#a true companion and protector

[francesderwent]

but what is a satisfying end to Jonathan’s arc, really?

[colonelarr0w]

Promised Protector

Sypnosis - When a particularly pushy Araj begins to make Astarion revert to a past self that he had been trying so desperately to grow from, it leaves you to step in. It leaves Astarion with a small realization -- you did care for him, really truly cared for him.

Warning(s) - mature themes, foul language, mentions of abuse (physical and sexual), Araj being an ass, slightly OOC Astarion

Word Count - 1.8k

A/N - Trying my hand at BG3 fanfiction. I have yet to actually play the game, so I'm going purely based off of the playthroughs of others and random clips that I've found sprinkled around YouTube. I do plan to write more for this little vampiric shit, so y'all can leave requests for him as well!

“Must we be here darling? I’m not rather fond of dungeons with … medieval torture devices.”

You bite back the breathy chuckle in your throat as you continue forward, eyes expertly searching your surroundings to ensure that no creature in the dark would ambush you or Astarion. 

“For a creature that usually prefers the dark, you’re quite the complainer,” you bite back, tilting your head to cast a glance at the vampire over your shoulder. He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, shooting you a warning glare – one that you laugh off. 

“And for a creature as clumsy as yourself, you’re doing quite well in avoiding any potential traps.” Astarion’s eyebrow raises as you now shoot him a glare. His shoulders rise and fall in a nonchalant shrug as he moves to walk in sync with you, scarlet eyes scanning his surroundings before they allow themselves to return to you.

“I am not clumsy. It was one time,” you roll your eyes, continuing forward and clenching your jaw as Astarion dares to chuckle at your side. “Rich coming from the one who threw a tantrum even after I revived him.”

“Darling, need I remind you that you dropped an entire building on my head?” Astarion whips his head to the side to face you, his eyes narrowed now in a pointed glare that only brings a wide smile to your face. In any other situation, he too would have smiled simply at the sight of your own, but your revealed teeth only make his chest twist in faux anger. 

“And need I remind you that it was an accident?” 

“In what world is dropping a building on someone an accident?” Astarion murmurs under his breath, stopping when you do. Your eyes flicker to a figure standing just a few feet in front of you – a drow. 

She turns as your footsteps and Astarion’s become more audible, curiosity painting itself onto your face as you both approach. Her eyebrows raise, and you’re not sure if her expression is one of intrigue. 

“Hello,” you say politely, bowing your head in greeting as the drow eyes you curiously, irises raking over the entirety of your figure before they curiously flicker to peer at Astarion. 

“Araj Obladra, a pleasure,” the drow returns just as politely as you, her head dipping in the same bow that you had offered her. “How nice it is to stand in the presence of a True Soul … and her paled companion.”

Astarion’s eyes roll at the nickname, you catch it just out of the corner of your eye. But you choose to ignore it for the sake of not wanting to stir up any unnecessary drama – you had come to Araj for a reason, after all. 

“I’ve traveled to inquire about your services if you’re willing to provide them,” you explain, already noticing a glint in Araj’s eye. You’re not quite sure what expression it’s meant to convey, but from the way that she shifts from one foot to another, your gut tells you that it may not be the most positive. 

Another thing you notice … how her gaze continuously flickers to Astarion. 

“But of course,” Araj replies without hesitation, angling her body so that it faces Astarion rather than you. Your eyes narrow, brows momentarily pinching together. Just what was she playing at?

“You seem … interested in my pale friend here,” you think aloud, immediately wishing that you could swallow your words the moment that you register both Astarion and Araj’s reactions. 

“It is not every day that one encounters a vampire spawn,” Araj notes, the term bringing a disgusting taste to Astarion’s tongue. His nose scrunches in that same disgust, and for a moment, a flicker of anger dares to flare up within the depths of your chest. “After all, in exchange for blood, I craft potions.”

A hum rumbles in your throat, though you say nothing. Araj continues, choosing to ignore the expression you wear – the anger that you so clearly display. 

“All I truly need is a single drop, and then whatever potion you require … well, I can brew it,” she explains, finally moving from where she stands to circle you and Astarion. It reminds you of a predatory lion, one with slit-like pupils that eyes its prey before promptly pouncing on it. 

“And with the rest of it?” you prompt with a raise of your eyebrow. “My blood, I mean.”

“I shall keep it for myself … other potions need to be crafted, as you well know.”

She steps forward, extending her hand and holding her palm out to you. For a moment, you simply think, pondering whether or not you should even trust the drow – especially considering how her eyes still dared to flicker to Astarion. Why was she so interested in him?

You can sense Astarion’s worry from over your shoulder, the feeling rippling off of him like rolling ocean waves. But even with it, you lay your palm over Araj’s. 

“There, finished,” Araj says, already stepping back from you the moment that your skin comes into contact with her own. Her eyes, once again, meet Astarion’s. 

“And now wh—“

Araj’s attention turns completely now to Astarion, who momentarily falters underneath her gaze. His worry for you morphs silently into disgust directed at the drow. 

“There’s still much to discuss,” Araj comments, a smirk just barely pulling at the corners of her mouth. “Such as your paled companion.”

Astarion glances at you, and in return, he’s met with an expression of suppressed anger and jealousy — that would be a conversation for later, he dictates. 

“He’s a vampire, is he not? Or vampire spawn?” Araj’s eyes wander over Astarion, drifting down his entire body and ignoring the way that his eyes narrow in a glare at her. She turns then back to you, once again choosing to ignore the fury that glints in the depths of your eyes. 

“He belongs to you, am I correct?”

If you weren’t angry before, you were now. Your eyes flicker to Astarion, his expression a mixture of hurt and shock – it was one that you had never seen him wear before, and with the way it made your heart positively crack, you never wanted to see it again. 

“The last I checked, he was his own person,” you turn to Araj angrily, “he does not belong to anyone.” 

Araj bites back the chuckle that threatens to crawl up her throat, lifting a hand in front of her mouth as she laughs breathily into the skin of her palm. Your teeth grind against each other, jaw setting into place as the drow regains herself. 

“Oh, you were serious?” Her eyebrow lifts, the sight of it taking everything in you to not lunge at her and promptly wedge the blade of your dagger into the skin of her neck. “It’s adorable really … if he truly believes you, that is.”

Astarion swears he could hear one of your teeth chip with how roughly you set your jaw into place. His eyes wander down to your hands, taking note of how they clench into white-knuckled fists. Your fingers itch towards the blade in its holster, but you fight the urge to remove it. 

“Does your spawn have a name?” Araj shifts her attention back to Astarion, eyeing him once again. He opens his mouth to speak, but with a speed that feels almost inhuman, you answer for him. 

“His name is Astarion, and if you dare to call him my spawn again, I will surely–”

“Now, now darling!” Astarion’s hand closes around your mouth, palm pressing to your lips as he flashes you a too-sweet smile – hoping to whatever God was above him that you wouldn’t turn your anger onto him and plunge a dagger between his eyebrows. “Let’s be civil, yes?”

You bite back the angered insult that bubbles up in your chest, swallowing your words and settling back on your feet. Astarion nods, slowly removing his hand from your mouth before he turns to Araj.

“It’s been quite the dream of mine, being bit by a vampire … spawn or the like,” Araj explains, her tone taking on an almost dream-like lull. You can already feel the bile rising in your throat.

And it seems that Astarion shares your sentiment, what with the way that his eyebrows raised and his lips curled in that adorable little scowl. 

“I’ll have to decline,” Astarion is quick to answer, shaking his head and taking a tentative step away from Araj, almost as if he’s trying to hide his body behind your own. You allow it, going so far as to then sidestep him and stand protectively in front of him – an action that he smiles gently at. 

“I’ll compensate–”

“He said no, thank you very much,” you butt in, glaring down your nose at the overbearing drow. She falters on her feet for a moment, but just as quickly, she recollects herself. “We’ll be going now.”

You turn on your heel, reaching swiftly for Astarion’s hand before promptly leaving – not once sparing a glance to the disappointed drow over your shoulder. 

< … >

“Darling?” Astarion hesitantly lifts the flap of your tent, ducking beneath it and entering. You hum from where you sit at your desk, tilting your head slightly to show your acknowledgment. “Are you alright? Your lively presence was missed. You left me to deal with … them … on my own.”

You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose as you turn in your seat to look at Astarion. At the sight of your face, he falters, his expression softening. 

“You’re still upset over that vile drow, aren’t you?”

“Of course I am Astarion!” you rise from your place, throwing your hands up. He flinches, not having expected a violent outburst from you. 

“She … she thought that I had ownership of you! All because of what, the fact that you’re a spawn and not a vampire? The nerve of some creatures disgusts me! I mean honestly–!”

“Darling.”

You pause, head lifting so that your gaze finally meets Astarion’s awaiting gaze. His eyes are soft as they gaze at you, lips turned upward in a smile of equal softness. He approaches you, offering his hands to you – which you take without hesitation. 

“I want you to know that I … appreciate what you did for me today,” Astarion admits quietly, speaking low enough that you could barely hear him. “It has been many years since I was able to choose my own.”

You soften, squeezing at his hands. “Astarion, you deserve to have your own voice. Nobody should be able to control what you do besides … well … you.”

He draws you closer to his chest, arms locking around your waist as his face buries itself into your hair. You chuckle lightly, returning his embrace and laying your face against his shoulder. 

For 200 years, Astarion had never known the sound of his own voice. 

But now?

Now he knew the sound of it, and he knew that it mattered. 

[prisiidon]

Avatar!Sidon headcanon 👀 angst

May I present: Sidon can feel what the Avatar!Sidon companion feels. Avatar!Sidon also being a personification of Sidon’s soul and true feelings. The avatar cannot speak therefore simply shows what Sidon wishes to do through small gestures (and as protector in general). Meanwhile, King Sidon in the Domain feels a strange tingle in his hand as the avatar traces a hand over Link's cheek...

[kiame-sama]

Warnings; bg3, full party (because I want them all there to talk), Druid Tav*, Slight druid path spoilers I guess?, Owlbear, Protector type Tav, yandere companions (ALL of them), basic identity spoilers for first act followers, slight early story spoilers, they/them reader, yandere Raphael makes an appearance too.

* Tav is the name that always appears in the character generator first, so technically Tav is the unofficial term for the player character- or Reader in this scenario.

~~~~~~~~

The large owlbear lumbered slowly amongst the fallen undead, using the sharp beak to pick around the bodies for anything useful. Of course, not everything picked up by the defacto leader of the group was typically deemed useful. Such was the way of the unusual soul the group found themselves following the every whim of.

Countless battles had been won with their leadership and each companion had true respect for their leader, even if respect for the other companions was variable. To take them from desperate and hopeless about their plight to truly believing they could succeed their impossible mission. Each odd soul brought in to the fold by the odd druid may not believe, but they believed in how much their leader believed. For them, this was enough.

This meant that when their trusted leader wandered around as a creature that could feasibly carry three of them, they just followed along and grabbed what they wanted if their leader didn't pick it up first. They trusted their leader to distribute loot and treasure adequately based off of who could best use what was collected. Still, that didn't make the experience any less surreal, even for those who were familiar with druids that favored their bestial forms.

"Astarion, do you ever feel like we, as a group, just adapt to everything around us a little too well?"

Gale, the wizard of the group walked next to the rogue vampire spawn, his arms crossed in a contemplative way. Never before would he have imagined himself having light banter with such a being without bloodshed, but here he was regardless.

"Do tell me you are joking, right?"

"No, should I be?"

"God's, Gale, we're all stuck here as a group with only one thing in common- the fact that we're facing impossible odds to simply survive- and we can barely keep ourselves from killing each other. On top of that, just what do you think we're doing right now? Hm?"

"... Collecting the spoils of our battle?"

There was a distinct moment of silence as the beautiful vampire spawn stared at the wizard with a look of disbelief and disgust. The apparent pause catching the attention of the rest of the party- minus the owlbear lumbering ahead of the group- as they all decided to listen in. It was good fun to hear the others squabble and it gave a sense of comradery despite the situation they were in, misery loving company in most ways, though things weren't seeming too miserable now.

"We are in a temple that is inside of a crypt- some depth underground- picking amongst the remains of reanimated corpses that have all been stomped to death by our Owlbear leader. Not to mention this leader who just so happens to be the most balanced person among us and somehow isn't corrupt as all hells while doing it."

Some of the others nodded along in their own ways, knowing Astarion's assessment wasn't too far off from the crux of the situation they found themselves in. A few cast glances at the afore mentioned owlbear leader who seemed rather content rooting through what little remained from their earlier rampage.

"And they're hot as the hells while doing it."

Karlach, the literal flaming tiefling barbarian, commented, putting herself in the conversation with a wide grin.

"You're one to talk, Karlach," Wyll playfully jabbed back, "You've literally got fire coming out of you!"

"You know I'm right though!"

"Well, I didn't say you were wrong."

Before the two could continue, Astarion cut them off, bringing the now group conversation back to Gale.

"Anyways, my point still stands. We are not the ones who make this all work. They make it work for us. We are stuck together- like it or not- and they call the shots. We can get used to anything because they can get used to anything. Don't pat yourself on the back too hard now, it might get you excited."

Gale slightly winced at that jab, given the fact that he was the most obvious about being smitten with the group leader, and yet his beloved was completely unaware of how hard he had fallen. How hard they all had fallen.

"Are you all fools," Shadowheart hissed in a low voice, "you know they can hear us, right?"

It was Lae'zel's turn to bark out a laugh, her lips curled in a sly grin as she regarded the Sharian cleric. It gave the Githyanki soldier a sense of satisfaction to know something about their leader the cleric didn't.

"They can't understand us in that owlbear form. Why else would these fools talk so plainly?"

Unknown to them, their leader could understand them, but simply didn't want to cause in-fighting or favoritism to arise. So they simply carried on as if unaware of the conversation, just trying to focus on finding what was salvageable.

Unknown to them all, a demon watched from the rafters. His arms were crossed and a grin played across his lips. He had to admit, that druid was certainly a fetching prize as they clearly enamored not only their mismatched companions but him as well. Time would leave him the last among them by the druid's side, he would ensure it. Besides, he had plenty of time to wait.

[hyperactively-me]

king!ghost x reader -- duties

warnings: none

Five months.

Five months, two weeks, three days, and seven hours since he’s been gone.

More weeks pass, and you’ve fallen into your role quite comfortably. You have no more troubles juggling daily tasks, council meetings, and managing the kingdom’s affairs. The weight of your responsibility has become a familiar companion, and you navigate the challenges with a grace born from necessity. Yet, Simon’s absence has gnawed you to your bones. 

You were barred from stepping even a single toe outside of the castle gates, confined to the castle walls. It had frustrated you to no end, but you understood where the concern stemmed from. Obviously. 

The war continues, and each day brings its own set of difficulties. The reports from the front lines aren’t as optimistic as they once were, but there’s still a glimmer of hope. The Southern Kingdom persists in its aggressive pursuit, but Kastron’s forces stand resilient. Simon’s letters start to arrive at irregular intervals, long stretches of time going by without hearing from him. 

It makes you nervous, only receiving letters every three to four weeks instead of the usual once a week. 

Your worry etches lines on your face as you pore over the maps and reports. The uncertainty of Simon’s safety hangs heavy in the air, and the constant dread becomes a silent companion in your daily life. Your familiar routine is resolutely tainted with the anxiety of the unknown.

Soap remains a steadfast friend, standing by your side throughout the days. Some days, you don’t really see him, other days he’s practically glued to your side. He’s become not just a protector, knight, and guard, but someone you can be vulnerable with. A true friend.

One evening, as you sit in the dining room with Soap, a familiar voice interrupts your thoughts.

“Your Majesty, a messenger has arrived with urgent news,” announces a royal guard, stepping into the room.

You look up, setting down your fork. You have to take a breath, wanting to groan about how you haven’t had a moment of peace in months. 

You know Soap is already running through strategies in his mind, wanting to take some of the burden off of you. 

“What news do they bring?” you ask wearily. 

The guard hesitates before delivering the message. “The Southern Kingdom has launched a major offensive. Our forces are engaged in battle, and we need reinforcements.”

Your heart pounds in your chest. The war has escalated, and the threat to Kastron has never been more imminent. Soap’s expression darkens as he stands by your side, exchanging a glance that conveys the gravity of the situation.

“We need to act quickly,” Soap says, his voice steady. “I’ll gather our forces here and organize them to be sent to the front lines immediately.”

He stands from his seat, his armor clinking as he moves. The urgency in his demeanor is quite apparent, and you nod in agreement. Soap’s efficiency and decisiveness makes you feel slightly better, knowing that he’s capable. As Soap departs to mobilize the forces, you rise from your seat. The familiar routine of your ruling takes over, and you find yourself issuing orders to prepare for the impending conflict. 

. . . 

Later in the week, you’re faced with more harrowing news of villages spread throughout Kastron who were unfortunately caught in the crossfire of the war. 

The reports of the collateral damage weigh heavily on your heart. Villages once filled with life and laughter are now marred by the scars of war. The people, innocent bystanders caught in the turmoil, look to you for guidance and aid.

Now, more than ever, you’re spending all of your effort in your waking hours to provide them with relief. The castle’s war room became a somber gathering place as you, Soap, and key advisors discuss what supplies and support is to be sent to the villagers. 

“I will not let my own people suffer,” you declare, determination burning in your eyes. “We must send help to these villages immediately. Food, medical supplies—whatever they need. I want it done, now.”

Many advisors nod in agreement. “We’ll organize relief efforts. Ensuring the safety of our citizens is of utmost importance, your majesty.” 

As they begin coordinating the relief missions, you allocate resources and personnel to help the affected villages. You go through countless lists and inventories of important supplies, deeming which ones are needed and necessary to be distributed to the afflicted villages. You also spend time gathering doctors, knights, and other important personnel to send them out to tend to the villages. The castle’s front courtyards transform into bustling hubs as supplies are gathered and medical teams prepare to depart.

In the midst of the chaos, a messenger arrives with a letter. The familiar wax seal of the royal family signifies that it’s a letter from Simon. A surge of anticipation courses through your veins as you break the seal quickly, hands slightly shaky from the adrenaline.

Your eyes scan the familiar writing, clutching the paper tightly. The letter carries both relief and worry. Simon recounts the intensity of recent battles and expresses concern for the well-being of Kastron. He reassures you of his safety multiple times, yet it does little to ease your heart. He emphasizes the importance of your resilience, saying that your efforts from the castle have not gone unnoticed from the battlefield. 

As you absorb his scratchy handwriting, Soap approaches, his gaze curious. “News from the front lines?” he asks quietly.

You nod, a mixture of emotions bubbling within. “Yes. Simon is well, but he doesn’t seem as optimistic as they once were. I mean, the letter was dated about two weeks ago, so there’s no way of telling what’s currently going on.” 

Soap’s brow furrows in concern. “Well, we just sent the reinforcements a few days ago, I’m confident they'll do more than help.” 

You appreciate Soap's attempt to offer reassurance. “I hope so. It’s just, the war hasn’t let up at all, and it’s really starting to concern me… And everyone keeps saying that we’re doing well despite some setbacks, but I can’t help but feel as though something bad is going to happen…”

Soap places a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “I ken that feeling. It’s a heavy burden, but remember, Kastron has weathered storms, and we’ll weather this one. Yer doing more than you realize. And, nothing bad will happen, not with me around and his majesty out there alongside Price and Gaz. We’ve got this.” 

You swallow thickly, nodding. You take a few breaths, trying to calm your frayed nerves. 

He’s right, after all. You have Soap here looking after you, and a castle packed to the brim with guards and knights. You sent out reinforcements to struggling villages, you sent out hundreds of more soldiers to the front lines. You’ve been taking the reins in every single Kastronian affair, from advising noble people to organizing relief efforts. Your determination and resilience have been the beacon for your people, a symbol of hope in these trying times.

You’ve got this. 

. . . 

Days turn into nights, and nights into more weeks. The war room remains a constant hub of activity, but there’s a sense of progress. Reports start to arrive detailing the impact of the reinforcements and the relief missions. Villages that were once on the brink of collapse are now showing signs of recovery. The people, though scarred, hold on to the hope you've instilled in them.

As the days go by, the momentum continues to shift. The Southern Kingdom, faced with the new Kastronian reinforcements, begins to slowly lose its steam. Not to say the threat is receding, but you now have more hope than you’ve had since the war started. 

One evening, after a particularly long day, you and Soap find yourselves on the balcony overlooking the courtyard. The sounds of the night echo a strange sense of serenity and ominous undertones despite the ongoing turmoil.

Soap leans against the balcony railing, his gaze fixed on the distant horizon. “Ye’ve done well, yer majesty. The people look up to ye, and I think we’ve gotten past the worst of it. We’re on the path to recovery.”

You turn to him, grateful for his presence. “And I couldn't have done it without you, Soap.”

He gives you a half-smile, “Nah, you give me way too much credit. I’ve done nothing. It’s all you, yer majesty. All you.”

You smile, shaking your head. You can see where he’s coming from. 

Soap’s eyes meet yours, a glint of sincerity reflecting in them. “But I appreciate the sentiment. It's been a tough road. Yer strong, resilient, and caring. The people see that, and they believe in you.”

You lean against the balcony, the night air carrying some unexplained tension. “It’s not over yet, Soap. The war has really affected everyone, and even if we’re turning the tide, there’s still a long way to go.”

Soap nods, understanding your hesitancy. “Aye, there is. But ye’ve already set the wheels in motion for a better future. The relief efforts, everything you’ve been doing, it’s all making a difference, ‘specially in the long run.”

As you both stand in silence, a gentle breeze rustles the leaves, and the distant sounds of the horses in the stables break through to you. Soap breaks the silence, his voice low but determined. “I just also wanted to say, yer doing Simon proud. I can see it in everything ye do. And when he comes back, he’ll find you in your prime, and Kastron stronger than ever.”

A bittersweet smile tugs at the corners of your lips. “Thank you, Soap. I just wish he were here to see it for himself.”

Soap places a comforting hand on your shoulder. “He’ll be back. And when he does, Kastron will be upright. Ye’ve kept the flame burning, y’know.”

The war is not over, but the worst seems to have passed.

Or so you thought. 

- - - - -

(masterlist)

[magerightsmagefights]

SPOILERS FOR BALDURS GATE 3 but I have to talk about this, I wheeze every time I think about it

Ok so I haven’t finished act 3 yet, so I am absolutely taking everything the Emperor says with a grain of salt, but the Emperor’s backstory is just so… breathtakingly funny to me, when compared to my other companions. Especially with how dramatically he was built up—your protector, your mysterious guardian, shielding his true identity because he could see no other choice, now forced to stand before you in his true form. The story itself practically had a flashing neon sign above his head screaming “This character is cool! This character is mysterious! Prepare yourself to receive the COOL and TRAGIC backstory that brought him to this place!”

And he. He was a hedge fund manager. Got that music and flashback sequence with the pained voice, “By night I devoured the brains of criminals. By day I controlled the mercantile groups of Baldurs Gate.” Like sir you invested in various businesses? Or did you like, establish and impose tax regulations upon local and foreign merchants? Because those are both neat, but like, my collection of demonic soldiers held against their will, abused servants/slaves seeking vengeance and Slightly Burdened Hippie Bear are not exactly overwhelmed by this backstory.

Emperor: Such was my influence, I came to be known as the Emperor within the shadows of Baldur’s Gate.

Tav: They… they started calling a business investor ‘the Emperor?’

Emperor: I was very good at business investment.

Tav: So our mysterious guardian was just a vigilante hedge fund manager—

Emperor: Time to talk about Prince Orpheus, immediately.

And then later you’re running through the city and you find his Super Secret Mysterious Hideout, and it’s just… some big tables covered in his notes, yes we will invest in this winery. No we will not invest in those cheeses. Someone is trying to traffic illegal goods here. Let’s create a hostile economic environment for this tavern. And it’s even funnier because he’s hanging out in your brain giving commentary the whole time about how dark and powerful he was, like bro. This is your office. This is the office in which you worked a 9-5 desk job. An executive desk job, granted, but very definitely a desk job.

Emperor: I controlled Baldurs Gate from that super fancy high-backed chair. No coin changed hands in the city without being approved at that giant dramatic table.

Tav: So board meetings.

Emperor: What?

Tav: That giant dramatic table is where you had board meetings.

Emperor: The Knights of the Shield decided what business could or could not take place—

Tav: Yes, a board meeting. You were the chairman of the board. It’s so funny that we have a hermit wizard and a vampire twink who embroiders his own underwear, but the nerdiest one has been hiding out in this magical D20 the whole time.

Emperor: … let’s talk about my mother’s silverware now.

[zapreportsblog]

↳ THE VOLTURI / POLY ↲

queen of the ball

your ours

bonds beyond blood

a haunting resemblance

tangled in duty

im not easily impressed but when I am then im impressed

ending things

a nocturnal sojourn

installing fear into their hearts

protecting what’s theirs

target on my back

moments like these

forced to stay

as long as you’re okay

caius knows best

unexpected bonds

an unconventional union

the enchanting dance

the beginning of understanding

the hybrids protector

headcanon : you as the volturi mate with Cassie personality

bleeding me dry like a got damn vampire

baked goodness

she’s just too damn good

how would the volturi react to someone with the gifts similar to the scarlet witch

your end and your beginning

how the volturi would react to their mate who’s both repulsed and fears them for killing innocent people

different type of yandere the volturi can turn out to be

how yandere volturi would react to their human escaping

↳ OTHER CHARACTERS ↲

how they react to you kissing them on the lips unexpectedly

i need love and affection

damsel in distress

beanstalk

too far gone

i can handle my own

happy birthday

the end of the road

our other half

don’t mess with the guardian

a day to remember

tattoos and bar talks

descendants

getting through mama bear

home from war

concealed

duckling

papa

my sweet boy

the non shifter

cold

wedding singer

waking up

the cold never bothered me anyways

the past needs to stay in the past

a lifelong bond

not a people person

afraid of love

↳ THE CULLENS ↲

finding my voice

the storms rolling in

heed my warnings

descendants

getting through mama bear

concealed

forget me not

an unconventional union

true mates

my sweet boy

the mating pull

the non shifter

wedding singer

how they react to you getting a tongue ring

waking up

a blast from the past

little fairy girl

the cold never bothered me anyways

the past needs to stay in the past

fear of rejection

the hybrids protector

a lifelong bond

show some respect boy

not a people person

the witch hybrid and her companion

the witch hybrid and her companion 2

afraid of love

like a bear in hibernation

blood cravings

perfectly imperfect

↳ REQUESTED / ORIGINAL CHARACTERS ↲

the predators and their prey

shadowed hearts

the pairing

↳ THE PACK ↲

how’d he react to his gender neutral partner wearing his hoodies/shirts because they are oversized on them

whenever, wherever, however

the night we met

checking in on you

the non shifter

imprint

the past needs to stay in the past

a lifelong bond

the witch hybrid and her companion 

the witch hybrid and her companion 2

[dragonagecompanions]

DAI Companions reactions to repeatedly being mistaken for a young/teen Inquisitor's parent or older sibling.

Cassandra: At times it feels like she is, and yet it is never something the seeker begrudges. This young person has stepped into a role no one their age should have to fulfill, and with so many relying on them to save the world at least one person should be standing in the role of guardian and protector of their interests. She only wishes it could be her sole priority.

And if, in quiet moments, to have a sibling again is a balm then it a truth no one else need know.

Varric: He was a lousy brother, though is was not as if Bertrand was winning any awards either. But he never really understood the pressures his older brother was under until stepping into part of that role— and Varric never had the strain of ailing mother or the loss of Orzammar on his shoulders. No, he is not sibling material.

But no father could be prouder of a child than he is, watching their young leader stitch the world back together. Kid needs looking after, and Varric Tethras is honored in the burden.

Solas: If the Inquisitor is elven, no matter his plans for the future, the rift mage feels a sort of obligatory kinship to the da’len so far from clan or kin. Children have always been precious, especially to the Elvhen who did not conceive so easily as humans.

For any other inquisitor he does not correct those who make the mistake, and will turn it into a familiar joke later that the herald must be the most attractive of thei species to be mistaken for an elf. It hides how little he cares for the comparison.

Kin slaying is a terrible crime. Best not to build the relationship from the start.

Blackwall: In another life Thom Rainier had scorend the idea of children, and taken pains to ensure that his dalliances would not conceive a bastard he had no intention of claiming. Now his family name is hardly worth the claiming, and he is grateful his only sister took her husband’s name long ago and is free of his legacy.

But as a warden, true or otherwise, Blackwall is honored by such a comparison. If his presence has had any small benefit to the young person upon whom such a task is laid then he is honored by the comparison. And while he would be the first to argue that no one is better off in his care or keeping, Blackwall would be the first to lay down his life to protect theirs, and will do everything he can to make sure they are well.

Vivienne: For the sake of his grown children- and the wife who had done her duty in the bearing- Bastian could not have given her a child. Even if he could have protected it from the clawing hands of the Circle, whose laws had forbidden such a gift. To be a mother was not in her future, and in her youth Vivienne had taken steps to ensure such an accidental fate could never befall her.

But she could have been. In the quiet moments through out the years she had imagined how such a child might grow, might flourish under the love and guidance of two parents who so deeply wanted it. And while the Inquisitor is neither replacement nor surrogate for that dream, in this young person Madame de Fer can see a reflection of what might have been.

If she takes care to guard their appearance, coach their behavior and prepare them as best she can for the great game, it is easily couched in the truth that it benefits the Inquisition to do so. The truth of her affection is hidden away, no further burden on shoulders already heavy with titles and too few years.

But she can dream.

Sera: When she does think about her childhood, the few times it has to be examined, Sera would not have minded another small person to have run about with. It might have made the lessons and the lies less lonely, to know someone else was there to ride through it with.

But there wasn’t. And she didn’t. And she likes the Inquisitor, is happy to have them as both friend and Friend. But family is a sore spot in the tapestry of her life, and adding patches to warped thread does not fix the faulty loom.

Dorian: It is the worst nightmare of most high born alti, that one’s parents might conceive a second child to rival them for the familiar seat in the magisterium. Never a risk for Halward and Aquinea, whose duties to each other and the marriage bed ended w it the birth of a living and magically inclined son.

And yet Dorian would not have minded a younger Pavus knocking about when he had been a boy, someone to share the duties and adventures of Minrathious in those few years before duty locked away simpler pleasures. But when he is first mistaken for the Inquisitor’s father, first mistakenly assigned that guardianship and all it brings?

It staggers him, how deeply the role could fit. For all that their creation is anathema to them, Dorian Pavus would never scorn a child of his blood. Of any blood, in truth. If their herald is young enough and without guardianship, without a future once Corypheus is defeated…

It is a thought for later.

The Iron Bull: Where is the lie? Was he any less worthy of the imereki than those who had left them behind? The feelings that well up when the mistaken role is given do not surprise him, and Bull is perhaps the easiest of any besides Cassandra with taking on that burden. The Chargers are his family, and if they survive the Storm Coast the little Herald is gathered up into that fold without question.

And even with one eye he can see the second Dorian accepts and even relishes the idea. The Iron Bull didn’t come South looking for a family, but one may well be within his grasp regardless.

Cole: “Shared name, shared memories, tied together by all the things that matter. Even when we don’t agree there is still love and trust, striving for something greater than we are. Yes! We are a family. That makes sense.”

Mod Fereldone

[captain039]

Devil in me

Raphael x reader

Warnings: pure smut, first time, devil things, devil form, sensitive wings, tav instert, oral f and m receiving, light dom/sub, gagging

I just need Raphael smut and I can’t find any. Please send some my way lmao.

Devil in me…. Heh get it? Kill me ty 😂

Being transported to a feast in a mansion was not what you were expecting. Tav was speaking with Raphael having met him just moments ago on the way across a bridge in the middle of no where. You were confused as were the rest of your companions, he was offering a solution to the tadpoles in your companions minds.

“You however, why are you travelling around with this lovely party of parasite holders, hm?” The devil Raphael gave you his attention making you freeze. He was handsome for a devil, gods what the hell was wrong with you.

“Uh-“ you gulped feeling small under his gaze.

“She’s a friend” Tav suddenly defended with a huff and cross of their arms.

“A friend hm? Does this friend have a name?” Raphael grinned.

“Friend” Tav said gaze going stern as they protected you.

“Oo protective, I enjoy a good mystery” the devil chuckled giving you one last up and down look which made you flush.

After being teleported back to where you were you sighed in relief sitting on a rock nearby.

“Shop around he says” Astarion sassed making you smile lightly.

“Don’t trust him he’s a devil” The vampire scoffed.

“Obviously” Tav sighed at the vampires statements.

“Though he was rather interested in you” Astarion said sitting by you on the rock with a grin.

“Gods sake, Astarion” you huffed making him laugh.

“Just a friend though Tav? You seem rather protective” Astarion piped up.

“We have a lot of history” you said glancing to them and they gave a small smile. It’s true you practically grew up together, they your constant protector against bully’s in the street to bandits. You felt useless at times your magic not strong like others in the group. You never got a chance to tame it, to learn how to use it, after the fire you caused that killed your parents you hid from it, even if it hummed in your veins.

You didn’t see the devil for a while, thinking you were finally rid of him till you hit the shadow cursed lands. At the last light inn there he was playing with Mol a young teifling from the grove. While Tav interacted with them you found yourself wandering the last light inn, it was still standing even with the shadow curse.

“There you are” you jumped a bit turning to the devil who had a smirk on his face.

“Raphael” you greeted a little skeptical as to why he was talking to you.

“You’re a curious thing” he said suddenly circling you.

“How?” You said with a raised eyebrow.

“That potent magic flowing through those veins of yours” you froze at the voice by your ear suddenly and the small chuckle that followed it.

“Come” he said suddenly snapping his fingers. You flinched suddenly in that house again, house of hopes if you remember.

“Take me back!” You snapped as he huffed.

“Always so attached to Tav, honestly” he huffed with an eye roll.

“They don’t know everything though do they?” He grinned as he came into your personal space again.

“Your tragic past, tragic magic flooding your body” he said humming.

“Poetic” he grinned stepping back and you huffed.

“What do you want devil?” You said.

“No, what do you want?” he said turning the question back making you frown.

“To go back to where I was!” You huffed at him.

“The inn? Or that night?” He said and you froze, how did he know about that.

“The inn, I’m not playing your games” you said crossing your arms in defence.

“No games darling, just simple transactions” he said shrugging.

“Then get to the point!” You huffed at him annoyed at his handsome grin.

“You have powerful magic in you, more than you realise, you only need tame it, but you shut it out, I can help” he said.

“What do you want?” You asked knowing none of this would be free.

“A night” he said grinning and you frowned.

“I can’t give you a night what even is a night you want the night, lemme just take natural order” You scoffed.

“Let me rephrase, a night with you and that lovely body” he gestured to you with a finger and you froze body going hot.

“You can control your magic just like that” he snapped his fingers a small flame coming from them and disappearing. You froze feeling something surge through you, you looked to your hands seeing the light glow.

“Let me give you a taste” he whispered suddenly by your ear. The room changed and you were in a battlefield looking area, small flying devils around.

“Go on” he said by your ear his arms raising your hands, his body close to yours.

“Try it” he said breath against your cheeks your body shuddering. You felt magic course through you as you sent out a chain lightening the four flying devils falling instantly in a cry as the disintegrated. You frowned at the control you held as you glanced slightly to the devil behind you, he was in his devil form a grin on his face as he snapped his fingers and more of those flying devils appeared.

“Again” he said as you conjured ice in your hand sending it out in a flurry of ice like blades stabbing each devil multiple times. The power felt amazing and free flowing, you’d be helpful on the quest finally, reality set back in though as you thought back to your parents and shrank a bit. You saw his wings shielding your sides slightly as the devil frowned.

“Take me back to the inn now!” You said hand on your dagger.

“Very well” Raphael said snapping his fingers. You sighed in relief feeling the cold air on the last light inn and no devil behind you.

“Where were you?” Tav called rushing up the stairs as you glanced around seeing Raphael truely gone.

“I was here, just viewing the ever gloomy horizon” you lied and they frowned glancing out the balcony before nodding slowly. You sighed following the group again. Isobel had blessed you before a man named Marcus came, he sought to take Isobel. You held your dagger when you felt magic course through your body. You saw Isobel surrounded, you muttered a spell raining down radiant fire on each creature around her. They cried and turned to ash, she gave you her thanks and you nodded as you felt eyes on you. You glanced to Tav seeing confusion on their face as the continued to fight Marcus. You avoided Tav knowing they’d have questions, you stayed in one of the half ruined rooms, looking to your hands, Raphael hadn’t taken the magic control away. You had fallen asleep on the bed you laid on to clear your mind. You awoke in a different bed though, a much comfortable one. You frowned lifting your top half seeing Raphael staring at the fire with a drink in his hand. The bed was large with red sheets. You thought if you just went back to sleep you’d go back to the inn.

“Ah you’re awake” too slow. Raphael looked to you with a fanged grin.

“Why didn’t you take it away?” You asked feeling the magic.

“Seeing you disintegrate things is rather entertaining” he said taking a sip from his goblet.

“I didn’t agree to the contract!” You said not feeling any effort to move from the comfortable bed.

“Oh I don’t need you too” he smirked placing his goblet down on the bedside table before climbing in the bed. You froze as he climbed over you and you shrank down to your elbows seeing him smirk and his tail swish behind him.

“Not agreeing” you said barely above a whisper feeling your body excite and nerves thrill in your stomach.

“Let me give you another gift then” he said voice low and teasing and you found yourself nodding. He grinned as he pressed a hand to the middle of your chest to push you to lie down. You went down easily head hitting the pillows easily, feeling him shuffle down your body. You covered your eyes with your arms biting the inner of your cheek. He snapped his fingers your pants disappearing suddenly, the warmth of the fire hitting them more. His hands were hot as he lifted your legs, you suddenly realised he snapped your underwear off too. Your hands instantly went to covering yourself and sitting up, his eyes snapped to yours through hooded lids.

“What’s the matter?” He grinned lifting his body up and crawling up your body again. You flushed looking away as hot lips pressed against your jaw. You felt like shrinking into the bed till you disappeared the embarrassment filling you full.

“This is-“ you began to mumbled before cutting off as he stopped nibbling at your jaw. He pulled back and laughed deeply making you shrink.

“Oh my, an unflowered delicacy” he said voice smooth.

“Not even self pleasure?” He asked and you shook your head quickly trying to ignore his grinning face.

“How even more delightful” he whispered and you finally looked to him, a smirk plastered on his face.

“This is much more than I asked for, how exciting, how would you like to indulge yourself with a devil?” He grinned as your heart pounded, you thought back to your group, your quest. Tav had indulged themselves in pleasures with more than one companion, why couldn’t you? Raphael wasn’t exactly a companion, he was a devil, one providing information about Astarions scars for a price, offering a deal with the tadpoles, he seemed exclusive to your group.

“I can assure you, you will be most satisfied” his tone whispered in your ears floating around your head as you nodded again. His lips pressed to yours, a seal being made.

“Excellent” he said going back down your body, lifting your legs up onto his shoulders.

“Move those hands, Darling” he grinned and you did slowly returning them to your face to cover your eyes. You heard him chuckle his warm breath fanning you. You jolted a bit in surprise before a forked tongue licked a hot stripe through your folds. Your back arched and you held your breath pressing your palms to your eyes. You struggled to breathe as his tongue teased along your entrance and clit, you gripped the pillow behind your head other hand fisting on your stomach. You felt your hand slipping to hold his hair only to grab a horn by accident. He growled and you moved your hand away gripping your shirt instead. He continued slowly coyly a smirk on his lips as he only teased with his tongue. You were squirming partly wondering if you should knock him off and run away, partly wondering if he would truely have you. He stood suddenly and your heart sank quickly all the while he smirked snapping his clothes off. Your room changed too to somewhere different, same bed though. He sat down on a chair by the wall smirking as he beckoned with his finger. You found yourself naked fully also and flushed covering yourself grabbing the sheet.

“I don’t like asking twice, dove” he said eyes going stern as you gulped but stood and walked to him trying to hide your body.

“Kneel” he ordered pointing to the spot between his legs. You did as you were told earning a satisfied hum, the devil leant forward holding your chin a little roughly.

“You’re going to suck my cock like a good little dove till I’m satisfied” he ordered and you tensed lightly. His thumb pressed against your bottom lip his claw gently tracing along with it. You felt your mouth open with a soft gasp, his thumb going in your mouth as you gently sucked, the devil smirked removing his hand and leaning back motioning to his hard cock. You took a small breath unsure of what to do entirely, sure books can only help so much. You simply followed a scene in your head from a scene in book you remembered, you held his cock gently before beginning licking the underside of him. Raphael hummed watching you intently head resting in his hand as you slowly licked around the tip.

“Use your whole mouth dove” he said and you nodded slightly sucking the head flattening your tongue against the underside. He groaned approvingly and you felt confidence fill you as you slowly sucked around the head continuing what you were doing.

“For someone who hasn’t even touched themselves you seem rather good at this” he said and you felt yourself eating the praise up as you took more of him in your mouth. His fingers tangled in your hair his claws scraping your scalp lightly as he held you against his cock. You tried not to gag as he pushed your head down more, tears stung your eyes as you let out a small noise.

“Relax your throat” he said and you whined, but tried your best as slowly bobbed your head up and down his cock a small groan leaving his lips again. You glanced to him seeing him looking at you with a smirk you hoped he take some pity on you as tears slowly rolled down your face. It only spurred him on though as his hips slowly thrusted upwards making you gag. He continued though even with your whines of protest his head leaning back slightly as he sighed. He finally took pity as he allowed you to catch your breath. You coughed swallowing harshly at the pain in your throat, going to wipe your eyes till hands caught your wrist. Raphael tugged you into his lap your knees by his hips as he wiped your eyes warm hand going around your throat. You held your breath as he hummed a small warmth filling your throat and the pain was gone. You frowned slightly swallowing again feeling no pain. He wiped your eyes and you found it strangely comforting that he maybe cared in this situation.

“Better?” He asked removing his hand and you nodded feeling embarrassed.

“You’ll learn” he whispered in your ear with a smirk and you flushed feeling yourself tense. His hand went to your hip while he held his head in the other looking at you. His gaze went down your body like he was mapping, you squirmed a bit in his intense stare.

“Are you ready?” He said and you frowned slightly before you realised and found yourself nodding a little too eagerly which made him laugh.

“Eager little dove, lift your hips” he ordered and you did sitting more on your knees. He lined himself up hand still on your hip as he pushed down slightly for you to move. You felt him enter slowly, you had held your breath before you panted feeling the stretch and pain. You whimpered as he guided you with his hands till your ass was on his thighs. You made a small noise resting your head on his forehead. You hadn’t meant to, it was just the closets. Your breath was frantic as you felt his cock fully. His hand snaked up your back, gripping your hair and tugging your head back harshly making you gasp and look to him.

“Ride” he ordered and you made a small pout, pressing your hands to his chest as you slowly lifted your hips. You closed your eyes slowly beginning to set a pace, his hand still holding your head back. His lips went to your neck sending hot kisses along your neck, teeth scraping at your throat as he began to buck into you while you moved. You moaned brokenly bracing against his shoulders as he tugged up into quicker than you could bounce. Your legs burned and you couldn’t move very quick.

“Did I say stop?” He snarled against your throat giving a rather harsh bite.

“Hurts” you whined and he laughed making you whimper softly.

“Always doing everything myself” he tsked, but you were suddenly on the bed, Raphael on top of you setting a hard pace that knocked the air out of your lungs. You gripped his arms as he snarled softly in your ear his tail swishing behind him every now and then. His wings stuttered with his movements and for some reason you found yourself reaching for them. You ran your hand over the leather skin and felt him shudder above you and stop. You froze thinking you did something wrong as he panted in your ear. You raised your eyebrows slightly before you began stroking down the wing and his body shuddered in response, his wings fluttering slightly, it felt good to him. His hips continued their hard pace from before and you moaned arching your back as you continued touching his wings, his harsh pants filling your ears. You suddenly felt an invisible force against your clit though and you let out a strangled moan at the sudden pleasure coursing through you. Your stomach tightened and you gripped the sheets under you as he chuckled in your ear softly.

“Come on pretty dove, come” he snarled softly and you cried out as you did, your body twitched with shocks and pleasure. His hips moved more desperate as he groaned quietly. You reached your hands up again touching his wings again his hips stuttering and stopping as he shuddered and came growling softly. Your hands fell back to the mattress as you panted as he pulled out and moved off you lying on his stomach beside you.

“Quite the show” you screamed at the sudden voice as you saw a figure in the darkness. Raphael growled as you saw another devil with similar looks.

“Fuck off Haarlep! Know when you’re needed!” Raphael snapped nothing like his dignified self, his wing going over you, covering you from the other devils eyes.

“So boring” the devil pouted and disappeared making you stare at the spot he was just at, how long was he there.

“He just arrived he didn’t see anything I made sure of it” he said grumbling. You glanced to the devil, not his usual self almost his wing leaving your body. You rolled over hand hesitating as you reached out to touch his wings again, they fascinated you. His body shuddered as his head snapped to yours and you held your hand back.

“I like them” you said embarrassed as he frowned slightly glancing back to them before smirking.

“I’ll have to keep you my little dove” he said and you frowned.

“This was transactional” you said tugging at the sheets a little, what a way to loose your virginity.

“Who doesn’t mix pleasure and business” he grinned coming to lean over you again.

“Besides-“ he began kissing you with hot lips and you moaned.

“Our journey has only began” he smirked and snapped his fingers. You found yourself back in the run down room, clothes on like nothing had happened, time hadn’t moved, you were in the devils clutches.

[meanbossart]

I gotta ask this has been rattling in my brain for a while.

How did your DU drow react when Astarion asked him for help with the ritual? What were his thoughts? Or was he simply like stop it, no, we aren't doing that. OH, How did you picture your Astarion and DU Drow react after he "died" and was brought back? I know that we don't really get that much dialogue or reaction from the companions when that happens (Praying they add something later down the line in another patch)

Again thank you for sharing your beautiful art and fanfic with all of us its so refreshing to see!!! :)

OHOHOHO I'm glad you asked. I feel like that first question is very revealing of DU drow's character and It was a fun moment to ponder upon, because I think much of his behavior might lead one to believe he would be willing to go along with whatever Astarion wants, instead of pushing back at all, at least on the surface.

There's two factors at play here - first, DU drow knows of his heritage at that point, and thanks to the blank-slate treatment of the tadpole he's gotten a brand new perspective on it by the time he learns of the truth. Prior to losing his memories, accepting the fate that Bhaal had bestowed onto him felt like a choice and the best thing that ever happened to him in life, a confirmation that he was special and destined for greatness instead of just damned to the lowly existence he had endured so far. After his brain is scrambled however, DU drow got a taste of what true freedom feels like while unburdened by his upbringing; he's strong, he's powerful, he's self-sufficient, he enjoys the fruits of his labor without appreciating what got him here - he does not feel like he needs Bhaal, and the fact he ever did is laughable at best and violating at worse. This leads him to abhor the idea of depending on higher power to succeed instead of just raising oneself up by their own merits, or abiding by any mentality where you take orders from a source.

So when Astarion speaks of ascension, and especially after he learns of the source of that power (Infernal magic) he's disillusioned by it. While his memories are still hazy, the situation still feels awfully familiar to him. He doesn't think Astarion needs that higher power because he doesn't, either, and to take it would surrendering to fear and giving away even more of his autonomy than he already has.

And if that sounds a little self centered and like he's missing some of the point, it's because he is. While DU drow has fallen in love with Astarion by that stage in the story and wants what's best for him (he actually entertains the idea of him ascending up to a point - he wants him to be happy) he still has a difficult time empathizing with others. Ascending feels like a bad choice, but he can only justify that feeling from his own, narrow perspective.

(I mused on about characterization for too long again. So more under the cut - the sky is blue the sun is hot etc.)

Then there's the uglier, far more vulnerable and knee-jerk reaction to it. Now that Bhaal is no longer his purpose in life or the gift he once felt it to be, Astarion has taken it's place. Bhaal needed DU drow, in his eyes, much like Astarion does now. And as much as the vampire might have told him that his feelings on the matter changed (and that he was no longer manipulating DU drow for his own ends alone) he can't fathom a reason to be kept around unless he continues to be needed. He has slotted himself as Astarion's protector and devotee, and a vampire lord does not sound like they need much of either.

As much as he would never admit to it, DU drow does not know a life where he doesn't pledge himself, body and soul, to another purpose. He seems like he's happy to barrel through life directionless, but he needs something that anchors him or he has an inexplicable feeling that something terrible will happen. And honestly, maybe he's right - for a man who loves killing, he has a much easier time applying some strategy to that desire as long as he's doing it to some an specific end. Without Astarion, he probably feels like his choices are to either submit to his hedonism entirely or just lie down and die.

I don't need to spell out that this is pure codependency at it's finest.

So, when Astarion asks for help to complete the ritual he is conflicted. He wants to do whatever Astarion wants, but his brain is setting off alarm bells that, if he acquiesces, this will be the end for them and for him. And whatever comes after is a terrifying void of nothing. While he loves Astarion and ultimately does the right choice in pleading with him to give up on this power, his motivations are far from selfless or pure, as much as DU drow may not yet realize it.

This is why, after everything takes place, and specially once he severs his connection to Bhaal and his mind clears a little further, DU drow would go on to grapple with a lot of guilt for taking this opportunity away from Astarion, as I have touched on in the fic and will continue to do so. He's happy to feel like he has a reason to be kept around, but the inevitable hurdles that Astarion must continue to face as a spawn are obviously painful to witness. This is why he dives full force into trying to "fix" his vampirism instead, following that.

NOW, FOR THE NEXT AND HOPEFULLY FAR BRIEFER ANSWER TO YOUR OTHER QUESTION (spoiler alert, it's not brief at all, god damn it):

Yeah everyone just standing around in that scene feels little weird LOL not that it took away too much from how dope a cutscene it was (I probably watched it with the attentiveness of a sport's fan witnessing a footbal game turning in the last 10 minutes of a match) but If I were to embellish it instead of just going with something like "everyone is shell-shocked and paralyzed", I would say Shadowheart is the first to rush over to see if there's anything at all she can do to help, and probably the first (and only, in that moment) to break down crying. I think she very quickly composes herself after he's brought back, tells him he gave her the scare of a fucking lifetime and that he's the luckiest idiot in all of the realms - but that she's glad he's back. No hugs for him though LOL

Astarion is pretty much the opposite, that he would stand there in shock feels kind of apt to me. Like, holy shit, what just happened? Did one of the only good things in my life really just get taken away in the blink of an eye? Am I just cursed to have everything snatched away from my hand as soon as I'm growing comfortable with it? Yes, of course I am. What else did I expect. When DU drow pops back up he's probably like "Oh yeah I knew it'd be fine" (plus the little Twee comment, that was very funny to me.) and DU drow is similarly going "Oh definitely, it was my plan all along to be killed and then resurrected by an ominous house-keeper skeleton this whole time. Anyway, smooch for a dead man?"

This... Clearly very traumatic little incident is probably addressed by them only later. He gets a kiss and a hug at camp and a very stern "if you do that shit again I'm raising you back up just to kill you myself" from Astarion and Shadowheart's just down to drink in celebration and drown her trauma away for now lmao.

OH YEAH AND GALE WAS ALSO THERE. There was a whole Gale debacle in my playthrough but, the TL;DR, is that especially towards the end of the game he was Not in the best of terms with DU drow. Still, I obviously think he's an empathetic person and had his own "oh shit" moment. I'd say he takes this opportunity to try extending a very sincere hand out to him later that day, both for his courage in defying a god and dumb-luck - which DU drow completely passes on like an asshole and just gives him a cold-shoulder about, leaving feeling even more dejected than he already was and probably further cementing his choice to pursue the crown of Karsus later, despite DU drow's disapproval. Good job buddy!

Thank you so much for the ask and for your lovely compliments!!! Sorry for writing you a dang ESSAY 😬

[hypostatic-oath]

I've the post about how you think comps would work and we are allow to ask. Assuming I read that right.

And if so, I was wonder if you had any thoughts on how Dehya, Zhongli, Ei or Nahdia team would interact. Especially when I often joke she the bodyguards to three Archons, even if she doesn't know Zhongli was a former Archon it still funny to me.

DEHYA MY BELOVED-

I can see her being very proud of being Nahida's bodyguard. That one is obvious right off the bat, those two would absolutely adore each other.

Dehiya is thankful for the old consultant on her team. There is something odd about the man, always in those heavy robes that cover his full body - she has no doubt that out of all of them, he'd have the hardest time in the desert. And yet, the refined gentleman never seems to issue a complaint.

They've developed a kinship, she figures, of being the two mortals sided by two gods. Dehiya assumes he is the one meant to watch over the Electro Archon, just as she is the protector of Lesser Lord Kusanali. His shield is nearly impenetrable, and he is rarely ever startled... to her, it makes sense why you'd chosen him to be Eternity's guardian, even though the man hails from Liyue and not Inazuma.

They get along well, too - Ei seems to hold as much respect for him as he does for her, and the two converse with an ease that highlights the consultant's old age.

As for Nahida, she is slightly nervous. It is true that with Dehiya as her protector, and Rex Lapis raisong those shields of his, nothing will ever harm her. But she is still aprehensive to speak to the other two Archons - it has been a long time, and she has no idea how to introduce herself. She wonders if you'll give them time to play hopscotch together sometime amidst your exploration.

When you name Dehiya as the "Archons' Bodyguard", Ei is curious. She has fought for her entire life. Her skills are unparallelled. Why would she need a bodyguard? She's asked Morax about it, confused. Did you think she was weak? The old dragon had only laughed and said it was probably some sort of term of endearment - that Dehiya had been a bodyguard by trade before. Nevertheless, Ei was still curious about the woman's skill. Whenever you're logged off, the two can be found sparring. Both of them appreciate the opportunity to train.

During these times, the God of Wisdom sits next to the funeral consultant. Though reluctant at firstn their conversation ends up flowing. It is widely known that Zhongli likes to talk, and Buer, if given the chance and the encouragement to do so, will ramble about almost any topic. They have you to thank for placing them together in a team - they've become fast friends, and Nahida feels much more confident about approaching the rest of the Archons.

As for Ei and Nahida, it is almost the opposite. Both have been isolated for far too long, and neither knows how to start. The Raiden Shogun is an intimidating god, and her silence makes Nahida wonder if the ruler of Inazuma would even care to speak to her. As for Ei, she simply enjoys that Nahida has chosen to sit beside her, unaware of the God of Dendro's struggle as they both sit in silence. They eventually bond over their shared love for sweets, and as they grow closer, Nahida's worries diminish. It is not that Ei looks down on her - the Shogun is simply just as bad at interacting with new people as she is, or perhaps even worse. Kusanali is instilled with newfound resolve - she will share with the Electro Archon all that she's learnt from you and the Traveler when it comes to talking to others!

After months of traveling together, of being guided by you all across Teyvat, Dehiya has begun to suspect that there might be something odd about one of her travel companions.

You've named her the Archons' Bodyguard - Archons, plural - so what is Zhongli's role? The more she learns about the Shogun, the more she wonders why the Electro Archon would even need a bodyguard, let alone two.

Plus, the man's occupation makes no sense whatsoever. How does a funeral consultant learn to fight like that? He wears gloves, so she cannot thell whether his hands are calloused, but she's willing to wager they might be - he swings his polearm with an ease that tells her he is an experienced fighter. His dominion over his element is astonishing, and there is something... off, about how both her Archon and the Shogun talk to and about him.

Maybe one day one of them will slip off and call him Morax in front of her. Or maybe one day you'll tell her who he is. Either way, Zhongli drfinitely won't open up - both to preserve his secret identity, and because he knows that Dehiya finds comfort in the notion that she's not the only mortal among them.

[scarsmood]

Otherkinity and misogyny

Read time 10-15 min

I have taken some time to sit and think about this topic for quite some time. Let's look at some sterotypes i'm sure you've seen this meme:

Meme can be found here

Credit @pupvi

I think it posses a good question about why this is so prevalent. Why are there so many either edgy or very cutesy otherkin blogs with seemingly no inbetween? How come there seems to be a prevalence for popular blogs to be darker in canine circles? Is this true for other spheres?

This is a result I see most in canine circles and less in others like paleotherians or dragons. Which i think is fascinating. I think it's because dogs and all canines have very strong roles in several different cultures which in turn makes them have a sociological pressure to fill these roles. I think this is a result of being a human bodied animal where we interact with human based concepts all the time and in turn intertwine them with our own beliefs even if they aren't 'technically' how an animal may act.

Interestingly in a paper i was reading, it suggested that the post modernity life style humans live currently is pretty divorced from animals. Humans dont see animals as in the same group as them. With otherkinity being an exception. This wasn't always the case either. In far earlier civilizations animals could be tried for crimes and considered in law. I think the current view humans have of animals is a result of this divorce from them. We have romanticized them and see them as a mythical or archetypical figure rather than one of us.

For example dogs in western culture we have a few concepts: The dog is a protector, the dog is friend and loyal companion, the dog is a mother or caregiver. This results in a pressure for those ideals to be intertwined with who we are. It's difficult to be a dog and grow up with these ideas all around you and not latch onto them. I don't think it's a surprise. Ironically i think this makes a sort of weird mimicry for otherkin experiences we want to be animals as closely as possible but a lot of people in the community are not in a place where they can access wilderness freely. Let alone understand it free from human allegories or symbology.

I don't think were failing as animals either for playing into these human made roles. They are unique to the human bodied experience and I think that should be cherished. I think otherkin may be some of the few human bodied individuals still looking for true connection with nature. I think interestingly we can be advocates and be a gateway for other humans to understand nature more.

We circle back to misogyny which is a result of human made roles. Misogyny plays a role into how we identify based on what humans consider to be masculine and feminine. This is dependent on culture. Some cultures share similar ideals about animals while others may differ. Which means animals can be assigned masculine or feminine based on innate traits about them. This in turn effects how we perceive each other due to our background and culture.

Misogyny is silent at times and the oppression of femininty is present still. As an undertone to otherkinity masculine kintypes may be taken more seriously. Wolves, dragons, predators, ect while feminine animals may be suppressed or seen less often. Cats, bunnies, prey animals. This isn't always true in every case just as a general trend.

I dont think this is on purpose. Rather an unconscious leaning towards masucline things to be more "real" and "realness" used to be very important within otherkin and (mainly) therian communities. Which is ironically also a trait of toxic masculinity. I think some aspects of how we perceive and want to be perceived makes impacts on our blogs.

Tumblr specifically relies a lot on aesthetic typically blogs that have a strong aesthetic may be seen as more appealing compared to something that's more barebones. With masculine leaning blogs about darker tones, gore, trauma, they tend to do very well in receiving attention. Both from a strong aesthetic and that subliminal leaning. I think there is an audience for softcore and plushcore blogs but mixing it with otherkinity seems to be uncommon unlike darker blogs.

I think it comes down to we see those gritty blogs as what aligns with masculinity and what is more credible and real. With a previous and slowly dying down culture of what is considered "real" otherkinity and what isn't this leaves a leaning on gritty darker blogs seeming to have a better reach. I think this lean is a ghost of what was almost a decade ago in the otherkin community.

This leads into my experience. I've had my blog for about 3 years now and started it by writing dark, gritty poems. Sometimes almost everyday. I know of other blogs that started roughly the same time as me but didn't result in the same amount of reach. I partly wonder if the daily activity and the combinations of cryptid/ dark aesthetic being more popular back then contributed to the attention I got in the beginning. All i did was write poems (for the most part) and still received a decent amount of attention / followers.

What I was expecting less was seeing my identity shift from my original 'design' or appearance into the red woods threatening wolf. The first thing I noticed in that transition was that I couldn't heavily identify with wolves anymore. After learning about my species more and actually fully accepting that it was matriarchal over patriarchal it left me feeling more lost compared to the typical otherkin experience. (Wolf dominated in most spaces i was in) My experience didn't feel as validating and I was left looking for something more from the community.

I was not aware at the time this would be a more major shift in how I would be treated to. Threatening wolves have ranks and learning I am cogmol which is the smallest, meekest and most disposable. I was sitting in a place that was equated with feminity suddenly. I wasn't sure how to process it so I just didn't. I accepted that was my role and moved on.

Over the year or two since I shifted my identity I do feel as though i'm not quite on the same level as others at times. I read about some experiences about other interactions in the community and feel at times I get different reactions just cause I either can't relate to the power exchange socially or because people see me differently after they learn about me.

This gets more emphasized when deer alters front who will (were planning at least) for them to front more frequently. Which means more deer content and deer identity. However that also means giving up being a threatening wolf as the main identity. The shift may take awhile but already they comment a bit that it's going to take some effort to find a community.

There isn't a very big deer community in otherkin tumblr circles. It was a bit of a struggle finding the paleokin community but it does exist at least. Deer feel like they fell off the face of the earth. It might be more beneficial to look at furry communities for deer fursonas first and then find people through that instead.

When my deer alters front they note a sense of being seen as weak or easily killable, prey, ect. Lots of predator prey interactions that do not favor the prey. While there are some blogs like poppy whose a bison. They don't feel like they quite fit in the same category as most of our alters are deer esc with typical attributes related to beauty and femininity. Thin, skinny, and 'dainty' seeming.

While most are male some are female and do not even want to exist around the community in fear of having to deal with some less tasteful people. It's no surprise deer are associated with meekness and gentle attributes which leads to some rough experiences. In the beginning of my therian journey I identified as both a wolf and a female deer. I was quickly tossed around verbally for being a deer so bad that within a day or two at best i completely dropped that aspect of myself.

I wonder if this is still an issue today. I'd love to hear other peoples experiences on it since i'm just starting to explore the deerkin community and only on and off make posts about it. I'm hoping eventually i'll learn more but for now i'm far and away from other deerkin I think.

The best way I think to curb this behavior is to participate in other communities and create more diverse cultures. Lots of otherkin are punk, anarchists, goth, pagan and the list goes on. Making more diverse aesthetics may give people the space to feel more comfortable showing more vulnerable aspects of themselves.

Sometimes newbies are driven off from intimidation from the community I think keeping on track and being more chill with what's acceptable and how to express yourself helps a lot.

Overall, I think this is something that's kinda there. It has just enough impact to kind of make other more feminine identities skirt away. It's annoying but I think if people (me included) do a some tonal shifting if they feel inclinded to do so will help make the community feel more diverse and safe.

[bagelrites]

^^^ It has come to my attention that whatever I post next (this post) will be my 5,000th post, so I've decided to make it a special one!

Did you know that I started this blog, it was originally named OfDemonsAndDruids, because all I intended to really post about was my fanfic series by the same name? And if you did know that, congrats! And thanks for sticking around, that's so cool :)

And for the rest of you! you will now be indoctrinated by the epic ODAD lore (which plagues my drain to this day, even after writing 176k words about it.)

George is the crown prince of the Mushroom Kingdom, a secluded but prosperous country which boasts powerful druid magic and control over the Lichens, a strange yet formidable species which bonds with humans when their true name is spoken. George, as the prince, is given a Lichen to bond with when he's sixteen, and the Lichen will serve as his guard, protector, and servant for the rest of his life.

Dream is that Lichen, though his real name isn't Dream. Dream is the "code" by which he goes so no one other than George can speak his true name. He has been trained his whole life to serve the royal family and to protect George with his superhuman powers of speed, strength, and stamina. He wears a mask, as do all Lichens, because their most powerful skill is that of control. When a Lichen looks at someone with their bare eyes, they can completely control that person (and yes, he can see through the mask. It's magic.)

Sapnap is, well, just some guy! He lives in a village north of the Mushroom Kingdom, but longs to leave home and go on an adventure. Maybe someday his dreams can be fulfilled...

Bad is a full-blooded demon, or at least he appears to be, when he wears his enchanted cloak which casts a shadow over his face. He's worked for years building a reputation as the best bounty hunter in the Nether, and works with his team of white wolves to hunt down his bounties.

Skeppy is an imp, a species closely related to demons, though they're about half the size and have wings instead of horns and a fuzzy tail. They're also shapeshifters, and don't follow the code of order that demons do. Instead, they're led only by chaos and a drive for trickery. Skeppy and Bad have been friends for a long time, though that friendship mostly consists of Skeppy teasing and trolling Bad, and sometimes his pranks go too far...

I've just barely scratched the surface about these guys (like this literally doesn't even get into the main plot) so if you're curious, give it a read!

Symbiosis is the main fic in the series, and follows George through the events of a war between the Demons and the Mushroom Kingdom. It's 100k words and very plotty, and focuses on DNF and the four muffinteer's freindship.

Maladaptation is the companion fic to Symbiosis, which follows Bad and Skeppy through the same events, but showing a very different perspective. It's 70k and just as plotty, but focuses on Skephalo (as well as Quackity and Skeppy's friendship - I started writing it over a year ago...)

And Devotion is a short follow-up to Symbiosis, which is basically just a nsfw DNF one shot that shows a bit of Dream's POV on his relationship with George.

While it's been almost a year since I've worked on this series, I want to say that I'm not done with it and I do plan on writing more in 2024, because I've been having some serious brainworms about these guys. But regardless, I hope you enjoyed learning about my complicated fantasy AU, or if you've read Symbiosis, that you enjoyed this walk down memory lane.

With that said, happy 5,000 posts to this blog! Here's to 5,000 more 🥳🎉

[anna-the-undertaker]

The Hunter Becomes the Hunted

I have more ideas for Badass MC and have taken a lot of inspiration from Supernatural. This is slightly different, though, and focused specifically on a female MC. I might give this OC a name. If you have ideas for one let me know:

Armor Art

After Lilith was reborn into human form, as she matured, fragments of her celestial past began to resurface despite Diavolo's attempt to erase her memory. Memories of her time as an angel gradually returned, though the specifics of her rebirth remained elusive.

Over time, through relentless practice, she managed to rekindle some of her angelic powers, particularly her skill in summoning celestial weapons at will. Silently honing her abilities, she painstakingly learned to wield these gifts without endangering herself or others in her newfound human existence. With each passing day, her muscle memory gradually reawakened until she attained a semblance of mastery, adapting to the limitations of her mortal form.

As she reached adulthood, Lilith assumed the mantle of humanity's protector, driven by an enduring love for the beings she cherished. Vigilant against both angelic and demonic threats, she passed down her skills to her daughters, then their daughters, and their daughters, creating a lineage of guardians spanning generations.

However, as time marched on, the noble cause she championed began to fray at the edges, tainted by the relentless march of human ambition and pride. Dogma hardened into unyielding doctrine, and corruption seeped into the fabric of her legacy. And the power passed down waned, sealed away through the mixing of bloodlines.

Centuries after Lilith's passing, MC emerged into a world practically devoid of celestial or demonic presence. One of the lucky few over generations to have been born with the power to use weapon summoning. Armed with the techniques of her forebears, she displayed remarkable prowess and dedication from a tender age, assuming the mantle of hunter at a mere sixteen. Dispatching angels and demons alike, she began to question the righteousness of her cause. Why were these beings targeted? Had they truly committed wrongdoing, or were they merely puppets of human whims?

Years later, one fateful encounter with a young demon challenged MC's convictions. Confronted by the genuine fear and innocence in the demon's eyes, she hesitated, recognizing the injustice of her actions. Letting mercy guide her, she allowed the demon to escape, defying the expectations of her kin. But this act of compassion came at a cost — her status was revoked, and she was shunned from her family's legacy, her very existence erased from their annals.

In the present day, MC finds herself summoned to the Devildom, expecting retribution for her past deeds. To her surprise, the demons are oblivious to her lineage and history, and she resolves to keep it that way, having left her former life behind.

Despite her best efforts to suppress her instincts, a confrontation during the TSL quiz exposes her true nature. In a split-second decision, she defends herself against an enraged Levi, revealing herself to the stunned onlookers with a display of angelic weaponry. Though she spares him harm, the revelation leaves all present dumbfounded, questioning the depths of her secrets.

The dreaded day had arrived, and MC found herself standing in the council room facing Leviathan, whose smug expression grated on her nerves. She silently hoped to navigate through this ordeal swiftly, reluctant to escalate tensions with her new found companions. However, deep down, she knew that a confrontation was inevitable.

"Alright, everyone! Finally, the wait is over! It's time for Devil's Trivia Showdown, the quiz show that pits demon against human!" Asmo's melodious voice rang out.

MC couldn't help but smirk inwardly at the irony of his statement.

As Asmo continued his introduction, MC observed Leviathan's prideful demeanor, sensing his unwavering confidence in victory. She felt a twinge of guilt for what she was about to do, but she couldn't let his overconfidence go unchallenged.

"I am the G.O.A.T. None can oppose me!" Leviathan boasted.

"And his challenger claims to have been introduced to TSL only very recently after binge watching the DVDs! Say hello to MC!" Asmo declared.

With a polite wave and a small smile, MC acknowledged the introduction, mentally preparing herself for the impending quiz.

Leviathan's bluster and threats didn't intimidate her, and with each correct answer she provided, she could sense his frustration mounting, exacerbated by Satan's commentary.

When the moment came to reveal her trump card, Leviathan erupted into a rage, vehemently denying her assertion with a torrent of protests. Yelling that the Lord of Masks wouldn't do such a thing to the Lord of Shadow.

"Lies, all of it! Pure hogwash! Don't think you can fool me by making up random stuff like that!" he bellowed.

Interrupting his tirade, Diavolo interjected with a calm, observant tone, "Hmm. Actually, MC doesn't appear to be lying as far as I can see."

"Levi, you know as well as I do that Lord Diavolo has the ability to discern whether someone is telling the truth." Satan added.

Leviathan's protestations faltered, disbelief etched on his features as he struggled to reconcile his convictions with the truth before him.

"But...no...! Everyone online has been talking about how the Lord of Masks and the Lord of Shadow are totally going to make up... What you said CAN'T happen! It...it just CAN'T!"

Leviathan's transformation was swift. With a surge of dark energy, his form contorted and shifted, the air crackling with unsuppressed power. In an instant, his slender frame elongated and his features sharpened, his skin taking on a sheen of iridescent scales. Horns sprouted from his forehead, curving gracefully as his eyes blazed with a molten hue, reminiscent of lava that boiled the deepest reaches of the ocean. His serpentine tail thrashed and lashed out with erratic intensity, mirroring the agitated movements of a threatened serpent.

Leviathan lunged towards her, and time seemed to slow to a crawl. Despite the urgent warnings from Mammon to flee, MC's instincts held her firmly in place. With desperation coursing through her veins, she summoned her magic, a claymore materializing in her grasp while armor enveloped her body in a protective embrace.

Shifting her stance just in time, she deftly dodged to her left, using the flat side of the blade to intercept Leviathan's attack and push him away. The vibrations of his scales against the blade sent a shiver down her spine, and she silently prayed that she hadn't inflicted any harm, though deep down, she doubted her abilities to cause him significant injury.

As the claymore vanished, replaced by a shield and spear, MC turned toward her opponent and could feel the weight of everyone's gaze upon her. Her heart hammered in her chest, knowing that her true nature had been laid bare, and that she faced imminent danger.

Leviathan rose from where he had fallen, his rage palpable in the air. MC knew that her initial success had been a result of surprise, and she doubted her chances of repeating it.

"Please, don't force my hand," she pleaded. "I don't want this, but I'll defend myself if I must, even if I know the odds are against me."

The chamber fell into an uneasy silence, broken only by the ominous hiss of Leviathan's discontent. Before the tension could escalate further, Diavolo's commanding voice sliced through the air like a scythe.

"Stand down, Leviathan," he ordered, his authority brooking no dissent.

Leviathan's protests withered in the face of the Demon Lord's command, and all eyes turned to Diavolo as he addressed MC with measured scrutiny.

"Look at me," he commanded, and she obeyed, steeling herself for what was to come.

"So, you are a hunter," Diavolo stated matter-of-factly.

"I… yes, but no longer. I left that path behind years ago," she confessed, her words weighted with remorse and resignation.

It felt as though she stood on trial, offering her final confession before an inevitable reckoning.

"Were you ever going to tell us?" Mammon's voice cut through the tension, his hurt palpable.

MC sighed heavily, her gaze shifting between the assembled figures. "No. I wanted nothing more to do with it."

"Why?" Diavolo's question hung heavy in the air, demanding honesty.

"Because our purpose had been twisted from protecting humanity's free will to become senseless slaughter," she admitted, her voice tinged with regret. "I won't deny that I took pride in it in the beginning. The ego boost from besting entities who were supposed to be far more powerful than I was intoxicating. It wasn't until my hands were stained with the blood of many angels and demons that I realized what it was I was truly doing."

As she allowed her weapons and armor to dissipate, MC's gaze fell to the floor, heavy with the weight of the lives lost by her hand. Faces of beings flashed before her eyes — some had fought fiercely, others had surrendered, while some had never even seen her coming.

"The more I came into contact with them, the less I could see them as mere creatures to be culled for humanity's protection," she confessed. "They were people, with wants and fears, individuals who had been born into their roles without choice. They had no control over which realm they were born into. They had feelings, desires, just like I did. And most had been summoned to the human realm against their will, called forth by humans seeking blessings or curses. From then on, I let mercy guide me."

"For that," she continued, her voice growing faint, "my sisters in arms cast me out, wiping my name from our history."

Mammon's features twisted with a mixture of hurt and disbelief as MC's confession unfolded before them. His eyes, wide with shock, darted between her and the others in the chamber, struggling to reconcile the image of his friend being a hunter. A pang of betrayal pierced his heart, as if the ground beneath their bond had shifted. Yet, beneath the hurt, there lingered a glimmer of understanding, a recognition that there was more to MC's story than met the eye. Despite the tumult of emotions swirling within him, Mammon's gaze remained locked on MC, silently conveying his unwavering support and the hope that their bond would endure.

Lucifer's stoic facade remained unyielding, though a flicker of suspicion danced in his steely gaze. His keen mind worked overtime, dissecting her words for any hint of deception or ulterior motive. The revelation only served to validate his lingering doubts about MC, solidifying his belief that her presence among them was fraught with hidden agendas. His eyes narrowed ever so slightly, a subtle indication of the wariness that had plagued him since their first encounter. He made a mental note to keep a closer eye on her, his resolve to protect his brothers from any potential threat only strengthened by her confession.

Beel's expression softened with empathy. Though surprised, he regarded her with a gentle understanding, his eyes reflecting a depth of compassion that surpassed judgment. Despite the weight of her past actions, Beel recognized the sincerity in MC's words, sensing the turmoil she must have endured.

Asmo's demeanor shifted subtly, his usual indifference replaced by a flicker of curiosity fueled by self-interest. While initially uninterested in her presence, the revelation of her past as a hunter ignited a spark that had previously been absent. His gaze lingered on her, though his scrutiny was not born out of empathy or concern, but rather a selfish desire to satisfy his own curiosity. The prospect of unraveling the mysteries surrounding her magic holding a tantalizing allure.

Leviathan's eyes widened in shock, his jealous outburst forgotten. Their past dealings flickered through his mind, casting a shadow of doubt over his perception of her. While he had once viewed her as nothing more than a means to an end, her sudden revelation threatened to upend his carefully constructed worldview. His paranoia, a constant companion, whispered doubts in his ear, urging him to distance himself. The notion of forging a pact with MC, despite their agreement, now seemed fraught with uncertainty.

Satan's eyes gleamed at the promise of uncharted knowledge, his mind ablaze with a myriad of questions, each craving to unravel the enigma of her past and the intricate motivations of her order.

"How is it that your 'sisters' managed to elude discovery for so long?" he inquired, his voice laced with curiosity. "Centuries of clandestine hunts on both celestial and infernal fronts surely would have left a mark. When did this begin? And who was its progenitor?"

MC hesitated, her uncertainty stemming from the lingering remnants of spells that had once bound her to silence.

"Our origins trace back to a single woman, though her identity remains unknown to me," she revealed. "Details of her existence were obscured, relegated to forbidden archives. What I do know is that each of us is a descendant of hers, inheriting not only her lineage but also her magic. I am the first in three generations to manifest this magic, however. The dilution of our bloodline has dimmed the genes potency."

A mix of astonishment and relief bloomed in her chest, a surge of liberation coursing through her veins. She had shattered the shackles of secrecy that bound her, reclaiming her voice after years of silent submission.

Undeterred, MC forged ahead, her loyalty to her sisters eroded by the passage of time. "As for our concealment, with each entity vanquished, we acquired new arcane arts, using them to cloak our existence and our elders used them to enforced our silence. Moreover, our armor veils our very souls, rendering us indistinguishable to both demon and angel when not in the field."

Diavolo cut in, prompting MC to look at him.

"Why reveal this now?" he pressed.

"Because I dedicated countless hours to unraveling the bindings that once tethered me," she declared, her tone resolute. "I refused to remain ensnared by chains that held no sway over me any longer."

Satan's contemplative gaze bore into MC before posing his next question, "How is that a meer human like yourself, magic aside, has been able to overpower angels and demons?"

"As I'm sure you know," she began, "angels and demons are inherently weakened when traversing the human realm. Some magics draw upon the energy of their respective realms, and when removed from that source, they become vulnerable to manipulation and restraint. This vulnerability applies primarily to lesser demons and angels. However, it's important to note that our tactics would prove practically useless against beings such as yourselves or the Archangels. Hence, why you have never been targeted."

Barbatos maintained his serene composure. He regarded her with a knowing gaze. His powers had afforded him a unique perspective. Though he had been privy to MC's past as a hunter, only sharing his discovery with the demon lord, Barbatos had seen no cause for concern. In his eyes, her journey had been one of growth and redemption, and he quietly observed her honesty in this moment with quiet approval.

Diavolo's cheerful demeanor returned. Barbatos' subtle encouragement had indeed led him to ponder the implications of MC's past. Yet, rather than rushing to judgment, he had chosen to reserve his conclusions until after getting to know her better and her honesty in this solidified his trust in her. In his eyes, compassion and understanding were the cornerstones of effective leadership, and he applied this principle not only to his fellow demons but also to humanity.

Diavolo's laughter filled the room, resonating with a warmth that belied the gravity of the moment. "Thank you for your honesty. It's clear to me that you've been truthful. I'm delighted to say that you truly were the perfect candidate for the exchange program."

Gasps of astonishment reverberated from the others, even Lucifer's usually composed facade cracked with surprise, while MC stood in disbelief, her jaw nearly hitting the floor.

"You knew?" she stated, shock written across her face.

"Of course," Diavolo replied with an unwavering smile. "We took great care in selecting participants for this program, ensuring the safety and integrity of all involved. I must say, I'm impressed by your ability to keep it hidden for so long, and equally surprised that others hadn't noticed your familiarity with certain subjects."

"But why keep it a secret?" MC questioned, her confusion evident. "Wouldn't it have been simpler to address it from the outset?"

"While it may have been easier, it wouldn't have fostered growth or understanding," Barbatos interjected, prompted by his lord to offer insight. "Your past is best shared by you, the one who lived it. Each person's perspective shapes their understanding, and by witnessing your emotions and reactions, we've all gained a deeper understanding of this aspect of humanity allowing us to cultivate better relations in the future."

MC stood in stunned silence, her emotions swirling in a chaotic whirlwind of relief, confusion, and disbelief. She struggled to find the right words to express the myriad of feelings coursing through her, her mind reeling from the unexpected turn of events.

"I honestly expected you to throw me into a pit of fire after killing some of your people," she finally managed to voice.

Diavolo's laughter filled the room once more, echoing with a warmth that washed over her like a comforting embrace. "While the loss of my people is indeed a tragedy, it's important to remember that those of us gathered here have all taken lives in the past," he remarked, his tone gentle yet resolute. "It would be hypocritical for any of us to pass judgment on you. Besides, I have full confidence that you no longer harbor any intention of causing harm to anyone."

As the weight of Diavolo's words settled over the room, a sense of peace descended upon MC. She felt a burden she had carried for so long begin to lift from her shoulders.

With a grateful nod, MC found her voice once more. "Thank you," she said. "For seeing beyond this and giving me the chance to prove myself.

Diavolo's smile widened, and with a final glance around the room, MC let out a deep breath. She was ready to embrace this change and embark on the next chapter with courage and resilience.

This got weird toward the end because I'm tired and have only slept 6 hours in the last 48. I may or may not do one more chapter that includes relationship changes with the brothers and the introduction of Simeon, Luke, Solomon, and of course Belphie and their reactions to her past. It really depends on how im feeling and if I still have the urge to write. this whole thing probably sucks if im being honest.

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

omg bond would be an incredible choice for a knight/queen au,, I would go so crazy if you ever wrote that

Rating: Explicit - 18+ Only. Minors interacting with this work will be blocked.

Notes: Not beta-read. Reread several times and will probably spot 87 typos once I hit post.

Sometimes you write a regular fic and other times you find yourself googling whether or not people performed oral sex in the medieval era. it's all a crap shoot.

anyway.

Length: 7.9K

Warnings: Slow burn; explicit sexual content - oral sex; vaginal sex

From the moment that he kneels before you—as the light sets a halo about his blond hair, and as he tips his chin up to meet your eye and murmur his oath of fealty—you know that he’ll be trouble. It’s in the flash of his eye. 

His crisp blue gaze flickers to yours, and he shoots you a wink with such speed that your husband hardly has the chase to catch it. It makes your stomach flip with an allure and vehemence that nearly unseats your stern concentration.The feeling that rises in you isn’t love. It’s not even interest. 

It’s fear. 

-- 

He trails you like a shadow. 

You can’t blame him; you know that he acts on your husband’s orders. Blofeld worries for your youth, and fears the possibility that you may stray. You have a guard set on you every day and night. On the evenings that you don’t spend with Blofeld, you sleep with Bond posted just inside your door on your husband’s insistence, ensuring that your bed remains empty, and cold.

On those nights that he occupies the stool beside your door, you sleep very little. He stays awake out of a sense of duty; you stay awake with the lingering, heavy knowledge of the man just a few feet away. You know that he’s popular with the ladies of court. He can’t stride or ride by without inspiring the twittering of giggles and whispers by the ladies gazing from behind their fans, or over the tops of their books. You hear of his bawdy teasing, his warm smiles, his winks. You’ve never been privy to them, save for the single flash of a wink as he swore his oath to you, and to Blofeld. When your protector’s name and nighttime companion are brought up in conversation among your ladies, you force a straight face regardless of their speculations and teasing. For all of your interest and fascination, you have no right, no daring to look toward a knight with interest. 

Even if you did—even if you had any sort of designs on Bond, any interest in the way his gazes hold to yours, and the way his careful grasp lingers as he helps you from a horse or carriage—your affair would be nigh on impossible. 

It’s no matter. 

Your husband has spies in the court, so many that you have no trust in Bond’s exclusion among their number. You hardly trust your ladies maids. For all of their own secrets that they share, and their encouragement to trust them with the matters that occupy your head and heart, you shield yourself from them. 

Well, from most of them. 

Lady Eve is the only one of your ladies maids that came to Blofeld’s court with you when you were sent to wed him. She’s your only true confidant, quick with a smile and a joke if needed, and skilled at unsheathing her sharp tongue to guide the other ladies back into line if they begin to speak or act out of turn. She manages several duties that you wouldn’t trust others with: running messages, communicating with cooks and servants. Between Blofeld’s controlling insistences and Eve’s obliging care, you slowly build a wall around yourself, separating you from the court, and the people that look to your husband for guidance. 

--  

“You ought to try smiling one of these days.” 

It’s not an unexpected criticism, but it’s certainly an unwanted one. You’d be happy to spend the afternoon in the garden in a companionable quiet, but it seems that she has other plans. You cast Eve a surly glance, but her smile remains bright and unwavering. Her hands work just as steadily, knitting needles clicking softly as she casts off. 

“I mean it,” She insists, finally lowering her gaze to her work. “If you’re not careful, you’ll forget how.” 

You sigh softly, shoulder slouching slightly as you look around the expanse of grass, and the vines creeping up the sides of the castle walls. 

“I’ve no reason to smile.” 

“You’re alive. Is that not reason enough?” 

“No. It is not.”

“...You know what you ought to do.”

Your stomach churns with the conspiratorial edge to Eve’s voice. You glance toward her again to find her pointedly fixated on her craft. 

“It would never work,” You insist. 

“It could.”

“He would have my head.” 

“Only if you were caught.” 

Eve’s conspiratorial gaze flickers to you again, her smile widening. You can’t bring yourself to feel the same sense of mirth, of excitement. 

“Your Majesty.” 

You whirl around, spotting one of your husband’s advisors. Bond lingers not too far behind, his hand poised on his sword as if the man is a stranger—as if you’re about to ask him to take the advisor’s head off. 

“The King insists on your presence in the throne room.” 

You nod, stony-faced. “I will join him presently.” 

The advisor gives a low bow before he turns, striding away without you. You shift up onto your knees, wobbling as the fabric of your dress catches beneath your shoe. Before you can tumble backward, a firm hand rests against your lower back, and another hand catches hold of your own flailing one. You freeze at the steady contact, your eyes widening as you look up at Bond. He draws you up gently. Your legs feel unsteady, even when you’re drawn to your full height, with your feet planted firmly on the ground. Bond’s arm skims against your side, his fingers flexing in the fabric of your desk as his thumb sweeps tenderly across the side of your hand. It sends heat skittering through your body, and sets your heart fluttering in your chest. Bond’s eyes search yours in silence, his brow scrunching slightly. Your gaze drops to his lips, and damnably lingers as his pink tongue sweeps across his lip. 

You’re jolted by the clacking of Eve’s knitting needles, and the sound of her pointedly clearing her throat. You step out of Bond’s grasp, yanking your hand from his as you avert your nervous eyes. 

“...Thank you, Sir James.” 

“At your service, Your Majesty.” 

You stalk around him with Eve hot at your heels. You feel him tracking you as you leave him standing alone in the garden. 

--  

He would have your head. 

Blofeld is not known for a tendency toward kindness. He has a reputation for his traps, for tricking opponents into showing their hands for the purpose of identifying their weak spots. He makes no attempt to shield you from his bloodlust and cruelty. You take each instance of outward barbarism as a warning, each smiling goad and teasing admonition as a silent threat: 

This could be you.

--  

The festivities to celebrate the day of Blofeld’s birth are a mighty affair. The events are to last a week. Lords, ladies, vassals, and knights arrive from all over the kingdom. There are dances, plays, poetry readings—and most importantly, a tournament. Of all of these events, you know that it’s crucial that you’re present for the tournament. With all of his barbarity, Blofeld adores the play of war. He takes inordinate pleasure in watching his knights fight for his attention, and finds amusement in the spilling of their blood. 

You have little interest in watching men beat one another senselessly, but you know that you must make a public showing, not only for your husband, but for the court, and his people. 

For all of your impatience and disinterest, you can’t help but keep your eyes trained on Sir James. His form and composure are a fascinating sight. You see the man nearly every day, but hardly ever in this way. It bolsters your belief that should you be attacked in the night, the man hunkering by your door will protect you with his life—and come out cleanly on the other side. 

When he approaches the stands on horseback before the joust, you’re certain that he’ll ask your husband to look on him with approval. But after he dips his head in deference toward your husband, he turns his attention to you. 

“Your Majesty,” He speaks up loudly enough for others in the stands to hear him, “Would you do me the honor of allowing me to wear your favors today?”

You can see Blofeld turn to you expectantly out of the corner of your eye, and hear the murmur of others around you. In the two years you’ve been married to Blofeld, you’ve never given your favors to any knight—every knight has been too afraid of your husband to ask. And since the very first moment you saw Sir James, since he gave you that quick wink as he swore his fealty, he has avoided untoward outward displays of interest. This is hardly untoward, but you know that it’ll set tongues wagging among the court. Now, you rise from your seat, fingers twining in the rich purple fabric. Sir James raises his lance, resting it on the railing for the stand. You look down, fighting to steady your shaking fingers as you carefully tie and knot the favor around the lance’s blunted tip before you step back again. The two of you trade a genial nod before you lower yourself to sit on your cushioned seat again. With nothing else to hold to, you rest your hands on the arms of your seat. 

It’s no great surprise that with his skill, Bond rises through the standings throughout the tournament. You watch time and again as he lowers his visor, tilts his lance, and sends his opponents off-kilter, or crashing through the ground. But his form, while near-perfect, is not invincible. Perhaps it’s just as well that the one man that matches him equally is the one that he’s closest to in court. In the rare moments that you’ve seen Bond relaxed, he’s been with Sir Felix. They were squires with the same knight, became warriors in the same war—and, if rumor is to be believed, became men with the same woman. They are as near to brothers as any two unrelated men could be. 

Perhaps it’s this familiarity that drives them both to tilt with such ferocity—a ferocity that nearly knocks Bond from his horse during the second round. A gasp catches in your throat as James’ body is bounced, nearly prone in his saddle. It’s another moment before he straightens. As he removes his helmet, you can just make out his expression twisting with discomfort, his startled, dazed blinking as blood runs from his forehead, nearly obscuring one of his bright eyes. Your stomach flips, and you tighten your grip on the arms of the chair to keep from rising to your feet. You have a damnable urge to run to him, to use your sleeves to wipe the blood from his face, and insist that he leave the tournament to see a physician.

Bond just impatiently pushes his squire’s hand away as the young boy tries to clean the blood from his master’s head. Bond crams his helmet back onto his head and grasps his previously fallen lance. Your gaze darts between him and Sir Felix as each man takes up their positions. Blofeld leans in to you, mistaking your panic for rapt interest. 

“Now all Felix has to do to finish him off is land a blow to James’ arm,” He says, “And he’ll win the championship.” 

“Has he ever won before?” You ask. 

“No. There’s yet to be a tournament that Bond hasn’t won. But that is all about to change.

Turning to look at your husband, you find his smile split wide into a bloodcurdling giddy grin. When he turns it toward you, you push a smile onto your lips, and murmur, 

“If his defeat pleases you, then it shall please me.” 

Blofeld’s grin manages to widen, and he claps his hand over yours with stinging force. You break your attention from one another as the thundering of hooves fills the air. Your gut tightens, your heart sinks—and then soars as a solid blow sends Felix tumbling from his horse and onto the ground. The crowd roars as James hoists his lance high in victory with your favor blowing in the wind, and you have to bite back your own sound of excitement. You feel Blofeld’s grip go slack, then drop away to grudgingly applaud Bond’s efforts. 

Bond’s face is as victorious as he tosses off his helmet, despite the river of red obscuring part of his face. He turns finally to the stand again and slides from his horse, kneeling to Blofeld. 

You know that Bond will be crowned champion. You’re certain that your husband is displeased. 

-- 

For all of his cruelty, Blofeld hardly exerts that power over you in your bed chamber. You spend most nights alone, and it’s rare that he orders for you to join him. His birthday is always one such occasion. You resign yourself to a dispassionate evening—a handful of thrusts, an encouraging pat on your cheek, and a mumble of producing an heir before he rolls away from you. You’re certain that he spends most nights with other women. 

You are at once grateful and pitying of their place in your husband’s affections.

Tonight, there is no knight in your chamber. It’s simply you, your husband, and the shock of Bond’s bright gaze and shining halo of hair in your mind’s eye. 

--  

You’re told of Bond’s carousing. Eve recounts how the evening unfolded to you as you breakfast together in your chambers. She tells you that Sir James and Sir Felix’s antics continued through the evening, starting with an arm wrestle, and ending with a drinking contest. She teases that Sir James was seen leaving the hall, following Lady Vesper into the night. The news unsettles you so much that you lower the last of your bread, unable to stomach it. For all of Eve’s teasing, she quiets when she notes your discomfort. 

“...You would have enjoyed yourself,” She finally offers. 

“I did enjoy myself.” 

It’s a hollow insistence, and one that she knows as well as you is a lie. 

-- 

Despite his victory and the whispers of his evening with Lady Vesper, Bond is as attentive and consistent with his attention toward you the following day. He has a bandage on his head, and you recognize a smear of salve that the physician uses on wounds. You go about your day as usual, fighting the urge to ask Bond if he needs rest, or if he’s in any pain, if he feels that your favors brought him any luck. 

The question sits on your lips all day. In the evening, alone with him, you can’t bring yourself to quiet it anymore:

“Are you quite well?” 

He hasn’t settled on his stool yet. He stands firm by the door, his hands clasped in front of himself. Surprise flits across his expression so quickly that you nearly don’t catch it, but he smooths it away again. 

“Well, ma’am?” 

You swallow thickly, tightening your robe around yourself and gesturing toward the bandage on his forehead. 

“You took a hard hit at the tournament yesterday.” 

His hand raises to it, but he stops and lowers his hand before he can touch it. 

“I have taken worse.

“I’m sure.” 

Perhaps that was a wrong thing to say; Bond’s gaze seems to narrow just a touch. 

“I am well, ma’am.” 

You give a short nod, mumbling, “Good,” Before you shuffle over to your bed. You blow out the remaining candles, plunging the room into darkness before you shrug your robe off and toss it aside. You curl up under the covers, curling your arms under your pillow and peering toward the window as you hear Bond lower himself to the stool. Tonight, you can’t abide by the quiet. Tonight, you find yourself fearing that you may have offended James when you simply meant to ask after his help.

“Goodnight, Sir James,” You murmur. You hear nothing for a few long moments, and you resign yourself to a cold loneliness. And then, so softly that you nearly miss it— 

“Goodnight, ma’am.”   

--  

The trip is a mandatory one, and something that you’ve undertaken twice before. It’s customary for Blofeld to make the journey, as he has every year since he was a young boy. The trip is long and arduous, tracked over the same path time and time again. You school your focus and try to embroider or read, despite the lingering headache that it inspires. You’ve learned the hard way that Blofeld doesn't care for idle hands, even if the efforts are to your detriment. 

Still, you squint narrowly, fighting to hold the book steady as the carriage rocks and jostles along the forest path. You push off the lingering fatigue that you feel, certain that if you nod off, Blofeld will level some whack or shove to bring you to again. It’s no use. Your eyelids begin to droop, and your head begins to hang over your book as your focus grows…dim…

You’re awakened at a thwack on the side of the carriage. Your eyes snap open, and you startle, shrieking when you spot an arrowhead buried beside your head in the wall of the carriage. You realize that the carriage has come to a standstill, and the air is filled with shouting voices and the hammering of hooves. The carriage door is flung open, and you cower as best you can as you hear Blofeld demanding, “Take her!” 

You think that you may be greeted with the concern of one of your loyal knights, but shock and fear twine in your belly as an unfamiliar bandit shoves his face through the door. He gives you a sinister grin, showcasing his scant, yellow teeth before he grasps your wrist and yanks you roughly from the carriage. You scream as you’re dragged out into the cold, your face pelted with torrential rain. You try in vain to dig your heels in, struggling and tugged through the mud. You can hear a fight around you, the yowling of Blofeld’s commands in his thin, screeching voice. For all of your efforts, you’re pulled nearer and nearer to the tree line. You wobble, losing your footing as your toe catches on the root of a tree. You stumble, and are shoved to the ground as your attacker lets go of you. You shriek as he catches hold of your collar, yanking you along like a disloyal dog. 

You draw in tight breaths, hands scrabbling with your clothing. You hear the thudding of boots running through mud before you’re abruptly dropped to the ground. Looking up, you hear the singing of steel, and the clash of it makes you wince, the sound grating to your ears. You recognize one of the knights as one of Blofeld’s men, but you can’t make out which. It’ll win. You scramble to stand, hands suctioning to the mud as you push yourself up before hurrying away from the road, deeper into the woods too dark to see which one—and for as much trust as you have in their skill, you have no certainty that they’s. 

You pant as you run, looking back every few moments to ensure that there’s no one following you. When you see a shadow falling into step with you, your heart pounds impossibly harder, and you face forward, pushing your legs to pump harder than your screaming muscles ought to allow. Someone catches hold of your hand, and you scream as you’re yanked to turn. A gloved hand claps over your mouth, and familiar blue eyes catch on yours. 

Sir James hushes you, snapping, “It’s me!” 

You push his hand away from your mouth, heaving in greedy breaths. You glance around as you hear the clashing of steel, the shouts of men that must still be by the road. Sapped of speech by your panic, you allow him to pull you along through the woods, winding a path that you’ve never known and will never be able to remember. Night is falling as quickly as the rain tumbles from the sky, and it becomes harder and harder to keep up with Bond. You finally manage to yank your hand loose from his, leaning back against a tree. You’re weak with fatigue, and your lungs and legs are pained. Sir James turns to face you, glancing around the tree that you’ve leaned against. 

“We cannot stop, ma’am.” 

“I need—I need a moment,” You insist between pants, bracing your trembling body against the tree. Bond glances around you again, taking a couple more steps toward you cautiously. 

“We need to get to safety before these woods grow too dark to travel.” He shifts his saddlebag on his shoulder, glancing over you as well as he can. 

“Are you hurt?” He asks. 

“No.” 

“You’re shaking.” 

“I’m cold.” 

Sir James reaches out, gently sweeping a few drops of rain from your cheek. Heat pulses through you despite the chill, your lip wobbling a touch. 

“Your Majesty,” He urges, “I know that you are tired, but we must go. There is an inn not far from here. We will room there for the night, and then we will find a way back to the castle, or to the king.” 

The king. You hadn’t thought of Blofeld, had time enough to well up your righteous anger. It surges up so harshly and suddenly that it pushes your breath from your body in a harsh pant. You swallow thickly as the sound seems to rouse Bond’s concern. 

“Alright,” You concede softly, “Alright. But…Must we run so fast?” 

Bond’s lips twitch slightly, and you know that he’s fighting off amusement. 

“Perhaps not quite so fast, Majesty.” 

--  

The inn is a ramshackle little thing compared to the castle that you’ve become accustomed to. You can’t help your embarrassment as passersby cast you curious and pitying looks, taking in your mud-soaked garments and chilled body. Your confusion is jolted when you hear Bond’s barked argument, the slamming of his first on the table. You turn toward him and find him staring the innkeeper down. 

“I told you,” You hear Bond growl, “I will pay you in four days time.” 

“You pay me now, or you sleep outside, in the mud.” 

You start forward before you can stop yourself, yanking your wedding ring off of your finger and joining Bond at the table. 

“This will cover it,” You insist primly, pressing it into the inn keeper’s hand, “Along with firewood, and meals. We will need hot water as well.” 

The innkeeper seems stunned by the sight of the thick gold band encrusted with rubies. Shock radiates from Bond beside him. You keep your gaze on the innkeeper before you clear your throat firmly. The innkeeper snaps to, stumbling over himself to round the table. His words fumble, offering to take Bond’s saddlebag in the same breath that he urges you to follow him. 

-- 

The room is nicer than you expected, but only slightly. There’s a large bed across from a fireplace, with a wool rug in the middle. There’s a shallow washbin in the corner with a pile of linen beside it, and a bar of soap sitting atop the fabric. Bond waves the servants carting the water deeper inside, and nods innkeeper away as he tries to further offer services. Bond simply insists that food and wine is brought as quickly as possible. Once he’s gone, Bond lowers his saddle bag. He looks around, catching sight of a solid partition divider. He takes hold of it, moving it around to the basin and setting it in front. You watch him stride back to his saddlebag then, drawing off his gloves and tossing them aside before he begins to look through his things. After a few moments, he draws out a long tunic, and rises. 

“It…” His gaze drifts over your muddied clothing. “I’m sorry that it isn’t what you’re used to.”

You shake your head a touch. 

“It is clean,” You insist, “And at this moment, that is all that matters.” You pluck it gently from his hands, muttering your thanks before you round behind the partition. You remove your soiled garments one by one, wincing at the dried mud crackling and dirtying the floor. 

“If you give me your garments,” Bond’s voice rings out on the other side, “We’ll have them washed.” 

Embarrassment churns your stomach, but you force it back and away in favor of throwing them over the divider. You wince as it rocks, then puff out a breath of relief as it settles without falling. After a moment, the cloth slips over the other side of the partition. You wash yourself as thoroughly as you can, scrubbing away the muck and the sweat and the panic. You feel yourself relaxing incrementally. It doesn’t disappear fully; it can’t, with you fully bare on one side of the partition, and your protector fully clothed and waiting just on the other side. Your heart flutters in your chest when you hear him move, or sigh, or clear his throat. Once you’re clean, you pull the light grey tunic on. The fabric is a little itchy, but it’s a far cry from the fabric you’re used to—lighter, and…Shorter. It hardly brushes your knees. You go warm with nerves as you gaze at the expanse of your bare legs that will be revealed to him. You’ve really no other choice, and you try to make peace with that. 

You’re about to step from behind the partition when you hear the door open, and freeze. The murmur of Bond and the innkeeper’s voices exchanging food and soiled clothing drops away quickly enough, and is chased by the door behind closed again. You wait a few moments in testy silence before speaking up:

“May I come out now?” 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

You step out from around the partition, pointedly avoiding Bond’s eye as you walk to where plates laden with food have been set down on the wool rug. 

“Smells good,” You mumble, lowering yourself to the floor. When Bond makes no response, you glance warily uup at him. You thrill when you find his gaze sweeping your bare skin with covetous fascination. When his eye catches on yours, it lingers. You’re a touch stunned by his boldness, though perhaps you ought not to be. This man sees you every day—but not like this. He finally turns from you, mumbling that he ought to freshen up. You sigh softly once he’s moved behind the partition, scooching closer to the fire and letting your legs stick out straight, warming your feet with the heat coming from the hearth. You wiggle your numbed and chilled toes, resting back on your hands as you listen to Bond disrobe, then the babbling sound of cloth being pressed into water, wrung out, and, presumably, scrubbed across his body. 

What must he look like? You can only imagine—and you have imagined before. Seeing him at the tournament had only bolstered what you thought his body must look like, the expanse of muscle. Would there be a scar, or two? All accumulated before his squireship? Some during his knighthood, surely. 

When Bond rounds the partition, pink-cheeked from his vigorous washing, he seems surprised. 

“...Have you not eaten?”

You shake your head a little, pushing yourself to sit up straight. 

“I was waiting for you.” 

He seems even more stunned by the prospect, but he lowers himself to sit on the other side of the plates, and the pitcher of ale that had been brought up with the food. The taste is far sharper than the wine that you’re used to, and you just manage to stave off a wince. It warms you right through as well as the fire, and you take two deep swigs. You hear a soft huff, a warning of, 

“Perhaps you ought to slow, ma’am. You’ve had nothing to eat.” 

You grunt softly, setting the glass aside and using the long sleeve of the tunic to swipe at your messy mouth. The food isn’t much, but it is delicious. It’s nearly enough to fill you—and would be if there was only one of you there. Bond eats with less ravenous hunger than you do. Perhaps he’s less hungry; perhaps he’s doing his best to oblige you for the sake of how trying your day has been. Regardless, when you’ve finished, you lean back against the wall behind you. You point your toes again, wiggling and watching them as fatigue begins to creep up in the place of hunger. 

“...I will get you home safely.” 

Sir James offers it without provocation, and you wonder if your face has belied some concern, some confusion. You glance up toward him and find you watching him closely. 

“I am sure of it,” You nod. 

“And I am certain the king is well.” 

You laugh bitterly, then. You can’t help the way it falls from your mouth, or force it away again in the twist of his confusion. 

“I am sure,” You agree dryly. “I am sure he is well. God save him. God save the noble king.” 

If Blofeld were there, he would order your head struck from your shoulders. If Bond relayed your words, you were certain you would face the gallows. But now, with your belly fool and your head swimming slightly from panic and ale, you can’t bring yourself to care. You take your tankard up again, wincing at the scent that rises from it, the low slosh of liquid. 

“You shouldn’t have given that man your wedding ring,” Bond chides. 

“He told them to take me,” You tell him. “When those…Men,” You spit it, “Came to the carriage, the King told them to—” Your breath hitches in your throat, hand tightening around the tankard further. You raise it and swallow roughly as tears prickle your eyes. You set it aside once it’s empty, sniffling as the tears rise further. For all of his cruelty, Blofeld’s blatant disregard for your life was a step too far. How were you to know whether or not he’d set the attack himself? You’d always feared that he’d grown tired of you, your charms. 

You hardly registered the shift of Bond’s shadow until he’s standing over you.

“Are you still cold?” He asks softly. You nod, and Bond holds his hand out to you. You take it, allowing him to tug you to stand. You wobble a little, stilling only when his other hand rests on your hip to steady you. He tows you to the bed, and you let him push the covers back and nod you in. You scooch down against the mattress, pouting at the feeling of the odd piece of straw poking through. You watch as Bond turns his back, settling down on the wool rug again. You push yourself up onto your elbows, frowning. 

“Where will you sleep?”

He turns to look at you, brows furrowing a touch. 

“Here.” He gestures to the rug. 

“But,” You shake your head, “You’ll freeze.” 

“We’ve a fire.” 

“We’ll take turns.” 

“Ma’am.” 

“We will.” You use your most imperious tone, but he doesn’t so much as blink. 

“You need rest,” He insists. 

“As do you. If you fall ill…” You consider for a moment. You know this man, a little. You think you know what may spur him to action. You force a slight pout, urging: 

“What will I do without my protector?” 

Darkness flashes across Bond’s gaze. It’s another moment before he pushes himself up again, walking around to the other side of the bed. He pushes the covers back, carefully lowering himself to the other side of the bed and tugging the sheets up around the two of you. You glance over toward him and find him stalwartly watching the ceiling. You hesitate before you finally scooch a little closer. His gaze skates sharply toward you, and you bite your lip to silence your panic. 

“I’m still cold,” You mumble. Bond is quiet for a moment before he rolls onto his side, shifting closer. 

“Give me your hands,” He urges softly. You roll onto your side as well, holding your hands up from beneath the covers. Bond cups them, drawing them close and puffing his hot breath against them. Your fingers twitch in his gentle grasp, and you shiver softly as his lips brush against your fingertips. You well up your courage, your want, your sorrow, and turn an index finger toward his lips, pressing it gently there. It’s a moment before he presses a tender kiss to it. You gently draw it back as if moving too fast will startle him, turning your finger toward yourself and pressing a kiss to it in turn. Bond’s gaze drops covetously to your lips, his own parted as his grip tightens on your other hand. You shift a touch closer, brushing the tip of your nose to his. His eyes hold steady on your lips, even with you this close. 

“Your majesty,” He warns softly. 

“Sir James—” 

“We ought not to—” 

“Please.” 

Your plea seems to shock him. Perhaps he’s never heard a queen beg. Perhaps he can’t imagine her needing to. Perhaps what spurs him is his oath of fealty, to serve at your pleasure. Before you have any further time to question his motives, he dives in, pressing his mouth to yours. 

There’s far more heat to the embrace than you’ve ever felt with Blofeld, and it’s hardly more than a kiss. But James’ jaw grasps warmly at your cheek, holding you steady as he spears his tongue between your lips. You whimper softly, raising your free hand to slip into his hair and keep him close. He draws away with a slick sound, and before you can whimper or whine, he pushes you onto his back, covering your body with his own. You splay your thighs for him, whimpering as his warm, solid body settles over you. Your fingers grapple with the fabric of his tunic, nails catching in the odd snag. James kisses you with an almost ravenous force, as if there’s some great fire in him that only your lips can quench. 

James’ hips rock down against yours, and you quiver at the feeling of him hardening against your thigh. It’s not a sensation that you’re unfamiliar with, but you’ve never thrilled in the sensation in quite this way before. You tip your hips up toward him, letting out a pleading moan as your cunt throbs. 

You expect it to be perfunctory, and you’re resigned to it. For all of Bond’s passionate kisses, you’re content with a handful of quick thrusts before settling into sleep and silence. But Bond pushes the fabric of your tunic up, drawing it over your head and off. You lick your lips as his kisses skim over your neck, brushing along your clavicle, then drifting over the swell of your breast. You suck in a soft, stunned breath as his tongue swipes out, swirling around one of your pebbling nipples before toying it tenderly between his lips. You bite your lip, desperate to stifle your moan as his thigh presses against your core. You don't know what possesses you, but your hips seem to roll on instinct, chasing the tantalizing pressure. Some part of you brushes against the muscle of his thigh, and your hips give a jolt of their own volition. 

The sensation that ripples through you knocks loose an embarrassing moan. Bond’s smile goes rakish and wide, his hands and lips tenderly smoothing their way down your body. You’re dismayed as he draws his knee away, certain that your time together is nearing an end. But rather than spear into you as you expect, he pushes your thighs wide. You bite your lip as his finger trails gently over your slick, aching skin before you feel the tender brush of wet heat. You jump in shock, but Bond’s arm keeps your hips pinned to the bed as he gives your cunt another tender lick. Your body goes hot as you catch sight of his darkening eyes peering up at you in the dim light of the room. You push out a shaky breath, your hips giving an exploratory tip toward him. His eyelids flutter as he laves his tongue along your plumping lips. You slide your hands down over his head, chasing your stunned pleasure. Your mouth parts as you pant, as Bond laps and licks and teases you with his fingers and tongue. 

For every tumble into your marriage bed, you’ve never felt yourself come alive like this before. You’d been a virgin when you met Blofeld, and have only ever been with him. For the scant whispers that have made their way back to you in court, you’ve never heard that Blofeld has any additional vigor or passion with the other ladies at court. You’ve just assumed that that is what the act of lovemaking was: quick, simple, and unenjoyable. 

You’ve never been so happy to be so wrong. 

When James hikes your leg up around his hip and eases into you, your mouth drops open in a wail. He claps his hand down over your mouth, shushing you softly. His already-bright eyes are brighter still with mirth; his lips and chin are slick from his lapping and teasing; color is rising in his cheeks. 

“You don’t want them to know what we’re doing in here, do you?” He murmurs. “If they should learn whose ring that is, who you are…” He rolls his hips, “It’ll be both our heads.” 

You nod slightly in agreement, cunt throbbing as his hips begin to drive more roughly. Your mouth drops, and you pant hotly against the broad stretch of his palm. The odd whimper and whine still slip from your lips as James fucks you with an almost leisurely pace. You’re used to a shove, a harsh pounding, a spill—but James lowers his hands and strokes reverently over your body, loving you with an unhurried pace, as if he has all the time in the world. 

– 

Waking is slow going. You immediately feel that something is…wrong. Your bed isn’t nearly as soft as it normally is; you can hear the calls of voices below, bellows for breakfast, and hot water, and for someone’s horse to be brought. You draw in a deep breath, shifting and wincing as a piece of hay jabs at your back. You still as you feel someone’s foot brush yours, then draw in a quiet breath as you feel James’ lips brush your shoulder. You turn your head to find him still blinking the sleep from his eyes. You raise your hand, gently stroking over his cheek. He smiles softly, tipping his head toward you and pressing another kiss to your skin. You let your hand slide down from his cheek before you roll onto your side. James’ smile drops away for a moment as you nudge his shoulder, urging him on to his back. It blooms again as you slide your leg over him, straddling his thighs. You let your gaze drift openly down his chest, trailing your fingers over fading scars and raised scratches from yesterday’s fight. You bow over him, nuzzling into his neck as his hands smooth over your back. 

“How did you sleep?” He murmurs. You have to fight away a shiver at the sound of his voice, so much deeper than you’re used to hearing. 

“Well enough.” You brush your cheek against his, drawing in the still-lingering scent of the soap that he’d used the night before. 

“We’ll need to leave soon,” He warns. You don’t let him see you pout; you just hum your agreement as you tenderly draw his earlobe between your teeth, giving it a tug. You feel James’ hips twitch beneath you, and a little thrill curls in your stomach as James’ hands smooth over your thighs. Your body is a touch sore, but you know well enough that it’s a result from your stumbling through the woods as quickly as you could the day prior, and not from your night with your knight. You smile as James tips your head to the side, his nose nudging gently against yours before he catches your lips with his. You let out a happy little sigh, shifting atop him. Your cunt throbs as the apex of your thighs brushes against his muscled stomach. James’ hands raise to cup your cheeks, loosing a soft, encouraging hum as you begin to roll your hips down against him. 

Your night of tender care has brought out a boldness in you that you’ve tempered for a long time. James urges you on, his hands closing around your hips and guiding your aimless grinding. He eases you back after a few moment, your plumping cunt catching against your opening. 

You don’t need convincing, and he doesn’t need urging.

--  

You’d clung to him as long as you were able, but your grip had grown slack as the castle had come into view. Sir James had lowered his hand, resting it gently atop yours. 

“What do you say if he should ask where your wedding ring went?” 

“I lost it in the woods,” You mumble obediently. 

“And where we were?” 

“It was dark, and I can’t remember.” 

“Good girl.” 

You press your face into his neck, grip tightening around him again. 

“And if he should ask if you took care of me?” You murmur. James gives your hand a soft squeeze. 

“That answer is at your discretion.” 

--  

He isn’t happy that you’re alive. 

Blofeld manages to feign relief for a few seconds, but it quickly drops away, leaving behind an apparent disdain, one that you wouldn’t know if you hadn’t known him for so long. But you throw yourself at his feet, and sob, and swear that your only thought for days has been for his safety. 

Blofeld insists on staying with you on your first night back, but he hardly touches you. It’s not for a lack of trying. You force yourself to curl up to him, to rest your forehead against his shoulder and grasp his hand, dropping kisses to his skin and pressing as close as you dare. It’s a relief that he doesn’t take as he likes, knowing that Sir James is just on the other side of the door. 

--  

He’s been your shadow for so long, but he sticks even closer now. James is hardly a step or two away from you these days, close enough that you can feel the heat of him bleeding through his armor as he lingers behind you. 

Your bed is no longer cold in the evening, and James’ stool sits unattended. His body covers yours, his cock sheathed in your loving cunt as you bite your tongue and dig your fingernails into your muscles, silencing your moans and whimpers. 

You’ve never known what it was to be cuddled and held through the night, to wake up day after day with the press of lips to your forehead, a murmur of, “I must go,” and, “I shall see you soon.” He’s always at your side, in your bed, in your arms. Sir James gives you the constancy that you were meant to expect from your husband. It occurs to you that you are breaking your marriage covenant, that your actions may lead to trouble, to Hell. 

But as you peer up into James’ eyes, and tenderly swipe the beads of sweat from his forehead as his cock softens inside you, you realize that you’ll take your steps into the underworld happily. 

He begins to openly slight other women. Lady Vesper makes her advances. She flirts in the dining hall, and makes eyes as she sits with you and your other ladies maids. You can’t help but glance toward Sir James as she does, as she bats her eyelashes and pushes out her chest. They’re valiant attempts for a valiant man, but Sir James keeps his gaze focused ahead of himself, hardly flinching, not even bothering to give her a wink. It makes your smile widen villainously as you lean back in your seat, raising your book to cover your grinning face. 

--  

“They want you, you know,” You murmur. James shifts his head questioningly on the pillows, tipping his head to the side as you ghost your lips over his strong chest. 

“My ladies,” You clarify, waggling your brows. He smiles a touch, raising a hand to stroke your cheek. 

“I haven’t noticed.” 

“Oh, no? It’s been difficult for me not to notice,” You argue. 

“I’ve no interest.” 

“None?” 

James grasps your jaw gently, tipping your chin up to meet his gaze. His eyes bore warmly into yours, mischief and affection sparkling in his gaze. 

“Whose bed am I in now?” 

Your skin heats at the reminder. 

“Mine,” You murmur. 

“And you think I care for anyone else’s affection?” 

“Your king’s?” 

James gives you a shove that catches you off-guard. You land on your back, sucking in a gasp as he grasps your thigh and tugs you closer. You lay flat and open beneath him, heart pounding in your chest. 

“I have no king,” He swears. “Only you.” 

-- 

It’s Eve to notice it first, and it’s no great shock. You don’t think of it at first—you have other things on your mind. Your body is constantly aching; you’re so satisfied that you simply don’t think of it. 

But after two weeks—after she grasps your arm upon your waking and asks if your courses have stopped—your heart plummets. 

You don’t call for a doctor. You think that perhaps you’re merely late. But you know, deep down, that that simply can’t be it. You haven’t been with your husband in months, not since your birthday—not since you tried and failed to entice him on your return. There’s no doubt of whose it is. 

--  

James groans, shoving your hips more harshly against the castle wall as his hips push more insistently against you. You’ve taken your leave early from a banquet, pleaded your shadow to follow you into an alcove so that you might have a chance to talk, unable to wait until you reach your bed chamber. 

A child. 

His hands had grasped and tugged at your skirts, spreading you wide in the darkness and pressing into you as if he can give you another just now. You press your face into his neck, muffling your moans. 

“I have nothing but you,” He growls, sliding his hand down to smooth over your belly, “We have nothing but this.” 

-- 

“It isn’t safe for us here.” 

He murmurs it against your hair as he smooths his hand up your bare back. You consider for a moment, fingers trailing over his shoulder as sunlight begins to creep into the room. 

“Where could we go?” 

“France.” 

You frown, tipping your chin up to get a better look at him. His gaze is fixed on the ceiling as he adds, “Blofeld only has enemies there. We are to become traitors to the crown.” 

“We are already traitors to the crown.” 

James hums in soft concession, and you let your eyes slide closed. 

“When would we leave?” You mumble. 

“As soon as we possibly can ” 

“And how?” 

“You leave it to me.” 

“But James—” 

He looks down, running his thumb over your lower lip and silencing you. 

“Do you trust me?” 

You turn your head, pressing a kiss to his thumb. 

“Of course I do.” 

His smile widens as he ducks in for a gentle kiss. 

“Then you leave it to me.” 

Tag list: @missredherring ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta ; @massivecolorspygiant ; @blueeyesatnight; @amneris21 ; @youngkenobilove ; @carbonated-beverage​​​ ; @lorecraft ; @moonlightburned ; @milf-trinity ; @millllenniawrites ; @chattychell ; @dihra-vesa​ ; @videogamesandpoorlifechoices​ ; @missswriter ; @thembosapphicclown ; @brandyllyn ; @wildmoonflower ; @buckybarneshairpullingkink ; @mad-girl-without-a-box ; @winchestershiresauce ;

[would-this-pokemon-be-a-friend]

Can zorua and zoroark being good pet? They maybe a mischievous pokemon sometimes but idk 🤔???

(Since I’ve covered zoroark already [I’ll link it at the bottom of this post], I’ll be covering zorua! Unless I’m mistaken, this will be the first multi-stage evolution line that I’ve fully covered! That means, as I’ve mentioned in the past, I’ll be doing a full evolution-line analysis soon!)

Despite their mischievous behavior and dark-type status, zoruas would actually make pretty good pets, once you build a good bond with them.

In their natural form, zoruas are just the right size to be a pet, fitting in a very manageable cat/dog size range. They’re fluffy and cute, which doesn’t factor into the score algorithm much but I’d hate to not point it out! Personality-wise, it seems that zoruas are much less confrontational than their evolutions (and often protectors), zoroarks.

Like zoroarks, zoruas can disguise themselves in near-perfect illusions. Whereas zoroarks use these illusions to scare foes and threats away, zoruas mostly use them to hide from potential threats (White). When you first meet a zorua, given their shy and fearful nature, they will most likely disguise themselves when around you (Ultra Sun). Often, when trying to avoid attention, zoruas disguise themselves as human children (Black, Y, Ultra Moon). Once they befriend a human or pokémon, however, zoruas relax and will show their true form more often (Ultra Sun). While your zorua would show their true form around you at home, be prepared to mistaken for a parent of a human child whenever you take them in public! All this isn’t to say they may not still transform occasionally, often to play tricks on you or surprise you (Black)! You’d need a good sense of humor to care for a zorua.

As far as their actual moves go, zoruas aren’t very dangerous. Most of their moves are meant to discourage enemies from harming them or make use of physical attacks, none of which are going to be too big of a problem considering their size. Given their propensity to hide and flee rather than fight enemies, it’s unlikely that a zorua would attack a human anyways.

Overall, a zorua would be a good, if a bit unusual, pet. So long as you are able to bond with them and provide them with a home where they feel safe and loved, they will get along well with you and be a lovely, if occasionally tricky, companion.

(As promised, here’s the zoroark post, if you’re interested!)