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clanwarrior-tumbly · 10 months

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Gary and John head cannons x an overly chill high ranking demon lord.

Garry doesn't know how he summoned the reader, but is instantly feeling "on a scale from one to ten, my friend, you're fucked!"

The reader is of a drastically higher rank in hell, and the only reason why they were summoned was cause "why not?"

Gary cannot bring himself to boss around the reader cause he thinks he'll get killed, or worse, turned into the reader's personal play thing, but na. Reader was bored, and likes giving demons of lesser power severe anxiety.

When reader meets John, they're barely effected by the cross, and only slightly annoyed by the pain of the exorcism. Beyond telling him to scram, reader doesn't even attack. They're just glad to be out of hell, chilling.

Gary Miller

He was getting frustrated with John vanquishing so many demons

So he pulls out all the stops, sacrificing a thrall or two (or ten) to bring about a stronger demon to further weaken his faith.

However, Gary accidentally summons one who's a bit TOO powerful for the cult to contain: you, a demon overlord leagues above his rank.

"Astaroth, what a surprise. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Suddenly he feels like he made a huge mistake considering your reputation in Hell.

Your power easily surpassed his own, and he fears what you'd do if he explained why he called upon you..or found out that he never intended to do that at all.

The worst case scenario? You killed him and decide to rule the EOSD as your own cult.

An even worse scenario? He became your "pet" and you force him to watch you take over his mission.

Either one is horrible, so he tries making up an excuse to justify the ritual.

"Your Wickedness, there is a man..a holy man who stands in the way of our great plan. His faith is in shambles, but he is persistent and-"

"So you thought wasting my time was the best course of action?" You huff, tapping your foot. "Huh, and I was starting to like you, too...but now you just sound pitiful and desperate. You couldn't kill this one man yourself?"

He kneels, hands raised to you in a show of complete submission, completely terrified. "No, we can easily handle him, I...I just thought you would like to partake in the Profane Sabbath after we DO kill him and-"

"Woah, slow down there, Azzy...no need to look so petrified." You laugh gently, which confuses him. "Not many have been able to replicate my summoning ritual as well as you did...so well done. I needed the vacation from Hell, anyways. Now rise."

He gets up, wondering why you did a total 180.....until he remembers you just got power-trips from time to time.

You always liked to playfully threaten lesser demons out of pure boredom, but never actually acted on those threats.

So to realize you fooled him, too, left Gary extremely humbled.

Still, he's willing to whatever you say and he won't give you orders.

And he sure as hell will make sure no cult member tries bossing you around (even though you won't kill any of them).

John Ward

You showed up one night while he's wandering the forest, reminiscing over his failures to save Amy and what he could have done differently that night....

And you put the fear of fucking satan into this poor man just by standing near a tree, not even doing anything.

Even so, he freaks out upon recognizing you as a demonic overlord, holding up his cross with two shaking hands.

He didn't know why the lord was testing him so much..he had absolutely 0 strength to combat a demon of your status. But still, he tries exorcising you.

"Father, you should know that it only feels like a small itch to me."

"....wh-what?"

"Yes, we'll be here all day if you keep doing that-"

"Then I will stand here all day if I must!" He shouts despite the tremble in his voice, refusing to put down that silly stick as if it's gonna suddenly become golden again.

But it's still copper, barely inflicting any pain on you.

'And Astaroth says this is the man who's disrupting his mission?'

"I will not surrender. My faith is not weak!"

"You're right, it's not. But my tough skin cannot be easily penetrated by exorcisms. If anything, you're only annoying me more. So it would be wise to stop doing that."

Surprisingly, John listens after careful consideration, exhausted and almost in tears. He thought you were going to kill him or punish him for trying something as stupid as challenging an overlord.

Maybe you were sent to him as punishment for-

"All I ask of you, John Ward, is that you leave me be. I was just admiring the Earth's forests." You pat a tree trunk. "I suppose God did a few things right. Hate to see these beauties wither away into nothingness.."

Although he's shellshocked that you, a demon, would spare his life, he's quick to scurry back to his sedan.

He hasn't seen you since, and he thanks whoever intervened from above that he got away from you.

#clanask #anonymous #faith game x reader #faith x reader #faith the unholy trinity x reader #gary miller #gary miller x reader #john ward #john ward x reader #demon reader #headcanons #platonic

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maxwell-grant · 5 months

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What do you think of Vega/Balrog/Claw and where do you think his story should go if they brought him back for SF6?

Vega is a perfect fighting game villain because he is as frustrating to challenge as he is satisfying to defeat, and I do think he's a lot more compelling as an antagonistic force towards the likes of Chun-Li or Ken or Cammy than he is as a character unto himself. There's some reasons why the fights with Vega, in the animated movie or in II V or in the Udon comic, tend to be seen as the high points of Street Fighter adaptations.

Largely because as an antagonist to them, he is uniquely vicious and horrifying and murderous to an extent no other SF character is, he escalates any situation into a fight for survival just by walking into the room, while still occasionally allowing strange moments of poignancy due to his skewed honor and priorities, at least when Cammy is involved, and also being by design extremely satisfying to beat and watch get beaten. He is not just a punchable goon and smug champion like Balrog, he is also a creep and a serial killer, and an extremely privileged one at that, which makes beating and humiliating him a moral imperative on top of everything else. That, along with the fact that he's blatantly cheating with that claw and protecting his face with a mask, not just because he is desperate to preserve his good looks but because he doesn't even want to touch you as he kills you, is part of what makes him arguably the most punchable character in the series, or at least, the best designed for that purpose. That is, of course, if the player can catch him, which his whole playstyle is designed to avoid. Vega can and will fly circles around you as he wears you down, and like any nobleman, he will attack you from distances and positions you can't strike him back from, and it will wear on your patience, making it all the more satisfying if you do catch and smash him, which is still a big If.

And as a character onto himself, he's someone who's pretty much got his life figured out and as a result only truly wants what he can't have. He is a nobleman who's been gifted with wealth, power, skill, charm, intellect, beauty, and everything he could possibly desire, including the ability to kill people with impunity on a regular basis. He is a guy who lives his perfect life, but who still takes it upon himself to put on a mask and go out at night and viciously murder people he deems ugly, not just because their existence makes his world less perfect for it, but because championing the superiority of beauty by subjugating the ugly is the only form of meaning Vega can find in life. He lives reveling in his own futility and only comes alive when faced with a challenge he can take pleasure in vanquishing, which is right around the time when he either loses and vanishes to preserve his pride, or gets his face smashed or even just touched and flies into a searing rage, because of course deep down he will not accept being bested on the only battlefield that matters to him. He is a disgusting and violent hypocrite who has little need for nuance, and so far being this has worked out pretty great for him.

But he isn't just a violent horrible sadist, there is a specificity to him that makes him scarier than if he was just that. He's an intelligent, cultured and traveled man who has an extremely strong sense of justice guided by his thinking in extremely binary good-evil terms, it's just that he's traded his moral core with his aesthetic judgement. He's replaced the concept of good and evil with beauty and ugliness, which is not even that far off from the way the upper class treats those to begin with. He throws parties for the wealthiest and most powerful of society, but he resents the attendants, because he finds worship of money and power to be ugly. He throws his lot with Shadaloo because they enable his tendencies and afford to let him keep living his lifestyle, but he resents everyone he works with inside of it because they are ugly and crude (and he's frequently paired with Balrog, a guy who embodies everything he hates). He fights to save the Dolls and saves Cammy's life, but he is disgusted by the existence of the Dolls not because of the, everything involving their creation, but because he thinks it's a waste of beauty and is offended at the idea of turning those he deems beautiful into puppets. It is in fact pretty funny that he's appalled at Bison for what almost consist moral grievances but really are just aesthetic ones, while Bison himself, a guy who is literally made of evil, has frequently expressed annoyance and even a little bit of disgust at Vega's obsession, in a "I kill people too, you don't see me being such a weirdo about it" way.

And something I find interesting about Vega, and part of why I do think they miss the mark sometimes in making him a tad too much of a sadist or pervert (like his win quotes in V about bathing in blood, when the whole reason for the claw and mask used to be that he dislikes blood and touching the opponent directly) is that he isn't a vile murderous bastard just because, or just because of the trauma regarding his mother's murder, but because he is a nobleman who was raised to see the world the way a nobleman does. They've gone back and forth over the years on whether his mom's murder was at the hands of his birth father or stepfather, but a detail that tends to be glossed over is the fact that Vega gets his entire moral outlook from her and his environment:

He gains his looks and personality from his mother, with the addition of corrupted feelings planted in the back of his mind during his upbringing. Vega lost sight to the meaning of life at a tender age and started to cling to his mother's beauty, which grew into strong extremism. Those who were not deemed beautiful were not of value, and only the beautiful were worthy of survival. This is why in order to prove his strength Vega enters the arena as a prerequisite of beauty. - SF2 profile

He was born the only child of a beautiful noblewoman from a fallen house, and an ugly but wealthy man. His twisted thoughts, obsessions and value system regarding beauty were all handed down to him by his mother. Her twisted thoughts went unrewarded, as she was murdered by her own husband. Vega was profoundly affected by this, and this trauma is said to be the reason Vega insists on maiming his opponents. - 30th Anniversary Collection

He is a guy driven by the same standards of self-improvement and excellence through combat that drive most of the other characters, except in his case, he believes that beauty is the truest form of strength, that it is the only thing that matters, that the order of the world dictates that beautiful people must never lose, and the worst thing that ever happened to him was a triumph of uglyness so world-shattering that every imperfect-looking person in the world must pay for it. Like a ninja, he is true to his code, offering second chances to fighters he deems beautiful (if only so he may savor the honor of beautifully killing them at the right time), and he is true to his high society upbringing, in that he lives to uphold and enforce a disgusting prejudiced worldview that just so conveniently puts himself at the top of everyone else, a worldview he lubricates with the blood of his opponents and a worldview that crumbles as soon as the mask comes off. He is profoundly disgusting in a way that does a lot to reinforce how evil Shadaloo is for not just enabling him but directing him, and he remains the absolute worst person inside of it no matter how much he may think of himself as above Shadaloo.

And as for him in SF6? I could honestly do without seeing any major Shadaloo players show up for 6, or even much of any of the old characters period. I wouldn't be upset if he returned, given the wonderful job they've done so far on all the returning characters and new ones, I'm sure there would be room for them to do something interesting involving him and the Neo Shadaloo goobers trying to get away from the evil past of Shadaloo that Vega embodied, but I kinda don't want to see him again unless it's to see Chun-Li throw a couch at him again or lightning kick his face through a wall and off of a building, which is not just a high point of the series, but the most beautiful thing that ever involved Vega.

#replies tag #street fighter #fighting games #vega #chun-li #balrog #claw #capcom #street fighter 2

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colderdrafts · 1 year

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7: Honesty

Underground visitor, gn reader x monster (male drider). Sfw. Previous Next

It’s quiet.

A kind of quiet that occurs in an empty room – you feel if you were to speak, your voice would be amplified and disturb whatever lurks within. Even the noises that usually accompanies the glum woods at night seem to halt their efforts to respect a need for silence.

So you have not spoken a word since you left the marketplace, and neither has Dren, whose lower back you’re currently resting on. It took a while for your heart to stop pounding in your chest, for the experience to truly settle in your bones. Morgan must have done some sort of odd magic to have that horrible effect on you, and Dren may have just killed them for it – like any of his kind would. You don't know what going to happen between the two of you now.

And yet here you are, close, holding onto him like a lifeline as he quickly ventures through the dark woods. There’s a pleasant warmth spreading from him and chasing out the chill in your limbs, and you latch on to the connection to ground yourself. You have to stop yourself from resting your cheek against his bare back, lest you fall asleep there.

You know where he’s taking you, and a small part of you feel nothing but relief – like you shouldn’t have left in the first place.

Another part tugs at your heartstrings at the thought, unwelcome and foreign – like you were supposed to be somewhere else.

With someone else.

It’s worming its way underneath your skin like a persistent parasite and nothing you do stops it – not even the reassuring softness you’re holding onto can completely vanquish it.

Quiet, so that nothing will hear your teeth clattering.

Dren halts momentarily to breathe, exhausted from the strain of both the fight and now this trip – though when you lift yourself slightly, a quiet offer to carry your own weight, he mutely shakes his head, gently holding your arms in place around his torso. He stubbornly rights himself and keeps going.

You can feel a strain under his skin where your hands are pressed against him, and he moves about with a sense of urgency – sensible, as coming for you meant leaving his remaining eggs unsupervised. He’s hasting to get back to them. Now that you’re safely out of harms way, there’s someone else he needs to check up on.

It was ultimately his own decision, but a guilt of making him risk them threatens to trouble you for some time all the same.

It’s late when you finally reach the edge of the cave again, the lantern still at the entrance where you left it. Dren picks it up and silently hands it to you, though you don’t bother lighting it. Right now you'll trust him to take you where you need to go, and he quietly takes you back into the abyss. The earthy scent and the encompassing darkness is soothing – anything that would hurt you would have a hard time finding you down here.

On the way Dren stops and reaches upwards for a bit and you hold onto him at the shift of his gait. You hear the faint sound of web tearing. It seems he’s spun some tough webbing along the tunnel, blocking it in multiple places, presumably an attempt at slowing any potential intruders. You can’t see it, but Dren seems to relax a bit as he takes them down, suggesting the barriers have remained undisturbed and no one has tried to force entry in his absence.

There's a faint shine coming from the entrance to the living room of the lanterns still hanging from the ceiling, and this is where Dren finally puts you down. The unpleasant chill returns as he does so, and you are slightly missing his warmth as you return to the ground.

He moves back quietly, fidgeting, battered and bruised, his legs stepping in place as if unsure. He looks like he want to say something, but he doesn’t know where to start.

“You should check on the eggs,” you tell him, surprising yourself with how calm you sound.

At least one of you has to keep a level head.

Dren stares at you and slowly nods, grateful for the concise distraction – a clear objective that’s easy to follow. He clicks his mandibles and sighs, turns around and leaves the living room without a word.

You turn as well, and head toward the stream. You sent him on his way both to throw him a bone, but also for a chance for some time on your own to gather yourself and process. It should give both of you some time to clear your heads, and Dren will come find you when he’s ready.

You sit at the edge of the calmly flowing stream, admiring the small sheen of the lantern lights gently sparkling in the water. You breathe out in the silence for a good while, adjusting to the odd feeling in your chest as it slowly settles.

You can’t make out what is happening to you. It still feels like something inside you has split, you can only describe it as the sort of phantom pain that only comes with heartbreak. A deep gnawing pit in the middle of your chest, traveling up your throat and threatening to start spilling your tears.

But you don’t cry, because it feels like that heartbreak is foreign – it isn’t yours. At least you think it isn't. So why is it there? What exactly are you mourning for, the monster that tried to forcibly take you? They certainly don’t deserve your pity.

You grit your teeth and try to force down the feeling, hellbent on not giving it to them.

But does the other one that has currently taken over your situation deserve better? Dren got you out of there in the nick of time, but to what end? For all you know, he may be just as dangerous to you as Morgan. And yet, he puts you at ease in a way that makes it hard to not to want to trust him. You're still here, after all. But given what you’ve learned, can you be certain that feeling even comes from within yourself?

The unmistakable sound of gentle chittering alerts you to Dren’s presence soon after, and you spot him at the tunnel opening. Perhaps now is the time you will find out.

He hesitates a moment at your gaze, before gingerly stepping closer and settling down next to you at the edge of the stream. You note he’s wrapped some webbing around the wound in his leg while he was away, the same for some of the bigger gashes littering his skin.

"They're safe," he informs you after a beat. “No one’s been here.” His front legs tap against the floor in an uneven rhythm, and he absentmindedly waves his pedipalps through the water.

"What a relief," you breathe out, genuinely feeling it. You don't know what you would have done if anything had actually happened to them.

There's a pause. There’s an obvious conversation to be had here, though none of you seem particularly inclined to initiate it. You look up at him, deciding to be the one to break the tension. "Why did you come after me?"

Dren focuses on the water to avoid looking back at you. "I had to."

"Why?"

"Because I wanted to," he sighs, and rubs his face. "You must know why by now, don’t you?"

"Morgan.. enlightened me," you nod, cringing as their name leaves your mouth. The ghost of their touch writhes beneath your skin, and you rub your arms to will the shudders away. "Why didn't you just tell me?"

"I did not want you to think it was a ploy from the start to keep you here," he mutters, "but I will not lie to you. In a lot of ways, it was. Had you been a troll, or some other common-folk, I would likely have formally apologized for the scare, and left you alone. I only had a need to shelter you because of what you are."

"And when you warned Morgan I'm spoken for-"

"I meant me,” he says. "Any of my kind will fight to keep a sentry, many even go so far as to refuse to let them leave. You're invaluable. You don't threaten our young and you're awake while we hibernate and are vulnerable."

He keeps staring ahead, his face blank. Resigned. "Every winter we prepare for hibernation, and every winter we don't know if we'll wake up with a spear through our skulls, a knife in our hearts or our legs still attached. This world loathes us. They fear us, so they hunt us. We never know if we or our young make it out alive at all.

"So we fight. If we die to each other it doesn't matter if we might die come winter anyway. If there's any chance for making it through we grasp it, and hold it tight.”

“But you didn’t. You let me leave,” you note.

He nods. “When I learned of where you came from, I realized you have a life of your own to return to. I could never separate you from that, and I don't want to." He huffs lowly, lower body shifting uncomfortably. "And here I am, acting the exact opposite. I let you go on your own because I did not want to follow that instinct. But every fiber of my being was screaming at me when you left. So I followed."

You don't know what to say. You can’t exactly wrap you mind around going as far as to risk his young and himself just to keep you, at this point merely an acquaintance, out of trouble. Though it seems the action is built on a deeply rooted fear.

If he truly feels he and his offspring might not survive anyway, perhaps it’s a risk he felt he had to take. Even if he does not intend to make you act what he feels you are, the instinct to keep balancing whatever this arrangement between your species’ is might just be that strong.

That fear would certainly explain Morgan's.. insistence.

"If you hadn't, what would have happened then?" you ask, not knowing if you really want the answer.

"They would have happened." Dren grimaces like he tasted something foul. “Your strength to refute them is admirable, but it means they would trap you and chip away at your resilience piece by piece instead. Eventually, you would never get to go anywhere ever again. You simply wouldn't be able to."

"Couldn't I just run? You said others like me have done so before."

"You could - but that one seems not as much aggressive as they are manipulative. The bonds we share are more than just an agreement. They're like strings, small and attached just under the skin, tying us together. If you ran, every single one of those strings would pull and tighten, begging you to turn back. They're.. persuasive. You would not be able to leave." He finally looks at you again. "I never want that to happen. If you stay in this world, it should be because you want to."

"Choice," you repeat.

He hums in agreement. "Which is why I'm leaving this up to you.”

He turns fully towards you, focusing on your face. For once, his hands remain still. “You are most welcome to remain a guest here until you find a way home. No strings attached – literally. However, if you are not.. comfortable with that, and would rather try your luck elsewhere, I'll take you outside immediately. Just say the word. I will not follow this time."

He leans back again and shifts his attention back to the water, politely giving you space to think.

You follow his gaze, admiring the gentle ebbs and the faint lantern lights dancing in them as you mull it over and frown.

Try your luck outside? What luck?

Everything out there was rigged against you just because of what you are. You had barely set foot in the proximity of other common-folk before you became a target. If not snatchers, it could easily just be another custodian like Morgan who is not as morally strengthened as Dren. And it was very clear that you would be on your own with whatever struggles that may entail.

Dren is just as dangerous as anyone else here, if not even more so – but he’s shown he’s no danger to you, quite the opposite. He may just be your best bet at staying alive until you figure out a way home. There’s barely anything to consider. Who else would be comfortable having you around? Who else wants you around with no ulterior motive?

"I'll stay,” you tell him.

Dren looks up in surprise and stares at you.

"Where else would I go?" you elaborate. "This conversation just proves to me you're someone I can put my faith into."

He seemingly takes a breath to argue, but halts himself before he speaks it. He breathes it out instead, the ghost of a smile on his lips. “I am happy you feel that way.”

You look away to gain some room. The conversation is turning oddly intimate. “No one out there barely dared look at me. It was very odd."

"..I suppose they wouldn’t," he huffs. "Our kind is not exactly welcome in their circles. And by extension, neither are you."

He looks apologetic, but still immensely relieved. The unsettled fidgeting of his lower body visibly diminished at your decision to stick around, though part of him probably still feels shameful for having you in this situation – even if he really cannot help the nature of how this world works.

"You mentioned hunters before," you remember.

"Yes. Some common-folk deliberately prepare to hunt us. It can be year-round, but most often in the winter. They find us too intimidating, too aggressive, and this is the time where they can dispatch us the easiest. But in truth, we just wish to live peacefully and take care of our own – but we will fiercely defend our homes, just like anyone else."

Extra underlining the word ‘fiercely’. But if everything in the world is out to get you, perhaps it can help explain his lax attitude towards 'getting' it back. It is perhaps just a response to a constant threat, albeit a gruesome one of that.

It sounds familiar, come to think of it.

"You have that in common with the regular spiders from my world, actually."

"Oh?" he seems to relax a bit at this change of topic, curiosity piqued.

“A reputation of aggression when usually they're just defensive. Protects their babies and all. Doesn’t bite unless necessary. Leave them alone and you're fine, but most people are still very afraid of them," you explain, counting the points on your fingers. "It kind of reminds me of you."

His lower body chitters. "Sentries in your world fearing us is a general thing, it seems."

You nod, and shrug. "Some do. Others just find you fascinating, beautiful even."

He pauses and looks at you with interest, leaning on his pedipalps towards you. "And what do you think?"

There’s a curious glint in his eyes that sends a tiny flutter through your system, but you can’t quite place it. You cross your arms in mock consideration to keep him on his toes, before looking back up at him with a serious expression. "You're a handful, but I think you're very nice."

Dren splutters and laughs, and you grin at him, thankful your jest was received well. It’s nice to hear his laugh after everything that’s gone down today.

“That’s a relief,” he chortles. You notice in the lantern lights how small dimples appear at the corner of his mouth when he smiles. “I think you’re very nice, too.”

You chuckle yourself, and get up to stretch. The hard ground was making your body ache, and this serious talk took a lot out of you. Assured by it ending on a more cheery note, you’re comfortable shelving it to get some rest.

“I think I’m going to get some sleep,” you sigh. “It’s been some kind of a day.”

“It sure has,” he replies.

When he’s sitting and you’re standing you’re at a comfortable eye level with him. Now that you can reach, you absentmindedly pat his shoulder as you pass him by, feeling the rough hairs running underneath your fingers. Though before you move away, you feel his hand coming up to cover yours and squeezing gently. You feel that same warmth spreading underneath his palm, and it instinctively makes you stop to revel in the connection. Although, somewhere in the back of your mind, the feeling is eerily familiar.

You look back and find obsidian eyes focusing on you, though his expression makes it seem like he’s lost in thought.

“What is that?” you ask him.

He blinks. “What is what?”

“That,” you lift your covered hand slightly. “That warmth.”

“Oh,” Dren says, and releases you, subtly wringing his hands. “That must be whatever little amount of magic I have running through me. I'm not utilizing it, so I didn’t realize you could feel it. Apologies, I promise it’s not deliberate.”

“It kind of feels like – is it the same magic as-”

“No!” he blurts quickly, putting his palms out. “No. Well. I mean -” he falters, and sighs through his nose. “Yes? In theory, I suppose it is. It’s a talent we all have. The difference is how we use it. I don’t enjoy using mine at all, and I would certainly never intentionally use it on you. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“No, no,” you placate, “I don’t mind. I was just curious. It’s – nice.”

“It is?”

“I mean, yeah, you’re not forcing it on me or anything. It’s just kind of there. It’s a kind of reassuring warmth?”

“..Reassuring,” he repeats slowly.

“Is that bad?”

“Not at all. You just use many words I’m not used to hearing.”

He's still fidgeting, and you still haven’t stepped away. If anything, you mostly just want to reach out again. Reassure him back.

Would it be so bad if you did? You don’t think he would mind, both of you could probably use that right about now.

You step to be fully turned toward him, holding your arms out slightly in a vague gesture. “Can I..?”

You don't need to clarify. Dren just nods, and opens his arms to silently invite you. You step into him gladly, and he gently cages you in, pulling you to him and holding you there. You wrap your arms around him in turn, leaning your head on his collar bone. A slow pleasant chitter escapes his lower body, and you feel soft pedipalps curling around your waist as he hums, contently.

He smells like earth and musk, and the warmth emanating from within him all around you is easily chasing out the chill once again. He feels like a safe hiding place.

"It was horrible," you tell him, not really sure why. Maybe saying it out loud makes it a little easier to deal with, and he seems capable of carrying your turmoil with ease.

He nods, and breathes deeply. "I know. I’m so sorry. For all of this."

“It’s not your fault. Your world is just extremely weird,” you grumble.

He snorts and chuckles quietly, gently squeezing you. “I’m glad you’re safe.”

You stay there for a bit, leaning heavily into him like falling into a you-shaped glove. When you pull away again you almost lose balance as it seemingly takes time for Dren’s lower body to catch up with the torso’s instruction of letting you go. He catches you by the shoulders before you tip over, and you stand there awkwardly for a beat before laughing it off.

That night you sleep heavily under the furred covers, the ache in your chest diminished to a faint pressure that's easily ignored. You’re out the second the lantern is off and the dark returns to hide you from the outside world.

#colderwriting #monster x reader #drider #gn reader #monster lover #monster boyfriend #exophilia #drider x you #monster x you #UV #drider x reader #this one took a while to get out but there ya have it #come get yall fluff

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simplyholl · 2 years

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Practice Makes Perfect Pt. 7

Summary: Loki and Y/N have to pretend to be newlyweds for a mission. What can go wrong?

Pairing: Avenger Loki x F. Reader

Warnings: Smut. Minors DNI. 18+ ONLY. Violence for like a sec.

W/C: 827

See my Masterlist here

Tonight is our last full night on this mission. Tomorrow we will blow our cover and take down the Hydra agents. I can’t wait to see the look on Valerie’s face when I kick her ass. She’s been horrible the whole time. Every night I have to listen to her tell the others how hot Loki is. And how unbelievable it is that he could be so into me.

That’s the worst. It hits the hardest because it’s true. I know the second we are back in Avengers’ Tower everything will go back to how it was. There’ll be no more cuddles, hand holding, kisses, or sex. I hate to admit it, but I will miss the intimacy. I’ll miss him. Will he miss it too? Hanging out in the kitchen while I prepare our meals, reading his favorite poetry to me.

When the night falls, Loki waits for me on the bed. “Darling this is our last night together. We should pretend one last time.” His smile reaches his eyes. “What did you have in mind?” He reaches his hands out for me. I take them, positioning them around my waist as I sit in his lap.

“Let’s pretend we are married, that you’re mine, that we love each other. One last time.” He strokes my fingers waiting for my decision. “One last time.” I agree. His soft lips melt into mine, long fingers caress my cheek. He moves me until my back hits the firm mattress. He lifts the hem of his oversized T-shirt off my body. He hums his approval, blue eyes trained on me.

He presses gentle kisses along my jaw and down my neck. This time feels different than the others. I think about how powerful he is. I’ve seen enemies crushed under his might, vanquished with the flick of his wrist. But he is treating me like I’m a delicate flower that he’s afraid to crush. Each flick of his tongue is careful. Every move strategic. He takes his time with the foreplay. Usually confident in his pillow talk, his words are more pleading, desperate.

“Tell me you’re mine.” “I love you, my beautiful girl.” “There’s no one like you.” Sweet nothings whispered in my ear. I commit each word to memory. When we finally join, it’s unlike anything I’ve ever known. Moving at a brutally slow pace, hitting angles he never had before.

His lips barely leave mine, taking my breath with each thrust. “I’m so in love, my sweet girl. Tell me you feel it too. Give me your words.” He pants against my neck, lifting his head to concentrate on my face. It’s so intimate. He reaches between us, his thumb swirling patterns on my clit. “I… ohh.. I love you too, Loki.”

My words spur him on, quickening his movements. Another confession from him tips me over the edge. He chases his release, following close behind me. He flips us so my head is on his chest. His hands rub circles on my back. We fall asleep entwined with each other.

We stand outside Craig and Valerie’s door preparing to burst inside. He nods at me encouragingly before his long leg knocks the door off its hinges. He grabs Russell slinging him backwards hitting him against the wall. Nicole charges at me. I sweep her feet from under her. She hits her head hard on the wooden floor.

We go into the kitchen where Craig and Valerie are waiting. Valerie pounces on me. She effectively wrestles me to the ground. “I knew there was something up. A guy like that would never be with someone like you.” I roll us over landing a hard punch to her nose. We wrestle for a while before I finally get the upper hand and subdue her.

When the authorities come to take them away, I feel uneasy. I don’t want to leave this little daydream Loki and I were in. On the way back home, Loki is uncharacteristically quiet. I wonder if he wishes we could’ve stayed longer too.

We have been back a week. It’s not been as awkward as I expected. We don’t spend every waking moment together like we used to. But he has been seeking me out more. We have shared a few meals, and we sat together during game night. He held my hand for a brief moment when the team was watching a movie. He realized what he was doing and quickly let go. “Apologies, love. Old habits.” a wistful smile on his lips.

I’m almost asleep when I hear the faintest knock on my door. I place my feet in my slippers, groggily walking toward the intrusion. Loki stands in the doorway. In a rare moment, he looks unsure of himself. “Sorry to wake you, darling. I’ve been having trouble sleeping since we got back. It seems I sleep better with you.” I slip my hand in his pulling him inside my room.

Part Eight

Tags

@fictive-sl0th @lokisgoodgirl @lokidbadguy @ozymdias @cakesandtom @eleniblue @marygoddessofmischief @coldnique @mochie85 @goblingirlsarah @jaidenhawke @lokissidepeice @huntress-artemiss @those-late-night-feels @acciotherapists @muddyorbsblr @lokixryss @sheris532 @ravioli19 @lokidokieokie @javagirl328 @assemblingavenger @lilibet261 @foranythingandeverything @vickie5446 @lemonadygirl @joyofbebbanburg @msturi2u @chrisevanscardigan @bunny24sstuff @anonymously-ominous @luthien-elvenia-asher @iambetterthanbefore @honeyrydernot @blog-the-lilly @marvel-whoreee

#loki laufeyson #loki smut #loki x reader #loki x reader smut #loki x yn #loki x yn smut #loki #loki x y/n

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witchthewriter · 9 months

Text

𝑺𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝒇𝒐𝒓 @chickvicks.

I just want to quickly add some words of gratitude. You've been so lovely to interact with, and it genuinely boosts my self-esteem and want for writing. You also said that you like to write and if you ever post it, I would love to read it! Thank you for being so kind and gentle xx

𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐘 𝐏𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑

𝑫𝒆𝒔𝒄𝒓𝒊𝒑𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏

𝑰 𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝑯𝒂𝒓𝒓𝒚 𝑷𝒐𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓! He understands the importance of kindness and how it can affect another person entirely. He grew up under the staircase, barely any room for himself to grow, to be his own person. After the events of Voldemort, Harry found himself a little lost. There was no all-consuming evil to vanquish, and that's when he met you. Or rather, his attention moved to you - since you had been going to the same school together all these years.

𝑯𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒏𝒔

You wouldn't think coming from the same Hogwarts House would mean much but GOD IT DOES. Randomly reminiscing about the common room, Fred and George's pranks, how warm it always felt; even on the coldest nights

You had known of THE Harry Potter ever since your first year. Always aquaintances but never more.

With the war over, and Harry free to make his own choices, his world becme a lot bigger.

When your sitting on the couch together, Harry loves stroking your hair, your cheek, your forehead.

Gave you the most beautiful piece of jewellery for your first year anniversary and you wear it everyday

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒆 𝑺𝒐𝒏𝒈

Edith's Theme by Fernando Velazquez

𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔

Constant Banter

Acts Then Thinks (Harry) x Thinks Before They Act (You)

Home Is Wherever You Are

𝑷𝒍𝒐𝒕 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆

Both Wary of Love & Don’t Think This Can Be Real

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒓 𝒇𝒂𝒗𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖

The way you think of how other's might feel in certain situations. You make people feel at ease - mamy have said they feel like they've returned home whenever they see your smiling face. To Harry, you're a solice. You give him so much more than peace. You make up for the horrible childhood he had. (Literally the Dursley's were the worst??)

𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒃𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅

Ginny Weasley and Hermione Granger - you three are a force to be reckoned with. Hermione is the brains, Ginny is the hands and you're the heart. Your friendship will go on for years to come. (And no Ginny isn't upset that you and Harry got together, I have this headcanon that she's pansexual and ends up with Luna!)

𝑾𝒉𝒊𝒄𝒉 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖'𝒓𝒆 𝒎𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆

A mixture of Luna Lovegood, Ginny Weasley and Neville Longbottom. I think your kindness is your most prominent attribute that people remember you by. It isn't negative in any way at all. They just see you as the kind Gryffindor girl!

𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒑𝒆𝒕

Unlike many of the felines at Hogwarts, your pet couldn't care less about being outside and exploring. Curiosity was not for this kitty. He loves sleeping, or pretending to sleep just so you can play with his paws or rub his nose.

𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐒

𝑫𝒆𝒔𝒄𝒓𝒊𝒑𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏

𝑰 𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝑫𝒂𝒏𝒂𝒆𝒓𝒚𝒔 𝑻𝒂𝒓𝒈𝒂𝒓𝒚𝒆𝒏! She has so much heart - and loves very deeply. There isn't a time when her emotions don't overwhelm her. She has so much patience with you; because she knows that you respect her and of course she respects you. I just think you two would be such a power couple!

𝑯𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒏𝒔

Dany hates being away from you, so typically wherever she goes so do you. However, if there is any chance of danger, she will not allow you to go (well, that's before you bond with your dragon...)

You wear matching braclets, they're both made of gold with Old Valyria inscribed on them. They say, "neverending," (meaning your love is neverending; even after death)

You're the only person to truly see Dany open up and laugh. Yes, she does smile in public, but no one else has seen her goofy side like you have

When you bonded with one of her dragons, she was shocked. This was before you had gotten together, and a part of her didn't want one of her children to bond with anyone else. But you didn't fly away with your dragon. You wanted to stay with Dany - with THE Mother of Dragons

She loves gifting you flowers, and loves it when you wear one behind your ear. It makes her feel giddy inside

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒆 𝑺𝒐𝒏𝒈

Sirens by Ludwig Gorransson

(I feel like this needs a bit of an explanation. So the relationship between you and Dany is passionate, it's instinctual and she would do anything for you. This song implants this image of you and Dany atop your mounts, flying towards an enemy, whose waiting to negotiate)

𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔

The Moon & Her Star

Keeps strong eye-contact (Dany) x Literally can't look in their eyes (You)

Tragic Past x Ray of Light

𝑷𝒍𝒐𝒕 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆

Damsel in Distress

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒓 𝒇𝒂𝒗𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖

She actually really likes your stubborness. Everyone else in her life seems to gently tell her what she should and shouldn't do. While you will outright tell her with your full chest. It's never without kindness, but you tell her what she needs to hear and she really admires that about you

𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒃𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅

Even though it doesn't fit with the storyline, I think your best friend would be Sansa or Margaery. Your loyalty would mean so much to them, especially Sansa, who grew up not knowing who to trust.

𝑾𝒉𝒊𝒄𝒉 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖'𝒓𝒆 𝒎𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆

A mix between Missandei and Margaery. I think yes, you have a quiet side, but you have the ability to sway others with your kindness and your attitude. It's your power!

𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒑𝒆𝒕

The one, the only and the motherfricken beautiful - 𝐕𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐍! The youngest of Dany's three dragons, Viserion is the least grouchy and prefers to snuggle and fly than to fight.

Whether you're a distant Targaryen, Velaryon or a Dragonseed, it doesn't matter - you're a dragonrider through and through. And Dany absolutely loves it.

There's no one else who would bond with Viserion like you would.

𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐃𝐎𝐖 & 𝐁𝐎𝐍𝐄

𝑫𝒆𝒔𝒄𝒓𝒊𝒑𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏

𝑰 𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝑱𝒆𝒔𝒑𝒆𝒓 𝑭𝒂𝒉𝒆𝒚! It may be surprising to get this as a ship, but trust me, hear me out - okay? This is a bit of an opposites attract type of relationship. You have a similar personality/aura to Wylan.

𝑯𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒏𝒔

Loves spending all day in bed with you, arms wrapped tightly around you so you cannot move.

Calls you, "love," "sweetheart," "sugarlips," - just really silly but endearing pet names.

Hesitant to show you his life at the Crow Club. He didn't want you to think he was a dangerous person - someone you needed to be wary of. (But you never thought that for a second...he'd already told you about how much he misses his fricken goat).

LOVES wearing matching outfits - or matching something. He also likes it when you wear his clothes, it makes him feel primal. And he doesn't normally feel that masculine feeling

You're the only one who can stop him from doing ridiculous crap. You're his voice of reason, and the only one he truly listens to

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒆 𝑺𝒐𝒏𝒈

Violino by Piero Piccioni

𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔

Oblivious (Jesper) x Constantly admiring them (You)

You Fell First, But They Fall Harder

Tol x Smol

𝑷𝒍𝒐𝒕 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆

Opposites Attract

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒓 𝒇𝒂𝒗𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖

How you allow space for Jesper to talk about his true feelings. He doesn't feel the need to constantly hide behind humour instead of facing how he feels. You help him to figure out what's going on, on the inside.

𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒃𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅

Inej! I think you two would have such a close friendship. You would have so many sleepovers, that started off with you being scared to sleep in your own room at the clubhouse (or wherever the crows stay). From there your friendship just bloomed. It felt like you knew each other for years.

𝑾𝒉𝒊𝒄𝒉 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖'𝒓𝒆 𝒎𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆

A mixture of Wylan and Nina - kindness, warmth, friendliness, you welcome people with both arms. You seem like one of those people who would be the ultimate friend.

𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒑𝒆𝒕

Yes, your pet is a literal crow.

Fun fact but crows remember who are nice to them and who are not. And that's how you became friends with this one - you kept feeding him, leaving shiny things on your window sill, and he kept coming back.

#personal aesthetic #match ups #shadow and bone #shadow and bone match up #shadow and bone pair up #game of thrones #game of thrones pair up #harry potter #harry potter match ups

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lampmanliveblogs · 4 months

Text

Hey, look, The Titan got a nice tiara, just like King got that tiara from Luz’ Azura toy back in episode one.

You did good Collector, sweet little Prince of Plastic, mysterious Crescent Moon, Lord of the Fireflies. Maybe now you can make some real friends.

(Future Lampman here: I can’t believe I didn’t mention this the first time through, but the music in the background here is a rendition of the end theme.)

The morning sun has vanquished the horrible night and the corrupting influence of the tyrant made manifest into reality crumbles into blood-stained dust. The Isles are a little safer now.

ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!??

So first off, he’s STILL not dead? Second off, he turned back into his old form?

It’s a trick, there’s no way it isn’t. Look, it even looks like he’s got the same bandages on his leg that he had when he met Lilith and Luz while they were on their time travel excursion. He’s trying to manipulate Luz. Well, good luck! That ain’t happening, I assure you.

I like to think when he glances to the side here, he spots Eda, and that’s when he comes up with the lie about the curse. Yeah man, not your best lie. You’re not gonna mansplain, manipulate, and manslaughter your way out of this one.

#the owl house #liveblog #the owl house liveblog #toh s3e3 #watching and dreaming

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heliotrope-journey · 3 months

Text

Early Morning Hike in the Lachrymose Blood Forest, Here We Come

Good evening, vampire hunters.

Episode 3 of Book 1 in Heliotrope Journey Son of a Hustler is out now. Michaela has checked out of Lionhead Mansion early after killing an orphan's pursuer and reluctantly decided to let the child, Einsam, accompany her as she contemplates her destiny. This search for self-discovery takes them through Lachrymose Blood Forest, a hiding place for necromancers, skinwalkers, and the occasional giant spider. Michaela will soon learn that Einsam is not the only child being pursued, but if she fails to adapt to her new surroundings in the dead of night, she could risk losing him to the shadows that have shaped the woods into one of the most hostile magical habitats in New England. Look for Heliotrope Journey Son of Hustler Book 1 (Version 3) to play the latest version of the game when you click the link below. Good luck out there! Photo by Branimir Balogovic on Unsplash.

My brother's remains were buried before this weekend began and I'm grateful to have ended it with the release of this leg in Michaela's story. The photographs I used for the backgrounds in the Lachrymose Blood Forest were chosen based on how close they were to the forest I would sometimes visit involuntarily in my dreams. There, I would be running away or hiding from danger. Since my brother's death, that anxiety is always present so the level design for this forest expresses how I'm still processing the fact he's gone. My approach to building Level 4 will probably be no different. The one-eyed giant that will be fought as its boss has been on the back of my mind since Fall 2018. Having him him be stationery at Point B is not just cliché, but at this point, it won't do my grief-induced anxiety justice. It would need to take the shape of that giant; always watching his prey, salivating over his next meal. He was never one to grant hospitality to visitors and he would eat two men twice a day should a war party pay him a visit.

Michaela is not aware of the giant's identity, but she knows better than to relax when dealing with hostile characters. With the disappearances of wizarding students on her mind and Einsam to look after, she cannot afford to. One's need to continuously watch out for danger and another spying on a target are self-interpretations of my grief-induced anxiety and I want to capture it as correctly as I envision it when we return to Son of a Hustler. Until then, you will soon travel back to 1962 to pay a visit to Vlad the Impaler's castle in Transylvania.

Thank you for supporting the Heliotrope Journey series as always and may tomorrow be the beginning of a better month.

Sincerely,

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nightwonder7 · 1 year

Text

Introducing my newest OCs I've been working on lately:

Cyril; an antiquarian with a demonic curse, and Angelica; an exorcist hot on a case about a demon.

Backstories and story premise under the cut:

Angelica Sage Thornwood: Having lost her parents at a very young age, Angelica was taken under the wing of a priest, who raised her as his own daughter.

Already in her early childhood, she was haunted by a demonic entity that tormented the poor girl. Her adoptive father managed to vanquish the demon, and from that day on, she learned the art of exorcism and how to fight demons. Though till this day, she bears scars on her back and suffers from nightmares regularly from the entity that haunted her.

She grew up into a strong, young woman who would take on cases of demons causing havoc among people.

One day she got a tip about an unknown beast attacking a small town on a regular basis. Based on the description, she assumed it was likely caused by a demon and decided to go and investigate.

Cyril Iwo Davinski: Cyril's passion and fascination for history and the occult came from his mother, who raised him by herself in their little antique shop.

One day, a strange artefact that entered the shop managed to curse the boy, making him a host to a demon lurking within it. From that day onward, Cyril would take the form of this demonic entity whenever he would be overtaken by fear (second image). The demon would also be in control of his body during these events.

His mother did everything in her power to find a way to reverse the curse, but to no avail. The bond between Cyril and the entity seemed unbreakable.

Then one faithful night, when Cyril was a young man, something went horribly wrong that made him have to flee his hometown.

He managed to start life anew in another town, where he opened his own antique shop. There, he could indulge in his passion and hopefully find a way to lift his curse.

Things become complicated, however, when a certain exorcist comes to town and threatens to expose his secret. It becomes more crucial than ever for him to keep his head above water.

-----------------

If you made it this far, thank you so much for reading, and I hope you enjoyed! I'm quite excited about these OCs and looking forward to make more content of them ^w^

#oc #original character #original story #original design #cyril #cyril iwo davinski #angelica #angelica sage thornwood #victorian #victorian era #1800s #demon #ref #night's art

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sitp-recs · 1 year

Note

Hey hey, I just found your blog so I'm sorry if you already recommended these fics (or don't do fic recs).

Do you know any drarry fics were there is some type of makeover like a house makeover, finding a new job, getting new clothes for Harry, ... Or Draco is just really stylish and sure of himself? I'm thinking something like Turn, House Proud, Heal Thyself or Let him lead me to the banquet.

If you know any fics like these which aren't drarry that would also be really nice.

Wishing you a lovely october :)

Hello, Happy October! I adore those fics you’ve mentioned, they’re all incredible. I do feel like astolat captures this proud, confident Draco perfectly - it’s one my fave characterizations! I think you might enjoy these fics if you haven’t read them yet, they’re a mix of makeover trope and fashionista/confident Draco:

Burning Down the House by @peachpety (M, 4k)

Harry is happy as editor-in-chief of The Quibbler. From planning to printing, design to deadlines, he enjoys being in the hot seat. And after vanquishing Voldemort, managing fires is an easy part of the job. Until his scorching crush on his impeccably dressed fashion editor flares out of control, and he's forced to face actual fires.

Sex on Legs in Six-Inch Heels by @tessacrowley (E, 9k)

Draco Malfoy is a brilliant freelance cursebreaker and the only one who can help the Department of Magical Law Enforcement with a very dangerous case, but more importantly, he's wearing six-inch heels, and Harry cannot handle it, he really just can't.

Haute Allure by @lol-zeitgeistic (E, 12k)

Harry is famous for his menswear now. Malfoy is the inside leg that he loves running his tape measure up.

Party of Two by fireflavored (E, 13k)

Drinking, sex, and a total misreading of the concept of fuck buddies.

A Saviour’s Guide to Manners and Decorum by @wolfpants (E, 13k)

Honorary Minister Harry Potter (yes, he's fully aware his job title is meaningless, and he quite likes it that way) is a disaster at public events. After seven years of dealing with his boorish behaviour, cringey table manners, and clumsy dancing, the Ministry's press team take matters into their own hands and hire Wixen Britain's leading Etiquette and Deportment Expert, Draco Malfoy, to take on the challenge of cleaning up Harry's image before the Ministry's 300th Anniversary Celebration Gala.

Queer Eye (For the Wizarding Guy) by Magnolia822 (E, 23k)

Harry’s life is fine. He might be a little disorganised, and maybe he needs a bit of a haircut, but he’s fine. Really. He doesn’t need a lifestyle intervention, especially when the one giving it is Draco sodding Malfoy and his team of queer fashion and design experts. Of course Harry’s friends disagree, and now he is stuck with Malfoy for a week. One of them might not survive.

Slithering by astolat (E, 27k)

Draco found the nest down in the Manor’s cellars, while he was clearing them out.

'Tis a Far Better Thing by @the-sinking-ship (E, 37k)

'Tis a far, far better thing doing stuff for other people — or however the Muggle saying goes — because Potter is in need of professional help, and Draco is just the man to give it to him.

Shine, Even in the Darkness by raitala (E, 41k)

Harry hasn’t seen Draco for over fifteen years, but now he’s showing up everywhere and Harry is sort of weirdly attracted to him, but that can’t be right?

Nights With You by @the-sinking-ship (E, 58k)

Draco is mortified when moments prior to departing for the most anticipated destination wedding of the year, he is cruelly dumped. But when he learns that Harry Potter has, at long last, split with his horrible boyfriend, Draco is certain his luck has changed. Never a man to squander an opportunity for revenge (and what would probably be a spectacular shag), Draco vows to make Potter his for the weekend. Now all Draco has to do is convince him.

Home Truths by @skeptiquewrites (E, 67k)

In the off-season Harry decided to fix up Grimmauld Place and found that Draco Malfoy was the only person who could help him. A demanding career and unrelenting press scrutiny were enough to deal with before Harry added a house with a mind of its own, family history, and a tense, flirty, complicated relationship with his childhood nemesis to the mix.

Life Lessons by @bixgirl1 (E, 68k)

On the cusp of a promotion, Harry needs a little help with his image. Enter Draco Malfoy — who doesn't really do that, Potter — to whip him into shape… and make him feel things he hasn't for a very long time.

Criminal by @the-sinking-ship (E, 83k)

Things were going just fine for Draco Malfoy. He successfully conned and counted cards across Europe and America, amassing a small fortune, along with a lengthy rap sheet. That was until he made the grave mistake of returning to England for a high stakes card game and got himself caught – by Harry Potter no less. Now, Draco is stuck in England under Auror Potter’s guard with no friends, no distractions, and no escape. How the hell will he pass the time? And since when did Potter get so bloody fit?

Bonus: art!

Dropped Dead Gorgeous by dustmouth (T)

Draco Malfoy is hired to organise a funeral party on the anniversary of Harry Potter's first death. This of course has everything to do with how he is a true artiste with lace, fripperies, and dead bodies, and absolutely nothing to do with why Harry Potter keeps inviting him out to dinner.

#asks #Drarry reclist #makeover #fashionista Draco

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gt-ambi · 5 months

Text

Greater and More Terrible

On a quest to slay a malevolent witch, a knight of the realm goes missing. Fearful of what fate may have befallen the knight, his squire, Elliott, sets off into the witch's domain in search of his master. The young man soon comes face to face with the witch herself and falls victim to a powerful curse. Reduced to less than half a foot tall and imprisoned in the witch's cabin, can Elliott find a way to break the curse and escape? Or will he meet his end and disappear without a trace in the shadowed depths of the forest the witch calls home?

Masterpost

Preface

Hello all! This is my first foray into the Tumblr g/t community, though I've been lurking here for a few years. I'm excited (although a bit nervous) to finally be posting something. I have a few other story ideas that I'm working on here and there, and I can't promise any kind of consistent update schedule, but regardless, my number one goal is to tell a decent story, so I hope you enjoy! I welcome any feedback, comments, criticisms, etc.

Chapter One: Alone

In which Elliott makes one brave, somewhat questionable decision and a few less brave, definitely questionable decisions. Running blindly through the forest is probably a fine thing to do, right? And what's that saying - always trust strangers? I think that's how it goes, anyway. *Note* - there's no g/t in the story yet, but there will be! I just gotta cook a little, first.

CW: General Fear, Pain, Embarrassment, Poor Survival Skills, and a Squirrel-Related Inciting Incident

Next Chapter: Coming Soon...

Word Count: 3,479

The food would last another day – maybe two, if Elliott was careful with it. After that, he would be in trouble. He wasn’t any kind of outdoorsman, and he was sure that a novice trying to hunt or forage in the witch’s woods might as well be asking to meet the gods of death. As the name suggested, a witch of great power and ill repute had supposedly claimed the forest as her territory, and Elliott didn’t want to risk drawing her attention.

If it came down to it, he supposed there was always the food set aside for Sir Geoffrey. On the other hand, if the knight came back and found that his squire had stolen from his pack… Elliott shuddered at the thought. That wasn’t an option.

He is going to come back, isn’t he?

It wasn’t the first time he’d had the thought since Sir Geoffrey left him here four days ago, in the clearing where they had set up their camp. The first day had been almost nice, aside from the general anxiety of being alone in a supposedly cursed (or haunted, depending on who you asked) forest. Days apart from Sir Geoffrey were a rare gift—a break from the insults and the so-called training that left Elliott with bruises more than anything else.

The second day, the peace of solitude gave way to the unease of isolation, but Elliott hadn’t been worried about Sir Geoffrey. It only made sense that finding the witch’s lair and slaying her would take more than a day, even after leaving behind the “dead weight”, as Sir Geoffrey had so kindly phrased it.

On the third day, as morning settled into afternoon with no sign of the night, the thought tickled the back of Elliott’s mind for the first time. Is Sir Geoffrey all right? He tried to push it down, to tell himself it was an irrational question. Of course, Sir Geoffrey was all right—he was a knight of the realm, a champion of the people, a vanquisher of evil! And yet, despite his efforts, the worry wormed its way deep into Elliott’s thoughts, repeating again and again through the rest of the day, until he dozed off into fitful sleep that night.

This morning, Elliott had been torn from slumber by horrible, shrill chittering. He woke with a start, sure that some awful beast of the haunted (or cursed) forest was descending to take his life. In his tired haze, he groped for his nearby walking stick—the closest thing he had to a weapon. Armed as well as he could be, he sprang to his feet, ready to fight for his life.

There was no monster to slay, no magical creature to fend off. The raucous noise came from a half-dozen squirrels fighting over, around, and in Elliott’s pack. He stared at them, almost disappointed, until one of them popped up over the lip of the pack with a chunk of bread. Then, in a horrible flash, Elliott realized they had been fighting over his food. He charged at the rodents, screaming and waving his stick wildly.

The squirrels scattered, but the damage had already been done. The rations that were supposed to last him another week had been ravaged. Elliott salvaged everything he could, but what hadn’t been eaten outright was largely inedible, trampled in the dirt or torn to shreds and covered in fur.

Elliott’s chewed on his lower lip as he considered the predicament. His leg bounced nervously. He already wasn’t thrilled about being in the witch’s forest, but he had taken some solace in the assurance of the camp—if nothing else, he had a tent to sleep in, and food to eat. But now, the camp didn’t seem like such a haven.

Elliott was once again keenly aware that the forest penned him in on all sides. The ancient trees loomed at the edge of the clearing like giants standing at attention. Their broad branches hung heavy with leaves and cast dark shadows on the forest floor. Elliott’s view of the autumn sky was reduced to a blue circle high above him and whatever flecks he could spy through the shifting red-and-gold canopy. Any other direction he looked, all he could see was the forest.

Surrounded by the sea of trees, low on food, and with no sign of Sir Geoffrey, Elliott suddenly felt very small. That was hardly new – even at eighteen years old, he stood only five-foot-four, and he had a young face. When combined with his baggy tunic, which he’d owned since he was fifteen and still thought he would grow into it, Elliott appeared younger and smaller than he was, and people often treated him as less than significant. But where people were might be rude, or even malicious, the forest felt hungry. Elliott didn’t feel denigrated or offended—he felt hunted.

“Okay,” he said aloud, as if breaking the silence would ease the panic rising in his throat. “What options do I have?” He would make a list, that’s what he’d do. Lists were good. Lists made order out of chaos. Lists let you look objectively at a situation. A list would help him find the right course of action.

“Option one: starve to death.”

No! Idiot! He shook his head. Not an option. Try again.

“Option one: stay here and keep waiting. It’s not like I have no food left. Maybe I can stick it out for a while longer. I mean, Sir Geoffrey could be on his way back right now, for all I know.”

Assuming he’s coming back at all, his brain added helpfully. He tried to ignore it, but it had a point. If Elliott waited, and Sir Geoffrey didn’t come back, then he’d be in a worse situation than before.

“Option two,” he continued. “Try to get out of the forest. There’s that village we passed before—if I can make it there, then I can resupply and…” He trailed off. And what? He asked himself. Come back and wait some more? That wouldn’t solve anything. Besides, if Sir Geoffrey was coming back, it would probably be soon. If he wasn’t coming back, then he was either in serious trouble, or he was dead—and the more time passed, the more likely it was to be the second possibility. So that wasn’t an option either, which only left…

“Option three.” Elliott’s fists clenched and unclenched at his sides. He didn’t want to say it. If he said it, it was real. If it was real, he’d have to do it. He really wished he didn’t have to do it.

“Option three,” he repeated. “Go looking for Sir Geoffrey myself.” It was a horrible idea. Elliott wouldn’t stand a chance against anything that Sir Geoffrey couldn’t handle. What’s more, if the knight returned to camp while he was away, Elliott wasn’t certain that Sir Geoffrey would wait for him to return. Even so, Elliott had a responsibility to uphold. If Sir Geoffrey might be in trouble, Elliott was honor-bound to at least try to help him.

Elliott groaned loudly and started to gather his things. Sure, he was probably walking straight into certain death, but he might as well be prepared in case he wasn’t. He couldn’t carry everything, though. He’d have to make some choices. The food would come with him, of course, both his own and Sir Geoffrey’s. The tent would have to stay, and so would one of the bedrolls—trying to strap both to his pack threw off his balance. His walking stick was invaluable, as it would at least give him a chance to try and protect himself. The cookware was too heavy and took up too much space, so it had to stay as well. The rest of the space in his pack was claimed by the tinderbox, an extra water skin, and the emergency supplies—bandages and such.

When he was done, Elliott slung the heavy, wood-framed bag onto his shoulders and picked up his stick. He stood at the edge of camp and looked out into the forest, at the gap in the trees where he had last seen Sir Geoffrey.

Is this really a good idea? Elliott thought. Part of him wanted nothing more than to turn around, go back to the tent, and pretend like nothing was happening. No, he decided, this is definitely not a good idea. But I don’t have a choice. He gritted his teeth. He could do this. He had to do this. He took a deep breath and, on shaking legs, strode away from the camp, into the depths of the forest.

~~~

A few hours later, Elliott found himself deeply regretting his choice. The gnarled, twisting branches of ancient trees reached toward him from every angle. They caught and tugged at his clothing and pack as though trying to pull them into their embrace. Though Elliott knew the sun must be nearing its zenith, the shadows seemed darker than ever, and heavy as pitch where they settled in the brush. The undergrowth hissed with the passage of dozens—no, hundreds, or even thousands!—of unseen creatures. In Elliott’s mind’s eye, each rustle marked a monster fouler than the last.

His breath hitched painfully in his chest. His aching eyes begged him to blink. His knees threatened to give out from beneath him. He couldn’t stop himself from trembling. Even so, he kept moving.

This is what a knight must do, he thought. A knight must not quail in the face of their fears. He repeated it over and over, clinging to the thought like flotsam after a shipwreck. It bobbed and tipped in the sea of Elliott’s fear. If it sank, there would be nothing keeping Elliott apart from the great, dark terror below—the truth he was doing his best to ignore. The truth that however awful the forest was, the witch, greater and more terrible than anything in her dread domain, was waiting at the end of Elliott’s quest.

He stopped briefly, giving into some of his body’s demands. He leaned heavily on his walking stick, blinked the tears from his eyes and shifted his pack to sit more comfortably on his shoulders. When he was ready to move again, he looked up.

Something looked back at him.

A pair of predatory eyes, pale green tinged with yellow, gleamed dimly from within the brush. Elliott’s instinct took over; almost before he knew what was happening, he was running. The branches which had tugged at him before now struck him as he rushed past, carving bright, hot lines across his face. He threw his free arm up to take the worst of it. It cost him his vision, but it didn’t matter. He didn’t care where he was going as long as he escaped whatever lurked the darkness.

Fate, it seemed, had other plans for Elliott that day. At that moment, his foot landed wrong. Caught in the thicket at full speed, he pitched forward with a crack. Blinding pain shot through his lower leg. His shoulder slammed into the trunk of a tree and he caromed off it, crashing to the ground and rolling through the brush. It almost slowed his momentum enough to keep him from going over the edge. Almost.

The half-second of freefall nearly stopped Elliott’s heart. He landed hard on sloped ground, finding no reprieve from his agony as he continued to roll, now careening down the side of the steep hill. The stones and vegetation littering the hill did little to slow him. Every bump sent waves of pain through his body, radiating out from his leg. It was less painful when he rolled over top of his pack, but only just. The objects inside rattled and the wooden frame creaked ominously. His walking stick caught fast on something and was torn from his hand.

Elliott tucked his head to his chest. It was all he could do. Tears streamed down his face. He was dimly aware that he was screaming. Gods, please, he thought desperately. Please save me. Please let it stop.

As if in answer to his prayers, the base of the hill appeared beneath Elliott. The slope flattened, suddenly and jarringly, to level ground, and Elliott came to a shuddering stop on his side.

His head spun. His ears rang. His eyes and throat burned. His leg throbbed with pain as bad as he had ever felt. Every inch of his body hurt. His breathing was ragged, and his heart pounded as though it were trying to break through his ribs.

The outside world was lost to Elliott—his body’s misery commanded his attention. Time was likewise a mystery. He didn’t know how long he lay on the forest floor, wracked with pain. It might have been mere moments. It felt like hours.

After some time, the pain began to subside. Elliott’s breath steadied. It wasn’t so bad anymore. Even the stabbing agony in his leg had dulled to a sharp ache.

“Are you all right?”

Elliott flinched at the unfamiliar voice. He hadn’t realized he was no longer alone. Who were they? How long had they been there? Elliott stiffly uncurled and raised his head.

A woman crouched at Elliott’s side, brows deeply furrowed over amber eyes filled with concern. One hand rested on Elliott’s knee. The woman appeared to be around thirty, though life had apparently spared her the common ravages of disease and injury, as her smooth, olive skin bore no scars that Elliott could see, pox or otherwise. Her thick, dark hair was swept to one side and curled past her shoulders. The sleeves of her simple, cream-colored blouse were pushed up to her elbows, and mud stained her deep green skirt at the knees.

“Are you all right?” The woman asked again. She spoke softly, but her voice was steady and strong, and it flowed like warm honey. It might just have been the relief of seeing another person for the first time in days, but Elliott found something about her voice reassuring.

“Ah, y-yes,” Elliott stammered. He scrambled to his feet, wincing as he put weight on his injured leg, and looked himself over. A few cuts here and there, a few bruises, and of course, his leg still hurt, but aside from that (and his fresh coating of dirt and leaves), he was basically intact. “I’m all right, I think. Mostly. That is, I’m more or less all right. Still in one piece, anyway.” He mentally kicked himself. Stop rambling! “Thank you for asking,” he finished lamely.

The woman stood as well. To Elliott’s surprise, she was a few inches shorter than him. He didn’t often meet many people who were. “I’m glad to hear it,” the woman said with a smile. “That was a nasty fall.”

Elliott’s face flushed, and the tips of his ears burned. “Oh. You… you saw that?” It was one embarrassment after another.

“I heard it from the trail,” she said, and pointed away from the hill. Beyond the trees, a narrow path of worn dirt wound through the forest. A lidded wicker handbasket sat on the side of the path. “It was a bit of a shock at first,” the woman continued. Her smile grew slightly mischievous. “I was worried there was a banshee haunting the woods. Of course, banshees don’t make so much noise outside of the screaming, so I realized that couldn’t be it and came to take a look.”

Elliott’s flush deepened at the joke. Gods above, she must think I’m an absolute idiot. “It seemed worse in the moment,” he said by way of an explanation. “Really, I’m just grateful I didn’t get more badly injured.”

“Small blessings,” the woman said. Her eyes sparkled like she was holding back laughter.

What was funny about that? Elliott wondered. The thought was quickly pushed aside by a sudden realization. “I’m sorry,” he said, “I’ve been so rude! I haven’t introduced myself yet.” He brushed the front of his clothes as best as he could and gave the woman a small bow. “Elliott Weathersby, at your service, ma’am.”

The woman shook her head. “If you’ve been rude, then so have I. Please, call me Laurel. No need for the ‘ma’am’, either. I’m no more a lady than I am a king. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Elliott.

“The pleasure is mine, m—” Elliott caught himself. “Laurel,” he corrected, somewhat sheepishly.

This time, Laurel did laugh. Elliott could tell it wasn’t mean-spirited, but his meager pride felt the blow anyway. He felt foolish a lot of the time, but right now, he may as well have been a court jester.

“Well,” Laurel said, “now that we’ve officially met each other, I have to ask—how did you end up in a heap at the bottom of a hill this deep in the forest, anyway?” She looked bemused. “I don’t usually see anyone out here at all, let alone in the…” She tilted her head and waved a hand vaguely in his direction. “…state you seem to have found yourself in.

Elliott scratched the back of his head and glanced away. “It’s a bit of a long story,” he said, determined to not appear more foolish than he already did. “To put it briefly, I’m looking for my traveling companion. He went off on his own a few days ago, and I haven’t seen him since.”

Laurel frowned. “Rather inconsiderate of him to wander off like that. What does he look like? It’s possible we’ve crossed paths.”

“You would probably know if you had seen him. He’s a knight, after all.”

If Elliott had been more alert, less weary, or less distracted by his lingering aches and pains, he might have noticed the momentary pause before Laurel responded. He might have heard the slight change in the tone of her voice as she asked, “A knight?” He might have remembered Sir Geoffrey’s warnings to be wary while in the woods.

But he wasn’t. And he didn’t.

“Right,” he nodded. “Armor, sword, steed, all of it. The very image of chivalry.”

Laurel folded her arms. “Except for the part where he left you alone in the woods.”

“No, no, that’s different!” Elliott assured her. “He has a very important job to do. I’m just a squire, and a poor one at that. I would have just been in the way, so it was for the best.”

“Hm.” Laurel didn’t seem particularly assuaged by the explanation. “In any case, I haven’t seen any knights. That being said, I did find a horse wandering in the forest yesterday. Could it be your errant knight’s?”

Elliott’s stomach dropped. He tried to stay calm. Maybe it was just a coincidence. “Was it a white mare?” he asked. “Did the saddle pad have crests of roosters on either side?”

“It was a white mare, yes, but she didn’t have any kind of tack on when I found her.”

Elliott’s concern grew. “None at all? No saddle, no reins, no bit or bridle?” He could feel his worries rising, like a pot about to boil over. “Did she have any distinctive markings, or a brand, or anything like that?

“I’m not sure…” Laurel tapped her chin and thought for a moment. She snapped her fingers. “How about this? My home isn’t far from here. Why don’t you just come with me and see her for yourself.”

Elliott nodded. “I would appreciate that very much, thank you.” The sense of relief that had been growing over the course of the conversation had all but shattered. His mind raced, conjuring up all the most horrible, gruesome things that might have happened. The only thing keeping his anxiety from becoming panic was the possibility that it was a different horse.

“Then let’s not waste any more time,” Laurel said. She walked back toward the path. “Follow me.”

At the side of the path, Laurel stooped to pick up her basket. “I can carry that,” Elliott blurted. Laurel looked at him quizzically. “Not that you need me to,” he added hastily. “Just that—well, my mother always told me that one good turn deserves another, and you’re helping me, so I—I should help you, if I can.” “I suppose I won’t say no, if you’re so eager to offer,” Laurel said with a shrug. She raised a warning finger. “But let me know if your leg hurts too much, and I’ll take it back. There’s no need for you to overtax yourself."

“I will,” Elliott agreed. She held out the basket, and he took it. The damp, earthy scent of mushrooms rose from within.

“All right, then.” Laurel turned and set off down the trail. Slinging the basket over his arm and into the crook of his elbow, Elliott followed.

#g/t #g/t writing #sfw g/t #AmbiWritesGT #Greater and More Terrible #GaMT #Witch and Squire #OC-Elliott #OC-Laurel #okay so it's not g/t yet but we're getting there #just trust #g/t community

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