush and enthusiastic abandon of a young pup greeting his master, bounding towards Emhyr. He nearly vibrates with excitement, coming to a halt far too close to Emhyr, his hand nearly grazing Emhyr's doublet with his sloppily executed salute, manners and etiquette forgotten.

It is only Cahir's unmistakable adoration that makes Emhyr raise a hand again to prevent his Impera guards from immediately demanding the boy take a step back. Raised halberds are sheepishly lowered, and the guards quietly flank Emhyr again with a clank of metal on metal. His guards emanate silent disproval, the taller man angling his body so that with a single step his body will block any blows that come from Cahir's still-yet-to-be-sheathed steel sword. 

Compared to the Impera's halberds, it is merely a child's plaything but no less sharp for it. Cahir already had his fair share of cuts decorating his palms and upper arms. A single arched eyebrow at the clutched weapon and Cahir winces, sheathing his sword with care and an apologetic bow, taking a moment to hastily wipe the sweat from his face and straighten his leather jerkin.

Emhyr mildly regrets not further chastising the boy when Cahir shows no sign of remorse, far from it. The boy smirks up at the Impera with delight at being allowed his way, fully understanding he is inappropriately close to the Emperor and yet, that impropriety has been permitted.

Pursing his lips a little, Emhyr offers the goblet of water to Cahir with no ceremony, irked by the boy's disregard for etiquette and annoyed at himself for allowing it. He cannot raise a spoiled knight who is used to challenging the rules of the palace, or worse, a palace's ruler. Cahir must understand that although he may one day be prized by Emhyr, it does not mean he is entitled to act without consideration of the difference in their respective statuses.

Their fingers brush as Cahir takes the goblet from him carefully, not spilling a drop - and then proceeds to gulp down the water rapidly, much of it splashing uselessly onto the sweaty leather jerkin he wears. Emhyr cannot bite back a sigh then, glancing at the mess the boy has made of himself with a reproving eye. To his credit, Cahir instantly flushes red with embarrassment, scrubbing at the water dripping down his chin with his sleeve. He sips slowly what little remains of the water, pressing the goblet back into Emhyr's hands with a soft thanks, their fingers brushing again.

Emhyr frowns, pointedly placing the empty goblet down on the table. Under his steely gaze, Cahir straightens but shows no sign of embarrassment at his faux pas. An Emperor is not a maid or a chamberlain, Emhyr does not ferry used dishware to and from the kitchens for Cahir's convenience.

Biting back another tired sigh, Emhyr waves the boy off with a few trite words of praise, too irked by his actions to be able to muster up anything heartfelt. Cahir does not seem to notice, soaking up the praise with a sunny grin and smoothly returning to his sword drills with enthusiasm.

[asharinhun]

DWC Day 6 - Hurt

TW: injuries (mainly burns)

Zhiadormi was panting as she dispatched another primalist. She came to the Azure Span in a hurry to help once she got the news that Fyrakk's minions swarmed the area. She was far from the only one, with mortals, dracthyr and even a few other dragons joined in to beat them back.

That was a few hours ago, and despite giving their all, it felt futile. No matter how many Zhia finished with her claws or shortswords, another two popped up to take the place of the fallen. No matter how many she used her time magic on to make them relieve their worst fears, the incidents that caused them the worst pain in their lives, there were still too many.

"Damn it...!"

She was too distracted to notice another primalist swinging at her, sending the bronze dragon to the ground after a hasty parry.

Before her assailant could try another attack, the swing of a familiar claymore entered her field of vision and took care of him.

"Sam!" Zhia exclaimed happily, accepting the helping hand the worgen offered to pull her up.

"Come on, did you really think I'd miss all the fun?

The sudden increase in temperature cut their reunion short.

"Weak playthings of the Titans! Burn!"

"Shit, that's Fyrakk! We must leave, now!" Samantha cursed as the massive proto-drake was getting too close for comfort.

"Leave me here. I'm too exhausted to even transform." Zhia panted after a really short run.

"No way, I'll carry you if I have to!" The worgen shifted, but jumped at the bronze dragon instead of picking her up.

A massive blast of fire shook the ground where the pair was standing previously.

They landed in a heap. Sam groaned, blinking her eye as she tried to sit up... only to find Zhia out cold and a wall of shadowflame blocking their path of escape.

She had to act fast, while the incarnate was distracted by something else.

'Shit! Maybe I could make the jump unscatched by myself, but...'

Any tree she could try to climb was already aflame. A glance at the unconscious bronze was enough to steel Sam's resolve.

She quickly wrapped Zhia in her cloak and lifted her up in her arms.

One deep breath. Two. Them jump.

Samantha screamed.

_ _ _

„Ughhh…” A groan escaped Zhiadormi as she came round. Her head was throbbing and it took effort to will her eyes open. Her left one slowly blinked, but her right wouldn’t budge.

She tried to raise a hand to check it, but found her limbs constricted. The bronze was wrapped up in a piece fo cloth, probably a cloak, like a bundle.

'Wait, this looks like Sam's... Fyrakk! Sam!'

The rush of memories would have made Zhia fall were she standing at that moment.

A whimper from her blind right made the head of the bronze snap in that direction.

Samantha was sprawled on the ground not too far from her, back in human form and breathing heavily, eye closed.

Zhia quickly freed herself and slowly staggered to the worgen's side. She had to stifle a gasp at the state of Sam's legs. The bandages were applied haphazardly and the bronze could spot burned skin peeking out here and there.

"Oh Sam..." The dragon knelt, gently wiping the sweat from the warrior's forehead.

"Ungh... Zhia...? Sorry for... the rough landing. Migh've... dropped you by... accident. Your... normal wink... suits you better." The worgen's eye flickered open, a glowed finger brushing against the bump on the bronze's eyebrow, making her wince.

"Sam, why did you do this?" Zhia ignored the jibe, asking a question instead in a pained voice, concern obvious on her face.

"Fyrakk would... have roasted us... alive. I had to try." The worgen groaned before adding "So I tried... to jump over. Almost... succeded, too."

"You're a fool, you should have left me there!"

"Nah... owe you... too many favors. Wanted to... even the scale... a bit."

Zhia just shook her head, ignoring the fresh wave of pain the action brought and cupped the worgen's cheek.

"You owed me nothing from the moment you almost died at the Temporal Conflux." She leaned in to place a kiss on Sam's forehead.

"Even so..."

"Hush now. Just rest, and I'll get you out of here after I catch my breath." Zhia kissed her cheek this time, her heart beating faster, getting a small huff and a smile in return before the worgen closed her eye again.

The bronze wanted nothing more than to use her magic to revert the time of Sam's wounds. Temporary as the solution was, it would have spared her much pain until they could find a healer. A pity she was too spent for that.

Taking her original dragon form was far less taxing, so she would shift the moment she would be able do so. Anything to get Sam proper help as soon as possible.

The wall of shadowflame still stood on the other side of the rocky outcropping Sam hid themselves behind.

Zhia sighed and returned to the worgen's side. She had a few first aid supplies as well. She took to change the old bandages and wrap the new ones properly on Samantha's legs and feet, giving the worgen a lap pillow as a reward.

"Just a few more minutes, and we will out of here." The bronze whispered while running her fingers through the warrior's hair.

"I believe you..."

@daily-writing-challenge

[encomium-emmae]

A Daughter of England

Queen Emma x King Canute, 1.1K, Rated T (+ AO3 link) A post-series family fic for @mercurygray​

It was late afternoon when Emma finally returned from St Albans. She had given the whole morning over to the prior, to his detailed explanations of the quarter’s grain yields and annual tax revenue, and felt impolite in refusing an offer to join the brothers in their mid-day repast. The monastery’s cellars did possess an impressive collection of French wine, so perhaps it was not all that much of a hardship. 

Still, she was travel-weary by the time she and her retainers rode through the palace gates. Once off her horse, she looked forward to a prospect of a warm bath and a quiet supper. 

In the yard, a groom helped her dismount, but her attention was drawn by the sound of swords clashing, and a man’s commanding voice, calling out above the din. 

She knew at once who it belonged to.

Emma made her way past the stables and into the training yard. There, in an open space blanketed in muck and mud were a dozen or so armed men, engaged in combat practice, along with her husband—and their two children. She was not surprised to see Harthacnut; he was fourteen, old enough to begin learning the skills of a warrior. One day he would inherit this kingdom and the rest of his father’s northern empire, but he could not command men if he did not know how to fight. 

It was seeing her daughter—Gunhilda, all of twelve—that gave Emma pause. She wore a roughspun linen dress, hems choked in mud, and over it a leather breastplate meant for a young man, not a narrow-hipped girl. Worst of all, she was holding a sword in her hand. A practice sword, but a sword nevertheless. 

Emma came closer, watching as Canute instructed the two of them in how to move lightly on their feet, how to block and parry while keeping the blade away from their bodies. Harthacnut clearly knew much of this already, but Gunhilda observed her father carefully, matching his steps with childlike determination. 

“Husband,” she called out, sharp enough that he turned immediately toward her. “A word?”

He gave the children some quick direction to keep practicing and made his way to where she stood under the shade of the portico. He leaned down and Emma gave him her cheek to kiss before she leveled her stare directly at him. 

“What is our daughter doing in the training yard?”

Canute shrugged. “Training,” he said, all innocence—but she knew better. 

She narrowed her gaze. It was difficult trying to maintain the upper hand when she had to tilt her head back to look at him, but she managed. 

“Let me rephrase. Why is our daughter in the training yard?”

His lips quirked and she watched him quickly glance back towards Gunhilda, his gray-green eyes softening as he did. 

“She wanted to learn.”

Emma crossed her arms over her chest. “And you let her?”

Of course, there was no need for him to answer the question, nor should she have been surprised: Gunhilda had managed to wrap her father around her little finger since she was in the cradle. He was her plaything, her conspirator, her bosom companion in every adventure. Emma had once found them in the solar, the King of England on his hands and knees as their three-year-old daughter squealed and rode upon his back like a prize steed. For her tenth birthday he had presented her with a docile gray kitten—which she promptly named Freyja, much to the consternation of the priests—and both girl and animal could often be found curled up in the window seat, listening in as her father sat in counsel with his ealdormen. 

Harthacnut was his heir, the one on whom the future rested—but Gunhilda was the child of his heart. 

“What is the harm?” he asked earnestly. “She is enjoying herself.”

Emma shook her head. Her husband had been born a king’s son, but he had not been raised at court. She needed to make him understand. 

“She is a princess of England. She cannot be yielding a sword.”

Canute smiled, a tiny, self-pleased thing, and then reached his arm around her waist and pulled her close. She could feel her body react to him the way it always did, warmth drawing through her veins and pooling low in her belly, a partial distraction from the irritation clouding her thoughts. It was clear that had been his purpose; they both knew each other far too well by now. 

“She is half Viking.” He raised a dark eyebrow. “It is in her blood, I think.”

“You want to make a shieldmaiden of her?” Emma sighed, left with nothing to say but her real concern. “Who will marry her then?”

He knew she worried about these things, about the future, about the legacy they were trying to build. But her husband simply looked at her with a patient gaze, his fingertips drawing lightly upon her spine. 

“As you said, Emma, she is a princess of England. There will be enough suitors.”

She opened her mouth, ready to offer some rejoinder, if only a half-hearted one, when she heard the sound of running steps and the soft sweep of fabric against the mud. 

“Papa, did you see?” Gunhilda exclaimed as she bounded towards them. A mane of dark hair fell loosely past her shoulders, blue eyes sparkling with delight. “I got Harthacnut in the leg! He made a sound like a stuck pig.”

Canute snorted, only to swallow the sound once he caught sight of Emma’s sharp glare. 

“That is very good, dúllan mín. But you must always be sure to watch his feet, as they will tell you where he is going to strike next.”

Gunhilda nodded appreciatively, basking under her father’s praise.

Emma turned towards her daughter. “Go inside and get cleaned up,” she said softly. “We will be having supper soon and you cannot be covered in mud.”

As the girl ran from the yard, Emma’s attention returned once more to her husband—and the warmth of his body as it encircled hers. He was a handsome man, not so different from the one she married fifteen years ago, if only with a few more gray hairs in his dark beard. He was still powerfully built, his physique no doubt honed by the hours spent practicing today. She could smell the efforts of the training yard on him, sweat and churned muck and something sweet and earthy that was solely him. 

“You are also probably covered in mud,” she conceded. “I should have them draw you a bath before supper.”

Canute’s grin was playful, inviting. He tugged her towards him, close enough to make her breath catch in her throat. “I imagine you must be travel-stained from your trip north. Perhaps we might share it.”

Emma looked up at him, knowing that the question held in the depths of his gaze was fully answered within her own. 

“As you say, my lord.”

[newhorizonsxiv]

FFXIVWrite22 - Cutting Corners

“You know you don’t gotta read that thing, Ghisy. Priest still gives you food whether you know the answers or not. Pa’s been using my copy for firestarters and Brother Marcel aint even noticed.”

Ghislain ignored the younger boy, hunching over his battered copy of the  Enchiridion and trying to let the words on the page drown out all else.

An older boy spoke. “Aw, but Lil Ghisy aint in it jus’ for the free grub. He wants to be the one chosen to go study with all them fancy nobs too soft to hunt dragons. Can’t go cuttin’ corners if you wanna get all them headpats and The Fury’s ticket outta the Brume.”

“Oh, his pretty face already punched his ticket, me ma says.” An older girl well on the way to a total transformation into Her Ma cut in. “One of them nobs liked his look. Offered to buy him up as a plaything for their son. Parents’d be fools to turn that down, all the mouths they ‘ave to feed.”

Ghislain snapped the book shut and ran off down the alley. Maybe the tannery would prove a quieter place to read. And leave a less foul stench in the air than all this gossip.

~

“I’m bored, Boy!” Another wad of paper landed atop the page as Ghislain worked, smearing the ink and assuring that he would need to start anew yet again. He closed his eyes and let out a slow breath letting every hint of annoyance leave his expression before he lifted his face to meet the gaze of the sole heir of house Malveaux.

“Apologies, Master Theoren.” Ghislain kept his voice as carefully neutral as possible. “Perhaps if you were the one writing the essay, the process would be more engaging for you.”

“You’re the one who’ll take the lashings if the tutors think I’m slacking.” Theoren answered with a smug little smile. “Only fair I let you be the one to make the case for how much I’ve learned, hmm?”

“As you say.” Ghislain rose to fetch another sheet of parchment to begin the forgery anew. Would not do to have the work submitted in his own hand, after all. Or to ask the little lordling to put forth even the minimal effort of copying the essay over himself.

Theoren intercepted him, placing a thick arm between Ghislain and the shelf. “I’m bored,” he repeated. “Come outside and spar with me.”

Ghislain’s eyes fell to floor. He knew an order when he heard one, and yet. “A sword is a knight’s weapon, Master Theoren. I am common born. It’s not-”

“It’s as appropriate as I say it is, Boy!” Theoren cut him off, the arm that was barring him from the shelf now caught around his shoulder and steered him toward the courtyard. “Besides, it’s not as though I’m teaching you properly. I just want something to practice against that’ll hit me back. Or try to.” The last was said with such snide confidence that Ghislain felt himself prickling and had to push the feeling down hard though he found that this time it would not stay.

As he was forced into the courtyard. As Theoren selected swords for them both and tossed Ghislain his weapon in a way that would ensure he could not catch it without risking a cut and so must scramble to gather it from the ground while the lordling snickered at him. As they took their stances and that insufferable smile remained on his daily tormentor’s face. The anger would not stay down. It flashed in his eyes and lashed out with his blade, scoring the first touch of the match in the form of a clean slice through the right sleeve of Theoren’s jacket, leaving it hanging loose, a hindrance to the movement of his sword arm.

“Lucky shot,” Theoren sneered, shifting his sword to his off hand with a grin. “But if you’d like me to make this more fair..”

Ghislain’s blade quickly shut his mouth, making the same cut on the left sleeve before he’d even fallen fully back into stance. Theoren angrily ripped both sleeves all the way off with some effort and reset position. A dangerous heat simmered in his eyes, letting Ghislain know that the first hit he allowed his young master to land would not be cutting cloth.

The fight began in earnest, a blur of thrusts and parries, footwork and feints. Ghislain had never been formally trained in the blade but he’d watched the lessons his young master attended with the same care and attention he gave to all his studies and this was not the first time he’d been forced to play unwilling training dummy to a spoiled brat with a careless sword. He’d learned quickly. This bout was not overlong. It ended with Theoren’s blade on the ground and Ghislain’s leveled at his throat. A long moment passed with their eyes locked before Ghislain stepped back, lowering his sword.

Theoren closed with him, hands balled into fists and Ghislain braced himself to try and take the inevitable blow with grace but it did not come. Theoren stepped back, eyes on the blade still in Ghislain’s hand. “The sword is a fool’s weapon, anyway,” he spat. “It’s spears that kill dragons.” And then he was gone, leaving Ghislain to collect and replace the weapons. He was just turning to gather up the remnants of those finely stitched sleeves when he found someone else was already picking them up. It was Laurent, House Malveaux’s Swordmaster.

The man looked him up and down appraisingly. “Unpolished,” he finally said. “But the basics are solid enough. Meet me here after dinner in the evenings and I’ll see if I can’t make something more of you.”

“But Master..” Ghislain stammered. “I’m common born and my duties are..”

“I know you’ll cut no corners in your other duties, young man,” Laurent smiled at him with more than a hint of fondness. “And this one may prove your most vital. With the master you have? One of you will certainly need to know how to properly wield a sword.”

~

His lungs burned in the frigid air as he rushed up the hill. The unknown assailant was just lifting his odd cylindrical weapon again as Ghislain reached him, a slice of his blade knocking it from the man’s grip and a second slice opening his throat. He dropped gurgling to the ground and Ghislain kicked the weapon out of crawling reach before turning to slide and stumble back down the hill begging the Fury for mercy every ilm of the way.

The Fury offered him none. There at the base of the hill was Theoren, eyes wide open and seeing nothing, the hole in his chest steaming in the cold. Dead. In an instant.

Ghislain dropped to his knees, screaming out his anger and frustration. His home, his life, every dream he’d had or lost was gone. He should have died for his master’s sake and that error would be corrected for him the moment he returned, with worse to fall on his family. Lord Malveaux would want back whatever coin he’d paid for him. And they would not have it to give.

The realization settled on him, first as lead but then, strangely, as a wild sort of fluttering hope. Far better for him to have died here. He looked back up to the dying man on the hill. A man with hair the same color as his own and built much the same as well. Perhaps the Fury had some mercy for him this day after all.

The man had no struggle left in him as Ghislain stripped him, replacing the rough leathers with his own thickspun travelling clothes. He was likely already dead by the time Ghislain hefted the weapon the man had used to kill Theoren and pointed it down at his face. Just one little movement of the finger. All the effort it takes to end a life. Or start a new one.

With that corner decisively cut, Ghislain returned to the chocobo nervously dancing by the roadside. The bird had always liked him more than Theoren anyway. It wouldn’t complain. He hauled himself into the saddle and urged his new mount into a run towards anywhere but here.

[howlingday]

Jaune: (Walking through the forest with Yang, Looks at a wanted poster on a tree) Hey, Yang, who's that? She kind of looks like you.

Yang: That's Raven Branwen, the supposed "Bandit Queen" around here. Don't bother getting involved with her. She'd just make you look stupid. (Sighs, Looks away) It wouldn't be the first time.

Jaune: ...Right. (Touches her hand) Yang, you know I love you, right?

Yang: ...Yeah, I know. (Holds his hand, Doesn't look at him) Even if you don't deserve someone like me.

Jaune: (Pulls his hand away) What do you mean? Are you saying I'm not good enough for you?

Yang: (Looks at him) What?! No! I know we've only been dating for a few months, but it's not like that! If anything, it's the other way around!

Jaune: (Angry) So you're saying you're too good for me now?!

Yang: No! Argh! You are so annoying right now! What I meant was- (A loud thud is heard nearby, Gunfire explodes in the distance) What was that?

From the treeline, a band of armed thugs barrel out waving their weapons around, hooting and hollering, roaring and barking as they circle the couple. A tree falls, it's trunk sliced clean as a woman with black hair and red eyes walks forward. She sheathes her sword as she sways her hips. She looks exactly like the woman in the wanted poster, becauseshe is the woman from the wanted poster; Raven Branwen.

Raven: Don't waste your breath with her. (Stops in front of the couple) She never understood true power, even when it stared her in the face.

Jaune: Wait, you're-

Raven: Raven Branwen, Bandit Queen. (Bandits roar and cheer until they're silenced by Raven's extended hand, She leans forward into Jaune's face) And you are just my type.

Jaune: (Blushing) Uh, you look just like my girlfriend.

Raven: Well, she is my daughter.

Yang: Stop leering at her, you perv! And you, I thought you didn't want anything to do with me!

Raven: I didn't, but when Tai told me about this boy you're dating, I had to see for myself. He reminds me a lot of him. (Licks her lips) I bet he tastes the same, too. Shay! Vernal!

Shay & Vernal: Yes, ma'am!

Raven: Make sure she doesn't interfere. I want to play with my food right now

Shay & Vernal: Yes, ma'am!

Raven: What's your name, handsome?

Jaune: Uh, Jaune. Jaune Arc.

Raven: Mm, short, sweet, and rolls off the tongue. I bet the ladies love it.

Jaune: Uh...

Raven: If you didn't hear, I'm Raven Branwen. But, the only thing you'll call me from now on is either ma'am or mommy.

Jaune: (Chuckling) That's funny. I like you, Ms. Branwen!

Yang: (Thinking) What is she doing?! Is she... trying to steal Jaune?! (Shakes her head) Whatever! Jaune loves me! He won't surrender to her! ...But we did have that fight just now. He might actually leave me for her. ...No! I just have to put my faith in Jaune! I know he'll stay with me!

Raven: Now, Jaune, what say we have some fun?

Raven unsheathes Omen, taking a combative stance in front of Jaune, who, in turn, unsheathes Crocea Mors. Raven swings at Jaune, holding back her strength as she tests Jaune's skill. Soon, Jaune is beading with sweat as Raven lazily parries and swings at him. Jaune slips into her guard, forcing her to jump back. She chuckles as she watches him pant.

Raven: Not bad, boy. Not bad at all.

Jaune: This... This is too much! I can see why you're the Bandit Queen now.

Raven: What are you staring so hard at me for, boy? You want me? Here, (Takes off her armor, Her perfect-fit clothing underneath leaves nothing to the imagination) have a closer look.

Jaune: (Stammers, Looks to Yang)

Yang: Stop showing off like that, Mom! Why couldn't you just stay out of my love life like dad? In fact, why don't you just stay out of my life?!

Shay: Hey, kid, settle down!

Vernal: Queen Raven ordered us to keep you in place, so that's what we're going to do.

Yang: And having your goons keep me from kicking your butt?! You're the worst!

Raven: Your boyfriend doesn't seem to think that. Just look at how he's panting just from being near me. (Jaune gulps) Tell me, Jaune. What do you like most about me? Is it my lovely hair? My intoxicating scent? Or is something else catching your eyes?

Jaune: C-Can we go back to fighting, please?!

Yang: Why are you dodging the question, you creep?! (Thinking) I'm losing him. It's subtle, but... There's no doubt about it. It can't end like this. Not after everything we've been through!

Raven: Remember this, Jaune; there's a difference between a girl and a woman. Allow me to show you the difference.

Raven swings with more intent this time, forcing Jaune to block and dodge with more caution, as she now kicks at any opening she finds. Jaune slips into her guard again, forcing the two to lock blades. However, Raven takes advantage of this to blow a kiss at Jaune, who flinches and jumps away. Raven follows up with thrust, parry, and slice combination. Jaune noticed Raven switched to a two-handed style, and decided to respond in kind. The battle became more even as Raven began sweating from the effort she was putting in. Jaune leaped away, panting, and stuck his sword into the dirt.

Jaune: Okay, I'm done! I've had enough, Ms. Branwen!

Raven: Aw, what's the matter, baby. Are you losing focus from watching me move so gracefully? I'll bet you have so many nasty thoughts running through your head right now. (Rips open her shirt a little, revealing her cleavage) You want me so bad, don't you?

Yang: (Tears streaming from her eyes, Thinking) That's it. I've lost him. There's no way he doesn't want her after that. It's how she tricked Dad into loving her. (Crying) But, he can't just leave me for her! She just wants to use him as a plaything. If he left me, I at least want to be sure he'll be safe from any harm, but she... It's all my fault. All because of that stupid argument, he's going to leave me all alone!

Jaune: Ugh! Just shut the fuck up already!

Yang: Huh? (Realizes Jaune's holding her)

Raven: Excuse me?!

Jaune: I'm sick of hearing you talk! You're fucking weird, the way you talk to me makes me feel like a baby, and the fact you're putting down your own daughter just to impress a stranger like me, (Glares at Raven, Grinds his teeth) it makes me so fucking furious, I can't stand it! How could you say such foul shit about your daughter?! (Takes a deep breath, Holds Yang close) I love your daughter. I only love your daughter. I mean, yeah, you're attractive, with your nice-smelling hair and your curves and your swordplay, but that doesn't matter. But I wouldn't even be fawning over you if I knew how horrible you really were! (Feels Yang hugging him, Sighs) I'm sorry, baby. I just... I just got so upset when you said I wasn't good enough for you.

Yang: (Sniffs) I wasn't talking about you not being good enough; I was talking about me not being good enough for you. I got so worried that you'd abandon me, I couldn't bear it. I'm sorry it came out wrong to you. I just think you're so amazing, okay? You always rise up against any challenge, even when you know the odds aren't in your favor. You fought bullies, Grimm, my dad, and even the White Fang! You have so much confidence, I can't imagine why you would think you're not good enough! (Sobs) I love you, Jaune! I feel like if you left me, I would literally die!

Jaune: (Shushes her, Pets her hair) I love you, too, and I know what you mean. I feel like... It's like our souls are connected, you know? (Chuckles, Tear rolls down his eye) I'm sorry I'm so corny, and for our fight earlier.

Yang: (Chuckles) It's okay. I like us being corny, and I love that you can be so honest with me.

Jaune: (Chuckles, Kisses the top of her head) I'm so lucky I have you.

Raven: (Holding herself, Panting and squirming) Oh, this feeling~.

Jaune: (Looks up) Huh? (Looks over, Sees Raven half-naked and steaming with a dangerous aura) Uh...

Raven: Oh, Tai hasn't made me feel like this in such a long time~.

Yang: (Gulps) Raven?

Raven: But you, Jaune, (Lewd and wide smile, Sultrily chuckles) you're a whole different breed~! (Points Omen at him, Drooling) You're a man who knows how to put a bitch like me in her place and shows love to his girl after some tramp disses her! (She looks down, Hiding her face) It might be the bare minimum, but... (Looks up, Hungry eyes) I just have to have you! Now pick up the sword and listen carefully, because if you lose this fight, I'm going to make you my new slave! (Chuckles) Who knows? Maybe in a few years, you'll make for a fine bandit.

Shay: Wait, we used to be something before being bandits?

Raven: You can't refuse this, handsome, otherwise I'll kill Yang and give you no choice.

Jaune: Shit. Yang, this doesn't look good.

Yang: Hey, now, that's not the Jaune Arc I love! (Hands him Crocea Mors, Kisses his cheek) Kick her ass for me, okay, baby?

Jaune: (Takes Crocea Mors, Smiles) You got it, baby!

Vernal: Listen up, everyone! Our queen is about to go all out! The odds of her leaving us alive grow slimmer by the second! Know that all of you have been like family to me!

Shay: Even me?

Vernal: Shut up, Shay.

Raven: By the way, handsome, I don't want this to be over too soon, so keep that sword of yours in it's longsword form to keep it interesting. Because this shit's finna get nutty!

Raven wastes no time attacking Jaune, forcing him to block. He's pushed back several feet before side-stepping away. Raven continues until a red portal opens in her path, and she disappears into it. Jaune loses sight of her and barely has enough time to duck as she flies in from behind to strike. He rolls away, but Raven charges again, striking wildly with swings and thrusts. Jaune's muscles ache as he's forced to block and parry. Raven runs towards him again, disappearing into another portal. He looks behind, but doesn't see her. Yang warns him of the strike from above, and he leaps away in time. He notices a golden necklace on the ground, recognizing it from one of the bandits. Unfortunately, Raven was relentless as she continued her assault, and Jaune couldn't afford to stop and think. He decided to go on the offensive this time, clashing with her. When she was pushed back, he charged forward, but ran into her portal, and right into Vernal. The bandit lieutenant jumped away as Jaune thrusted, and he apologized as he she did. He turned in time to catch Raven's blade, but she disappeared as she retreated, using her portal repeatedly to confuse him. Jaune dropped his sword and stepped forward to the golden necklace. He tossed it into the air, forcing Raven to dive to him with her blade extended. She cackled with mad glee as she forced him to fall backwards, only to reel in pain when he kicked her in the face and away from Omen. Raven sprawled and climbed to her knees, looking at Jaune from the wrong end of her weapon.

Raven: (Panting) Jaune... That was... amazing... I feel so... exhilarated... You sapped me of all my juices. Or, well, at least half of my aura, anyways. I know you won, but couldn't you please reconsider and join my family?

Jaune: I don't want you! Damn! (Throws Omen aside) I'm with your daughter because I love her! I love her hair! I love her smell! I love her curves!

Raven: W-What are you saying?!

Jaune: I'm saying I love big-tittied bitches! Mostly your daughter, but the others are cool, too, I guess!

Yang: (Snickers, Covers her mouth)

Jaune: Also, you just let "your family" almost die in our fight! Who the hell does that?!

Raven: (Scoffs) The family knows the tribe is nothing without their queen. If they were worthy, they would be willing to die for me. (Stands up, Shakes her head) Such a sentimental fool. No wonder you're together. (Picks up Omen, Walks away with her tribe) You can have him, Yang.

Yang: ...Thank you, Raven.

Jaune: Wait, that's it?

Raven: Yeah, I don't need any bleeding hearts in my tribe. But you have my blessing, whatever that might mean to you. (Thinking) Fuck, now I'm thinking about him again. I should go chat with him. It has been a few months since our last "reunion."

[darksaiyangoku]

Devils of Remnant

Chapter 1- Dances with Guns

Sitting at the bar of The Black Bear, a club in downtown Vale, Ruby tapped her fingers on the table to the beat of the music. Red Like Roses was her favourite song and the new remix brought a smile to her face. Hei Xiong, known as “Junior” to his friends, was on bartender duty tonight. Ruby smiled as soon as her drink was served.

Junior: It’s on the house. *two finger salute*

Ruby: Thanks, Junior. *drinks the lemonade*

???: Is that lemonade on the rocks or neat?

Ruby turned her head to find a boy sitting next her. He had golden blonde hair and deep blue eyes. He wore casual clothing; a yellow hoodie with a black shirt underneath, blue jeans and white shoes.

Ruby: *deadpans* Very funny.

???: Okay, that was mean. Sorry. *chuckles*

Ruby: It’s okay. *chuckles back*

???: I’m Jaune. Jaune Arc. Short, sweet and rolls of the tongue.

Ruby: *smiles* I’m Ruby. Ruby Rose.

Jaune: *smiles back* Nice name. So, Ruby, what’s a girl like you doing in a dingy place like this?

Junior: Hey!

Ruby: It’s my last day before I go to Beacon Academy.

Jaune: *raises eyebrow* Beacon Academy? You mean the school for Devil Hunters?

Ruby: Mm-hmm.

Jaune: Huh, small world. I’m a student there myself.

Ruby: *eyes wide* No way!! Really?!

Jaune: You bet! *shows student badge*

Ruby: EEEEE!!!!! Oh my god, this is so cool!!!! I can’t believe I’m actually meeting a Devil Hunter from Beacon!!!!!!

Jaune: *giggles* Guess like someone’s a fangirl.

Ruby: Wha-? S-Shut up! *blushes*

Ruby and Jaune’s chat was cut short by a group of four guys. One had long, blue hair and wore a grey suit, the other wore a green vest with a light green mohawk, the third wore a brown t-shirt and had brown hair and finally there was the burly lad, with ginger hair and wearing a grey shirt that the logo of a golden cardinal bird. Their names were Russel Thrush, Sky Lark, Dove Bronzewing and their leader, Cardin Winchester.

Cardin: Why hello there, hot stuff. *winks at Ruby* How about you and I head over to the dance floor?

Ruby: *ponders* Hmmm, a tempting offer but I think I’ll stick with Jaune over here.

Jaune: *raises his glass*

Cardin: *sneers* Really? This guy? Come on, he’s a total dork. You need a real man, like me.

Ruby: I happen to like dorks, thank you very much.

Cardin: Ugh, quit playing hard to get! *grabs Ruby’s wrist*

Ruby: Agh! Let me go!

Jaune: Hey get off of her!

Sky: *pushes Jaune*

Jaune: Agh!

Russel: What the boss says, goes. *kicks Jaune*

Jaune: *coughs in pain*

Ruby: Leave him alone!

Cardin: Oh we will, as soon as you give me my dance.

Ruby: *grunts* If you don’t let me go, you’re gonna be sorry!

Cardin: *grips tighter*

Ruby: *smirks* Okay... you asked for it.

Using her free hand, she reached behind her waist and pulled out a silver M1911 handgun. Before Cardin react, Ruby shot him in the shoulder. Black blood leaked from the wound. The blood of demons. The sound of gunfire caused the people at the club to panic and they scrambled towards the exit. Cardin’s eyes turned red and his teeth became fangs.

Ruby: If you’re gonna disguise yourself as a human, you gotta be a little more convincing than that.

Cardin: *snarls* You bitch! I’ll you apart!!!

Surrounded by black smoke, Cardin transformed into his true self; a lanky wolf-like demon with black fur, white fangs and a skull-like mask. He lunged towards Ruby and bared his claws. However, he was shot again from another one of her pistols, this one red in colour. He yelped in pain as he hit the floor. Standing above him, Ruby put the guns close to his head.

Ruby: Say cheese! *shoots Cardin*

Cardin’s friends looked on in horror. Their leader was reduced to nothing but a mere plaything right before their eyes. Ruby reloaded her guns and turned to them, giving them a deadly smile.

Ruby: So boys... *cocks guns* you up for Round 2?

The others screamed and ran for dear life. Ruby pouted, upset that her fun was ruined. Jaune stared at her, baffled at what just happened.

Jaune: Woah! That was- uh, what? H-How did you know they were demons?

Ruby: *nervous chuckle* I-It’s kind of a sixth sense I have. I can’t really explain.

Jaune: Either way, that was pretty impressive!

Ruby: Thanks! *scroll beeps* Aw no! I’m late. So, um, I-I’ll see you at Beacon tomorrow?

Jaune: Oh, um, y-yeah. Uh, I’ll see you soon.

Ruby: C-Cool, bye! *runs to the exit*

Jaune: Looks like I didn’t need to hide myself after all.

The injuries Jaune sustained completely healed in a matter of seconds. Meanwhile, watching from the sides, was a Faunus girl, Blake Belladonna. From her pocket, she pulled out a picture of a white, armoured figure carrying a blood red sword. She stared at it intently.

Blake: Ruby Rose.

* * *

Ruby ran through the streets until the reached Schnee Manor, her home. Standing in front of the door was her younger brother, Whitley and he didn’t look happy.

Whitley: Where have you been?

Ruby: U-Um, nowhere? *innocent smile*

Whitley: Don’t try to act like the cute sister to fool me, I know you were out.

Ruby: W-Well so what if I was? There’s nothing wrong with having a bit of fun!

Whitley: We all like to have fun, but you will be starting at Beacon tomorrow. This isn’t your standard school, you’re fighting demons to protect the world! Start taking this seriously!

Ruby: I do take this seriously, Whit.

Whitley: You’re certainly not acting like it. Your reckless actions are going to come back and bite you in the ass one day.

Ruby: *sigh* Fine, whatever. I’m going to bed. *walks inside* .

Whitley: Fine, but don’t expect me to wake you up tomorrow.

Ruby stormed in her bedroom and slammed the door, collapsing herself onto the bed in a huff.

The next morning, she heard a loud knock. Groggy and feeling irritated, she drowsily made her way to the door. She opened it to find Whitley, who had a panicked look on his face.

Ruby: *groaning* I thought you said-

Whitley: *covers Ruby’s mouth* You have to keep quiet. An Alpha Beowolf has tracked your scent right here.

Ruby: *mumbles* Alpha Beowolf?

Whitley: *nods head* Look, I know I said that I wasn’t going to wake you up this morning, but I’d rather not see my sister get torn to shreds. Take this.

He let go of his mouth and handed Ruby a white, single edged sword.

Whitley: It’s not much, but it should help in holding him off.

Ruby: Okay, thanks Whitley. Let me get my guns.

Leaping out from her bedroom window, Ruby landed in front of the Alpha. It smiled sadistically at her, baring it’s razor-sharp fangs.

Ruby: Well hello there, doggy. You wanna play some fetch? *draws guns*

The Alpha roared at her and went in to strike. Ruby dodged with a burst of speed, sending several shots in its back. The demon howled in pain and tried to swipe her with her claws. Immediately, Ruby parried the blow with a quick draw of her sword, pushing its claws back. With an opening in sight, she cut off its arms. The black blood sprayed all over the courtyard and she plunged the sword into its chest. The Alpha shrieked and collapsed to the ground. Ruby approached it and pulled out the sword.

Ruby: Aw man, from the way Whitley described you, I thought you’d be more of a challenge.

Alpha: W-White Thorn.

Ruby: Huh? What’s White Thorn?

She didn’t receive an answer, as the Alpha turned to dust upon its death. From the doorway, Whitley was cheering.

Whitley: Yes!!!! Take that, Alpha bitch!!!! ...um, I mean *clears throat* that was a well done effort.

Ruby: Hey Whitley, what’s a White Thorn?

Whitley: I have no idea. *checks scroll* Also, you’re going to be late for the airship to take you Beacon!

Ruby: AHHHHH!!!! NO I CAN’T BE LATE!!!! *dashes back inside*

Whitley: *facepalms* Sparda give me strength.

[wu-sisyphus-gang]

Motion Sickness Chapter 93

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(Winter POV)

Training with the new powers was harsh. It was an inconcrete thing. Where one might normally run laps to build up speed or stamina or lift weights to grow stronger the powers of the maiden were transcendental.

The training still took a great deal from you, as though you had been running laps or lifting weights, however. It left me exhausted and it left me weaker than normal. I had a long way to go until I reached the power of a fully realized maiden like Fria had been.

As far as I was aware even Cinder Fall had yet to master her powers. Though she had an additional helping of them being both fall and spring.

My heels clicked down a street nearby to the academy leading up to where my small apartment was. It was a cozy thing with spartan furnishings. It was so unlike the manor I had grown up in. The military lifestyle suited me after the years I spent as a child under my father.

To my father everything had to be extravagant. He needed it that way. I was different. I thrived off of the bare minimum.

There was the sound of footsteps behind me on the dark street. I turned around. There was a woman standing there.  She was nearly as tall as I was in a dark crimson dress. She had an eye patch over half her face with dark hair and a glowing ember eye. I recognized her at once.

This was Cinder Fall.

I pulled my weapon on her and she let out a short terse laugh. She summoned her own weapons to her hands. Swords made of glass, one in each palm. Just like her profile described.

I split my scimitar so I, too, had a weapon in each hand.

"So quick to arms? I just have a couple questions for you," her voice rang out melodic.

She hurled a mote of fire at me and I slipped behind a corner, into an alley that lined the street. The explosion rocked the side of the building I pressed my back against.

"This is Special Operative Winter Schnee I nee-" my scroll was blown out of my hands.

"None of that." Cinder strode up on me with a bow in her hands now. She shot my device out of my hands with an explosive arrow. It rocked my world a little and I was sent tumbling down the alley and away from the bigger street.

She inhaled deeply through her nose like she was smelling the conflagration. Fire roared up from behind her and she slammed me into a wall. She held me there with her weapons in sword formation once again.

I was a hair taller than her but she was incredibly strong. I pressed forward with my weapons, swinging one in each hand and she deftly blocked it with narrow twists of her wrists.

Her eye glowed with the power of a maiden burning away at the corners.

She summoned lightning. It crackled down onto us both and she whipped her weapons at me and it struck me high. I summoned a glyph behind me and darted forward on the magic in a landing attack.

She met my strike to the side and lashed out with a kick that caught me in the gut.

"Now about my questions…" she trailed as she prowled towards me like a tigress. "Where is the winter maiden, Winter Schnee? Is it you now? I wonder?"

I summoned a glyph at my back and launched myself again towards her. I slashed twice at her low, high then I brought forth dust from my weapon and swept fire at her. She ducked underneath the fire and came at me with both her weapons in diagonal fierce cuts.

I managed to block them all then I jumped off the wall and back-flipped away from her and hoped to gain some space.

She kept on top of me. Prowling forward she sliced at me with her weapons. I blocked one off to the side and deflected the other away from my face before I slashed at her stomach and caught her by the red aura there. She stuttered back a step.

"Well aren't you more than the General's plaything," she laughed at me.

I reared back and stabbed my weapon into the ground and brought forth another glyph. Snow white Grimm masked birds flew forward at Cinder Fall and buffeted her. She slashed through them and I let up after a few got through and harried her. I summoned a great Beowulf from nothing and it lumbered towards Cinder.

Cinder examined it contemptuously before she cut her way through it with a wave of fire.

She twirled her weapon around her and fire emanated forth. It spun around her like a dancer's ribbon before she struck out with it and I only just managed to flip out of the way of the blaze.

I came down on her with both my weapons and I cut at her diagonally then horizontally then diagonally with both of them. She only met my strikes while backing up steps to give a little ground in the tight alley. It was a touch claustrophobic for my tastes and it was only getting hotter as Cinder reved things up.

She flew at me, leaving a blaze behind her on the ground as she did. She came at me with narrow slices and sharp thrusts. Then she hovered in a tight circle around me and kicked me in the back of the head.

I fell to the ground and looked up at her. Some of my maiden powers must have flared up because she whispered. "It is you."

There was no use hiding it. There hadn't been at any rate. This was a win or lose fight for me. I couldn't afford to keep more cards in reserve. I had already nearly exhausted my maiden powers, though, with my day of training with them. I was already bone tired and nearly at my limit. Only the rush of adrenaline kept me going at the moment.  

I slashed towards her and summoned a wall of ice along the sides of the alley with dust. Spires poked out towards her from the sheet of frigid material.

It hardly slowed her down even having been caught up in it. She attacked me with more fire and the alleyway was filled with hot steam that burned my eyes and made me cough.

There was a flare of lightning as she approached me and she swung her weapon towards me and there was a zap that caught me in the center of my mass.

It tossed me down the alleyway and sent me rolling. I picked myself back up to my feet in time to meet a wild slash of glass sword. I held it at bay with my stiletto in my left hand and took a swipe at her with the scimitar in my right. It only met air as she ducked at followed it with a swing of her own weapon in her right hand.

I met it with my stiletto again. Then she took a slash at me with her free weapon. I was forced to block with my scimitar.

She flipped in place, bringing both weapons down on me and I blocked them with an 'x' of my own tools.

She kicked me in the stomach and made to summon more fire. It swirled around her in an inferno as she stepped towards me. I felt my aura burning off of me from the heat. She swept both her weapons at me and the fire followed.

Nowhere to run or duck in the alley I was forced to shield myself with glyph as best as I could. It shattered like glass and the heat raced over me.

I summoned a glyph behind me and darted over her, then back over her with another swipe. Then another in a blitz of attacks that made me shed aura like rain but it was worth it for the three clear slashes I landed on her own aura.

I made to do it again, after all, if a strategy is working, then why change it? I launched myself towards her and made for another swing but she got bodily in my way and I ended up tackling her down the alley and back out into the open street.

I slashed my blade at her and wave of lightning emanated out of it. It raced over her body and made her shudder from the force of it. It left her smoking. I saw my opportunity and slashed deeply into her aura with first the stiletto then the scimitar.

I tore out deep red chunks of energy from her body and made her scream in rage. Cinder summoned a dagger into one hand and brought it down on my head. I only narrowly dodged to the side.

She summoned her swords again and came sweeping at me with three fast blows that spun her in a circle. I blocked the first two but the last caught me across the stomach.

One little moment stood out to me as I was pushed back. One simple thing. I was probably going to lose. And if I did… when I did… the power of the winter maiden could not go to Cinder Fall.

I took my weapons and I cut at her in a rhythmic pattern. Low high low. High high low.

Cinder blocked them all with a sly smile on her face. Her grin only widened as she counter attacked with raw fire in a flare that sent me scuttling back across the street.

My own control over the maiden's powers were so much less refined and they were worn down after a day of using them hard for the first time.

She swung her weapons at me and there was a zap of lightning that crackled down her arms from her body and further into her weapons then out at me.

It shocked me and I felt my body convulse and falter. My aura hardly defended me as low as it was. It hurt a great deal.

She flew at me with flames behind her and I barely raised my weapons in time to match just one of hers. She shoved me all the way back into a brick wall. My head cracked back against it harshly and then she went and tried to sweep one of my legs out from under me. Only fleet footwork kept me up right.

Then I was forced to block her other free glass sword with my smaller stiletto. I pushed back against her for a moment before she faded back and caused me to fall forward. She tripped me and hooked the hilt of her weapon behind my neck and threw me to the asphalt. She kicked me in the side while I was down and I rolled with it to get back to my feet.

I pushed both palms down into the asphalt and picked myself up. She was on me with a wild swing of her glass sword. I deflected it and riposted with a thrust of my scimitar.

She parried it easily enough. I stuttered back a step and summoned a glyph and using dust I sent a hail of ice shards her way. She summoned fire hot enough to melt them and turn them to steam. I kept the hail going a moment longer but quickly ran out of usable dust long before I made progress through her wall of fire.

I was losing. I was losing badly and I wasn't sure I could turn this around at all. It had been a bit like fighting Cloud Strife who had bodied me as well. This was just the edge that magic provided a competent user.

I was slowing down and I would probably lose long before help arrived to bail me out.

This was grim. None of my training had prepared me for the moments before I was about to die. How could it? I'm not proud of it but I panicked a little. All my analysis was screaming at me that these were my last seconds of life and if it wasn't these seconds it was going to be the next ones.

She summoned more fire and I dived to the side to avoid being immolated. I tried to clear my mind and rationalize but that was just leading me down a dead end road. I was about to die. I was about to die. I was going to lose and I was going to die for it. Cinder was just more dangerous than I was. Even at my best I wasn't sure I would be able to defeat her and I wasn't coming into this at my best.

I had a duty though. I had a job to do. I was still going to protect the maiden powers. Cinder wouldn't take a third one today. But who to choose? My brain was stunningly calm in its analysis of candidates compared to the panic I felt regarding my own imminent death.

There was Penny of course. Penny would do well. She was a wonderful person, perhaps even a friend. But it wasn't enough. My thoughts kept being drawn back to Cinder as she flew at me again and cut at me with her weapons. I stepped back blocking both.

I needed something more to anchor myself as I died. Least I be reminded of my attacker and the powers go to Cinder. Something more than a possible friend. There was really only one candidate at the end of the day.

My last thoughts would be of my little sister. It was the right choice. I knew it in my heart. It was strong enough as well. Strong enough that my thoughts never left Weiss as I stared Cinder in the eye and blocked her lightning fast slashes.

I fell back some more and her left arm just extended in Grimm blackness and chased me with her sword. I blocked her unearthly strength three times in a half second. Then she hurled another note of fire at me and dived across the rough pavement.

Still my thoughts were on my baby sister. Would she be up to the task at hand? Maybe. I prayed so. She would have all the support that I did to succeed. But was I just dooming her to die from the same woman that was attacking me now? Maybe so as well.

But she was committed and strong. She had a powerful team of friends to support her. She could get through this. She had as good a chance as anyone else I could bear to name as my successor.

"You Atlas types are all the same. Hoarding powers. You think it won't leave the rest of us hungry." Cinder prattled as she advanced on me again with three berserker cuts. I only blocked the last, the rest cut deep into my aura. "And I refuse to starve."

She pressed forward into me.

"Give it to me," she demanded. I wouldn't. My thoughts never left my baby sister. It had a certain resolve to it that I'd never managed to place at any other point in my life. It had no true point of comparison. It was a singular focus.

I fought back with a fury. I swung at her in a triage of blows that she neatly blocked with an unconcerned smile on her face. The total bitch.

I fought back like I was about to die. I swung for the fences and for Cinder Fall's head. She kicked me back a half step and chased with a swipe at my arm that knocked me and cut me open. The wound made me cry out as it tore my flesh.

I had nothing left. I was completely empty. This was it. This was the moment. She swiped my weapons to the side hard enough that I could hardly hold on to them.

She bent backwards and thrust forward. Then she stabbed me through the chest. I choked on air and I could feel my left lung filling with blood where she stabbed me. I could feel her sword part my ribs. The cartilage shattered.

She followed it with another slash across my throat. I dropped my weapons and reached for my neck vainly. Blood flowed over the wound and I couldn't breath through the slice in my esophagus. I choked helplessly on the gore. The pain was distant compared to my inability to breath and my sudden lightheadedness.

I fell to my knees still choking.

"Give it to me," she purred again. The last words I'd ever hear.

I didn't. I thought of my little Weiss.

Then I slipped my mortal coil.

pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq

-WG

[concussed-to-pieces]

Her Dove, His Falcon, Their Shield Part Two

Fandom: Game Of Thrones

Pairing: Oberyn/Reader/Ellaria

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: Disclaimer for Game Of Thrones writing here! Hello everyone, welcome to the next installment! I hope you're all doing well. Thank you so much for being here. Enjoy!

Tag List: @culturalrebel @huliabitch @absurdthirst @helplessly-nonstop @lackofhonor @the-feckless-wonder @cyaredindjarin @thesadvampire @robin-writes @buckysalefty

Part One

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains allusions to previous abuse, non-graphic mentions of pregnancy/labor and birth, and threesome antics. Stay safe!]

"Again!" Oberyn demanded, wiping the sweat off his brow. 

You feinted left, then right, the butt of your pike nearly striking the prince in the ribs before he danced out of the way. You grunted, discouraged by the fact that you still weren't fast enough to catch him. You had been closer that time though…

The prince laughed, the noise in and of itself immensely galling. "Perhaps if you land a blow on me today, my newest daughter will bear your name!" He taunted. "Shieldove Sand has such a ring to it."

You leveled your pike at him. "Save your teasing for your courtiers, Prince Oberyn!" You snarled, "I am in no mood for your damned japery at my expense!"

"Hold." Oberyn ordered sharply. 

You slumped a little, your grip on the pike loose now. "I...I apologize, your highness." 

"You are concerned about her." It wasn't a question and you well understood that.

"I am." You allowed softly. 

Ellaria had gone into labor several hours before and Oberyn had specifically sought you out for some particularly grueling training. His smile was tight-lipped as the two of you squared off in the empty training courtyard. You knew he was worried as well, but you were bordering on frantic. 

Oberyn's heavy sigh took you by surprise. "I would give every breath in my body to be there with her, but I am told it is an excessively messy affair. She does not wish for me to see her birth." He said bluntly. "Every time it is like this. Every time I am caged, constantly pacing, driving myself mad with thoughts that grow more and more dark as the hours pass." 

You bit your lip and then laid a hand on his shoulder. "I am sorry Oberyn, I didn't mean to imply that...I know I am not the only one who fears for her safety." You apologized timidly.

He covered your hand with his own, thumb rubbing over your knuckles idly. "You called me Oberyn." He mused after a moment. You flinched, but he kept your hand where it was. "I am glad, my falcon. It heartens me to know that you think of her as I do." 

"We can do naught but pray for her safety and keep ourselves busy until she requires you once again." You pointed out, desperate to change the subject so he wouldn't dwell on your error of addressing him by his given name. "I must train even harder, for what if the new babe is like your Sand Snake Elia?"

Oberyn burst out laughing, bumping his forehead into yours. "Truly, what if! We will have no choice but to rally the guard at that point. No one will be safe." You couldn't help your smile when he looked at you, his eyes crinkling with mirth. "Thank you for the levity, my falcon." 

"I live to serve, your highness."

He sighed heavily, knocking the butt of his spear against the ground. "How many times must I insist you call me Oberyn?" The prince began to back away, his spear twirling easily in his deft hands. You shook your head ruefully and did not reply, your own weapon in a low defensive position. "Prepare yourself, Ser Shieldove! You face the Red Viper of House Martell!" He announced with a grand flourish, charging in afterwards.

You easily parried his first strike, and dodged his second. The third rasped against your chain mail loudly, making the prince grin triumphantly before you brought the haft of your pike up and threw him back a step. "Too cocky, princeling!" You admonished, startling another laugh out of him. "You'll have to do better than that!" 

Your pike thrust out and he slipped around it like the snake he was, his own mail clicking with the sharpness of his motions. You scoffed, swinging the shaft instead to finally catch him firmly in the ribs. The prince staggered, but quickly took advantage of your shock as his spear jabbed low, aiming for your legs. 

At the pressure of meeting your body, the safety binding around the blade of the spear tore slightly. You felt something catch on the inside of your unarmored thigh when Oberyn snapped his wrist back, his spear singing through the air with the speed of his retreat. You caught his next attack with the palm of your hand around the haft of his spear, halting the blow before it could land. "Mind your blade." You warned, tipping your head to the now-exposed metal at the head of his spear.

Oberyn nodded, then his eyes widened. As he strode forward, your thigh began to sting. You glanced down, startled by the amount of blood that already darkened your hose. Oberyn shoved you back a step with the force of his approach, his fingers tearing at the laced placket on your trews. 

"W-What are you doing?!" You protested, your voice pitched abnormally high out of fear as you slapped your hands down over his own to still them. He was too close, why was he-

"I have just slit your leg open and you ask what I'm doing? I should have made you wear your cuisses, I am a fool." He hissed, "Sparring with you while we are both in turmoil was me tempting fate, and now you...have…"

His words faded after he gave up on your placket and simply tore the hole in your hosiery a bit wider, exposing more of your bare thigh. You closed your eyes tightly, not wanting to see his face.

"Ser Shieldove, what are these marks from?" Oberyn queried after a moment, his trembling fingers grazing one of the many silvered scars.

"Pinching, Prince Oberyn." You answered softly.

"Pinching." His voice was flat with disbelief.

"When I would make noise or cry out during, Prince Oberyn." 

"Gods, what?" Oberyn breathed. 

You shrugged helplessly. "He did much worse to others. I was useful." You were certain he must be staring at you, but you could not bring yourself to meet his eyes. 

His arms wrapped around your shoulders and he embraced you, pulling you into his chest and resting his forehead against your temple. "That is...barbarous, monstrous." He seethed. "To so boldly attempt to rob you of any delight you might ever have--I tremble with rage!" His laugh was sardonic, bitter, and he was indeed shaking. "So that you can feel the echoes of his lecherous manhandling, every time you bathe or dress?"

"I do not believe he expected me to escape." You admitted, startled by his rough inhale of breath. "I believe he expected me to perish one of those nights, but I was hardier than his usual playthings."

"No more, falcon." Oberyn whispered. "Please. My heart breaks at the notion of you enduring such heinous treatment." He kissed your forehead and you flushed. This was far removed from his usual lighthearted flirting! He sounded distraught, burying his face in your neck as he continued to hold you.

My heart breaks…

Slowly, hesitantly, you raised your hands to rest on his back. Your fingers fumbled for purchase momentarily on his armor. If he merely sought you out for comfort because Ellaria was indisposed, then comfort him you would. Somehow. "I have survived him, however." You sighed. "And thanks to you, he will not harm anyone ever again."

"It feels like too little in the wake of his reign of terror." Oberyn muttered. "I did it solely for my sister, for the dashed body of my infant nephew and the slaughter of my niece, but had I stopped to think about the debt that man must have wracked up with his nightmarish actions…" He trembled again. "It is as though I was picked by the gods themselves to strike him down. Why me, I wonder?"

His palm covered the wound he had created, pressing down steadily as he helped you hobble to the nearby bench. "You worry too much!" You waved off his concern, peering at the wound. It was deeper than you had anticipated, but it was still hardly a scratch to someone like yourself. "This parchment cut shall not fell me. Unless you've poisoned your blade, Red Viper?"

"Never!" Oberyn protested. "I would not gamble so foolishly on naught but a simple sparring match, Ser Shieldove."

"You do loathe losing." You teased. "You must tell your daughters I died valiantly, cursing your name while choking on my own spittle or something equally as glorious."

"It would be a death for the history books." Oberyn assured you, the furrow of his heavy brow lessening somewhat as he seemed to realize that you would be alright. 

A servant skittered around the corner of the hallway leading to the training yard, her gauzy skirts bunched up in her hands so she could run freely. "Prince Oberyn!" She called, gasping for breath. 

The prince whirled and you lunged to your feet, your leg forgotten. "Speak, girl!" Oberyn demanded of the servant, who had obviously run quite a fair bit in order to find him.

"Baby--Ellaria wants--come now-" The girl panted, gesturing vaguely behind her.

Oberyn was still for a moment, like he was frozen. You placed a hand on his rear and gave him a gentle shove, saying, "tell her no matter what happens, I am proud of her, Oberyn." The prince nodded hurriedly, shaking off his daze and bolting down the hall.

You grimaced. Hopefully, no one would question the blood that stained his hand and vambrace! You decided your best option would be to retreat to your quarters to dress your wound and wait, on the off chance that the prince or his paramour would deign to summon you.

You had hoped that the sparring would help you expend some of your nervous energy, but it did not seem that luck was on your side. You found yourself endlessly restless, pacing back and forth beside your pallet as the sun slowly sank. The bells for the evening meal rang out, but you ignored them. 

You finally lit your lantern and settled down into the chair beside your bed, focusing on the flame that flickered in the glass panes. It was an old exercise, but comforting in its familiarity. You let your mind empty, let everything drift away until all that remained was the candle and yourself. 

All I ask is that they are healthy, whole and strong. You were uncertain of who you prayed to in these times of meditation, daring to surmise that you prayed to anyone who might be listening. All I ask is that Ellaria is well, and the baby is well. Your brow furrowed. Please.

You did not know how much time passed while you were in prayerful contemplation, only realizing how sore your back was when the door to your quarters was thrown open. The sudden motion made you flinch in surprise, looking up. It was that same servant, the young girl, her face alight. "The prince and his lady have sent for you, Ser Shieldove!" she chirped. 

Thank you, you threw your heartfelt gratitude to whoever might be responsible before snuffing out the candle.

Clad in only light hose and undertunic, you raced through the maze of outer hallways with all the speed and eagerness of a child. As you approached the birthing chambers, however, you attempted to calm your thundering heart and turbulent mind, slowing to an undignified jog.

The guard at the door saluted you stiffly, opening the door after a moment of floundering with his gauntlets. You crept into the room, closing the door gingerly behind you and then turning to survey the scene. 

The first thing you noted was Ellaria sound asleep in the lavishly-structured bed, her arms supporting a swaddled, tiny babe hungrily mouthing at her breast. You heaved a sigh of relief, slumping back against the door. The next thing you saw was Oberyn beside the bed, still in his armor, with a second swaddled bundle cradled in his embrace.

The prince looked up at you and you saw that his eyes were glassy with tears. "I have been blessed." He said hoarsely.

"Two?" You whispered, barely able to believe it yourself. 

Oberyn nodded, beckoning you closer. "Come see my first son, Ser Shieldove." He implored, his voice breaking. No longer caring if you seemed overeager, you strode across the chamber to the prince's side. Oberyn tugged at the swaddling by the babe's face, allowing you a clear view. 

"Oh." You sighed wistfully, reaching out to touch his sweet little nose before you remembered your manners and snatched your hand back. This was a Sand, after all, and the firstborn boy no less!

Oberyn tilted his head towards the washbasin beside the bed. "Wash yourself, and you may hold him."

"A-Are you sure? What if I...gods, he is so small, Prince Oberyn." You whispered. Oberyn just nodded, gesturing to the basin again. You obliged him rapidly but thoroughly, washing yourself to your elbows and then patting your arms dry with the clean towel. You returned and you were confronted with the reality of a slumbering, swaddled babe being deposited into your arms. 

"Cradle his neck, rest him upon your breast. The little ones have no real strength to hold themselves up." Oberyn instructed you softly, moving your hands until the baby was secure against your chest. "Look at him, just look." The prince didn't seem to be able to stop marveling at his new son, drawing a whisper-soft finger down the bridge of his wee nose. You were almost worried about the excessive attention he was giving to the boy, when he abruptly turned back to Ellaria. "Now, precious daughter, are you sated?" He cooed. Gods, domesticity suited him, armor and all. "Will you grant your poor mother respite? She has toiled long to bring you to my arms." 

"Too long." Ellaria agreed, smiling wearily up at Oberyn. He kissed her forehead, losing the battle with his tears. "Do not cry, lover!" His paramour chided him as he sniffled. 

"I am the most blessed man in all of Dorne and you would have me be stoic, woman? This one time, I'm afraid I cannot acquiesce!" Oberyn huffed, carefully scooping his sleeping daughter off of Ellaria's chest. You stifled your own giggles at the prince's petulant behavior, swaying back and forth idly.

Ellaria glanced up at the sound of your snorting, her eyes barely open as she smiled at you. "I am glad you're here, Ser Shieldove. I know my little ones will be safe now." She mumbled, obviously moments from falling back to sleep. 

You nodded, chuckling at Oberyn's indignant grumble. The baby in your arms stirred and you began to sing softly, not wanting to disturb Ellaria. "The moon rides sand dunes home to me, she calls me sweetly by name. I am a child, a child of Dorne, the moon she knows my name." You crooned, still swaying to and fro in an attempt to lull the babe back to sleep. "The sun rides sea waves home to me, he calls me proudly by name. I am a child, a child of Dorne, the sun he knows my name." You continued to hum the tune, even as you felt the little one relax against your chest.

"How do you know that song?" Oberyn whispered.

You glanced up, but his expression was guarded. "I heard one of the older knights singing it and I asked him to teach me. He said it was a child's song." You replied, whispering as well. "I simply liked the tune. Should I not sing it?"

"I have not heard that song since I was only knee-high myself. I had all but forgotten it." Oberyn's eyes were thoughtful, the prince studying you closely. "You are full of surprises, my falcon. It gives me a certain joy to know that the first song my babes ever heard was Moon And Sun." His brow furrowed. "I cannot recall the third verse, the one about the stars."

"The stars crown mountains high above, unbowed, unbent, unbroken. We are the stars, the stars of Dorne, the world will know our name." You prompted softly.

"You have a lovely voice, my dove. Perhaps you are a nightingale?" Oberyn teased. "I shall ask you to perform at their naming."

"Your mockery always wounds me so deeply, your highness." You deadpanned. Tiny fingers wrapped around your index and you looked down, but the child's eyes were still closed. "I have been seized, it appears." You said with a smile, laying a careful kiss on the baby's head. 

Oberyn cleared his throat suspiciously hard, thumbing away a few stray tears. You chose not to comment, allowing him his moment of paternal weakness.

…

You spread the blanket out on the ground in the blood orange grove, laughing when you caught sight of Dorea clobbering a nearby tree with her child-sized morningstar. "Lady Dorea! I believe you have vanquished that particular foe!" You called.

"Ser Shieldove, there is an orange that I can't reach and it is the best one! I need it for Mama!" She yelled back, bouncing on her toes as she tried to jump for the fruit. You shook your head, making your way through the rows of trees to where she stood. 

The fruit was (probably) just within your grasp if you stood on your tiptoes and braced against the trunk of the tree. You stretched out your arm, reaching upwards and-

Someone's hands landed on your sides, pressing into your armor and lifting you with ease. You managed to grab the orange, laughing when you realized that it was Oberyn who had given you your boost. "Your highness! Thank you for your brave effort." You said with a grateful smile, tossing the orange to Dorea. The little girl tore off towards the blanket you had spread, hollering to the approaching Ellaria that she had the perfect orange for her.

You expected Oberyn to release you with some quip, but oddly, he did not. His touch was not particularly uncomfortable. Firm enough that you could feel it through your armor, but loose enough that you knew you could easily twist free should you desire to. In amongst the sheltering branches of the blood orange tree, the prince caged you against the trunk and studied you intently. 

"Your highness?" You asked softly. "We should return, the children are-" His mouth on your own halted your words and you went stiff. His kiss tasted of fresh blood orange, tangy with citrus and you found yourself enjoying it a fair bit more than you should have, your chest heaving against his own when he finally pulled away.

"My falcon, my dove, shield of the Red Viper's clutch." Oberyn breathed, his pupils blown in the green-dappled light beneath the tree's foliage. "Forgive my impudence. Seeing you with my children stirs my mind to such wicked thoughts."

"Prince Oberyn!" you protested, your traitorous body still reeling from his kiss. But no, you couldn't, Ellaria-- "Please, you must think of your family." You insisted tremulously. "I will not let you ruin the beautiful life you have built for yourself. This...affection, whatever it is you're feeling for me--" You sucked in a sharp breath. "It is nothing but a misplaced infatuation. It will pass. You must consider your children, your highness, a-and Lady Ellaria."

"You truly believe that?" Oberyn asked, but he didn't sound angry. If anything, he sounded hurt. "You believe that I would seek you out due to something so cheap as infatuation? What, simply to exercise the power I have over you?" You shook your head, not trusting yourself to speak. "Your silence is damning, Ser Shieldove. I would never try to wound Ellaria or my children, just as I would never try to wound you. I thought I had made that clear."

His hand carded delicately through your hair, tucking a few loose locks back into your braids. "I do not believe you would purposely seek to hurt me." You amended finally, your gaze firmly fixed on the toes of your boots. "Many men do not realize the harm they cause, either through their actions or their wandering eyes."

"I am not many men." Oberyn replied softly. "I have lain with both men and women, my falcon. I know well the pain of careless touch and I do not abide by it in my partners." He stepped away from you after a moment, shrugging. "If you are so concerned about my infatuation, mayhaps you ought to ask my paramour what she thinks of inviting you into our bedchambers?" He suggested with a feigned attitude of nonchalance.

"Are you mad? Obe-Prince Oberyn, you are hers. There are certain things that one does not do, even as a prince of Dorne." You snapped, your turmoil adding a sharp edge to your voice. 

Oberyn looked startled, then he had the audacity to grin. "I am hers, you say? You insinuate that I ought to receive permission? Then I'll go ask her now-"

"What? No, that's not it at--damn it, Oberyn, take this seriously!" You hissed, wanting to strangle him. "She has borne your children, have some respect for her and don't attempt to stray!"

Oberyn's laughter washed over you and you were torn between the urge to punch him in the gut and the urge to bury yourself alive. "Stray?" He finally sputtered. "Forgive my mirth, my falcon. I am...All I can say is that you really must speak with my paramour. I imagine the two of you will have a highly interesting discussion."

"Oh, of that I am certain." You said icily, stalking past him and heading towards the blanket where Ellaria played with the twins. You bowed stiffly and her eyebrow quirked, as if to ask what's wrong? "I will return to the water gardens, my lady. His highness appears to be in such ferociously high spirits I assume he will be more than up to the task of warding off any attackers."

"Do not leave, Ser Shieldove!" Oberyn boomed directly behind you, making you jump out of your skin. Gods, he could be so quiet! "I will maintain my composure, I give you my word!"

"It is not your composure I worry about." You shot back under your breath, making him struggle vainly to disguise his laughter as a coughing fit. 

Ellaria looked back and forth between her lover and you, her eyes dancing like they did when she and Oberyn enjoyed one of their many secret jokes. "I see you both have been sampling the oranges." She commented pointedly, tapping her lower lip while winking at you. "They do stain so beautifully, don't they lover?"

"But Ser Shieldove has not even had any yet!" Loreza said plaintively, the younger Sand's red-stained fingers tugging at Dorea's hand. "We should get her some."

"Aye, how is it that you have blood orange on your mouth and not a mark on your hands?" Oberyn asked playfully, as if he didn't already know, this was all his fault!

You were back to warring between the two urges and the option to punch Oberyn, while absolutely certain to lead to your immediate incarceration, was looking more appealing by the second. You set your jaw, willing away the tears that were trying to build as Loreza set off with Dorea in tow. "I am--I am leaving now." You said thickly, cursing yourself for the sob that blatantly hitched your words. 

Ellaria immediately noticed your discomfort, her smile vanishing. "Are you well, my dove?" You hiccupped roughly, nodding. Your performance wouldn't have fooled anyone, but Ellaria seemed to take pity on you and allowed you to dismiss yourself. 

You stalked off through the orchard, trying vainly to stem the flow of tears that poured down your face. You finally stopped beneath one of the many trees, sliding down the trunk and wrapping your arms around your knees so you could hide your face as you sobbed. It was incredibly unfair of Oberyn to tease you so maliciously, but what did you expect from a prince? No doubt to him, the common folks' feelings were nothing but toys. Your heart had soared and broken all at once, leaving you feeling bruised and aching. 

The summer of being wanted, desired by someone, the winter of knowing that giving in to them would destroy their happiness...

"Ser Shieldove!" You started, looking up. You hadn't noticed Loreza and Dorea returning from their hunt, the two girls arm-in-arm. "What happened? Did you get hurt?" Dorea asked worriedly, making your heart break all over again. "Should we get Mama?"

"Oh, no no!" You tried to assuage their concern, giving the two girls a watery smile while you cast your mind around for a suitable excuse. "I--I saw a bee."

"You're scared of bees?!" Loreza erupted incredulously. "I didn't think you were scared of anything!"

"Not even our papa!" Dorea paused, then added, "but I'm scared of bees too. I got stung once, on my foot. That's why I wear my big boots now." She said importantly, shuffling the aforementioned boots. They did look oversized for her stature. You had never noticed…

An orange was thrust at your face, Loreza blinking solemnly down at you. "We found you a good one. It's ripe, I promise." The two of them plopped down on either side of you like little sentries, Dorea brandishing her tiny morningstar. 

You turned the orange over and over in your hands. "You know, where I am from, these are only for royalty." You began suddenly, digging your nails into the peel. "I had never even touched one before I came to Dorne."

"Never?" Loreza gawked, her own cheeks smeared with red from her feast. "I love oranges. Kumquats. Grapefruits."

"Lemons are better than grapefruits. More spicy." Dorea said firmly. "Like dragon peppers."

"I don't like dragon peppers." Loreza retorted sulkily. "They burn my tongue." 

The two girls bickered around you while you slowly peeled and ate the fruit, your turbulent thoughts calming under the press of the mundane task. You felt foolish for letting your emotions get the best of you; obviously Oberyn only teased you because he knew he would get a reaction! You pushed away the memory of how gently he had tucked your hair back into its braids. It was probably a force of habit for him, having had so many daughters. It meant nothing. 

You tore apart the last two slices of orange and slurped the juice off the heel of your hand, realizing that Dorea and Loreza had gone quiet. A quick look confirmed your suspicions: the two of them were sound asleep. 

You exhaled through your nose, then settled back against the tree. You eased Loreza down into your lap, stroking over her hair absently. The little girl yawned, but did not move. Dorea slumped into your arm and you carefully wrapped it around her instead, keeping your hand on her shoulder so she didn't topple over. Your own eyelids grew heavy the longer you sat with the two little girls, though you knew you ought to be vigilant for any dangers that could be lurking. Worn out from your crying jag, you slipped from consciousness yourself. 

You were roused what must have been hours later by a cautious touch on your shoulder. You jerked awake, your hand flying to the pommel of your seldom-used sword. "Tis' only me, my dove." Ellaria soothed, her hand resting on your shoulder. "You did not make it back to the water gardens, I see." She nodded downwards at the sleeping child in your lap. 

The sun was hanging low and red on the horizon, casting a pink hue over the land. "Seems I didn't." You yawned indecently wide, then carefully hugged Dorea a bit closer. "The little ones found me an orange fit for royalty to eat, and we spoke of important matters." 

"Oh?" Ellaria arched a brow.

"Bees, my lady. We spoke of bees." 

"Have you found them, my love?" You heard footsteps approaching. "Ah! I should have known." Oberyn continued softly, obviously trying not to wake the twins that slumbered in his own arms. "Safe and sound asleep."

Ellaria roused her daughters, eventually permitting you to get to your feet and work the kinks out of your neck from sitting in such an awkward position for so long. "I believe we should speak." Ellaria murmured, placing her hand on your shoulder once again.

You shook your head violently. "There is naught to speak about, my lady. I assure you, I shall cause you no trouble." You knew that your tone was exceptionally weary, but you hoped she could forgive such indiscretion. 

"Listen to Ellaria, Ser Shieldove." Oberyn demanded. "This is a mistake-"

"I'm well aware that what occurred was a mistake." You interrupted him through gritted teeth. "And as I said, Prince Oberyn, I will cause no trouble for you or your lady."

Oberyn opened his mouth to retort but Ellaria gestured for him to be silent. "Tomorrow, then?" She phrased it like a request, but you knew better than to think you could refuse her.

You bowed perfectly, your form ramrod straight when you saluted her and the prince. Your words were dripping with false sincerity as you stated, "Of course, my lady. I live to serve."

…

The dread that you felt permeated your very marrow. You were certain you would be sent away. What else did one do with a member of their household who was untrustworthy, especially if their partner proved they could not or would not stay away from such temptations?

This was surely the end of your proud career under the banner of House Martell. You were a fool for thinking that you could have been happy here.

You packed your few possessions with an air of sorrowful finality. You hadn't acquired much during your time in these lodgings, your living space admittedly Spartan. When you were summoned, the manservant found you sitting patiently on your bed in your armor, your satchel slouched on the floor. 

"Ser Shieldove, Ellaria Sand requests your presence." The older man droned, raising an eyebrow at your state of preparedness.

You nodded, trying not to let your apprehension show as you thanked him and proceeded out into the hall. Your boots felt like they were lined with lead and your eyes stung from all the heartsick weeping you had done the night before. Your stomach would not cease feverishly knotting. 

All too soon you found yourself at the door to the prince's chambers, raising your hand to knock. You hesitated momentarily, flattening your palm on the door and then resting your forehead against the intricate latticework. Your shoulders heaved with a single, soundless sob before you straightened back up. You would face this trial like all the others in your life, with some bare shred of dignity.

You knocked on the door. Upon hearing Ellaria's voice bidding you to enter, you unhitched the latch and let the door swing open. You ought to have known that Oberyn would be present as well. You weren't sure why seeing him standing on their terrace felt so...final. 

"Ser Shieldove, you come dressed for war." Ellaria remarked, sounding surprised. "Please, set your bag and blade by the door."

"I sought to make my dismissal simple, my lady." Your voice rasped in your throat when you spoke. You made no move to come further into the room, nor did you release your hold on your bag. "We do not need to drag this out, especially not from some misguided desire to soften the blow."

Oberyn turned to look at you, his brow furrowed. But you only had eyes for Ellaria, the woman rising from her vanity to pad barefoot across the floor to you. She stood before you, unarmed, unafraid, her hair still loose around her face. "Why do you believe you were brought here for dismissal, my sweet dove?" Ellaria asked. Gods, gods, her tenderness was going to reave your soul from your body.

You swallowed hard. "I...forgive me, my lady. Please, forgive me. I was weak and permitted my emotions to get the better of me. I did not firmly reprimand Prince Oberyn when he kissed me in the orchard. I take full responsibility for my failure." You bowed your head in grief, your dry eyes burning. "I will not bring shame to your family with my indiscretion, so I come willingly to my dismissal."

"She kisses like a virgin, Ellaria." Oberyn murmured, a hand cupping his paramour's hip and tucking her into his side. "She kisses like she has never been kissed. It was divine."

You flushed hotly, certain that he was mocking you. "I cannot believe your cruelty." You muttered incredulously. "To jest about something like that!"

"Is it true, my little dove?" Ellaria purred, her hand stroking your cheek. "Do you kiss like a virgin?" You stared at her, thoroughly confused now. You did not even notice her other hand cupping your face, utterly transfixed by how close she was. She was so near that you could see there were tiny flecks of gold in the brown of her irises. 

And then she kissed you. 

Your satchel fell off your shoulder, hitting the floor with a muffled thud when you reached out clumsily, gathering the other woman in your arms. She let you, she let you, gods, she was kissing you and that was her tongue teasing your own. You whimpered into her mouth, bewildered and helpless to resist her. 

"I think you are right, lover." Ellaria agreed after she took pity on you and allowed you a moment to breathe. "Hot and trembling and yet so, so eager."

"I...do not understand." You said weakly.

"Oberyn and I found long ago that we share certain proclivities, my dove." Ellaria explained, toying with your hair. "Particularly in the bedroom."

You felt like your mind couldn't catch up to your mouth, stammering, "S-So...wait, the both of you…?" 

Oberyn, his chin resting on Ellaria's shoulder, gave you a sly wink. "Aye, my love has excellent taste." The man tugged Ellaria's dressing gown to the side, baring her shoulder so he could shower it with kisses. "We have a special affinity for strapping, chivalrous types."

"So I'm not...I wouldn't...the-the both of you would know about me?" You stuttered.

"What do you mean, my falcon?" Oberyn asked curiously. 

"Well, I just...I assumed you were seeking me out as a--a secret. Something akin to adultery." Your voice faltered a bit. "B-Behind Lady Ellaria's back." You watched as understanding appeared to dawn on the prince, his brow furrowing darkly.

"Oh no, no no, gentle dove." Ellaria cupped your face with her hands. "We indulge together and we indulge openly. You would not be Oberyn's secret plaything." She assured you sincerely.

"Forgive me, I did not mean to imply that I think so little of you!" You apologized to Oberyn, who still looked somewhat thunderous. "I was distraught and confused, your highness. You know well that I have been wounded before. Please, please forgive me." You wrung your hands fervently. "I would do anything to-"

"Be still, my falcon. You protest overmuch." Oberyn chided, his expression clearing. "If you believe that your simple misunderstanding grieved me, I should hope that you never heard all the terrible, salacious rumors spread about me in King's Landing!" He smirked. "Such imaginative people."

"They certainly had a strange way of slandering you." Ellaria remarked, her lips twitching into a wry smile. "Do you remember what they said about your cock?"

"Oh that one was my favorite." Oberyn, no doubt noticing your horrified look, began to laugh in earnest. "There was a rumor that my cock was the same as a horse's, you understand." He finally managed to explain. "Length, girth, a hearty amount of description went into this tale. I feared I would disappoint, after hearing such an inventive story about myself! Mercifully, none of the lovely women and men in the brothel seemed particularly distressed about me lacking a cock that would outright murder them. One poor girl swooned from relief, timid thing."

"Oh dear." You said faintly. "I mean, the rumors are not wholly unfounded, but perhaps slightly less exaggeration-" You halted abruptly with a sharp squeak of dismay, what had you just said?!

"Flatterer! Always, it's in your blood I'd wager!" Oberyn chuckled, shaking his head. "I believe it is due more to my age, prolific partners and casual promiscuity. No one there could fathom such a thing, though in Dorne we view it as a common practice. That and the unwavering love I had for all my daughters. They claimed I was barking mad. Surely, I ought to be cursing the Seven every time a new girl was born." He scoffed derisively, blowing a raspberry as though he was a child. "Instead of being delighted with a healthy babe to love and spoil, sing songs to and dandle upon my knee. Aye, Prince Oberyn is surely mad."

His hand reached out to cover Ellaria's on your cheek and you closed your eyes, leaning into their joint touch. 

"Gods, is she not the loveliest woman you have ever laid eyes on?" Oberyn mused softly.

"Truly. So strong and brave!" Ellaria answered, making you flush with embarrassment and stare downwards. "Do not shy from such ardent words, my dove! They are spoken in truth, I promise you."

"I do not doubt your sincerity, my lady! It is just...it is overwhelming." You replied honestly. "A part of me is still that terrified woman from King's Landing, trying to barter for passage aboard any vessel willing to take me. That I would be rescued by the two of you…I never could have imagined this, even in my wildest dreams."

"It was a lucky chance that my dear Oberyn spotted you."

"I'd surmise more divine providence, but all the same." You smiled. "Thank you. Both of you. I...I know not what to say."

"Join us in our bed, gentle dove." Oberyn requested, his voice deadly serious. "Join us, my falcon." His hand slid beneath your chin, tugging lightly at your gorget and no doubt feeling your rough swallow. "Let us give you something good to think of on lonely nights when duty calls you elsewhere."

"I--I-I would very much like that, your highness." You whispered. 

His fingers hitched your chin, tipping it upwards so he could see your eyes. "Oberyn." He said softly.

"Oberyn." You allowed yourself to say his name deliberately and he grinned, tugging at your chin playfully before he released you and stepped back.

Ellaria caught his hand, and then extended her own to you. "Leave your sword, my dove."

"The armor as well." Oberyn added, his smile growing wider by the moment as you began to hurriedly oblige. You were thankful that the leathers slid off over your head, but the chainmail shirt took a bit more twisting and turning for you to emerge safely. "Gods, look at her, my love." Oberyn sighed to Ellaria after you had fought your way free of the mail, "the pride of her, the way she stands. I would happily cultivate such splendor."

"You did, Oberyn." You pointed out, fumbling with your cuisses. "You granted me the opportunity, after all."

"Let me help you, my dove." Ellaria murmured, her hands covering your own. You grimaced uncertainly, glancing to Oberyn. "He told me of your markings. I am no pampered princess, Shieldove." The steel in her gaze was undeniable; she dared you to think she would cringe at the sight of your scars. "I bear many of my own marks. The life of a Sand is better than most, but still fraught with its own hardships."

You nodded jerkily, letting her assist you with removing your cuisses, greaves and sword belt before she ran her hand over the laces at your groin. You swallowed hard. "I do not wish to distress you, my lady."

"Only Ellaria here, my dove. Here and everafter." The woman said, her fingers tugging the laced placket loose.

Oberyn sauntered up beside her as she slid her palm to your hip, fingers spread on the hot skin she found there. "Your consent, my falcon?" He breathed against your jaw, placing a trail of kisses over the area. "I seek your enthusiastic consent. I seek to have you undone and crying out in rapture, but first your consent." 

Ellaria's fingers teased at the waistband of your hose and you shut your eyes, gathering your courage. "Yes. Yes, I...I want. I want you both." You managed to say. 

"Open your eyes, knight of House Martell." Oberyn ordered and you obeyed meekly. The prince touched his forehead to your own, his brows pulled low. "Your consent, Ser Shieldove. Look at me while you give it. Look at her while you give it. We need to know. We need to hear it from your lips. No hesitation."

"We will stop if you cannot consent, sweet dove." Ellaria assured you. 

"N-No! No, I do want this, I swear I do. Gods, my head is spinning from how much I want the two of you." You confessed bluntly. "I am unsure of how to proceed. I do not know what to do. Forgive my inexperience." You held out your hands imploringly. "Show me what to do?"

"Never apologize for not knowing." Oberyn said firmly. "All man should ever apologize for is not being willing to learn." He stroked his fingers over your temple, light as a feather's touch on your skin. "And you are so, so willing." He whispered. "You have sought learning your whole life, my dove. Sought to hone your body, hone your spirit with songs and prayer. You have learned how to wield our weapons and cradle our babes with the same willingness that you approach us with now."

Ellaria enfolded your hands in her own as you processed Oberyn's words, each one saved in your heart like a precious treasure. All man should ever apologize for is not being willing to learn. "Will you…" you hesitated, biting your lip. "Will you help me learn?"

"Gods, I would eagerly kiss the breath from your chest." Ellaria sighed, her smile warming you from head to toe. 

"Is it...considered strange that I want the both of you?" You asked warily. "I have never lain with a woman before, b-but I would...I mean, if I could, I would like...I would like to. Attempt to! That is." You fumbled, kissing her knuckles afterwards.

"You wish to drink from the pure springs of my paramour? A bold request. What will you offer me in return for my generosity?" Oberyn's lips brushed your ear and you quivered when he continued, "will you let me touch you as you touch her, my falcon?"

You raised your eyes to meet his, startled by the heat you found there. Did he really feel that strongly about you? You freed one hand from Ellaria and reached out to take hold of his light robe. "If you harm me-" You began to warn him, your voice catching in your throat.

"Sweet dove, he will not." Ellaria assured you, her expression serious. "Neither of us will. I promise you." She cupped your jaw, her thumbs grazing your chin achingly soft. "We of Dorne are known for our passion, but a fire is gentle embers before it is stoked to hungry flame. We will not harm you."

"This incredible, delicious display of vulnerability that you are presenting to us...well, it would be wholly inappropriate to squander such a gift." Oberyn's hand covered yours on his robe, larger fingers lacing easily through your own. "We will bed you, and we will love you, my falcon."

"Do you offer such pleasures to all your knights?" You queried, half in jest as you let him lead you to their sun-drenched bed. 

"Only for the ones who break the Mountain's fingers." Oberyn chuckled, leaving you and Ellaria to settle onto the bed while he went to draw the thin curtains over the entrance to the terrace. 

Ellaria pulled one end of the laces on your placket, her motions teasingly slow and deliberate. The lacing unwound itself, tugging free of the grommets until your sturdy hose were slouching open. Her hand pushed your tunic up slightly, enough to reveal a sliver of your stomach for her to graze her knuckles against, then her lips. Those fingers curled around the hem of your tunic, continuing to drag it upwards to bunch underneath your breasts. 

"Her body looks beautiful like that, my love." Oberyn commented idly from his position at the foot of the bed. "Ser Shieldove, touch her hair, caress her. She loves to be touched while her mouth is occupied."

Your trembling fingers barely grazed Ellaria's luxuriously unbound locks, still smooth from being brushed, and you felt your heartbeat quicken in your chest. "May I…?" Ellaria nodded and you dug your hands greedily into her soft waves, half-sitting so you could press a lock to your lips. "Thank you, Ellaria."  You whispered. 

"Such chivalry! Perhaps we will consider parting with a few locks for you to carry into battle as a token of our affection." Oberyn kissed the crown of your head. "Regrettably, my curls are a bit shorter than hers."

"Mm, yours would make such delightful paintbrushes." Ellaria teased, continuing to cover the skin of your stomach with tender kisses and nips. She bit down gently on the waistband of your hose, looking up at you in question. You nodded rapidly and Oberyn settled into the bed alongside you, the man yawning wide. 

"Watch her now, my falcon." He instructed, his fingers tracing lazy circles on the bare skin of your stomach before this thumb slid beneath your bunched-up tunic. "She is such art, the way she moves. Had I the skill for it, I would write endless poems about the beautiful anticipation she inspires in me." His touch was light, teasing, forefinger and thumb pinched into the fabric of your tunic to ease it off the rest of the way. His other hand shot up to lift and cradle the back of your neck while he divested you of the article of clothing, the inconsequential motion new and gentle to you.

Ellaria rolled the hosiery off down your legs, the light breeches sticking to your heated skin. You were left nearly bare, the only garment still on your body the simple breast binding you used when you were armored. Ellaria hummed in satisfaction, drawing her hands greedily up your trembling form to seize the edge of your bindings. "Be naked for us, gentle dove." She crooned, her sweet voice dissolving your last fear. You placed your hands over her own, helping her to untie the frantically-knotted cloth.

Oberyn hissed out a breath through his teeth when your breasts were finally freed. "Gods, you were made for us." He groaned, "I want to grab handfuls of you and gorge myself on your taste, my falcon." 

Ellaria wasted no time flicking her tongue over the stiff peak of your right breast, smiling when you threw your head back in response. Oberyn lapped sloppily over your left breast and then blew gently on the damp trail, forcing you to bite down on the heel of your palm to keep from making a sound.

Oberyn eased your hand away from your mouth however, grimacing when he saw the marks your teeth had left in the skin. His facial hair felt like pinpricks when he kissed your palm, his eyes solemn. "We crave your sounds, my falcon. We welcome them." He murmured. "You can be as loud or as soft as you want, but do not smother them before they can blossom."

Ellaria toyed with your nipple, rolling her index finger back and forth over it and you whimpered pitifully, blinking back the tears that rose and nodding hard. "I will try, Oberyn."

"It will take time, sweet dove." Ellaria's gentle smile pierced your heart, her soft words contrasting so vividly with her devious fingers. "Do not underestimate our patience. You are our knight, our shield, and we will cherish you as you ought to have been cherished."

Part Three

[merelygifted]

No 10 backs down in row over funding for new £200m royal yacht | Tax and spending | The Guardian

... The Sunday Times reported the yacht had become the source of a “huge row” in government over how it is funded. The paper quoted an official as saying it was a “complete and utter shitshow” and added: “When it was first floated, the PM wanted it to be built in Britain. It was given to [Cabinet Office minister Michael] Gove to sort out, but it became clear that under procurement rules it could only be built here if it was a navy thing with a bunch of fake weapons on board. So Gove passed it on to the MoD. The Treasury stayed out of it.”

R Adm Chris Parry, a former senior naval commander, said: “Frankly the narrative around this has been really poor. And the designs I’ve seen – I wouldn’t go to sea in that – it looks like an oligarch’s yacht.”

He added: “The only way you can justify the MoD paying, is if it can also fulfil an operational role in addition to its ceremonial and commercial roles. It can’t just go round the seas as a permanent plaything exhibition space. It could be a hospital ship or an auxiliary ship. That way it is not just a prestige platform; it would contribute to the MoD as it is supposed to do and that is to produce military capability. And I think most of my colleagues think like that.” ...

... Shadow justice minister Karl Turner asked: “How is it possible to vote against feeding school kids in a pandemic whilst at the same time justify spending upwards of £200m on Johnson’s holiday yacht?”

[biohazard-inevitable]

Hunter

Fantasy family au

Featuring @x-crosslate @r1pwitch and @emile-hides

The King stared down the figure, unsheathing his sword and directing it at the cloaked intruder as deep violet eyes glowered back at him, the figure swiftly unsheathing a curved scimitar of their own.

“Ohhhhh your majesty, your greatness, your excellency. Please please please can I take them? They’re the most perfect subject!” The mad doctor excitedly rambled out, practically drooling at the opportunity to cut apart a living human. “It’s been so long since I’ve experimented on a human you know! Ph please please please PLEASE can I take this one?!”

“It depends on what he tells us.” The King spoke. “Who are you, and why are you intruding on my castle?”

“Honestly this is one hell of a dump, deer boy.” The intruder said before they came charging at the King, swords clashing together loudly as the King parried perfectly. “Huh, you fight better than I thought you would.”

“I can kill you just as well!” The King retorted, returning with his own charging slash.

Metal on metal the two fought, foot and hoof swirling together in perfect synchronization as the two waltzed to the dance of the blade. Every dodge, slash and lunge was perfectly met in a graceful manner that the doctor almost forgot the two were fighting as he cheered on his champion King with excitement. A hoof ducked and swept underneath the intruder, knocking them unsteady and allowing a chance for the King to push the intruder onto their back as the royal pressed the tip of his blade to the throat of his attacker.

“It seems that I have won.” The King smirked triumphantly, edging the blade closer to the neck of the attacker, their hood now blown off to reveal startlingly snow white hair. “Now tell me who you are or my friend here will have a new plaything to tear apart, he’s very eager.”

“Cross!” Moss suddenly yelled from their doorway, having opened it to the racket of clashing blades. “Oh look what you’ve done this time! This is why you shouldn’t challenge everyone with a blade on sight!” The witch sighed as he pushed the King’s blade away and helped the stranger to their feet. “I am so sorry your highness. This is Cross, they are my significant other. They come to visit me when they aren’t out adventuring and hunting demons.”

“I see. Apologies then Cross, I had assumed you were here to do me or my doctor harm.” The King said as he sheathed his sword, the doctor beside him sighing in a frustrated huff as he let them be, mumbling about not having any test subjects as he left.

“Whatever.” Cross shrugged. “Good fight is all I really care about.”

“Right, then I assume you wouldn’t mind aiding us in war?” The King offered, hoping to find an easy alliance in such a powerful intruder.

“Can I kill shit?” Cross asked without hesitation.

“Well, yes, that’s kind of what war is-“

“Then no problem short stack. Just lemme do what I do best.”

The King fumed internally at the blatant disrespect he had been shown, but could do nothing to protest it as it seemed to merely be the hunter’s nature.

[cotharach]

poison or placebo

@vonvestra, taken from here!

Hubert was rather good at cornering his prey with a smile.

Dark tides fold onto one another, white foam lingering on their overlaps. Her shoulders tense up; it seems the Vestra noble had some secrets of his own. His tone, light and mocking, barely masks the sense that there is much more than he lets on. Flayn frowns at his words; to speak more of this would mean revealing more of the life she had worked so hard to conceal, to avoid his question would only leverage more suspicion onto her.

The girl heaves a sigh as stormclouds, gray and heavy, loom over them, getting ever closer with the passing moments. Still, feet find themselves firmly planted onto the shoreline, however stubbornly.

"My brother can be more soft than you would expect," she answers back, arms crossing together in a tight weave, "and, for the most part, it was just us siblings on the coast. It was nothing too big or grand-- certainly not as showy as this."

Salt creeps its way onto her tongue, forcing her to swallow dryly. It feels almost wrong leaving the memory of her mother behind, but Flayn considers herself mature; decisions must be made. It is better to cut off a leg than to lose your life.

Hubert von Vestra toys with her like a child's plaything, a ragdoll to be tossed around for his amusement. Still, she cannot permit herself to run now-- fleeing his teasing jabs feels almost akin to defeat. Eyebrows furrow as the saint turns to meet his gaze.

"I do not think it strange to share it with you." the saint hesitates to continue, but nevertheless presses onward with a careful smile, "It is a rather innocuous question. I have no reason to not indulge you."

And maybe if I answer, Flayn thinks, you would stop asking me such things.

"My memories of the sea are far and few in between. We do not often leave the monastery, and so our trips have been scarcely scattered throughout the years. What I do remember, however, is nothing to note of; blurry images of coastlines, sunsets shining on the horizon. It is what any ordinary girl would recall of their time on the beach."

Flayn gives her reply, tone bordering on the defensive. The man has no doubt caught onto her vague non-answers, but a part of her hopes he says nothing of it. Goddess, is this how her father felt whenever people prodded and poked him about his family? How exhausting… she ought to show him appreciation when next she can.

Thunder rumbles in the distance, a warning for what's to come. Viridian eyes, tinted gray by the storm, turn to the slowly dimming horizon. She must parry his strikes with some of her own, lest she let something slip.

"I feel it is only fair that I prod you now. It is most rude to keep talking about myself." Finger on her chin, she turns to Hubert with a myriad of questions of her own. "Tell me, Hubert, do you not have such memories with your family? Is that why you find my fondness for the sea so strange?"

[lordefiance]

General Pierce spat out a splatter of crimson and looked up right into the point of a blade. It must have been every warrior's wet dream to bring the Perfect Knight down to her knees. But how did this event finally transpire?

Through the pattering rain and the smell of iron, she knew. She knew her first mistake the moment she had made it. Long before every attack of hers the far less experienced opponent had whimsically parried away. Before her eyepatch was effortlessly plucked and broken in two like a little sibling's plaything. Before the scrape and unsheathing of swords, the cocky smile on the other's face revealing they knew nothing of war and death and scars you carry for the rest of your life. Her curiosity was her downfall, the first flick of a domino cascade into this disgrace of a defeat, her intrigued but affirmative answer to the question of a stranger,

"Do u rp"

[patsypat]

“Put on the whole armor of God, that you may be able to stand against the schemes of the devil... Stand therefore, having fastened on the belt of truth, and having put on the breastplate of righteousness... In all circumstances take up the shield of faith, ...and take the helmet of salvation,  and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God." Ephesians 6:10-20 Why do we need God's armor? If we believe the Bible and I do, it's because there are unseen forces doing battle against us. Many people don't believe in the existence of the devil. It's like he is something we outgrow, like a child's plaything. And that is exactly what the devil wants. He wants us to be “sophisticated” and scoff at these “mere superstitions”! But Jesus believed the devil existed, didn't He? And He battled against the devil with what? God's Word, which is, in this verse, the Sword of the Spirit. A soldier uses a sword not only to defend himself but also to expand his territory and to take over the enemy's position. So it is necessary not only to read and hear God's Word, but we should also know how to use it. The way Jesus wielded the Word of God was He had it with Him. It was in His heart.  Imagine if Jesus was in the wilderness with Satan, “If you really are the Son of God, tell the stones to become bread!" (Matthew 4:3), and Jesus had to search the scriptures for His parry!!! That would be the same as a soldier going to battle without his sword, without his armor! So let's try to put God's Word in our hearts, and again, trust in the promises of God: “Submit yourselves to God. Resist, stand against the devil, and he will flee from you." James 4:7 https://www.instagram.com/p/CG5048-H7Lj/?igshid=16zm8r27pro50