#v: wandering wizard

[explorevenus]

dessert before dinner ♡ gale dekarios x f!reader

nsfw (18+) - minors DNI or i will call the cops and also ur mom

word count - 4.3k

description - domestic life with you has turned gale into a big softie, in more ways than one-- he's already got the dad bod, why wait for the baby to match?

aka dad bod malewife gale wants to knock u up :3

tags/warnings - dad bod gale w mild self esteem issues at the beginning but he gets over it, technically bg3 spoilers ig (takes place post-game), food mentions, praise, p in v, creampie, breeding kink but fluffy cus gale is sappy, inappropriate use of the Weave, inappropriate use of mage hand

a/n - this piece was commissioned by my LOVELY LOVELY SWEET BABY ANGEL @d10nyx WHO DESERVES EVERYTHING IN THE WORLD AND MORE AND IS SUCH A FUCKIN SAINT FOR BEING SO PATIENT FOR THIS ;n; pls go check out her work i adore her so bad

also just as a note b4 i get One Billion Asks about it for posting this-- i am not abandoning 'something permanent' nor am i abandoning writing for resident evil just bc i am posting one singular bg3 fic !!!!!!!!!! might seem obvious but i just wanted to get ahead of it bc i'm paranoid and have seen it happen to other ppl ;~;

my masterlist ♡

fic under the cut, thanks so much for reading and i hope u enjoy ;w;

-venus ♡

Life post-Netherbrain softened Gale Dekarios in many ways. 

Some of the most obvious ways included the relief of tension that came with no longer bearing the weight of the world on his back, ridding himself of the curse that plagued so many of his living years, and finally being able to settle down back home in Waterdeep. 

But if you asked Gale, the one thing that softened him the most was you. You, you, you. Ever since the moment you tugged him out of that collapsing portal, everything Gale did was for you, and by the looks of it, that wouldn’t be changing anytime soon. 

Stability was something Gale hadn’t had in a long time, and while he wouldn’t exactly call running around Faerun fighting deities and monsters and people alike ‘stability,’ he could at the very least find that stability in you. Every battle, every brutal journey through the swamp or the Astral Plane or the wreckage of Baldur’s Gate, you were right there with him. 

And now you were home. 

Home had long since become anywhere with you, of course, but now you were really home, back in Waterdeep with Gale and his family and his beloved Tara, and what’s more, you had his last name. You were truly his and he was truly yours, in every possible sense. With his days spent teaching the art of illusion magic to the next generation of hopeful mages and his evenings spent returning home to his precious wife, Gale wasn’t sure it would be scientifically possible for him to be any happier, let alone any more fortunate. 

Gale was in the kitchen preparing dinner when you returned home, having spent the afternoon handling a few errands and wandering about the city. It always came as a delight for him to see you exploring his hometown in the same ways he did growing up, discovering all the neat little oddities and secrets that lay beneath the unassuming surface. 

He turned over his shoulder to face you at the sound of the door creaking open and then clicking shut, a smitten grin tugging at his face already. The sight of his beloved would never cease to fluster him, after all. 

“There she is,” Your handsome wizard greeted warmly, “The lovely and– might I say, stunningly beautiful– Princess of Waterdeep.” 

Just like that, you were blushing too, approaching to wrap your arms around him at the waist from behind, pressing a sweet kiss to his shoulder, affectionately roaming every inch of him you could get your hands on with a gentle touch. 

Yes, life post-Netherbrain softened Gale Dekarios in many ways, and his figure was no exception.

It was no secret Gale had an appreciation for the little indulgences in life, like rich wine and too many sweets, alarm clocks shut off when they really shouldn’t be, cozy bedding and plush furniture and hearty ‘marry me’ dinners. But, luxuries like that were rather few and far between when the two of you were on the road, and long days of traveling by foot and fighting to survive made for great exercise at the time. 

Suffice it to say, having a stable home and living without being under the constant threat of death meant you weren’t quite as active as you used to be. With time, his cheeks filled out a little more, and his clothes became a bit snug as lean muscle gave way to plush flesh. His skin glowed. He looked relaxed and nourished, he looked healthy, and you couldn’t get enough of him if you tried. 

Your wandering hands did make him a little timid in the moment, however– he hadn’t put on a concerning amount of extra padding by any means, but still, this new look was taking some getting used to. 

“Quite alright, my love?” Gale asked with a soft laugh as your hands came to rest at his hips, your kisses trailing up the side of his neck. His skin was glowing warm beneath your attention. 

“Mhm,” You hummed innocently, nodding, your hands sliding forward to feel along the delicate roundness of his belly through his shirt. “I just missed you today, dearest, and you look so delightful. I have half a mind to talk you into dessert before dinner, hm?” 

Your beloved husband was well and truly burning up now, stuttering over whatever he had going on the stove and very much considering abandoning it in favor of bending you over the countertop, but something made him hesitate. 

With a bashful laugh, as though he were trying to play it off, Gale replied, “Right, well, I suppose I could use the exercise.” 

Your brows furrowed with confusion and you glanced up at him over his shoulder, trying to read his expression. He said that so casually, like he didn’t think anything of it, and it broke your heart a little bit. 

“For all it may be worth, I think you look divine,” You said, face straight and meaning every word of it. Even if Gale was trying to laugh it off, it wasn’t a joke to you. Quietly, you added, “I would argue a bit of fluff suits you well, my darling.” 

Thankfully Gale tended to be rather easily convinced by you. 

His posture relaxed a little bit, and now the laugh that puffed out from between his lips was noticeably more genuine. “Perhaps it’s about time we put ‘a bit of fluff’ on you. I fear my mother will lose her head soon if I don’t.” 

You tilted your head and narrowed your eyes with playful curiosity. “Your mother? And what concern is that of hers, hm?”

“Only the same concern of every mother, dearest,” He grinned as though it were obvious, “Grandbabies.” 

This response of his gave you pause. Gale’s mother hadn’t exactly been quiet about her desire for grandchildren since the day you met her, but she’d never gone too far, never pestered you to the point of being uncomfortable, and never made it out to be particularly urgent– you wondered if perhaps she’d been less patient on the topic with Gale. 

Your pause had a lot less to do with the pressure to please his mother and a lot more to do with the undeniable fact that the thought of Gale fucking a baby into you made your knees go weak. You weren’t even sure you were breathing for a moment, until it occurred to you that you’d been quiet for too long and any further hesitation to respond could be taken the wrong way. 

Clearing your throat softly, you continued the playful banter, “I think my earlier suggestion stands to remedy that concern as well, no? Dessert before dinner?” 

What you didn’t know was that Gale had been thinking about this a lot more often than he was letting on. Sure, the pestering of his baby-crazy relatives was one factor, but more than anything, the safety and security he’d felt in the year since you’d married had him throwing himself into the romantics of domesticity with abandon. When you first met, he never imagined such a future would be possible for him. The chaos and uncertainty that came along with defeating the Absolute brought death far closer than most people would see the other side of, and yet you made it. 

Against all odds, hand-in-hand, you still made it. And every night since your wedding, as you tucked into bed alongside one another, he dreamt of you glowing with the radiance of motherhood. He didn’t want to pressure you– after everything that had happened, it felt like a lot to ask of you to also bear his child, like that might be pushing his luck… though you had all but just confirmed your interest with that last remark, and that didn’t make it past him. 

Gale turned off the stove so as not to burn the masterpiece he’d been cooking before turning around to face you, his broad hands coming up to cradle your face. The look he gave you was intensely romantic and almost vulnerable, his eyes gazing deep down into your own as he asked, “My darling, do you know how long I’ve yearned to make you a mother?” 

Your heart was hammering now, warmth creeping up your cheeks as you found yourself unable to break eye contact, not that you wanted to anyway. Bashfully, your hands came to rest upon his soft shoulders, feeling his own heart pulsing away in his chest, his cheeks going rosy with the same warmth. There was always a certain synchronicity between you and Gale. 

Voice lowering to a near whisper, the emotion behind your words just as strong, you replied, “How long?” 

The look he gave you was tender and reverent. Your husband clicked his tongue and smiled at the floor before cupping your jaw in his two strong hands, meeting your eyes once again. Tone rich with sincerity, he began, “Back in the Grove, seeing you with all the little Tieflings… a lot of people would have disregarded them as scoundrels, but not you, my darling. 

“You embraced their mischief– not only embraced it, but nurtured it. Refined it. You treated them with patience and respect, and you didn’t look down upon them, you kneeled to their level. At every turn, you protected them, but you never patronized them. You learned just as much from them as they learned from you.” 

He paused for a moment, thumbs stroking over your flushed cheeks, his own skin burning just as hot. Pressing a soft kiss to the tip of your nose, Gale continued, “I’m sure you can imagine how that sent off the train of thought. For the longest time, I bit it back. It felt like a pipe dream, and I didn’t want to kid myself– I’ve done enough of that for two lifetimes. But then the Netherbrain fell, the Absolute released her iron grip on the commonwealth of Faerun, and what’s more, you accepted my hand in marriage. 

“The first morning I woke up next to you in the safety of our marital bed, it didn’t feel like such a distant reality anymore. There you were right before me, and in my mind’s eye, you were bathed in the golden glow of dawn and fertility, your nightgown clinging to your divine, ripening figure. Ever since that moment, the image of you with child has dominated my every waking thought. I crave it like the sweetest wine, my heart, to see you become plump and radiant with motherhood.” 

Leave it to Gale to so easily render you weak in the knees with his poetics. The way he described it, you could see it too. You could see the silk of your nightgown becoming snug around your middle as your belly would come to rise like pastry, you could see the vein in Gale’s brow tense while he would struggle to put a crib together. You could see your grocery lists growing to include nappies and baby food, you could see a space at the dining table occupied by a high chair. 

He was right, it didn’t feel distant at all. It felt so close you could taste it, the veil between this reality and that one now paper thin, like a cobweb you could just blow away. 

Before you could think up a response, he was speaking again, his tone delicate and low, “Just imagine it, dearest. A child born of you and I would have the purest connection to the Weave imaginable, and you would make a gorgeous mother… You know I adore you always, but I must confess, I’m not sure I would be able to leave you be, seeing you like that. It might just require the strength of a thousand men to pry me away.” 

You puffed out a laugh, your face and the tips of your ears burning with bashfulness. Leaning forward to hide your face away in his soft chest, you teased, “So it wasn’t your mother who put you up to this?” 

“Ah, I’m afraid not, my darling,” He cracked a grin, planting a smooch to the crown of your head. “At least not entirely. This was a hole I dug the both of us into largely on my own, I’ll admit.” 

His hands slid down to rest upon your hips, and for a moment, you just held each other like that. It felt cozy, it felt comfortable, like time itself had paused around you. In all your days, no one but Gale could make you feel like that so consistently. You almost wondered if there might be some subtle illusion magic at play in moments like these, but you knew all too well that Gale’s charm had very little to do with the Weave– he was just like that, and you were all the more fortunate for it. 

Gale’s hold on your hips tightened in an affectionate squeeze before his arms were snaking around you, one at your lower back and one where your thighs met your bottom. He lifted you from your feet and spun you around to face the other way, propping you up on the countertop in one smooth movement, the tightening front of his pants nestled right up against the crotch of your underwear through your dress. 

Your breath hitched in your throat at the feeling, and he didn’t make it any easier for you to remember how to breathe when his next move was to stoop his head down and smother your throat with languid kisses. 

“Gale,” You gasped, hips rutting forward to knock into his own, your head spinning as the distinct outline of his arousal grinded right up against your clit. “Gods above, you’re going to be the death of me…” 

A low chuckle rumbled from his chest at your accusation, his teeth nipping playfully at your pulse point before he spoke against your skin, “Always a flair for dramatics with you, my beloved bride… though if that should turn out to be true, then you’d die how you lived; ravished, revered and adored by your most loyal wizard.” 

Just as soon as he’d put you there, Gale was plucking you up from the countertop again, and while it was your immediate assumption that he was going to carry you off to the bedroom, it would seem he didn't even have the patience for that. Your back hit the dining table with a gentle thud, though the ever mindful wizard braced the back of your head gracefully with an oven mitt just in time. 

You dissolved into a fit of squirms, giggles, and quiet yelps as his lips and teeth met your neck in a display of needy attention, his fingertips crackling with magic as they found their way up beneath the skirt of your dress. Grip printing into your hips, he dragged you back until your clothed cunt was flush with his bulge again, and the electric shock of pleasure that rang through you in response threatened to knock the wind out of you. 

Gale wouldn't, you thought to yourself, surely he wouldn't enchant his-- 

He tilted your chin up with his knuckle, a brutally smug grin plastered on his rosy face as your eyes met again. "Are you with me, dearest?" His thumb came forward to stroke over the plush of your bottom lip, almost pulling it into a pout himself. 

"Yeah," You shivered, nodding without even really thinking about it. You couldn't even bring yourself to poke fun at him for that like you might have otherwise. "Did you--" 

"Shh," Gale cooed, untying the laces of his trousers to relieve some of the pressure before he folded over you and rolled his hips forward again, caging you between the table and his warm, plush frame. The barrier between you was lesser now, and you felt it immediately.

He was radiating the Weave, delicate strands seeping through the thin fabric of your undergarments to kiss, lick, and tingle over your flesh. The sensation wasn't completely foreign-- taking a master wizard as a partner and lover for life naturally lent itself to inappropriate use of the arcane-- but no two intimate encounters with him were ever alike. Sometimes it made you wonder just how many of those hours he spent locked away in his tower were giving him ideas. 

In hardly any time at all you could feel yourself soaking through your panties, your hips rutting forward to chase him and your mind slipping away into a helpless little puddle of mush, and he had barely even touched you yet. It was all by design, of course-- he didn't want to get too cocky and risk wasting a drop of himself that could otherwise be getting you pregnant. 

Discarding his shirt and dragging your panties down with shaking hands, Gale groaned at the sight of your arousal, the extent of it. You were right drooling between your legs, pussy glistening with the very same juices that drenched and clung to your underwear. He couldn't help but dip two fingers between your silky folds to collect your nectar for himself. As soon as it hit his tongue he felt like he couldn't breathe. Your taste was creamy and sweet like icing, a flavor he wouldn't ever tire of even if it was the only thing he could ever have again. He could devour you for a lifetime and still hunger for eternity. 

"You're going to grow so beautifully," He said lowly, eyes half-lidded and his pupils blown wide as saucers. In you he saw nothing but the future. One hand shoving his pants and briefs down his thighs and the other planting itself upon your stomach, his cock sprang up to kiss the plump flesh of his own belly as he continued, "I will thank the divines for the remainder of my life that I should have the pleasure of watching you ripen with our fruit." 

You could have cried. Your bottom lip did wobble a little bit as you gazed up at him, choking up, and he stooped down to kiss you immediately. 

"None of that," He mumbled against your lips, dragging his stiff, weeping cock through your folds to keep you good and dizzy, every contact of his skin against yours still buzzing with the arcane. "I have you, okay? I have you. I love you. You're alright." 

Nodding in response, feeling the tears dry up right then and there, your lips parted in preparation to respond but all that came out was a deep, pleasured cry. Gale was sinking into your hole like he was made for you, stretching you open with slow, delicate thrusts, his breath heavy and lustful in your ear. 

Stuffing you full of himself until the head of him was threatening to kiss your cervix, Gale stilled for a moment, nipping at the shell of your ear before kissing your cheek affectionately and checking in with you, "Feeling good, my darling?" 

"Mhm," You nodded, and as soon as your approval registered to him, he began to move. 

Bliss. Pure and uncut bliss. That quiet little hum of approval quickly melted into staggered breaths and mewls, your hands finding purchase in kneading at the dough of his waist. You really couldn't get over how well the extra weight suited him, how perfectly it softened his edges and padded out the warmest parts of his physique. He was made for a body like this, a little bit round and squishy and sweet. You wanted to swallow him in one bite. 

Every stroke of his cock inside you felt like true euphoria, crackles and tingles of pleasure radiating outward from each and every nerve ending, and he felt it too. You could tell by the look on his face, the way his mouth hung open with deep, wanton moans, the way he shivered and stuttered with damn near every thrust. 

"G-Gale," You cried out, nails printing into his flesh as you tried to tug him down to you. 

Typically he would have obliged you without hesitation, but Gale had other plans at the moment. Bracing himself against the fine oak wood to the right side of your head, his other hand gripped at your thigh and angled your leg up with ease. Before you could register what he was about to do, he was already doing it. 

Folding you into a half mating press, he drove into you deep, the Weave sinking into your bloodstream with a staggering intensity that nearly made you scream. 

Swallowing your cries with his own lips, Gale kissed you just about as deeply as he was fucking you, his facial hair scratching and tickling at your cheeks as his silky tongue slipped over your own. Every knock of his hips against your own had the dining table rattling too, the walls of your marital home ringing with the sounds of sex, the obscene squelching of your pussy sucking him in, the needy whines and moans slipping from you both. 

You felt like you were on fire in the best possible way. Every square inch of your body was alight with lust and magic, your legs hooked around his hips to draw him even closer. The two of you could fuse together and you would still want to get closer. 

Soon enough, your throbbing clit was met with the unexpected pressure of arcane fingertips, measured strokes of a figure-eight over your swollen bud that coaxed you higher and higher and higher until you felt like you were weightless there on that table, lifting from it, your lips only parting from his own as your head fell back against the oven mitt in a desperate gasp for breath. 

That breath was almost immediately followed by a broken cry of his name, the stimulation causing your greedy cunt to clench and pulse around him, again, by design. Sinking down on his elbow so he could speak directly into your ear, his cock stroking so deeply into you that it nearly felt like it was prodding at your lungs, Gale groaned, "That's it, pup, there you are... Such pretty noises from my good girl, my darling little wife..." 

"I love you, I love you, I--" 

Cutting you off with a kiss, Gale replied, "I love you more, and I'll give you as many babies as it takes to prove it."

Your vision went white, thighs wrenching tight around his hips as you plummeted over the edge unlike ever before. It felt like traveling through a lightning bolt, your spine arching up into a fine point, your stomach pressing up against his own as he emptied his load inside you, mage hand still circling your puffy clit. 

Ropes and ropes of creamy seed flooded your hole until you were stuffed to the brim, leaving behind that delicious pressure that came along with being stretched so full. Your bottom half felt heavy as you fought to catch your breath beneath him, tears leaking from your dewy eyes. 

"N-No more, no more with the mage hand," You stammered, sucking in a sharp breath as its thumb and forefinger took your clit in a delicate pinch. 

Another second or two passed in which he continued to have his fun before deciding you'd had enough. The stimulation to your bud slowly ceased, but as he withdrew his softening sex from you, you quickly realized you didn't feel any less full. 

Brows knitting together, you squirmed and struggled to sit up, watching Gale turn his back to dampen a washcloth before returning to you, gently wiping the sweat from your brow and the slick from your inner thighs, brushing your hair away from your face reverently. "Shh, shh. Just sit still for a moment longer, alright? Let me get you cleaned up." 

He continued his gentle work until you were refreshed and sparkling before scooping you up from the dining table like a princess in his arms, carrying you off to the bedroom to get you both changed. 

It was only as the two of you entered the room and you caught sight of yourself in the floor-length mirror that you realized Gale's mage hand was still very much at work, its thick middle and ring fingers plugging you up nicely. Not a drop was wasted with the diligent digits blocking the way. 

Gale helped you out of your dress and into a soft nightgown, and in your exhaustion you were ready to just crash into bed for the night. Curling up atop the covers as Gale changed into loungewear of his own, you were about to fall asleep right then and there when he woke you with a loving grin. 

"Huh?" You mumbled, reaching up to rub your eyes, and as his own raked over the image of your beautiful body, he couldn't stop thinking about the many ways it would come to develop over the next several months. 

"We still haven't eaten, my love." 

You groaned, burying your face back into the bedding stubbornly. "But I'm tired..." 

"You were the one who wanted dessert before dinner, sweetest," He teased. "We've had our dessert, and now it's time for dinner. Besides, I thought we agreed to fluff you up a bit?"

A bashful smile tugging at your cheeks, you narrowed your eyes at him playfully, huffing out, "Okay, okay, fine," reaching your arms out for him to carry you again, and you were so lucky he loved to baby you. 

Gale didn't hesitate to take you into his arms, your head nestled up against his chest as you returned to the kitchen together. He placed you gently down in a chair at the dining table before assessing what he'd left on the stove earlier. His 'masterpiece' was now ice cold and unappealing to him, and surely his darling wife deserved better than cold and unappealing. 

Turning over his shoulder to look at you, Gale asked you a question that you didn't think you'd ever hear him ask; "How about tavern food tonight?"

[redvexillum]

A/N: Big Smoll Sad.

SUMMARY: You are a once-celebrated painter, your glory long faded and your passion for art extinguished. That is, until you meet an enigmatic man named Luci, who sparks something inside you that you thought was lost forever.

TAGS/WARNINGS: f!reader, human reader, devil!lucifer, lucifer is still hung up on lilith, lucifer in the human world, emotional smut, p in v, implied suicide, reader is an artist, this is still smutmas cuz the banner says so uwu

These days, the world blurs into an indistinct haze, a cacophony of shapes and sounds dissolving into the murky canvas of your mind. Faces, once vivid and meaningful, bleed away like rain washing over a forgotten oil painting—its vibrant hues smeared into lifeless swirls of muddy browns and bruised blacks, spiralling endlessly until only the void remains. The warmth and colour of life have long fled, leaving you adrift in a landscape of shadows, a ghost wandering streets that no longer seem to belong to you. You search, desperate, for that elusive spark—the incandescent flame that once ignited your soul and commanded the awe of countless spectators. 

But the spark never comes. It’s as though some divine hand had once granted you a finite wellspring of brilliance, only to cruelly empty it when you needed it most. You are hollow now, an artist reduced to a shell of their former self, withering under the weight of your own irrelevance. Your fingers tremble as they trace lines meant to evoke wonder, but every stroke feels misplaced, every attempt an abomination. The canvas mocks you with its lifelessness, each brushstroke a reminder of what you once were and can never be again. You clutch at fragments of your past triumphs, their glow dimmed by time, yet even their memory cuts deeper than any blade. A prodigy no longer; you are forgotten, decaying in the shadow of the glory that has long since turned to ash. 

The familiar bell jingled as you stumbled into the card shop once again, your movements robotic, rehearsed. The shopkeeper glanced up briefly, his expression blank before he returned to sorting inventory, dismissing you as just another nuisance. He didn’t need to say it aloud—you were the unpaying regular, an unremarkable ghost haunting his space. Without fail, you gravitated to the same display rack: rows of garish cards depicting ducks in absurd costumes. 

There they were—pirate ducks, wizard ducks, detective ducks—all locked in cartoonish battles for supremacy. Duck Battle. The game that bore your fingerprints, your long nights, your fleeting dreams. It was a runaway success, a pop-culture juggernaut that earned you enough royalties to live comfortably. 

And yet, the thought of it felt like swallowing acid. 

Your gaze settled on one card, the cheerful caricature of a duck in a jester’s hat. Its painted eyes stared back, unblinking, its crooked smile warped into cruel mockery. A sudden tightness seized your throat, invisible hands wrapping around your neck with the weight of unspoken expectations. Your parents’ faces surfaced in your mind, their quiet disappointment etched into every wrinkle, their smiles brittle under the strain of politeness. 

Breathe. You reminded yourself. 

But the air felt paper-thin, each inhalation shallow, scraping against the walls of your lungs. Tears prickled at the edges of your vision, hot and traitorous, threatening to spill over. You blinked them back, swallowing the lump in your throat, forcing yourself to stand still. No one could see this weakness—not here, not anywhere. 

Your fingernails dug into your forearms, the sting sharp and grounding, a desperate tether to the present. Slowly, the world sharpened, the dull haze retreating just enough to let you see. But the ache remained, burrowing deep. 

Masahiro Yokotani’s words drifted through your mind like an unwelcome whisper: “When you’re ten, they call you a prodigy. When you’re fifteen, they call you a genius. But once you hit twenty, you’re just a normal person.” 

A normal person. 

Being ordinary wasn’t inherently wrong. It wasn’t a curse, not for most. But for you, it was a sentence, a punishment for daring to matter once, for daring to believe you were special. Your success was the only currency you had ever known—the only thing that earned you love, admiration, or even the illusion of belonging. 

Without it, who were you?

Your fists clenched, trembling with suppressed anger as the jester duck continued to grin, mocking you. For a fleeting moment, you wanted to rip the cards from the rack, scatter them across the floor, destroy them one by one until they were nothing but shreds of paper and ink. You wanted to scream, to rage against the machine that had turned your passion into a product. 

But what good would it do? 

Somewhere along the way, the success you’d once celebrated had become a cage. The art you’d poured your soul into was no longer yours. It was a commodity, stripped of meaning, stripped of you. People didn’t see the blood, the sleepless nights, the fleeting moments of joy. 

All they saw was a game. 

A product to consume. 

To discard. 

To forget. 

If you couldn’t amaze them, if you couldn’t create the next masterpiece, you were nothing. 

And if you couldn’t meet their expectations, fulfill their demands... 

You were less than nothing. 

The thought wrapped around your mind like frost, numbing, relentless. 

You weren’t talented. 

You were just lucky. 

You weren’t creative. 

You had connections. 

You weren’t special. 

You were nothing worth keeping. Nothing worth loving. 

Your breath came slower now, shallow and cold. A shiver coursed through you, though you weren’t sure if it was from the temperature or the weight pressing down on your chest.  

Like clockwork, you turned to leave, your movements mechanical, resigned. But just as your hand brushed the door, a figure caught your eye—a man stepping past you with an air of quiet purpose. His hair was a cascade of gold, catching the pale shop light like threads of sunlight, and his eyes were startlingly blue, the kind of vivid sapphire that seemed to hold secrets of oceans untold. 

He moved straight to the duck cards. 

It was almost comical, the way he held a cloth basket with casual confidence, scooping up deck after deck as though stocking for an army of duck enthusiasts. He plucked every box of booster packs from the display, piling them into his basket without a second thought. You blinked, stunned, your lips parting as you struggled to process the absurdity of the scene before you. 

“Hey, leave some for the others,” the shopkeeper grumbled, his voice gruff with annoyance. 

The interruption jolted you into noticing the man behind the counter for the first time in months. His wiry frame and sallow complexion struck you in their starkness, his dark, greasy hair hanging limp around his face. It was strange—how had you been coming here for years without ever truly seeing him? 

“Oh, r-right,” the blonde man stammered, a sheepish smile curving his lips. His attire was... peculiar. He wore a pristine white three-piece suit, his vest adorned with red and white stripes that ended in a dramatic two-tailed flourish. He stood out like a figure from a different world, but it was his eyes that mesmerized you most—jewel-like and shimmering, their hues shifting like sunlight on rippling water. 

Your fingers twitched. That long-dead ember inside you flickered, faint but undeniable. 

The man’s lips pursed as if in thought, and with exaggerated care, he removed a single booster pack from his basket and placed it back on the counter. Not a box, but one lone pack. The absurdity of the gesture bubbled up in your chest, breaking free as a soft, unguarded laugh. 

The sound startled you—it felt foreign, like it didn’t belong to you anymore. But it also startled him. His head snapped in your direction, his cheeks flushing as his eyes dropped, uncharacteristically shy. 

Something shifted in you then, fragile yet profound, like the crack of ice revealing the flowing river beneath. 

Summoning a hesitant smile, you stepped forward, reaching for the lone booster pack. Your hand brushed the tin foil wrapper, and for the first time in months, you held it without bitterness. “I’d like to buy this,” you said, your voice rasping from disuse. 

The shopkeeper raised a brow but said nothing, punching the numbers into the register. 

“$6.21,” he said flatly. 

You handed him the money, feeling the booster pack’s weight in your hands—and for once, the bitter feeling of wanting to rip it to shred was absent within you.

As you stepped outside, the winter air nipped at your skin, sharp and biting. You lingered near the door, the booster pack clutched tightly in your hands, its glossy surface catching the faint sunlight. The art you had poured countless agonizing hours began to surface in your mind, the colours dulling as memories of your efforts melted away like candle wax under flame. 

Then, the sharp chime of the shop’s bell rang out, pulling you from your spiral. The man stepped out, his bag stuffed to the brim with his purchases. 

“Uhm,” you called, the word catching in your throat. 

He turned, his expression open and curious. When his gaze met yours, his lips curved into a gentle smile. “What’s up,kiddo?” 

You faltered, your brows furrowing. He didn’t look much older than you, so the greeting felt oddly misplaced. Still, you thrust the booster pack toward him, your fingers trembling slightly. “H-here,” you stammered, your gaze skittering from his eyes to the scuffed tips of his black boots, then down to the icy ground. “Y-you’d probably enjoy this m-more than me.” 

His expression softened, surprise flickering across his features. “A-are you sure?” he asked, hesitant. 

You could only nod, your throat too tight for words. Your eyes stayed fixed on the ground, unwilling to meet his. 

“Thank you,” he said quietly, taking the pack with a reverence that made your chest ache in a way that wasn’t entirely painful. 

You felt it—the fleeting warmth of his fingers brushing yours as he took the pack. It was barely a second, but it left an impression, highlighting the chill that seeped into your bones on this cold winter day. “W-well, I-I hope you enjoy,” you murmured, your voice faltering as you prepared to turn away, to retreat as you always did. 

But his voice stopped you. 

“W-wait.” 

Your body stiffened, your breath catching. Slowly, you turned back, your gaze lifting cautiously. His smile was gentle, inviting, radiating a warmth you hadn’t felt in what seemed like lifetimes. “D-do you want to open them together?” he asked, his grin broadening, something so bright in his expression that it reminded you of the sun breaking through storm clouds. 

It had been so long since anyone had asked to spend time with you. 

And your time—your energy—always felt so fleeting. 

Still, with a shaky smile and a flutter of nerves in your chest, you nodded. Heat crept up your cheeks, embarrassing in its intensity. You worried—panicked, even. Would he find you dull? Would he regret inviting someone like you, someone who had nothing to offer except the remnants of a fading career? 

You hoped, desperately, that he wouldn’t. 

You walked side by side with the stranger, whose name you now knew as Luci. His voice was light, brimming with enthusiasm as he shared bits of himself—his love for ducks, his daughter, his wife. You listened, half-focused, half-distracted by the echo of warnings ingrained in your mind: don’t follow strangers; it’s dangerous.

Yet, you wondered. If he were to hurt you, would it even matter? 

You brushed the thought aside as his warmth began to melt your trepidation, his words weaving a strange sense of comfort around you. His anecdotes were simple, endearing, and as he spoke about his family, an ache blossomed deep in your chest. 

Jealousy, sharp and bitter, coiled through you. What would it feel like to be loved like that? To be cherished so completely, so unconditionally? 

Your thoughts strayed to your own parents, and you felt it again—the invisible noose tightening around your throat. You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat refusing to yield. You forced a bright smile onto your face, desperate to focus on him, on his words, his expressive gestures, the way his eyes gleamed like cut gemstones catching the light. 

Then he laughed, a sound so rich with joy that it seemed to chase away the cold clinging to you. He launched into a story about a duck-shaped toy that blew bath bubbles, one he had designed with his daughter. His animated retelling painted the chaotic scene vividly: bubbles everywhere, a floor turned slick, his wife caught between frustration and uncontrollable laughter as they all slipped and slid around like fools. 

The genuine delight in his voice made something inside you stir, fragile but real. You clung to it, that warmth. It spread, tentative, but enough to pull a soft giggle from your lips. 

Luci stopped mid-step, his eyes widening slightly before a wide, toothy grin overtook his face. “You have a beautiful laugh,” he said simply, with honesty that caught you off guard. 

The compliment was unexpected, and you coughed, your cheeks igniting with heat. Your mind raced, urging you to say thank you, or anything at all to fill the awkward silence. But your lips refused to cooperate, frozen in uncertainty. 

Before you could stumble over a response, Luci stopped in front of a small building—a café, its soft glow spilling out onto the street like a promise of warmth. Luci’s voice broke through your thoughts. “Ah, we’re here! I’ve heard they make the best banana nut muffin, so I wanted to try it before I go back!” He held the door open, the light catching his golden hair and the shimmer of his grin. 

As he pushed open the door, the soft chime of a bell rang out—a gentle, almost musical sound, like wind chimes caught in a summer breeze. The scent of freshly brewed coffee wrapped around you, rich and warm, inviting you to linger. The walls were painted a soft pastel yellow, their brightness tempered by dim, cozy lighting that gave the café a feeling of safety, of comfort. 

The space was intimate, and aside from you and Luci, it was empty. From the back emerged a stout woman with a radiant smile, her long black curls bouncing slightly as she walked. Her green apron was worn but clean, a testament to her work here. “Welcome!” she greeted warmly, her voice carrying the cheer of someone genuinely glad to see you. “What can I get ya folks?” 

Luci turned to you, and with a grin, he asked, “Want a banana nut muffin?” 

Your throat constricted slightly as you struggled to respond. A simple yes or no would have been enough, but your isolation had left you fumbling for basic social graces. Somewhere in the recesses of your mind, you could hear the sharp voice of your mother, her criticisms cutting deep. How unbecoming, her voice whispered in a memory you couldn’t quite escape. 

You reached into your pocket for your wallet, your fingers clumsy with nerves. “L-let me p-pay,” you stammered, your voice cracking into something embarrassingly high-pitched. 

Luci chuckled, a soft, disarming sound that somehow made the tension in your chest ease. He patted your shoulder, his touch brief but grounding. “It’ll be my treat, sport,” he said with a playful grin. “For the pack,” he added, waggling his brows in exaggerated humour. 

Before you could protest further, he ordered two muffins and herded you to a table with two chairs in the corner. The space felt smaller as you followed, the warmth of the café suddenly claustrophobic under the weight of your thoughts. 

Sitting across from him, you watched as he rummaged through his bag, his energy infectious. He pulled out a small stack of booster packs, his expression bright with unfiltered glee. 

“These are my favourites,” he said as he held up a pack, his excitement as radiant as a child opening a long-awaited gift on Christmas morning. “I have all the cards from the first wave of Duck Battle releases!” His voice was filled with pride, his fingers already tearing into the foil wrapping. “I just had to come up here when I heard they released the second wave after two years!” 

His words swirled in your mind, dissonant against the memories rising like a tide. Your hands, hidden under the table, clenched into fists. Your fingers dug into your palms, grounding you against the maelstrom of emotions. 

You had drawn those silly ducks in their costumes, poured hours into creating gadgets, props, and absurd scenarios. Two hundred and fifty illustrations, each more uninspired than the last. You remembered the exhaustion, the growing sense of emptiness that swallowed you whole. 

“What do you like about them?” you asked softly, your voice fragile. You cleared your throat, trying to sound steady as you felt an unwelcome wave of bitterness threatening to rise. 

Luci’s blue eyes lit up as he looked up from the cards, his smile unguarded. “Oh, where do I even start!” he exclaimed, holding up a card to show you. “Aside from the fact that they’re ducks, just look at them! The costumes, the gadgets—they’re so clever, so fun!” 

He turned the card in his hand, his admiration genuine, his joy untainted. And as he spoke, your chest tightened, caught between envy and a faint, almost imperceptible flicker of pride. 

Luci held up a card, its surface shimmering with the golden foil that marked it as rare. Your eyes fell on the image—a duck in swimming trunks and sunglasses, wielding a sword alive with swirling water. The memory of creating it surged forward, unwelcome and sharp. 

You remembered the day you drew that card. The day everything inside you cracked open. You had screamed into the hollow silence of your room, pages of drafts torn apart and scattered around you like confetti from some cruel, mocking parade. Your voice had grown raw as you told yourself, over and over, that you were done. 

That you’d quit. 

But quitting was a lie you couldn’t tell yourself for long. 

The words of self-loathing had been relentless: 

Everything you create is garbage. 

This opportunity only exists because of your parents. 

You’re a shadow, fading and inconsequential compared to their brilliance. 

And yet, like some twisted masochist, you’d dragged yourself back to your desk the next morning. 

There had been no joy in it—only pain. The siren call to create, once your solace, had become a piercing scream you couldn’t silence. The pencil in your hand had felt like a blade, its grip carving into you as you pushed yourself to the brink. Your fingers had cramped, the skin blistering until it split and bled. 

You hadn’t stopped. 

You couldn't.

Because drawing wasn’t just something you did—it was a part of you. An integral piece of your existence, impossible to sever, no matter how much you might have wanted to. 

Now, that duck—a creation born from your anguish—stared back at you in Luci’s hands, a mirror of a piece of yourself you hated. His voice broke through the haze, brimming with enthusiasm as he babbled about the card, his words high with praise. 

You should have felt pride. Gratitude. Joy, even. But you didn’t. 

Instead, his praise slid over you, leaving nothing behind but the familiar ache of inadequacy. Why can’t I accept this?you thought bitterly. It was as if his words belonged to someone else, someone who deserved them. 

Someone you were not. 

So you smiled. Nodded. Pretended.

When the plate of banana nut muffin arrived, the scent of warm cinnamon wafting up, you glanced down at it. A dollop of whipped cream sat artfully on the side, dusted with cinnamon. You hadn’t eaten anything substantial all day, yet the hunger that should have gnawed at you was absent, swallowed by a numbness you couldn’t quite shake. 

Luci took a bite and moaned in delight, rolling his eyes dramatically. “This is absolutely delicious! Charlie would love this!” he said with a grin, taking another hearty bite. His joy was infectious, yet it stayed just out of reach for you. 

He paused mid-bite, his expression sheepish as he pushed a booster pack across the table toward you. “Oh, golly! I should’ve had you open some with me,” he said with a laugh, gesturing to the small pile of torn foil and neatly stacked cards already in front of him. 

You ran your thumb along the seam of the unopened pack, the texture sharp against your skin. “I don’t mind you opening them all,” you murmured softly, your gaze fixed on the faint silver glint of the packaging. 

“Nonsense!” Luci declared, his grin bright and unwavering. “You might pull the ultra-rare Count Duckula! Come on, it’s all in the fun.” 

He dragged his chair closer, the legs scraping lightly against the tiled floor. His knees bounced with childlike anticipation, a rhythm of barely contained excitement. 

You forced a small smile, though your hands betrayed you, trembling as they fumbled with the pack’s edge. The foil tore with a soft rip, the sound somehow louder in the quiet café. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d opened one of these. The promotional box they’d sent you months ago sat untouched in some forgotten corner of your home, buried under stacks of other projects. 

Carefully, you drew out the stack of six cards and flipped through them, revealing each one in turn. 

All common - trash - cards. 

How painfully typical. 

“S-sorry,” you murmured, a hollow laugh escaping your lips. “It looks like I don’t have good luck. Maybe you should open the rest?” 

“Nonsense,” Luci said again, his voice gentler this time. He reached out and took the cards from your hand with surprising care, as if each one were a delicate treasure. His expression softened as he studied them, pausing on a trio of ducks huddled together. 

“I like this one the best,” he said, turning the card so you could see it more clearly. 

The illustration stared back at you, the familiar design almost mocking in its simplicity. The card was called Duck Gang, but when you’d drawn it… you thought of...

“It’s like a family,” Luci murmured, his tone thoughtful as he turned the card back toward himself. “I already have forty-five of these, but I can’t help collecting them. They’re one of my favourites.” 

Your chest tightened. The smile on your lips sharpened into something brittle, edged with bitterness. “T-that’s a lot,” you said, your voice cold, a contrast to the warmth in his. “You should consider selling them. They’re common, after all. Trash cards, really. Probably won’t get much for them.” 

You picked up your fork and poked at the muffin on your plate, the sweetness of it utterly unappealing. The bitterness inside you, however, only grew, swelling like a tide threatening to pull you under. Your eyes flicked back to the card, the garish trio of ducks resembling parents and a child more than any sort of gang. 

“I-I could get you all the rares,” you added, the words spilling out with a sharp edge. “If you'd like.” 

Luci paused, his expression unchanging as he looked up at you. His ever-enigmatic demeanour shifted, and then, unexpectedly, he laughed—a warm, easy sound. A few golden strands slipped loose from his carefully styled hair, brushing against his cheek. 

“The fun of it is in opening the packs and seeing what you get!” he said, reaching for another booster pack. He tore it open with practised ease, glancing through the cards until his face lit up like the sun breaking through a heavy storm. 

“No way!” he gasped, holding up a foil-covered card with both hands. His blue eyes shimmered with delight, his toothy grin nearly splitting his face as he revealed the ultra-rare Count Duckula. 

His reaction was so dramatic, so comically over-the-top, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of something unexpected. In the small space of that quiet café, amidst the warmth of yellow walls and the scent of coffee, you felt something stir inside you. 

Something warm. 

Something… meaningful.

It wasn’t like the cold, impersonal emails you received from your agency, filled with spreadsheets and data points. Those soulless reports quantified your work with meticulous precision—what cards sold best, which ones fetched high prices, which ones were deemed worthless. 

None of it ever reflected the time, the effort, or the pieces of yourself you poured into every illustration. 

At some point, you’d begun to wonder: if you couldn’t draw, if you couldn’t find joy in creation, had you already reached your expiration date? 

It was a morbid thought—one that clung to you like a shadow. But now, hilariously, pathetically, sitting across from Luci, a stranger you’d known for less than an hour, a flicker of something stirred. For the first time in a long time, you wanted to draw. Not for a paycheck, not for numbers on a spreadsheet, but simply because it might make someone else happy. 

Because it might make him happy. 

You almost laughed as you reached into your purse, finding the small drawing notepad you still carried. Half its pages were filled with scribbles—angry, chaotic lines etched so deeply they scarred the next page. Proof of countless attempts to destroy your own work, to obliterate the things you hated about yourself. 

Flipping to the back, you grabbed a pen and hesitated. 

“I, uh… if y-you don’t mind,” you stammered, your heart racing in your chest, “I-I could draw that trio of ducks for you?” 

The words were out before you could stop them, and regret hit you like a wave. Why had you offered to draw something so… mundane? Why not Count Duckula, the ultra-rare? Why would a stranger even want your scribbles? Heat rose in your cheeks, and you forced a trembling smile as you flipped the notepad shut, shrinking into yourself. 

You should take the muffin to go, you thought bitterly. Make your excuses and return to the solitude of your home where no one could see your failures. 

Before you could muster the courage to leave, Luci slapped his hands to his cheeks, his eyes widening with delight. “Oh, are you an artist?” he asked, his voice brimming with wonder. He leaned forward, and for a fleeting moment, something flickered in his expression—a shadow of pain, perhaps, or maybe it was just the light. 

“I… guess I’m somewhat of an artist,” you mumbled, the words faltering as they left your lips. 

He squealed like a delighted child, his feet tapping against the floor. Clasping his hands together, he grinned. “Can you draw a trio of ducks, but it’s Lucifer, Lilith, and their daughter?” 

You blinked. Once. Twice. 

“That’s… an interesting request,” you murmured, tilting your head. Was he serious? Perhaps he was a Satanist? Would drawing demons as ducks count as blasphemy? And did Lucifer and Lilith even have a daughter? 

“Uhm…” you hesitated, glancing up at his expectant face. His excitement was so genuine, so infectious, that you couldn’t bring yourself to say no. “Do you, uh, have a specific idea for how they should look, or…?” 

“Oh no,” Luci waved a hand dismissively. “I’m more interested in how you envision them!” 

Drawing from the dry well of your creativity felt like squeezing water from a stone. You started with the horns—predictable—and then added wings and a smattering of devilish details. The lines felt shaky, the proportions wrong, the designs uninspired. 

The pen trembled in your hand as doubt crept in. This isn’t good enough, the voice in your head hissed. The shapes are off. The lines are wonky. The urge to scribble over the drawing, to obliterate it into oblivion, burned in your chest. You needed to start over. 

Again and again. 

Again. Until it was perfect. 

Again. Until it was worthy. 

You simply had to get better, do better, be better. 

But Luci’s voice broke through the storm in your mind. “I love it!” he exclaimed, leaning so close you thought he might fall into the table. His eyes sparkled as he admired the doodle. “Oh, gosh, this is wonderful!” 

Your throat tightened as you fought back tears. Why? Why did he like it? Couldn’t he see the flaws, the imperfections? 

“Can I keep it?” he asked, his voice soft with a childlike eagerness. 

You couldn’t speak. The words refused to come, so you gave him a faint nod, you tore the sheet of paper from your notepad, the sound sharp and final, and handed it to him with trembling fingers. Luci accepted it like it was the most precious thing in the world, holding it gently as if it might crumble in his hands. He studied your drawing with a small, wistful smile that tugged at the corners of his lips. 

“I really do… love it when humans create,” he murmured, his voice barely audible. The words seemed to carry more weight than they should, as though they held the remnants of a truth too fragile to speak aloud. 

“Truly,” he added, his lower lip quivering. He cleared his throat quickly, blinking rapidly before replacing the moment of vulnerability with a wide, goofy grin. 

Luci was an enigma. There was something off about him—an air, a presence—that felt out of place in your ordinary, grey world. It was as if he didn’t belong here, as if he were a splash of colour painted into a monochrome existence. 

Perhaps...

...that was why you were drawn to him. 

To the warmth he seemed to radiate so effortlessly. It was gentle, inviting, and for the first time in a long time, the relentless voices in your mind—the ones that berated you for every perceived failure—began to dim. Their harsh accusations softened to murmurs, then to silence. 

Time blurred. The two of you sat there in the café, opening booster packs side by side. Cups of coffee were ordered and refilled, their rich aroma mingling with the sweet, spicy scent of cinnamon. The banana nut muffin you’d shared lingered on your tongue, a surprising comfort. The bell above the door tinkled softly as customers came and went, yet the world beyond your table felt distant, unimportant. 

It was... odd. 

But it wasn’t unpleasant. 

Luci’s laughter, clear and joyful, broke through your defences. Each genuine compliment he gave, each silly comment, seemed to chip away at the invisible weight pressing down on you. By the time you reached the last booster pack, you felt lighter—like maybe, just maybe, you weren’t as broken as you believed. 

“You should open it,” Luci said, handing you the final pack. His grin was as bright as ever. 

“I… don’t think I should,” you hesitated, glancing at the disappointing stack of cards you’d already opened. Your luck had been abysmal—nearly all duplicates, with the best being a single uncommon card. 

“Oh, don't be a silly goose!” Luci declared, snapping his fingers with dramatic flair before pointing at the foil-wrapped pack in your hand. “I have a feeling you’re going to pull the ultra-super-rare card!” He nodded to himself, then added a playful wink that made you giggle despite yourself. 

“Really?” you asked, your voice coloured with disbelief but softened by his contagious enthusiasm. 

“Really,” he said with the conviction of someone who had already seen the future. 

His persistence left you with little choice. “Alright,” you sighed, shaking your head with a small smile. You opened the pack, shuffling through the cards one by one until you froze. 

Your breath caught in your throat. 

There, in your hands, was the card. 

The Angelic Duck. 

Its pastel sky shimmered under the café’s light, the holographic wings moving as you tilted the card back and forth. You remembered the company mentioning this card—a one-in-a-million rarity, with only two released in the entire wave. It was surreal, almost impossible. 

“See!” Luci beamed, his eyes sparkling with triumph. “You’re not unlucky, sweetie.” His voice softened, and his gaze lingered on you for just a moment too long. “Trust me.” 

For a second, you felt his words meant something more than they seemed. That he wasn’t just talking about the card but about you. About the parts of yourself you couldn’t see, the worth you struggled to believe in. 

But the feeling slipped away, ephemeral as sand through your fingers. It was wishful thinking. 

Nothing more. 

You wet your lips, hesitating, the words caught in your throat. Your heart pounded in your chest, each beat deafening in your ears. Finally, you managed to whisper, “W-Will... could I see you again?” 

His eyes flickered with surprise, and heat flooded your cheeks. You pressed on, stumbling over your words. “I-I could sh-show you around. If… if you’re not leaving right away.” 

Your voice wavered, trembling under the weight of your certainty that he would say no. It was ridiculous, wasn’t it? To ask something so personal of a stranger? Your body tensed, bracing for rejection, for the polite but distant smile, for the inevitable goodbye that would leave you sitting alone with nothing but your thoughts. 

Luci paused, his brows knitting together, the cheerful light in his expression dimming ever so slightly. For the first time, his bright, untroubled smile faltered, casting a shadow on the radiance you had marvelled at moments ago. 

You panicked, stumbling over your words. “I-it’s okay,” you said quickly, your voice trembling with embarrassment. “I-if you’re busy, it’s...” You laughed softly, awkwardly, trying to ease the tension you felt growing between you. “It’s alright, really.” 

But he shook his head almost immediately, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender. “N-no, no,” he said, his tone hesitant but earnest. “I… I’m sure I can extend my stay a little bit.” 

You blinked, the breath catching in your throat as his words sank in. Then, slowly, you smiled. Not the kind of smile you had grown so accustomed to—a mask to hide the tumult of insecurities and self-loathing inside—but a real, unguarded smile. 

It was a smile born from something tender and fragile, a memory of warmth long buried beneath years of disappointment. 

It reminded you of the joy you felt when your parents had first framed one of your paintings, proudly displaying it for all to see. 

It reminded you of painting freely as a child, the way you used to let your imagination spill onto the canvas without fear or doubt. 

It reminded you of the times when creating wasn’t a burden but a blessing, a purpose you held close to your heart. 

It was a smile you thought you had lost forever. 

When you returned home after bidding Luci farewell at the café—his phone number now scrawled in your notepad—you immediately shivered. The icy chill of the wooden floors seeped into your bare feet, the house as unwelcoming as ever. 

The space was barren, devoid of life or personality. Discarded papers littered the floor, mingling with pencil shavings and eraser bits. It wasn’t a home. It was a prison—a hollow shell where the bare necessities existed, but nothing more. 

Your eyes caught the calendar hanging crookedly on the wall. A bold red X marked a date two days away, stark against the empty squares around it. 

You stared at it, your stomach twisting. That day had been carefully planned. It was supposed to be the day. 

But then you thought of Luci. Of his warmth, his light, and the promise you made to show him around. The thought of breaking that promise filled you with an unfamiliar pang of guilt. 

Surely, a week longer would be fine… right? 

Your fingers closed around a red marker that had laid lifelessly on the floor. Emotionlessly, mechanically, your hand hovered over December 26, a week from now, then moved with deliberate finality, slashing a thick red X over the date. 

The pen clattered back to the floor as you dropped it, its sound echoing in the silence. 

You turned to the cluttered table in the corner, the surface buried under half-finished sketches of ducks and crumpled ideas. With a heavy sigh, you sank into the chair, your head bowing as you stared at the blank page in front of you. 

The company had asked for designs for their third wave of cards—450 different ones. An impossible task, but one you had taken on regardless. 

Your hand hovered over the paper, but the creative well inside you was dry. Empty. Still, you pushed forward, forcing your pencil to move, if only to keep the ghosts at bay. 

Because if you stopped—if you allowed yourself to pause—the memories would come rushing back. Memories of your parents and their loss. 

Every stroke of the pencil felt like punishment, every failed attempt a reminder of the guilt you carried. 

You weren’t creating. You were clawing at the past, trying to hold on to something that had long since slipped through your fingers. 

It was torture. 

It was hell. 

But it was atonement. 

Wasn't it?

The pencil felt heavier in your hand than it should have, its faded, rusted-red stains—a macabre memory of past desperation—serving as a quiet reminder of the nights you'd forced yourself, body and soul, into the art that held no meaning. You dragged its lead across the paper, each stroke tightening the invisible noose around your neck, suffocating and relentless, as though you were walking the gallows with your head bowed low, awaiting the final drop. 

But then, something shifted. A tiny ember deep inside you flickered to life. It wasn’t much—just a faint warmth, a whisper of desire that whispered of blank canvases and fingers slick with the lush texture of oil paint. 

That ember refused to extinguish, no matter how much you tried to snuff it out. Instead, it smouldered and grew, stubborn and unrelenting. With each passing moment, it began to consume you, stealing the breath from your lungs and leaving in its place a yearning you couldn’t fully understand, a desire to create again—not for the world, but for yourself.

The next day, you met Luci at the café, your tentative hope hidden beneath layers of polite conversation and practised smiles. You found yourself embellishing the truth as you spoke of your life, weaving together a tapestry of glamour and artistic success. He listened, nodding and laughing in all the right places, but his openness soon made you feel small for your half-truths. 

Luci, in contrast, spoke of his family with a palpable fondness. He described his daughter Charlie - or Char Char - with a wry chuckle and a hint of exasperation, as only a loving father could. 

But then your eyes caught the glint of his wedding ring, and the question slipped out before you could stop yourself. “How come your daughter and wife aren’t here with you?” 

Luci froze, the piece of fruit crêpe halfway to his mouth. His cheeks flushed, and his gaze dropped, suddenly unable to meet yours. 

“S-sorry,” you stammered, shrinking into yourself. “Forget I asked.” 

“No, no, it’s okay.” He cleared his throat, forcing a shaky smile. “Char Char and I are… going through a rough patch. Teenagers, you know?” He nudged your shoulder lightly with his elbow, attempting a laugh that fell flat. 

You gave him a weak smile in return, unsure how to respond. 

“And Lili…” His voice faltered, his forced smile fading as his gaze fixed on some distant point on the ground. “Lili and I… we’re in a complicated situation, I guess.” 

His shoulders slumped, and the crêpe in his hand tilted, sending a dollop of whipped cream tumbling to the pavement. 

The sight of his sadness twisted something inside you. Acting on instinct, you reached out, placing your hand over his. “T-there’s a Duck Battle tournament today,” you blurted, your voice trembling. “Sh-shall we go see that?” 

You didn’t know how to comfort someone. No one had ever taught you how. Love and admiration in your life had always been conditional, tied to your ability to produce something extraordinary. You had learned early on that when the art stopped, so too did the affection. 

But as Luci blinked back unshed tears and gave you a small, grateful smile, nodding in agreement, you hoped—desperately—that this gesture, clumsy as it was, might bring him some solace. 

The days passed, bringing you ever closer to December 26, the ominous red X on your calendar looming larger with each tick of the clock. In that time, you learned more about Luci. 

Like you, he was an artist, his creativity moulded by the same soil of yearning and expression. But while you painted, he built—strange contraptions and devices, all themed around ducks. When he discovered you were the artist behind Duck Battle, his praise came in a flood, each word more sincere than any compliment you had ever received. 

For reasons you couldn’t quite explain, his admiration felt different. 

It felt… real. 

You spent hours talking, sharing sweets, laughing over shared struggles. His presence warmed you in ways you hadn’t felt in years, filling an emptiness you hadn’t even realized was there. Perhaps it was loneliness that made every smile and fleeting touch so precious to you, but whatever the reason, you treasured those moments fiercely. 

Three days before December 26, you did something you never imagined you would do. 

You went to an art supply store. 

You purchased a blank canvas, crisp and new. You unearthed your old easel from the depths of your supply closet, wiping away years of dust with trembling hands. And then, you bought a fresh set of oil paints, their vivid colours gleaming like precious jewels in their pristine tubes. 

As you carried the supplies home, the ember within you flared, its warmth spreading through your chest. You weren’t sure what had changed, or why. 

But for the first time in years, you felt… alive.

Every night, as if driven by some unseen force, you painted. Your hands moved with a desperate urgency, scraping vibrant colours across the canvas, colours that seemed so alive, so full of life—colours that you had once believed were lost to you. But now, as if the very act of creation had summoned them back, they flowed freely once again. You painted him—Luci—the way his golden silk hair had caught the light the first time you saw him, the way his sapphire eyes gleamed with kindness and warmth, the way his smile had made everything else fade into insignificance. 

A smile tugged at your lips, mimicking his. The sound of the metal brush on canvas filled the room, a steady rhythm that echoed in the silence. You painted him not just as he appeared, but as the warmth he had ignited within you. Every stroke, every layer of colour, felt like a piece of your soul reawakening, a fragment of the person you thought you had lost forever. You wanted to give this to him—before he had to leave, before the days ran out. 

As the colours blended and blossomed on the canvas, joy bubbled up within you, filling you with a warmth so sweet and intoxicating that it seemed to take over your very being. You wondered if he would be shocked, if he would be surprised by the depth of feeling you poured into the painting. 

Would he cry? 

Would he understand? 

But you didn’t care. All you wanted, above all else, was for him to be happy with what you had created, for him to cherish it as something that came from the deepest part of you. You poured your heart, shattered and broken as it was, into each stroke, creating something beautiful out of the pieces that had once felt irreparably lost. 

Perhaps it was inevitable, this warmth that had bloomed between you—this connection that had grown from the simplest of beginnings. Christmas day seemed to be the turning point, when you walked with Luci through the park, the air crisp and cold around you. The Christmas lights twinkled in all their colours, casting a soft glow across the snow-covered landscape, and the world felt like a dream. The snowflakes drifted down gently, catching the light like tiny stars, and everything seemed perfect—peaceful. You laughed at his silly stories, your voice mingling with the soft rustle of the falling snow. 

But when the laughter subsided, when you found yourselves walking side by side, fingers brushing in the cold, something shifted. Something deep within you, something you hadn’t expected, bloomed like a flower in the quiet night. It was a palpable change, a feeling that went beyond friendship, beyond the strange bond that had formed over Duck Battle cards. 

His hand brushed yours, and without thinking, you curled your fingers around his, tightening your grip, clinging to the warmth he offered. His hand squeezed back.

You didn’t realize how desperately you had needed this connection until it was there, alive and pulsing between the two of you. 

Even when you reached your door, when the moment to say goodbye loomed, neither of you let go. Your fingers remained intertwined, stubbornly, as if neither of you was ready to let the moment end. 

“It’s cold outside,” you murmured shyly, your voice soft, almost timid, as you tugged him closer to you, stepping back until your back was pressed against the door. 

“Yea, i-it is,” Luci whispered, his breath visible in the frigid air. His presence seemed to fill the space between you, his warmth a contrast to the chill that surrounded you both. 

Despite the coldness of his wedding ring pressing against your skin, despite the knowledge that this was wrong, you couldn’t bring yourself to pull away. You didn’t want to. There was something undeniable between you, something that drew you both together, like the pull of gravity itself. 

And then, as the door creaked open, Luci’s fingers tangled in your hair, pulling you down to him. His kiss was firm, urgent, and it burned with a fierce need, a desire that neither of you could ignore. It was quick, instinctual, the rush of bodies and breath as you both succumbed to the moment, letting go of everything—of doubts, of fears, of the consequences that would come after. 

In that kiss, in the way his body pressed against yours, there was no more space for regret, for hesitation. You both indulged, fully and without restraint. 

And in that moment, you...

...and him... 

His lips, warm and insistent, traced the curve of your jaw, the soft, heated pressure sending shivers down your spine. The world felt suspended in time as he moved lower, his mouth gliding over the delicate skin of your neck, his breath a soft, intoxicating warmth. The surrounding space was filled with discarded clothes, the remnants of passion now tainted with the weight of guilt—of something that could never be, yet you both gravitated toward it nonetheless. Your back pressed against the cold wooden floor, contrasting the heat building between your legs. Your hands lay helplessly on your chest, not knowing where to place them, unsure how to ground yourself in a moment that felt so wrong and yet, so deeply, desperately right. 

His lips continued their descent, a slow, deliberate path toward the apex of your thighs, each touch igniting a fire deep within you. There were no words—none spoken, none needed—because any utterance would break the fragile illusion between you, the delicate balance of a sin too dangerous to acknowledge. 

He has a daughter.The thought was distant, almost unreal, a fleeting notion as his tongue traced a slow, agonizing path between your folds. A sharp gasp tore from your throat, the sound of it muffled by the overwhelming sensation of him, of the way his mouth and tongue moved against your skin. 

Your chest rose and fell with each breath, heavy, desperate, as the cold moonlight spilled through the half-circle window above the door, casting an ethereal glow on the scene below. Dust motes danced in the beams, swirling lazily, like snowflakes drifting in the still air. They mocked you, a silent reminder of the falsity of this moment, a moment so desperately wrong—and yet... 

He has a wife, you thought in sudden dismay, as the reality of the situation crashed in once more. His head lifted, eyes half-lidded, the remnants of your taste lingering on his lips. His wedding ring gleamed, cold and out of place, as he slipped two fingers inside you, the fourth finger encased in the cool metal pressing against your heated skin. The dichotomy of it all—of this stolen moment and the life he had outside this room, outside of you—twisted something inside you. His fingers moved slowly, deeply, each thrust deliberate, drawing lewd, wet noises that mingled with your breath, filling the room with the unmistakable sounds of desire. 

You gasped again, your hand instinctively covering your lips, the pressure of it barely able to contain the sounds of pleasure that slipped through. The way his fingers found the perfect rhythm, the way his touch coaxed you closer and closer to the edge, your eyes fluttered, struggling to stay open. Every touch, every press, felt like it was drawing you to a peak too quickly, too easily. 

"A-ah..." The sound was barely a whisper, your breath catching as his lips descended again, his mouth on your clit now, ravaging, relentless. His tongue flicked and teased, making your body tremble, your breath quickened with a desperation you couldn't control. His moan was low, guttural, and it only spurred you on, the pressure building to an unbearable crescendo. 

One last, powerful suck before he withdrew. Your vision blurred as you were dangerously on the precipice of falling. He stood over you, his cock hard and gleaming with pre-cum, the moonlight catching it just so, marking it as the final sin in this forbidden encounter. 

You hadn’t even made it past the foyer—the door still unlocked, the peephole an unblinking eye, silently condemning you. It was too much to bear, too much to reconcile with the reality of it all, yet you couldn’t pull away, couldn’t stop yourself from tracing his bare chest with your eyes. His skin, smooth and flawless, seemed almost sculpted from marble, a perfection that should never have been so close to you. The thought flitted through your mind, If I were to paint this..., how would I capture the colour of him? 

But then, in the depths of your gaze, his blue eyes flashed—just for a moment—blurring into two crimson rubies, gleaming with something darker, something possessive. It was gone before you could make sense of it, just an illusion, a trick of the light, or maybe of your own spiralling mind. 

Luci hovered over you, his body trembling with restraint as the tip of his cock, weeping with need, pressed against the raw, desperate part of you. His lips brushed against yours, gentle, almost reverent, a stark contrast to the storm building between you. Your arms wound around his neck, pulling him closer, as your legs curled around his waist, aching for the connection that only this moment of raw vulnerability could offer. 

You needed him—needed this closeness that was both comforting and terrifying, the warmth of his skin against yours, the desperate push for something deeper, something more than just physical. 

Your eyes met his, and for a moment, time seemed to stretch, thick with hesitation. His gaze was distant, clouded with something you couldn't quite read. But then, with a quiet breath, you pressed your heels into his lower back, urging him forward, urging him to bridge the gap between you. To finally give in. His eyes fluttered shut, and in that instant, he took the plunge. 

The feeling of him filling you—filling you completely—was overwhelming, a rush of sensation so intense it stole the breath from your lungs. A sharp gasp escaped you, and tears sprang to your eyes, the sting of both pleasure and the emptiness that came with it. You searched for him, for his eyes, for the depth of connection that had drawn you to him in the first place. His blue eyes, vast and endless like the sky and sea, should have been there to anchor you, but they were gone, hidden behind the veil of his closed lids. 

His face dropped to the crook of your neck, his breath uneven, his body moving against yours in a rhythm that bordered on frantic. His hips rocked into you with a steady, punishing pace. The feeling of his skin against yours, the heat building between you, sent waves of pleasure crashing through you, each one more intense than the last. But it wasn't enough—not enough to fill the emptiness that gnawed inside you, not enough to keep the bond you thought you'd found from slipping away. 

The front of his hips slapped against your sensitive clit, pulling strangled cries from your throat, but as each thrust drove deeper, the warmth you had so desperately craved began to cool. The connection you thought you'd felt—the intimacy, the closeness—seemed to flicker and fade, slipping between your fingers like sand. You grit your teeth, your chest tight with the panic of losing something so fragile, and you willed it to stay, to drown you, to anchor you in this moment, in this feeling. 

With everything you had, you opened yourself up, all of it—the vulnerability, the insecurities, the need for more, for him, for this. Open, open, open... 

"L-Luci," you whispered, your voice thick and hoarse, a near sob caught in your throat. "Luci..." The words, laced with want, with desperate need, tangled in your chest, lodged there like barbed wire. All you could do was cry out his name, over and over, until it became a broken prayer. 

His hips moved faster, harder, each thrust sending you sliding across the floor beneath him, your hair a tangled mess as his fingers wrapped around your strands, pulling you closer, deeper into the frenzied heat. But even then, his eyes never opened. He never responded to your cries, never acknowledged the way your body trembled beneath him, the way you shattered, piece by piece, beneath the weight of your desire and disappointment. 

He never looked at you when you broke. 

And when he finally shattered above you, his body collapsing against yours, it was as though the connection you had so desperately wanted, the bond you had yearned for, never existed beyond your mind. It was never real. Just a fleeting moment, a whisper in the dark. A hope unfulfilled, a dream never meant to be. 

Like the countless paintings you had created, destroyed, and burned. 

Your breath and his were sharp, uneven, a discordant rhythm echoing in the silence between you. Your hands, once gripping him with desperate need, slipped away, falling limply to your sides as though they no longer knew their place. Luci pulled away from you slowly, his body trembling, his seed spilling from you, staining the space between you both. He knelt in the mess of discarded clothes, panting, his eyes distant and hollow, as if he had lost something vital in the moment. His lips quivered, but no words came. 

There was nothing but the heavy silence, thick and suffocating. 

You stared at him, eyes wide, searching for something—anything—in his expression, but all you found was an emptiness, a vastness that seemed to stretch endlessly. He stared upward, his gaze unfocused, as though trying to see beyond you, beyond this moment, beyond everything that had just transpired. 

“Lu—” Your voice cracked on his name, raw and trembling. You could barely speak, the words suffocated by the weight of everything you felt. Your body, exposed and bare, felt fragile, as if the barest breath would shatter you. Your heart felt like it was lying open before him, brittle and vulnerable, delicate as glass. 

“Oh God.” Luci’s voice was broken, strained with something you couldn’t name. His hands dropped to his face, the yellow band on his wedding finger blinking erratically—mocking the turmoil in his mind. “Oh God,” he whispered again, his voice trembling, thick with pain. It was a pain that mirrored your own, something raw, something impossible to put into words. 

You couldn’t look away. You glanced around the room, eyes falling to the discarded clothing that lay strewn about, evidence of what had happened, the evidence of what you had done. His seed pooled beneath you, mixing with your own body, your own shame. The sight burned in your chest, a raw, aching grief that gnawed at you from the inside. Slowly, you pulled yourself upright, curling your knees to your chest, your arms wrapping around your body as though you could protect yourself from the brokenness of it all. 

You had slept with a married man. 

A father. 

A man who had a life—who had a family. 

That bond you thought you felt? 

It wasn’t real, was it? 

It was a lie. Empty. Hollow. Just like his praises. Just like the smiles that never reached his eyes. 

Your vision blurred with tears, and the weight of everything—the regret, the loss, the crushing shame—became too much. You blinked, trying to push the pain back, but it was impossible. With shaky hands, you began to collect his clothes, each article a weight added to the burden of your guilt. The silence in the room was oppressive, heavy with the unspoken truth. Regret hung in the air like a cloud, suffocating you both. 

“L-Luci,” your voice was barely more than a whisper, hoarse from unshed tears. You looked at the pile of his discarded clothes, waiting in the silence between you. “I—I’m s-sorry.” The words tasted like ash in your mouth, but they were all you had. “I... I still want to...” Your lips parted, but the words caught, tangled in the emotion that flooded you. You searched his face, your eyes desperate for any sign that he was still there, that you hadn’t lost him completely. You didn’t want him to leave you. 

Loneliness crushed you in a way you had never known. It was suffocating, cold, all-encompassing. And the warmth of another, even one that was so fleeting, only made the emptiness in your chest worse. 

"I... I should go," Luci muttered, his voice strained, almost detached. He rushed to pull on his clothes, fumbling with the buttons, his usually pristine attire now a wrinkled mess. His hair, once neatly styled, now fell haphazardly across his face, a chaotic reflection of the scene that had just unfolded. He looked so different from the man who had once seemed so certain, so confident. 

"Wi... Will I see you again?" you asked, your voice barely a whisper, fragile, unsure. 

He stopped for a moment, his body tense, the air between you thick with unspoken words. Then, with a forced smile that didn’t reach his eyes, he answered, "I... maybe, kiddo." The nickname he used when you were nothing more than strangers, back when you hadn’t known the depths of each other. 

Or maybe, you thought, we were always just strangers.

You had never reached his heart. 

"Okay," you murmured, your voice thick with emotion, still raw, still exposed, your bare body aching in the emptiness he left behind. 

Without another word, without a second glance, he left you there. The door clicked shut softly, the sound echoing in the hollow space between you, sealing the finality of it all. 

A suffocating silence filled the room. You sat there, numb, your mind a whirlwind of confusion and hurt, unsure of what to do next. The isolation crept in, slowly at first, then all at once. It filled you with disgust, with shame, and worst of all, with self-hatred. 

It grew. 

It grew, like a poisonous vine wrapping around your chest, tightening with each breath, until it felt like you couldn’t breathe. 

The weight of it became unbearable. Your heart pounded, each beat louder, more frantic than the last. Your hands gripped your hair, yanking at the strands, pulling, anything to escape the suffocating feelings. You pressed your lips together tightly, stifling the screams, the sobs that fought to escape. 

"A-ah..." your voice cracked, trembling as the floodgates finally opened, hot tears spilling down your face, mingling with the remnants of what had happened. 

You ruined it. 

You ruined everything. 

Once again. 

You ruined it. 

Everything you touched, everything you let yourself believe in, it was worthless. Everything you were... it was all for nothing. 

Do better. 

Get better. 

Be better. 

And if you couldn’t? 

You weren’t sure how long you sat there, the passage of time lost in the haze of your broken thoughts. Long enough for the evidence of your mistake, of your sin, to cool against your skin, to harden like the guilt inside you. Slowly, numbly, you stood, your body heavy with shame, and began to dress yourself. Each piece of clothing felt like another layer of self-loathing being added, an attempt to cover up the truth that had been laid bare. 

But no matter how many layers you put on, you couldn’t hide the emptiness inside. 

You wandered aimlessly through your house, your feet carrying you without purpose until your gaze landed on the painting of him. His blue eyes stared back at you, gleaming with an intensity that seemed to hold you captive. The clothes he wore when you first met—the ones from that day at the café—were captured so perfectly, so vividly. His smile was gentle, warm, as though it could melt away every bit of the coldness inside you. But as you stared, the painting felt like nothing more than a pale imitation of him, a sad mockery of the person you thought you knew. 

Hot tears welled in your eyes, then spilled over, trickling down your face like a silent confession. You could almost hear it, distant and fading—his voice praising you, his words of encouragement when you drew the silly ducks for him. The memory was a soft echo, a reminder of something you thought was real. 

A part of you, a pathetic, desperate part, still clung to the hope that maybe—just maybe—you could make things right. You grabbed the portrait, cradling it like a fragile lifeline, and dashed toward your car. You didn’t know what you were hoping for, what you thought you could fix, but you were sure, naive in your belief, that there was still a chance. 

Once inside the car, your hands gripped the steering wheel, and the engine hummed to life, the vibration beneath you a stark contrast to the numbness that had settled in your chest. But as you shifted in the seat, you paused. 

You hadn’t even asked where he was staying. Every time you met, it was somewhere public, somewhere neutral—a park, a café, a random point of interest. Your gaze drifted to the passenger seat, where the painting sat.

It was incomplete. 

It was imperfect. 

It was worthless. 

Would he even want it? 

Would he even want you? 

No. You had to believe he did. He told you he liked your work. He said it with that genuine smile, that warmth in his voice. Before he knew your name, before he knew you were the artist behind the silly card game—he liked you. He was kind to you. You clung to that truth like a lifeline, like it could save you from the crushing weight of the doubt beginning to swallow you whole. 

You fumbled for your phone, hands shaking as you dialed his number, hoping for something—anything—that would make sense of this mess. Your heart pounded, your breath shallow, as the phone rang. 

But then, the words came. The voice on the other end was cold, indifferent, and robotic. "I’m sorry, the number you are trying to dial is not available..." 

Confusion bloomed in your chest. Maybe you’d dialed it wrong. So you tried again. And again. Each time, the same dispassionate voice greeted you, the same unfeeling message cutting through your fragile hope. 

It couldn’t be real. 

It couldn’t. 

Your fingers trembled as you stared at the screen, hearing the repetitive, cold message before it faded into the silence of your car. The hum of the engine, the quiet drip of your tears, it all felt distant—unnerving. 

You didn’t turn off the ignition. The weight of everything felt too heavy to move, to even breathe. 

And then you saw it—the clock on your phone, a cruel reminder that it was December 26th. Midnight had passed. 

Your hand hovered near the keys for a moment, but it fell limp, back into your lap, like your body was too exhausted to hold on. The air in the car grew thick, suffocating, as you opened the window, and the smell of gasoline filled your nostrils. 

You didn’t look away. Your eyes never left the phone, not even as it dimmed, not even as it reflected the face of a girl—broken, bruised by her own thoughts, who had given up too much. 

“Did you really think he would like your painting?” The voice echoed in your mind, louder now, sharper than before. It wasn’t a thought—it was a command, a judgment. 

You closed your eyes, tears slipping from beneath your lids as the air grew heavier, thicker with every breath you took. 

“Did you really think any of this was real?” the voice asked again, a question, an accusation. 

“No…” you whispered, your voice breaking, your hands covering your ears in a futile attempt to shut out the truth. But it didn’t work. The voice was clearer than ever, its presence suffocating you from all sides. 

Tears flowed freely now, your body wracked with silent sobs as you clung to the empty hope that you could somehow make things right. But you knew, deep down, that you were only fooling yourself. 

“You’re nothing without your parents,” the voice whispered cruelly, slicing through the silence like a blade. 

“They shouldn’t have ever given birth to you,” it continued, each word dripping with venom. 

“A worthless investment,” it droned on, the words echoing, growing louder, more suffocating. 

The voice, harsh and mocking, grated against your ears, each syllable sharp and jagged. Your body trembled, your breath shallow and erratic as tears spilled down your face, your chest heaving in desperate gasps. The pain was raw, like a wound that would never heal, and still, the voice mocked you, relentless. 

When you finally opened your eyes, the sight that greeted you was more than you could bear. The shadows of your parents stood before your car, looming figures bathed in the dim light, their forms indistinct, yet painfully familiar. 

Your father’s voice rang out, his laughter echoing in the hollow air. “Look at my girl, look how talented she is!” The words were coated with a false warmth, but the undertone was sharp, a mocking cruelty that only deepened the ache inside you. 

Your mother joined in, her voice a saccharine hum that made your insides twist. “I knew her artistic talent ran in the family. We’re so proud of you, winning first prize again!” Her praise, once a balm, now felt like a blade, each word a reminder of everything you couldn’t be. 

“M-mom… d-dad,” you croaked, your voice weak, barely a whisper. Another cough wracked your lungs, the pain seizing them as the car’s engine continued to rumble beneath you, as if it, too, was trapped in the crushing weight of this moment. 

Your father’s tone shifted, turning cold and distant. “What happened? Why aren’t you working harder?” His disappointment was palpable, the sharp edge of his words digging into you. “It’s like you don’t care.” He turned away from you, his back a final, unforgiving gesture. 

“N-no, d-dad,” you pleaded, your voice breaking, raw and desperate. “I’ll try harder. I’ll be first always, always. Just… just don’t leave me.” Tears streamed down your face, an unstoppable flood of regret and shame. “I’m sorry, I’m so-sorry…” The words spilled from your lips, but they felt hollow, like they could never be enough. 

“Where did I go wrong?” Your mother’s voice cracked, her sorrow sharp, cutting through you like a jagged edge. “I gave you the best tutors, the best supplies, and you lost—lost to that… that no-name kid?” Her voice shook with guilt, her sobs breaking the air. “It was my fault, my fault.” 

Your own voice climbed, a shrill, desperate scream that tore at your throat. “It’s not—" you gasped, choking on the words, "It’s not your fault! I’ll do better, I’ll get better, I’ll be better,” you begged, your body convulsing with the force of your sobs. “Just don’t—don’t leave me!” Your voice cracked as the tears continued to pour, your breath ragged, your heart screaming for salvation, for release. 

Your memories, each one a fractured shard of your past, flashed before your eyes like ruined paintings—each one marred by angry, black streaks, defiled, violated. Your art, your passion, each one shattered beyond repair. One by one, they fell apart, until… 

Until Luci’s face appeared, burned into your mind with a cruel, unrelenting clarity. His eyes were wide, filled with pure agony, regret, disappointment, and sadness—emotions that mirrored your parents’ gazes, emotions that haunted you endlessly. 

You saw it.  

You felt it.  

Over and over again, the repetition of regret, of loss, of failure. It all crashed down on you like a tidal wave, drowning you in its weight. 

“Ah… ah…” you gasped, your words strangled in your throat, each breath a labour, each sob a crude edge of a dagger. The overwhelming wave of emotions consumed you, suffocated you, until… 

The void you had poured over your art, the darkness that had swallowed every ounce of your soul, finally consumed you. It was an endless abyss, engulfing everything whole—your thoughts, your dreams, your very existence. 

Ah... 

There was beauty in darkness, wasn’t there? A beauty so pure, so suffocating, that it consumes every breath, every thought, every ounce of life you had once clung to. 

You had been told it over and over again, like a cruel promise whispered into your soul. And now, here you are, standing at the edge of it all. You have finally reached the pinnacle of your existence. 

The word settles over you like a heavy shroud, cold and unforgiving, a final verdict on everything you have ever been. All that you were, all you had hoped to become, is swallowed by the abyss. There is no turning back now. There is no room left for redemption, no space for regret, no lingering chance for salvation. 

It is over. 

The truth cuts deeper than you ever imagined. The ache in your chest is not just sorrow—it is the emptiness of everything finally falling away, leaving you hollow, unimportant. A fleeting, insignificant speck in a universe that does not care, that will not remember. 

You feel the last of your strength slipping away, the slow, inevitable pull of nothingness dragging you under.  

No more struggles. No more cries for help. No more hopes.  

Just... nothing. 

And in that stillness, you are gone, as if you had never existed at all. 

[hauntedwitch04]

I'm so excited

Remus Lupin x reader

Words: about 4.0k words

Warnings: smut, possessive!Remus, swearing, not proofreaded (sorry it's really late, and I'm starting to imagine things :) )

Author’s note: Hi loves! I'm so so so so so sorry, but life it's really kinking me in the ass and seems like uni likes to do the same, so I hope to write some more during this break. Let me know if you liked this one, your witch Becky

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DAY 11: Breeding (tbt maybe isn't that much breeding, but I let myself get carried away by Remus Fucking Lupin)

Title of the one shot (and song in it): I'm so excited by The pointer sisters

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Remus could swear that he had never hated you as much as he did at that moment.

You and young Lupin had never been big fans of each other, as you both competed to be your year's brightest witch and wizard, but for some time the hungry little wolf in him had begun to see more than just a rival of wits in you: prey.

Each time he could not help but dwell on your hair, your smile (unfortunately never directed at him), your wonderful and magnetic eyes, and then wander over aspects that made his thoughts less pure. At night he dreamed of being able to touch your breasts, his most secret and darkest desire, being able to kiss, taste and bite them, almost putting his signature on you, so that everyone, even that idiot Ravenclaw of your year knew that no one but him could touch you; or he dreamed of leaving a trail of kisses from your belly down to your belly, to your thighs, which he imagined were so soft and sweet, until a scream from Sirius woke him up in the morning, telling him he was late, again. Sometimes in the dullest classes he marveled at imagining what it would be like to come inside you, to possess you in such a primitive, animal way; to see his cum dripping from your pussy as his fingers brought it back inside you, into your womb, where it belonged according to him.

Part of Remus knew that he had no right to impose himself on you in that possessive way, but somehow the wolf inside him disagreed, having decided that you were by far the most captivating and attractive prey he had ever seen.

Despite everything, however, young Lupin had always managed to make sure that he did not give in to his instincts, well at least until this evening.

The Hufflepuffs had decided to throw another party, to take the pressure off the young students in this exam-filled period, and of course his friends had decided that Remus absolutely had to attend to tell them "to relax a bit," but Sirius, as they were getting ready to arrive at the place where the party was being held, had looked at Remus and raising his eyebrows in an endearing way, with the look of someone who knows more than he should, had said that he knew for a fact that you would be at the party. Remus had never wanted to punch him as much as he did at that exact moment, but the thought that had grafted itself into him of you, dancing in the middle of a dance floor, not in the usual clothes he saw you in class in, but freer and more yourself, had been enough to make him close his mouth in fear that an involuntary moan would escape his lips.

But his imagination had not even come close to reality.

He had been sitting in an armchair for two hours now, stiff and panting, while next to him two are making out as if he were not next to them, but Remus cares nothing about what is happening next to him, the only thing he can focus on is you.

Right now you've climbed on top of one of the tables in the center of the room with your friend, and you're dancing one attached to the other, moving your pelvis in time to the music. You are wearing a simple black T-shirt with a V-neckline, ending just above your belly button and highlighting your breasts, which made young Lupin say a long string of swear words when he first saw you when he entered the room, hoping that like a spell they might change what you are wearing into cute, soft pajamas with Christmas puppets, or make the painful erection he was feeling go away. A simple skirt, on the other hand, moved in time with your hips, showing off your legs, neither too much nor too little. It was shocking to Remus how on an occasion like this you had managed to maintain the same elegance and class you show in class when you get into an argument with him about who is right, in fact he almost seemed to see the same stubbornness and confidence in your eyes at this moment as you downed another sip of your drink, which you had managed not to spill despite everything despite continuing to move.

"If you take a picture of her, you'll be able to look at it again tonight you know, when you can't help but-" Sirius whispers in his ear, waking Remus from the trance-like state he had fallen into.

"We get it Padfoot, you don't need to go on." James stops him, as he gets a glimpse of the young wolf from behind their friend's back.

Remus rolls his eyes, only to look in his hands at the drink that he has now finished, and without saying anything to his friends he turns and goes to the table where the bottles of alcohol are.

He pauses for a moment to look at which of the proposed spirits is the strongest, to make sure that he also forgets his name, as well as the sinful thoughts your body brings him.

However, everything changes in a matter of seconds.

The young wolf has finally identified what he wants to drink when a body pulls up, still moving in time to the music. Remus turns to glare evilly at anyone who has bumped into him at such an unhappy and difficult time in his life, when he sees the culmination of all his problems: you.

He can't help but look at you enraptured even more than before, now with the possibility of being able to notice up close all the details that had eluded him a few minutes ago; besides given the difference in height, now your V-neckline offers him a view of your breasts unseen before, so much so that he has to restrain himself from running into the nearest bathroom and throwing cold water on his face, and more.

Your hair reflects the moonlight, which comes from a nearby window, and at that moment Remus realizes a truth that had escaped him just before: in three days it would be a full moon.

Not understanding how something so important could have slipped his mind, he realizes that all last week he had been too busy cursing your name or moaning it at night to realize that the moon was changing night after night.

You are the only thing he can now understand and think about, and this terrifies him, but at the same time makes him feel good.

Coming to her senses, she realizes that caught up in the rhythm of the music and the alcohol you practically danced on him. Lupin feeling a presence in his pants becoming more and more obvious and the wolf inside him getting louder and louder, decides that he cannot stay a second longer in this room, so he hurries out of the Hufflepuff common room, to find himself thus in the corridors. He begins to run, not going too far, but far enough to still hear the background music, thinking he is alone, when he hears footsteps.

Remus turns and sees you, leaning forward trying to regain the breath you had lost in running after him. Again the sight of your cleavage is enough to make him say a sequence of swear words under his breath as you pull yourself up and look at him.

"What are you doing here?" Remus asks, in an almost mean tone, yet unable to hide a note of longing as he tries to send you away by being rude to you.

"Your friends looked pretty bad to me, and they asked me to see if you were okay when you ran away from the party." You reply in the same acid tone he had used, before bursting out laughing. "What an idiot I am. I thought that at least this time if I showed you kindness, you would see that I'm not a bitch like you like to paint me."

"Why do you care so much that I think so highly of you?" He asks, intrigued, as he mentally slaps himself for the question he just asked.

"Because you are a person that everyone esteems and appreciates, and it is an honor to be appreciated by you in this damn school, and I never understood what I did to deserve the treatment I get from you. Do you really hate me for a couple of assignments and lessons? Are you really that arrogant?" You ask as you take a step toward him, but the sight of you so angry and panting with your hair messed up is enough to make him go wild, imagining you in the same condition, but this time because of him in a different way: under him and panting from his kisses as he makes you cry out in pleasure with his member. Remus takes a step back to catch his breath as he tries with all his might not to jump on you, and to banish his thoughts with images of pink-bearded Dumbledore dancing to a Christmas song. You, however, misinterpret that step backward, and respond with another step forward toward him.

"What more do I have to do than that Lupin? I'm laying myself bare before you, what more do I have to do Remus? Tell me."

Upon hearing his name fall from your fleshy lips, a short-circuit occurs in Remus's brain, who, no longer able to have control over his body, pounces on you like a predator who manages to finally get his fangs on his prey.

You initially don't know how to react when you feel his mouth on yours, but after a few seconds you return the kiss with equal passion. Your hands go into his brown hair, pulling it, while at the same time you press his face even harder against yours. Instead, his hands travel the way from your hips to your butt to your thighs, where with a nimble move Remus pulls you up as if you weighed nothing, while your back collides with the cold stone wall, enough to make you moan into the boy's mouth.

So you stay endless minutes kissing, in that lost hallway, while underneath the music seems to give you the tempo with which your tongues must move.

Then Remus pauses, trying to catch his breath, leaning his forehead against yours, still trying to keep at bay the wolf inside him that was clawing at the door to get out.

"You're still in time to run away baby. If you don't leave now, I don't know if I can guarantee that I can stop another time." Remus whispers a few inches from your lips as you too catch your breath. You look at him confused, not understanding why he sees what you were doing, or what you might soon be doing, as a terrible thing you would like to run away from instead of something you have been running toward for years.

And instead of answering him, she starts humming the song that had just started at the party.

"Tonight's the night we're gonna make it happen-" Whispers kissing his forehead. "-tonight we'll put all other things aside-" You continue kissing his eyes. "-give in this time and show me some affection-" You sing as you kiss his cheeks, hearing him moan, almost as if it is a pain what you are doing, even though you know for sure from the erection pressing against your belly that it is not. "-We're goin' for those pleasures in the night.-" You say finally kissing him on the lips, lightly brushing against his before continuing to sing. "-I want to love you, feel you, wrap myself around you, I want to squeeze you, please you, I just can't get enough, and if you move real slow, I'll let it go-" now, however, it is he who begins his attack with slow kisses from your ear to your mouth, not even touching it though before moving down to your neck.

"-I'm so excited, and I just can't hide it, I'm about to lose control and I think I like it, I'm so excited, and I just can't hide it, and I know, I know, I know, I know I want you." You finish singing the refrain panting as he finishes leaving marks all the way down your neck to the hollow, leaving almost his mark, wanting everyone to know who was lucky enough to have you in his arms and on his lips.

"Do you still have doubts Lupin, or should I go back to my room and do for myself what you haven't given me yet? Or maybe I could go back to the party and find someone, maybe Sirius-" You try to provoke him, but your words die in your throat as one of his hands tightens around your neck.

"Don't ever try to mention another guy's name at the moment I'm about to fuck you, or next time not only will I leave all these bites on your neck but I'll also put a nice collar on you." He states in a hard, confident voice, enough to make you tremble, as you feel a warm sensation creating in your lower abdomen. "You'd like that wouldn't you, baby? A nice collar that tells everyone where you belong?" He continues, realizing that he has touched the right keys.

You gasp and search within yourself for the strength to respond to him.

"Lupin, I swear if-" You try to say, but you can't finish.

"Oh my baby, are we off to a bad start? What's my name?" He interrupts you, tightening his grip on your neck a little more.

"Remus, please Remus I need you."

"What do you need baby?" He asks, as with a sly grin he watches you wiggle under his gaze, as if your body is on fire.

"I need you to fuck me. Now. There's a broom cupboard nearby, no one ever comes by here." You propose in hopes of soon alleviating the feeling of longing you feel.

"And here I thought all you did was keep your pretty little nose in the books all the time." He taunts you, as always with your legs wrapped around his waist and one arm wrapped behind your back and the other on your neck, he leads you toward the place you suggested just now.

"And now I find out that instead you are nothing but a little whore, ready to get fucked in the broom closet. Don't worry baby, I'll prove to you that once again I'm better at it than you are."

"Oh yeah and how?" You manage to say, once the door to the cramped little room, capable of holding only the two of you standing, is closed behind you. Dust gets into your nostrils, and you don't even want to think about how many bugs there must be on these walls, but the only thing you care about now is the man between your legs, and what he might do.

"You'll learn to recite my name better than any spell they've ever taught you, and I know for a fact that you'll appreciate its result much more, I'd say it's nothing short of ecstatic." He replies, before venturing back to your lips to devour you as if it were his last meal on earth, and he hadn't eaten in weeks.

You feel his warm hands settle on your breasts, and then reach to the edge of the T-shirt you are wearing and slip it off, leaving before his eyes a view of your chest, covered only by your bra.

"Merlin, how I love your boobs." Remus confesses, before moving on to leave open-mouthed kisses and bites on all the skin he finds available, then quickly and surely removing your bra in less time than you realize.

Now that your hair is uncovered and in contact with the cold night air, it stiffens, and the young wolf is not slow to take one between his lips and tease the other with his hand, until your hands are violently embedded in his hair and your moans grow louder and louder.

"Please, Remus, I need more." You beg him in a whisper, so you feel one of his hands rest on your hip, while the other descends to your panties, and his mouth continues to torture your right hair, with the constancy with which he wants to prove he is better than you in class. He lowers one of your legs by resting it on the floor, so that access to his coveted treasure is easier. His hand grazes your pussy from above your panties, sending a shiver down your entire back as you gasp through your lips, resting your head on his shoulder.

With a gentle gesture he moves his fingers between your panties and the most sensitive and delicate spot on your body, making you gasp.

"God baby, I didn't think you were so wet." He comments, making you blush. "Didn't you want more baby? I swear I won't stop until you beg me to stop." He whispers in your ear, pulling away from your nipple for a moment, then attaching the other one, leaving the one from before wet from his saliva to the night breeze, thus making you shiver with pleasure again and getting you even wetter.

One of his long, slender fingers enters you, teasing you, before adding a second. He moves his fingers with agility and confidence, like those of a musician performing his favorite piece that he has been playing for years now. He touches inside you in all the right places, making you moan with pleasure.

That delicious torture goes on for minutes that seem like hours.

Your lips are on the verge of splitting from how much you are biting them, when you feel coming like a wave the orgasm to which your gestures are leading you.

"Remus I'm going to-"

"Cum." He says simply, looking you fixedly in the eyes, from his full height. You stare gazing at those wonderful chocolate-colored crystal orbs, illuminated by the gentle moonlight filtering through the cracks in the door, when you can no longer stop the inevitable in the face of his oh-so-dry command. You reach the pinnacle of pleasure, and it is as if for a moment you can touch the sky with your finger. Your soul goes out of your body for a moment, until you open your eyes again, gasping and he looks at you with a satisfied look.

"And that's just the beginning baby, you still have to come on my cock." He comments, as with a lightning-fast gesture he unbuckles his underpants and pulls down his panties, just enough to make his member come out. You remain mute staring at his cock for a moment, noting its size: it wasn't the first time you had fucked someone, but none of the guys could match Remus, that was for sure.

"See anything you like baby?" He asks you sarcastically, as you feel your pussy getting even wetter than it already is.

"Maybe, but you still have a promise to keep so you'd better get to work." You retort, before being silenced by his lips. With his hands he directs his cock toward your entrance, then puts it all the way inside you without warning, leaving you breathless with your back pressed against the door. You feel him inside you in places you didn't even think he could reach, as he stays still to give you a minimum of time to adjust to his size.

"Oh baby, don't worry, I'm a man of my word. You will walk out of here that I will have branded you with my cum from inside, so that everyone will know for sure that you are mine." He whispers in your ear before starting to move. He comes almost completely out of you, leaving only the tip in, then comes back in with a dry, sure thump a couple of times, to start moving faster and faster and harder. Part of you wonders if he really means what he said about coming inside you to place his ownership over you, and at the very thought you can't help but tighten the walls of your pussy around him.

"Do you like the idea? Of having my cum inside you dripping down your thighs, letting everyone know you're mine?" He says and you can't help but gasp, the pleasure clouding your mind. "Shit, I can already picture you all proud and strutting walking down the school hallways, no panties on, while everyone stares at you and in your lap all my cum. Who knows maybe I could even get you pregnant." Remus continues, as you moan his name louder and louder, hearing what he says. The young wolf can swear that by now the beast inside him has become uncontainable, the only thing he can think about is coming inside you and making sure you have her pups, to bite you and let everyone know you are uniquely hers, in such an animal way that he is surprised you are not fucking in the woods, just like two wild creatures, since you have now become that: pleasure-seeking animals to survive.

"Remus, come inside me. I'm close to coming again, please." You beg him, after a few minutes have passed in silence, too busy fucking each other to talk.

"First you baby then I will make sure you can have my puppies, however, first you have to squeeze that beautiful pussy you have around my cock. Come for me baby."

And at those words you can't help but come one more time. Your head becomes light, as if floating, as your vision darkens. Your pussy squeezes hard and in rhythm with Remus's cock, which stimulated by your orgasm goes to meet his, letting all his seed pour into you in long, powerful spurts.

You remain still and connected for a few minutes before Remus begins to laugh. You look at him confused and tired, ready for yet another joke from him at you and even more personal teasing after such an intimate moment, when he leaves you a light kiss on your cheek and asks, "Do you really think I would ever be able to hate you, I was convinced you couldn't stand even the sight of me."

Smile in turn as you look at him, before you also speak.

"Well apparently neither of them is as smart in the end as they think they are I would say."

Bonus (I think I definitely have a problem with bonuses)

Sirius looks at his friend, sitting next to him on the settee, as he sees you re-enter holding Remus's hand at the party, now decidedly calmer than an hour and a half ago, when both of you had left without a trace and without telling anyone where you were going. The two of you approach the liquor table, laughing and joking as you look into each other's eyes, with a smile that says a lot about your nocturnal activities in the hallways, though only to those who are able to pick up on the signs.

Sirius and James seeing that exchange look at each other and jumping to their feet scream in unison:

"He did it!" Turning many loving couples around, including their friend and you, watching them confusedly do a dance of joy between bodies of boys asleep from exhaustion and alcohol, not knowing that this night would be the end of you, as they would forever use it against you as an argument in every speech to prove that two such smart people can be, by far, the dumbest.

TAGLIST

@digitalhearts @yomomsgf @samanddeansannoyingsis @minkiles @forsiriussake @thedogisontopofyhecarmom @estrellademiel @ash04w3 @shitidksstuff @ohemgeewhat @mysteriouslydeafeningwerewolf @kidsaproblem @that1nerd20 @the-house-of-rose-and-ember @hi-my-name-is-riley @morganalatina21 @nightfiress @shodowbane09 @theyluvtrinity21 @harleycao @starsval @shhdontlookk @titinkaaa @sapphire118 @xbugsyx @newtdumbledoorstarksoot @holb32 @afcnds @deanwinchestersgirl87 @aunicornmademedoit @AlohaStitch0626 @biahz1

[devnmon]

wavemother save me...

Summary: You’ve decided your outfit for the day in camp was to be something you’ve never worn before: a robe of the wavemother… which leaves nothing to the imagination. Gale thinks you look beautiful… but he can’t help the affect it has on him. Once you approach the wizard’s tent at night, he knows it’s over for him.

warnings: boobplay, cumming inside, p in v, reader has a larger chest! and gale can’t help being boob-itized.

wc: 3.7k

gale dekarios x afab!reader

a/n: ngl this fic popped into my head when i found out how much of a freak gale is… but i couldn’t help it. this is also self indulgent bc i have a similar chest size as i wrote. pls dont take this as me being discriminatory to smaller chests. but we need some rep for the larger chested people out there. anyways, i’ve said enough. enjoy xx

Gale's cheeks burn in your presence.

They run hot because you're walking around camp in a brand new outfit, and he can't control his eyes. Blue, shimmering, and low cut on your chest. Higher on your waist. Gale was perplexed— not only at how you filled the garment out, but the way you walked around as if you weren't wearing something so different than what you usually adorned.

Gale wanted to pluck out the eyes of every man getting the privilege to lay them on your figure. He for one, thought it too violent an act, and decided to brood about it in isolation. You turned heads every time when entering a room, of course the others were going to notice one way or another.

Far be it from him to tell you what to wear, he just wished he were the only one seeing you. Some could call him selfish for a thought so conflicting. But after so long in isolation, he believed he deserved some of that feeling once in a while.

Far from prying eyes in the privacy of his tower was the situation he pined for. Not on the road with others who could gaze upon you however they liked. Gale didn't even want to think up the thoughts that've probably passed over his companion's minds.

But if he lingered too long on that subject, he'd never get anything done. Though the one thing he knew in his heart was that you pined for him, and only him. Brushed past the cunning Astarion and the stunning Shadowheart to choose him, love him.

It was the only thing keeping his mind distracted from the way everyone's eyes ogled at you throughout the day.

It wasn't your fault you were blessed with a figure that made everyone stare; the curves of your hips, of your chest, your strong legs and hands—

Wavemother save me…

Gale's thoughts and the way your curves looked did anything but help the situation. It's done fuck all to help his wandering eyes.

Though every time he stared, you had glanced over to him as if you could sense those eyes of his on you.

He'd even had to cast a calming spell on himself in private to keep the way his body craved yours under wraps. He just hoped no one was prying through his thoughts.

Gale wished you weren't burdened with such a… heavy… chest. Many nights you'd arrive at his tent just aching to have him rub your back because of how much you've carried during the day, both physically and metaphorically.

Glimmering in the sunlight, your dress stuck to your figure in all the right places; ones he's explored with the palm of his hands. His eyes find you again when you circle around to the side of camp where his tent resides. He also spots the red eyes of Astarion following you as you walk about.

It wasn't a secret you had the figure of a goddess and flaunted it when you wanted to. Gale just wished the other men in camp kept their eyes to themselves and didn't gaze so obviously at you.

Light blue looked ravishing on you, and this garment in particular cut deep down to the bottom of your stomach, leaving nothing to imagination. It had in fact also put your fine legs on display, cutting high up your waist. Scales of metallic fabric reflecting off the hot sun, you shone more than fireworks in the night sky.

Each time you walked by, you sent him a sweet smile and spotted the blush on his cheeks that seemed to intensify with every pass. Watching you approach felt aeons long, every speck of gravity doing its job as you walked. It was nothing of a secret how you felt about your figure; rather than hide it away and feel ashamed for your curves, they were put on display in confidence.

With every pass by the purple tent, you could feel his brown eyes tied to your figure from the moment you approached to when you walked away. And you knew Gale relished in watching you walk away. A man of many simple pleasures in life, drinking you in like a good glass of wine.

Distracted again by the valley of your breasts, envisioning them in his hands from nights betwixt the sheets before. Reverberations of his name in the air, tossed up with other profanities and paths to heaven sent pleasure. There was no changing how magnetically pulled his eyes were to you, even if he wished he could stop staring and focus on something else for once.

Most of his energy was used up concentrating on that damned calm emotions spell to keep himself from imploding on the spot.

Soon enough the sun's light lowered past the mountains, covering the camp in warm torch lighting. Gale was on his last limb attempting to keep himself together throughout dinner. The moment it was time to turn in, he was the first to disappear from the campfire. As quickly as he retreated to his tent, exhaustion from constant concentration hit and the spell dropped.

Relief washed over his mind for a quick moment. That is until his thoughts returned and realized the incantations had only prolonged the inevitable. His pants tightened around his groin, making his clothing wildly uncomfortable.

Not a step outside camp, and he was drained beyond belief. A thought to sleep passed over him, but the shuffling of your feet outside his tent said otherwise.

Gale attempted to steady his breaths and close his eyes to feign sleep, but you knew him better than that. He always said goodnight to you before resting your eyes, which came off as highly surprising upon your entry into the tent.

"Gale, you're still in your robes. Don't tell me you've fallen asleep now…"

He peeks one eye open to see you standing above him, "Hm? Oh, no. Just resting my eyes. Long day."

"We didn't even leave camp…" you chuckled, placing your hands on your hips.

The angle he was viewing you from still didn't help the ever growing arousal in his groin. Distractedly pulsing under the cloth of his robe, his clouded mind would continue to do anything but put him to sleep.

"Oh, I mean just… attempting to learn some new spells. Concentration's tough if I'm not well practiced, so…" he chuckles, sitting up to watch you move about. He was lucky his robe was thick enough to hide any evidence of the predicament hardening in his trousers.

"You? Gale Dekarios, master of the Weave, is not practiced in some areas of magic? Woe is me…" you exclaimed, placing your hand dramatically over your chest.

"The Weave has endless areas of magical expertise, I couldn't possibly study them all in my lifetime… but I'd like to try." he admitted, sitting up on the bedroll.

Though with the knowing look on your face, he trailed off and hoped he was telling enough of a fib to convince you. But you both knew deception was not his strong suit.

"Are you sure about that? Because I could've sworn those weren't the incantations you were reciting…" Your eyebrows raised, smiling at his terrible effort to remain undetected.

He then remembers the night he spent teaching you basic incantations, ones you could cast perfectly nowadays after so long.

"Now Gale, you may be a man of the Weave, but that cannot ever stop your wandering eyes. You're terrible at being subtle." You chuckled, sitting down next to him.

"I…" he sighed, "Perhaps you're right."

"You know I am. This garment is pretty and all, but it has been bothering me all day." you sighed, pouting as you moved closer to Gale.

"Well… maybe you should remove it then." He suggested, letting his eyes drag down the canvas of your body shamelessly. The lower tone of his voice made you smirk, glancing downward to spot what he'd tried to keep contained all day long.

"Just… curious but, what made you choose this outfit for the day? It doesn't look like something you'd wear during battle…" you cocked your head at him.

"I-I mean… I for one am not complaining. It just does not seem comfortable."

His sheepish words burn pink on his cheeks, hoping he's not offended you by making an obvious statement.

"Oh, I didn't wear it to be comfortable, sweet wizard. I wore it to steal the breath from your chest."

Gale swallowed the saliva pooling in his mouth from the sight of you, choking on your words. It's true— he's speechless, and there's nothing to be done about how his eyes move accordingly down your body from it.

"Now, help me take this off?"

Gale's eyes lit up, huffing an excited breath before speaking in a low voice. "With pleasure."

You turned your back towards him, letting his hands linger on your waist and dragged upwards, unhooking the chains that held the garment together. Soon as it was a pile of fabric on the floor, Gale's eyes had locked onto you and weren't going anywhere else.

"Lie down and just… relax. This is all for you, Gale. I'm all for you."

Speaking words so soft and gentle to him was still something that felt unearned, as if he didn't deserve to be loved in the way he wished. Almost immediately upon a confession, you'd immediately pledged your heart to him and stayed true to your word about it. There was no end to the things you would do for the man just because you loved him.

His need to be reminded of that was no simple thing to ask for, but even without talking you managed to uncover how he was truly feeling without much more than a glance.

It was no burden; to tell your lover why you'd fallen for him had pride filling your chest.

You would have done anything to make Gale see himself the way you saw him. Dashingly handsome, kind, worthy, good with his tongue and hands.

"I have to say," you began, "your spell work concentration is impressive. But you must be so exhausted…"

"I.. yes, quite." Gale ran a hand through his hickory strands while painting the image of you into his mind.

You could hear his heart pounded in his chest as if he is seeing you for the first time again, succumbing to the moment of bliss as if he never had before.

Brown eyes of your lover darted to paint his eyes over the exposed skin once bare to his view. The valley of your chest was enticing enough, nonetheless when your breasts fluttered freely from the scaled material. Perfectly plush and naturally shaped, they sat with an astuteness.

"You are… a goddess." his whispers fluttered out in the warm light, gazing at you with the tightness in his pants growing by the minute. Your body hovering above him both knocked the air out of his lungs and made time stop.

"And you are the love of my life. No one will ever take me from you."

His head rests on the pillow behind him, trailing your hands down his clothed figure.

"Bit unfair isn't it? You, naked while I'm fully clothed?"

"We'd better fix that then."

You bent down over him, embracing his lips to enchant yourself with his practiced tongue. Running down his chest were your hands, fingertips making a mess of him only by sheer proximity to the tent in his trousers. As Gale lie on his back, those brown eyes filled with the vision of you tossing his clothes to the ground.

He radiated a new kind of pride upon sharing these intimate moments with you, ones he has not shared with anyone else mortal in years. It's a new kind of freedom, to have you and know you trust him with your entire being. To give him part of yourself every day and entrusting you with the same.

Not only were you in front of him in all your glory, but you were still you, gorgeous and his. All his.

His cock throbbed from being confined in his garments all day, pleading and sensitive with the way his crotch jolted upwards when you finally freed his cock.

Alluring eyes met his with a siren’s call, beckoning him to submit and feel all you’re offering him.

"Touch me, like you've wanted to all day. Touch me in the way no one else can. I am yours."

An appreciative hum comes from him as he takes in the image of you.

"I don’t deserve you…” Gale muttered lowly, head swimming with how you shone in the light.

"Gale, please… by the gods, you do…”

Without hesitation, he pressed your lips against his, lavishing in the way your tongue asked for entry this time. Practiced hands move up your back, caressing your skin there before trailing one of his hands down the valley of your chest. Goosebumps lifted across your skin in response, nipples hardening against his chest.

Gale's large hand took point in cupping your breast within his palm, while his thumb ran over the sensitive areola to earn a gasp from you. You were warm and soft in his grasp while your lips moved down his neck.

Each kiss had your tongue flitting against his skin, watching as Gale's head flew back from the sensation. Nothing could've made this moment more perfect; he had everything he ever needed right here. You'd given him more than he thought he deserved, incomparable to anyone else he'd been with in his mortal life. Something about the way you gave, no matter the circumstance. You gave to him your heart, your acts of love and gratitude, with everything inside you. Shamelessly, each time without fail.

To be a receiver is to be worthy, and once you opened his eyes on that which he deserved, it became easier to accept your loving acts.

Down his chest your lips went, dragging your hands along with them for the ride.

"I need you to know,"

Kiss

"that you're enough for me as you are."

Kiss

"I want to show you how much I mean it."

Your last kiss placed right above his navel, where a tuft of hair lay just below, along with his cock standing upright and eager. His brown eyes never left you whilst traversing down his body as if you knew it by heart.

Your nipples ghosted over his skin at times, bringing bouts of sighs to each of you. When you finally gripped him at the base, it was just enough of your touch to make him groan. Gale's low hum reverberated down his chest, where your other hand lay against his torso.

A slow pump of your hand had him resisting with all his might to not thrust his hips up for more friction. You muttered a conjuration spell - one Gale had taught you - and slowly moved your hand up and down, lubricant coating his length.

"If I'd have known this was what you were going to use those spells for…" he chuckles, hiding his blush behind a hand.

"You're lucky I'm a fast learner. Maybe then you would've gotten away with those terrible lies. Though you are a very good teacher."

The compliment had his cock twitching in your hand; perhaps it was that he'd been pent up for too long, or maybe you just knew how to fluster him. You leaned down and pressed a kiss to his tip before releasing your hand and began to cup your chest within your own hands.

"What are you…"

You leaned down over him, pressing his cock between the plush of your breasts. His gasp of surprise and pleasurable sensation combined in disbelief that you'd offer him your body in such a way.

"I yearn for this, Gale. For you. To give you my body in such a way. Because I love you."

His arousal was more than heightened when you began moving up and down, head thrown back in ecstasy.

"I love you… more than myself— ahh… For what I would do for you is much more than I could describe in a single breath."

You chuckled, "I know. But tonight is about you. Lay there and look pretty, can you do that for me?"

He nodded, huffing another breath before smiling sheepishly. The pink in his cheeks began to brighten as you continued your movements.

Gale had never been called pretty before, but the instinctive tone of voice it was said in made him hesitant to retort. He had a habit of denying any such compliments only when they didn't pertain to his skillful ways of the Weave. Day by day though, you'd managed to see him blush over said remarks rather than shying away from them.

Perhaps it was easy for you to change him, seeing as he'd devoted his entire heart to you, basking in the warm light you emanated. From being thrust back into the world outside his tower to now, he's felt that same light melting all the walls built up over months of isolation. Gale hadn't been sure whether to embrace that light or shun himself from it until you showed him what a glorious life it could be with you by his side.

His hands gripped at the bedroll cloth, attempting to smother how badly the pleasure you gave was affecting him. Sweat rolled down his temple as his eyes took another glance at you. In your movements you were dedicated, each slow movement another prayer of love.

Gale cursed under his breath, drowning in every slow graze of your skin against the bulging vein of his cock. His chest heaved with every deep breath, concentrating on watching you— though he knew the sight of you like this could make him come fairly easy.

Your nipples grazed the tuft of hair at his base and each time it did so, it was more electrifying than any spell he'd cast. Even as each sensation tormented his brain, etching them behind his eyelids for later, Gale found himself closer to his climax than he would've liked.

"S-stop… gods, I'm close. Don't want to spend myself on your pretty skin. Let me do it somewhere else…"

You looked up, eyes glazed over in want, and you stop instantly before crawling over him. The lightest touches of your torso against his have his breaths turn shaky, knowing how much physical touch sends him over the edge.

"Anything for you, my love."

Your lips pressed against him as you grabbed him by the base and sat down fully on his length. With each inch that pressed into you, Gale felt more pleasure than he thought ever known. You were soaked just by pleasuring him, what a concept to be studied.

Once you were full to the brim, his hands came up to your breasts, twisting your nipple between two of his fingers. His mouth then pressed to the valley in between them, soft kisses that made goosebumps paint your skin.

"Oh, Gale…"

He hummed upon hearing his name, reverberating under your skin and heightening how much you loved his lips even further. Your fingers raked through his hair, nails scratching lightly, but enough to make him sigh again.

Hands traveled from one of your breasts to the other, twisting and pulling and massaging just enough to send you clenching around him. Thus he ended up gripping your waist, watching as your head threw back in pleasure from just his contact.

"This is what you want, isn't it? Torture me with that lavish body of yours just to take me like this when night falls? You truly vex me, my heart, my mind…"

On mind he thrusted deeper into you, beginning to lift your hips above him. You managed to muffle a moan in time, but Gale would be lying to himself if he said he didn't feel his cock throb at the sound.

"Won't last much longer like this…" he managed to get out, taking one of his strong fingers and ran it down your folds before finding your clit.

You clenched around him again, electricity of his touch paralyzing you again. Had the gods truly made him specifically to love you, to know every part as if one with himself? You wondered it all the time, but especially when just a slight touch sent you reeling off into the deep end. Gale was an abyss you chose to swim in, and if you drowned, there was no going back.

His hips pressed up into you whilst lifting yourself above him, bodies combined intimately, soaked in each other's passion. Each of Gale's movements both inside and outside your body jolted you closer to release. His cock kissing the special spot inside you and his thumb over your sensitive bundle of nerves was enough for you to pull him close as your orgasm neared.

Whispering each other's names truly was the cherry on top, the desperation in Gale's eyes and voice as he quietly moaned sent his hips stuttering inside you.

Both his pleasure and yours heightened to the point of release, enclosing your lips with a kiss and coming undone in each other's arms. The warmth of him transferred to you inside your gushing walls. Gale's movements over your clit helped you ride out your high, wrapping your arms around his neck in exhaustion.

You both stilled for a moment, the air settling as your bodies did, pressed together while your heartbeats steadied.

You felt him soften inside you, pulling off of him before lying down next to his figure. One of your hands traced circles across his chest, passing over the weave mark adorned between his pecs. 

“I love you, Gale.” 

His eyes lifted to yours, “I love you too, so much more than you know.” 

Your lips pressed kisses across his cheeks and then his lips, noting his eyelids becoming heavy with each passing moment. 

“My, you really /did/ outdo yourself today. How many times did you cast that spell?” 

“I lost count after three…” he chuckled, “but I’m just glad it all brought us to this moment.” 

“I am as well. Now, shall we finally have a rest, hm?” 

“I couldn’t agree more.” 

The rest of your night was spent wrapped in Gale’s arms, falling asleep with his warmth surrounding you. A place you would never get tired of being. 

[emeritusemeritus]

No Good Deeds [George Weasley x Reader]

Part 6

Part 1 2 3 4 5 6

Pairing: {George Weasley x Reader} mentions of previous Fred Weasley x Reader.

Timeline: Set a few years after DH, loosely following Canon.

Summary: A few years after Fred’s death, the investors of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes demand changes to the name. All it would take is two years of a fake marriage to fix the issues, but no good deed goes unpunished.

Warnings: Fake marriage trope because we love the cliché. Mentions of death (Fred). Friends to lovers. Slow burn but mentions of kissing and eventual smut. Swearing. George calls us Angel. Drinking. SMUT. The smut has arrived! P in V, oral (both). Angst, sadness, grief. Tags will be updated with each chapter. Not Beta-read or spell checked.

Waking up beside George Weasley was an absolute dream come true, far beyond your wildest imaginations. Light was creeping in through the thin voile curtains of the bedroom, casting everything in the room with an ethereal glow that only added to the sense of fantasy you had since waking. You were still naked but covered by the duvet that you'd shared with George, though admittedly there was more pulled over on your side than his. His arms were tangled around you, keeping you close to him in his sleep, his left hand placed over your belly as he half spooned you. The light glinted off the wedding ring on his finger; a sight that had you smiling into the open room, wanting so much to do a little happy jig at the very thought. You wanted to stay frozen in this moment forever, feeling exactly as you did and remembering all of it with such acute precision that you hoped never faded. Your bladder unfortunately had other plans and so you found yourself carefully but quickly trying to untangle yourself from George's arms, peeling yourself delicately away until you could creep into the bathroom.

Last night had been a rush of sex and sleep, without any thought to unpacking or preparing yourselves for the morning and so as you all but ran to the bathroom, you considered your options. The only clothes you had on hand were your wedding dress and that was an unquestionable no, there were towels you could wrap around you, wander aimlessly completely in the nude as you sought out your bags or steal George's shirt from the floor. The latter was the most reasonable and once you'd relieved yourself and washed your hands, you crept out to check that George was still asleep before ducking out of the room in search of coffee, slipping George's shirt around you as you walked through the rather chilly hallway.

Luckily, the owners of the cabin had left some basic amenities for you, including some fancy sachets of coffee that would require almost no work and so you quickly boiled the kettle and made yourself a coffee, setting a second mug aside for George whenever he would rouse.

George had brought in all the luggage last night and had placed it all by the couches and so you busied yourself with unpacking your toiletry bag and other items whilst you waited for George. You couldn't unpack your clothes yet, not wanting to wake him up and so you stayed in his shirt, feeling comforted by the smell and the soft material. It absolutely drowned you, the sheer size of it almost laughable compared to your smaller frame but it felt wonderful against your bare skin.

After tidying up, you walked over to the kitchen to make another drink, flicking the kettle on ready when the light from the window caught your rings and made them sparkle, catching your eye.

"I'm dreaming aren't I," you hear from behind you and you can't help but jump, even though you knew it would be George. You spin around to see him stood in only his suit trousers, clearly having the same issue you had. He looks so absurdly handsome in the morning sun, hair still messy from sleep and naked from the waist up. "There is absolutely no way people will believe that you married me, look at you."

He walks over to you as you shyly smile at his words, smirking down at you before he leans down and presses a kiss to your lips that takes your breath away, the passion of it coming from almost nowhere.

"Stealing my shirts already Mrs Weasley?" He teases with a smile against your lips, "Godric it looks good on you."

You can't reply, his words ringing in your mind as you feel from the sexiness of the rasp in his morning voice, the sight and sound of him too much for your brain to handle.

You kiss him back with a feverish passion, trying to project exactly how he was making you feel, your hands slipping up to his fluffy red hair. He groans into the kiss and moves forward to trap you against the counter, hips locked together as you keep kissing, the evidence of his arousal so plainly pressed against you. You're on fire, your skin burning with the need for real ease again, brain turning to complete mush as the need arises from nowhere.

His hands fight the last remaining button that was keeping the shirt together, the rest of them having being flung around the room in the skirmish last night. When he manages to pull it open, his hands immediately began pawing at your curves, your naked body exposed to him again as he growls into the kiss. His fingers dance over your skin until his long, skilled fingers slip between your legs.

You moan against his lips as he strokes across your pussy lips, gathering the abundant wetness and teasing your throbbing clit with a feather light touch that drives you mad.

Suddenly, his hands fall away from your pussy as he begins kissing down your neck, over your breasts and across your tummy, sinking downward into his knees. His tongue pokes out and catches your clit with dangerous precision that it makes your knees buckle, though he holds you steady. He reaches out to grab your leg and hooks it over his shoulder, keeping his other hand on your hip so he could hold you steady. Bared before him, he immediately drags his tongue over your puffy lips before sinking deeper until he runs his pointed tongue right from your entrance up to your clit. He circles the aching bud with the tip of his tongue, moaning as he does so, before wrapping his lips around it and gently sucking in little waves that make your head spin. You cry out, unable to hold back as you call out his name, being perfectly worked over by his incredible mouth.

He quickly pulls away but before you can whine in protest, his hands cup your bum and hoist you up onto the counter, legs instinctively parting for him.

He wastes no time, finding that the counter was almost the perfect height for him and licks up and down your pussy, gathering and spreading your wetness leaving no place untouched. You're aching for him, deliciously tormented by his skilful tongue but you need more, need him to fill you.

You reach out for his head, removing your hand from where he'd entwined your fingers on your thighs, pausing him. He looks up with a questioning gaze and you can't help but bite your lip as you look down at him, beckoning him. You pull him in for a blazing kiss as soon as he reaches the right height and your hands immediately set to unbuttoning his trousers, pulling his cock free as they fall to the floor. You pump him in your hand, the delicious weight and girth of him almost making your mouth water as he moans, resting his forehead against yours as he enjoys your work.

"Fuck me Georgie, need you, need to feel you stretching me out," you whisper, moaning at the very thought. You scoot forward on the counter so that your bum overhangs, aligning your hips so that you can guide him through your heat, teasing him before you line him up with your waiting hole. He sinks in slowly, allowing you to breathe through the delicious intrusion, feeling your walls flutter to accommodate him. He pulls out slowly before sinking back in with more force, feeling no resistance from your pussy now. His hands are everywhere, as are yours as he begins thrusting with the most incredible rhythm, hard and fast enough to quench your desire but slow enough on the pull out that you can feel every inch of his perfect cock. He bends down to pull one of your sensitive nipples into his mouth as he fucks you, your bouncing breasts drawing his attention. He licks and sucks over the nipple and you cry out in ecstasy, feeling completely consumed by him again.

Your hands wrap into his hair and around his shoulders, fingers grazing the silver chain around his neck, keeping him close, before you slip down to graze his abdomen, fingering slipping lower to feel where you're connected, feeling your pussy lips stretched out to accommodate him. Your finger slips over your clit and you throw your head back, narrowly avoiding a wooden cupboard, needing just a little more.

George seems to sense this, the angle not being completely perfect and suddenly pulls off your breast before reaching for your thighs. He pulls you away from the counter, keeping your hips aligned and walks you over to the nearest wall, his cock still deep inside you. He holds you tight as he fucks you, the new position making fireworks explode in your mind as he shifts you up and down on his wonderful cock, fucking into you with complete abandon. It's incredible, mind blowing and undoubtedly the best sex you'd ever had. His arms are bulging under your weight and his face is confronted in such pleasure that you can't help but watch him, your own hips bucking harder and faster in an attempt to keep him inside you. Your exposed clit rubs against the little patch of hair above his cock where you're joined and it's sheer ecstasy, every single part of your body at George's mercy.

"Georgie, I'm," you cry out, feeling your orgasm hurtling towards you. He nods, unable to find the words as he fucks harder and harder into you, knowing that his own climax was rapidly approaching. "Cum in me George, baby fuck please cum inside me!"

He roars as he cums, almost on command, dragging you with him so that you climax together, your body contorting and bucking up into his as you cry out. His grip on you is almost painful but it's so erotic, the primal urge so evident as you both ride out your highs together, cock pressed deep inside your clenching walls, chests pressed tightly together and lips searching for each other to whisper sweet nothings and curses.

He rests his head against yours as you both come down, each of you chuckling before he leans down and pressed a much sweeter kiss to your lips before he slowly pulls out and places you down onto the ground, keeping you steady.

"I'm stealing your clothes more often," you joke breathlessly, trying to fight through the somewhat awkwardness that had filled the room after the moment had passed.

"Steal my clothes anytime," he replies, panting himself as he slips his trousers back on, keeping them zipped but unbuttoned. He kisses your head as he walks around you, hand stroking your naked bum cheek as he slips in beside you to boil the kettle, preparing two mugs. You walk over to your suitcase and try to find a fresh pair of clothes and underwear before slipping into the shower.

The shower cleansed not only your body but your soul, washing away the last remnants of your wedding makeup, hairspray and George's cum that had begun to leak out of you and down your leg. You looked at your wedding rings in the shower with a sense of bewilderment, unable to believe that this was actually happening for you.

Until you remembered that it was all fake.

Suddenly you felt sick to your stomach, ashamed and guilty that you'd fallen for your own lie. You'd slept with him, multiple times now and had forgotten the most basic part of the plan, the entire reason for all of these things- it was all fake for the sake of the business. You'd let yourself get drawn in and had been so naive to think that for even a second George would actually want you like this. You were a pity fuck, because he couldn't have anyone else for the next two years, you'd have to do, a temporary agreement, a place warmer.

The high you'd been chasing since yesterday morning had well and truly ran out and crashed down around you, the lightness you'd felt in your chest changing rapidly to a sinking feeling in your gut.

But he'd kissed you. He'd wanted to take your dress off, he'd admitted that, he'd wanted to fuck you. He'd arranged and taken you to this beautiful cabin, called you Mrs Weasley nearly everyone he'd addressed you- that didn't sound like you'd constructed this fantasy entirely in your own head.

Realising that you'd spent way too look brooding in the shower, you rinsed off and turned off the shower, stepping out into a big fluffy towel.

Silently you vowed to yourself that you'd have to talk to him, confront him even on what was happening, as much as you didn't want to. You vowed to yourself that there would be no more intimacy until you knew exact what you were to him.

You dressed quickly and ran the brush through your hair, using your wand to quickly cast a drying spell, a little one off that wouldn't break your agreement to limit magic whilst you were away. When you stepped out, George was reading on the couch in silence, his mug steaming in front of him and the second mug beside his on a matching coaster, waiting for you.

He smiles when you take a seat beside him, finishing up his chapter before he kisses your head, mumbling about taking a shower.

For the rest of the day you fill your time unpacking, reading and then going on a long walk that George had suggested, along one of the many trails through the woodland. If George noticed that you'd been slightly distant, he'd not mentioned anything. Even when you walked ahead or slightly behind, keeping physical distance between you so that he couldn't take your hand, he'd said nothing.

You grabbed lunch at a pub you'd stumbled across on your walk and though you'd conversed as normal, inside you felt that something was missing, feeling wrong all of a sudden, the narrative in your head completely destroying the magic of what had been.

When you returned to the cabin in the early evening, the sun was just setting and the sky was a beautiful mosaic of pink and orange marbled together peeking from behind the tall canopy of trees. George steps behind you and for the first time since this morning, he places his hands on your shoulder lovingly and whispers in your ear.

"I don't know about you Angel, but I think it's time we tested out the hot tub."

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[dunkaroniandcheese]

RPGaDay 2024 days 15-22

Good heavens the time has passed since last update ops

15. Great character gear!

This ones not abt a specific game, but I have always had a weakness for pointed wizard hats with wide brims! In ttrpgs you're more allowed to imagine what wizard gear looks like, but its important to me that the pointed hat is explicit... In video games, wizards will oftentimes have hoods or circlets, or more subdued hats... Stop that! Embrace the big hat!

16. Quick to learn

An RPG thats quick to learn... I wanna say Mausritter, which I found quick to learn both how to play and how to run! The rules are easy to understand, the vibe of the game is articulated v well and sets expectations wonderfully :)

17. An Engaging RPG community

Gotta go with the GOATs over at @anim-ttrpgs and their ttrpg book club! Very friendly folks, lots of fun discussions both on the topics of ttrpgs and on the topics of eating people!

18. Memorable moment of play

Hmmm... I'll give this to my time with Drakar och Demonar Expert, where my character had *limited* proficiency in the... grey tongue? ogres, orcs, trolls and such spoke it. My character and his companion were met by an ogre, who pointed at my character (elf) and asked my companion (dwarf? mistaken for orc) "is he food"

My character responded by saying "I am a slave, not food, don't eat me" and rolled bad on the language check (very low on the language skill) and the words came out as "You're my slave"

The ogre slammed his club down at my character in an instant, barely whiffing and causing a thunderous slamming sound that alerted the rest of our companions to our location

19. Sensational session

There's a lot of sessions I've really enjoyed, I remember the second dnd game I was in having lots of fun adventures, but I might give it to the first campaign I was in!

Not necessarily the best session, our characters found a lone house far from civilization smelling of freshly baked pies, my character was chosen to investigate while the others stood watch nearby

After knocking on the door of the house , he was greeted by an old lady and welcomed inside for food and drink, and shortly after sitting down... the house grew legs and started walking away, which went completely unbeknownst to my character, and much to the worry of his companions who now had to chase down a house

20. Amazing Adventure

Houm.... There are few games Ive been in that I wouldnt call amazing adventures, but this might go to the Drakar och Demonar game I was in! Escaping an orc infested forest, wandering a town market and buying a huge horse, exploring an ancient dungeon, freeing a lich, replacing an eye with a gorgon's eye, being sent to the past and rewriting history, accidentaly gaining the ire of a daemon, coming back to the future... A lot happened in six months

21. Classic Campaign

First dnd campaign I was in, it was all homebrew and reciting it all would be hard, but Im very fond of it and the memories I made there

22. Notable non-player character

I gotta give a tagged shoutout to @domoz cause she's made two of my favourite, if not my all time favourite npcs with Gabby (my daughter) and Mozzie (peak goblin of all time)

[rosietrace]

Dorian Judith

†•°•══════ஓ๑⚚๑ஓ══════•°•†

“Well, I'll tell ya one thing… I'm definitely not home anymore.”

— Dorian Judith, the girl from the country

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General Information

╚══ஓ๑†๑ஓ══╝

Full Name — Dorian Ellie Judith

↳ Dorian: Of Greek origin, meaning, “descendant of Doris” or “gift”. Additionally, the name Doris means, “From the sea”.

↳ Ellie: A variation of the Greek names Helen and/or Ellen, Ellie means, “Light”. Can also be a shortened form of the Old German name Alice, meaning “noble”.

↳ Judith: A feminine given name derived from the Hebrew name Yəhūdīt (יְהוּדִית), meaning “praised” or more literally, “Woman of Judea”.

Japanese ver. — ドリアン エリー ジュディス

Romaji ver. — Dorian Erī Jyudisu

Twisted from: Dorothy Gale

❐ — Dorothy Gale (The Wizard of Oz, 1939)

V/A(日本語): Ayane Sakura (佐倉 綾音)

↳ voices Fiona Frost, Spy X Family

V/A(英語/EN): Jonquil Goede

↳ voices Apple White, Ever After High

Age: 15

Birthday: June 10th

Horoscope: Gemini ♊

Species: Human

Height: 159 cm

Hair color: Dark Brown

Eye color: Baby Blue

Gender/Pronouns: Female, She/Her

Sexuality: Demiromantic

Dominant hand: Right

†•°•══════ஓ๑⚚๑ஓ══════•°•†

╔══ஓ๑†๑ஓ══╗

Extra Information

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Homeland: Kansas (Former), Gale town (Current)

『 Family:

Em Sinclair — Aunt 』

Dormitory: TBA

School Year: 1st Year

Class: 1-A (seat no. 1)

Club: None

Best class(es): Morality, Charms

Worst class(es): Practical Magic

Like(s): Volunteer work, apple picking, long walks, humming songs while working, singing, her dog, reading, picnics

Dislike(s): Marjorie Gulch, getting in trouble, confrontation, being overestimated, making mistakes, talking trees, having to navigate RSA

Hobbies: Farm Work at home, general volunteer work/community service, tutoring, dog walking, reading under a tree, apple picking

Talent(s): Multilingual, ambidextrous, “farm” strength, communication

Flaw(s): Underestimates herself, paranoid, socially anxious, too trusting of others, over-emotional, grew up somewhat old fashioned, lacks self confidence

†•°•══════ஓ๑⚚๑ஓ══════•°•†

╔══ஓ๑†๑ஓ══╗

Personality

╚══ஓ๑†๑ஓ══╝

Dorian is a sweet, sweet soul. No one really knows where she really came from — or even how she got into RSA, due to her age — but everyone all in all has positive feelings towards her!

She's such… an empathetic little lady; and despite her age, she shows a great deal of emotional intelligence and knows how to convey her words to other people in need of advice.

You're more likely to find little Dorian wandering RSA trying to familiarize the layout— she's not really good with directions in large areas, so it'd be nice if you could lend her a hand!

Other times, Dorian's usually out and about doing ‘volunteer work’. Yuuta calls it errands, but Dorian always wants to see the best in everything (including the people around her), and that includes wanting to work really really hard for more the people around her than for herself.

She's not the most self-confident person in the world. In fact, a lot of the time, Dorian constantly questions every little decision she makes, and has the unhealthy habit of… well, underestimating herself all. The. Time.

†•°•══════ஓ๑⚚๑ஓ══════•°•†

Ruby shoes: No place like Home (家程良いところはない)

👠 Less of a magical ability from the user, and more an ability manifested from the user’s footwear.

When one clicks the ruby slippers three times, they are put into a dream-like state; allowing them to envision their definitions of “home” through their memories.

Those who've worn these shoes are known to have an excellent memory of events, however they also seems to suffer from delusions of remembering a series of events that never actually happened; or belonged to another person.

The reason behind this is relatively unknown.

†•°•══════ஓ๑⚚๑ஓ══════•°•†

╔══ஓ๑†๑ஓ══╗

Thoughts on them

╚══ஓ๑†๑ஓ══╝

“She reminds me too much of myself, back in my prime… I had it all, back then.. Until Oscar took it all away. I can only hope Dorian never finds an ‘Oscar’ of her own.”

— Em Sinclair, Dorian's Aunt

“She’s a real cutie! A little naive, sure, but a cutie! Honestly, it's so rare to meet genuinely nice people nowadays… Dorian's a breath of fresh air because of that, I guess.”

— Camilla Marigold, Dorian's upperclassman

“Oh. Her? I've met Dori a few times during joint events between our two schools, and honestly? It's an almost relieving feeling whenever I meet an also-magicless person in this world. Dorian just happens to be one of the genuinely nice ones.”

— Sumeragi Yuuta, Dorian's friend from Night Raven College

†•°•══════ஓ๑⚚๑ஓ══════•°•†

╔══ஓ๑⚚๑ஓ══╗

Additional Trivia

╚══ஓ๑⚚๑ஓ══╝

✑ Main Theme: Somewhere over the Rainbow from The Wizard of Oz

✑ Backstory: 『 No place like Home 』

✑ OC Playlist: 『 Little pretty farm girl 』

༝ㅤ･ㅤ˚ㅤ。ㅤ. ! ・ ↛ ༝ ° ㅤ꒷꒦꒷꒦ 『👠』

👠 The shoes Dorian always wears — red like a ruby and sparkles like one — technically goes against RSA footwear dress code; but for whatever reason, Ambrose allows it.

↳ They were her Auntie Em's back in the day, and what’dya know, they fit like a glove!

👠 Dorian has a pet dog that she recently got for her birthday! She and her Auntie Em call him, “Toto”.

👠 She's had a fear of hurricanes, typhoons, twisters, and so on since… forever. When she was little, and there was a storm outside, Dorian would usually hide under her bed and cover her ears. Though, it usually depended on how strong the storm/twister was.

👠 Loves volunteer work! Practically signs up for anything that involved anything she was familiar with, especially in the farmwork variety!

👠 No one really knows how she got a accepted into RSA! Dorian's magicless, and usually that crosses her out as a potential student, but somehow she still got in!

👠 Professor Elodie and Eve are particularly doting towards Dorian. Why that is the case is up for debate since they're vague towards students willing to ask, but in truth— Dorian reminds them of an old friend of theirs. And maybe that's why they're so sweet to her.

↳ Elodie and Eve belong to @starry-night-rose and @jasdiary !

†•°•══════ஓ๑⚚๑ஓ══════•°•†

Dorian's tags

#dorian judith • #『 dorian 👠 』

†•°•══════ஓ๑⚚๑ஓ══════•°•†

[suzannahnatters]

I Re-Read Tolkien's "Lay of Leithian" For the First Time in Like 15 Years And It's Still My Favourite Poem In the Whole Wide World: Selected Ravings

CANTO I mostly scene setting, but it's so fun to get more worldbuilding details on Doriath. Also this poetry is just gorgeous

CANTO II thou shalt to the moonless mists of hell descend and seek thy Eilinel AUGH

A bunch of details are different in this early version (Gorlim seeking out the Enemy, and being taken to Morgoth not Sauron) but the one that gets me most is Gorlim sneaking away from the phantom without making himself known because he doesn't want her to be hurt T_T

LOTR Orcs are cockneys. Lay of Leithian Orcs have clearly been to university

CANTO III OH HERE'S WHY LUTHIEN HAS SLEEP MAGIC!!!!! Because her mother Melian was associated with Lorien in Valinor, the Vala of dreams and visions, who in Line 439 of the Lay Tolkien calls "the Lord of Sleep"

Okay this is amazing: There after but an hour, him seems, he finds her where she lies and dreams, pale Melian with her dark hair upon a bed of leaves. Beware! There slumber and a sleep is twined! He touched her tresses and his mind was drowned in the forgetful deep, and dark the years rolled o'er his sleep MESS WITH THE ENCHANTRESS AT YOUR PERIL

And now his heart was healed and slain With a new life and with new pain

They enchant each other T_T when he calls "Tinuviel!" there's magic in it

CANTO IV the deathless in his dying shared feels faintly redolent of the Gospel

CANTO V TEXTILE MAGIC Rapunzel joins the list of stories Tolkien looked at, sniffed, and said "I can do better"

CANTO VI We find out why Sauron (here, Thu) is called The Necromancer:

In glamoury that necromancer held his hosts of phantoms and of wandering ghosts, of misbegotten or spell-wronged monsters that about him thronged, working his bidding dark and vile: the werewolves of the Wizard's Isle.

CANTO VII I love SO MUCH the fact that in this version what gives them away to Sauron is the fact that they won't blaspheme the gods and declare Morgoth the king of all earthly kings

CANTO VIII I think it's super important to note that this begins with an absolutely gorgeous passage describing the Bestest Boi, and also there's this beautiful beautiful little Sir Orfeo reference that lives in my head rent free:

Hark! afar in Nargothrond, far over Sirion and beyond, there are dim cries and horns blowing, and barking hounds through the trees going.

Lúthien's meeting with Huan:

Huan alone that she ever met she never in enchantment set nor bound with spells. RIP to you Beren

CANTO IX this whole canto is unbeLIEVably epic, possibly my favourite in the whole Lay, but my favourite part is Sauron hearing the song from the bridge and saying

A! little Lúthien! What brought the foolish fly to web unsought? ee hee hee hee

CANTO X Tolkien just really wants you to know that these guys are Beyond It:

Thereafter never hound was whelped would follow horn of Celegorm or Curufin.

It's interesting that Tolkien at this stage had Beren telling Lúthien to stay in Doriath waiting for his return specifically because Sauron had informed him that Morgoth was keen to capture her. It's like he realised that with all of Lúthien's evident capabilities he needed to give Beren a convincing reason to leave her behind lol

CANTO XI Lúthien catching Beren in the middle of his dramatic farewell will never not crack me up but in this version she tells him off for not putting his trust in her might so weak and then when he asks where's the hound he left to guard her she tells him how much wiser and kinder Huan is than him at which point Beren demands to know why she doesn't just marry the dog

The description of them putting on the werewolf and vampire disguises, and their journey to the gates of Thangorodrim, is fanTAStically creepy and epic and also, I'm surprised to note, HIGHLY reminiscent of the hobbits' trek into Mordor.

CANTO XII this bit about how Carcharoth has not yet come

disastrous, ravening, from the gates of Angband

has STRONG Voluspa echoes -

Loud bays Garm before Gaping-Hel; the bond shall be broken, the Wolf run free

CANTO XIII I love these descriptions of Angband (even Morgoth has tree themed decor) and I love EVEN MORE the fact that when Lúthien flies into the hall a Dark Lord, all his Balrogs and a ton of werewolves suddenly feel the Valar walking over their graves -

A nameless doubt, a shapeless fear had entered in their caverns drear, and grew, and towered above them cowed, hearing in heart the trumpets loud of gods forgotten.

She stood revealed in hell. (chewing glass)

CANTO XIV (fragment) I am going to haunt Tolkien in the afterlife for leaving it off here.

[child0feden]

˖◛⁺⑅do you have any favorite songs? (metal or non-metal, both are cool!!)

also, i love your account. your writing, even when you're just answering asks, is so good!! 🫠

is writing something you study, or is it more like a hobby for you? i always get inspired whenever i read your stuff tbh.

seriously tho, your whole vibe is so sweet (｡･･｡) just wanted to say i really appreciate what you do here! 💖

oh goshhh… i have so so so many favourite songs! you have unleashed a demon through this question lolol! hopefully you don’t mind that i am about to put quite a damn few hehe

despair by trembling void ( just a genuinely gorgeous black metal song, the drums and guitar really do something for me, not to mention the vocals! but to be honest, the whole album is very very very good and i would recommend you check it out )

sorcières by darvulia ( another black metal song where the instruments are just… so good! along with the vocals, of course! very amazing song, love their band logo too )

where restless souls wander by sarastus ( the first time i heard this song, i was absolutely gobsmacked at how much my brain loved it! i think i’m very easy to please but everything about this one just hits right for me, the drums especially )

odin killer of nazis by nuclear hammer ( the horn blowing and drum banging in this one just wowww, my brain loves it for some reason! vocals are of course very good too )

pines and mist by old tower ( arghhh, i just love some good atmospheric music! another one where you should definitely check out the whole album )

xtal by aphex twin ( who the hell does not love some aphex twin? just got this album on cd a couple days ago, love it )

siccmade by brotha lynch hung ( you just cannot go wrong with some lynch! the friday the 13th “ ch ch ch ah ah ah ” in the background of this song is just… chefs kiss! i find myself saying “ oh what a bloody mess ” every time i get my period because of this song )

unshaken by d’angelo from the red dead redemption II soundtrack ( just such a beautiful song, damn near makes me cry every time i hear it! his live performances of it are always just amazing too! his voice is just jaw dropping to me )

snake eater by cynthia harrell from the metal gear solid V soundtrack ( another just absolutely beautiful song with an even more gorgeous voice… her live performance of this in tokyo was absolutely fucking incredible! just one of those “ must listen to at least once in your life ” songs )

promise by akira yamaoka from the silent hill 2 soundtrack ( this song, to me, belongs to mary… whenever i think of this song, i just think of mary and the end of the game! the remake version of this song is just so so so good too, it played during the credits and did i cry? yep, like a fucking baby! the guitar work touches my soul so deeply )

okay, those are all of the reasons i’m going to give but here are some of my other favourites! just to keep this post at least a little short lolol! i could keep this list going for so long…

isolation by jute gyte - exhibition by corentin brasart from the decarnation soundtrack - involuntary disturbance by avith ortega - all or none by pearl jam

i am the black wizards by emperor - straighten up and fly right by the andrews sisters - frankensteina strataemontanus by carach angren

a world of madness by akira yamaoka from the silent hill 2 soundtrack - blood on my swordblade by godkiller

contempt by entombed - you’re not here by akira yamaoka from the silent hill 3 soundtrack - flesh ripper by hellripper - thunder of darkness by immortal

she’s my witch by kip tyler - to hell and back by venom - no care by daughter - blood spattered banner by carcass

we’ll meet again by vera lynn - my dark subconscious by morbid - day of suffering by morbid angel

you spin me round by dead or alive - every day is exactly the same by nine inch nails - necromancer by mortuary drape - goatcraft torment by urgehal

thank you so much! i’m super glad you love my blog… still find it hard to believe, even months down the line of creating it! awh, thank you again! sometimes i worry about my writing not being the greatest but then you guys come in and just shower me in so much love, more than i could ever feel worthy of…

writing is just a hobby for me, at least at the minute! i’m not studying anything right now, just kind of getting my life back on track after years of mental health issues and so on… learning how to live normally again, slowly! maybe later down the line i’ll go to college or something but we shall see… i would like to go into writing professionally if it was an option, my mother thinks i would make a good game or tech reviewer lolol! ever the supportive mother, though it’s kind of my whole family at this point… i think my dream career paths would be a game reviewer, music journalist or photographer! having one of those jobs would certainly make me happy

i’m so glad to hear that you feel inspired when reading my writing, you don’t know how happy that makes me! if you want to get into writing yourself, i could not encourage you more to try it out… i only started writing fanfiction early this year! i had never ever wrote fanfiction before then but i just kind of threw myself into it… and now here we are! really just let yourself try it out, let yourself sink into it and see how it goes :)

thank you once again for this ask and message, honey! you’re flattering me all too much here! you guys have always been nothing but beyond sweet to me, i would hate to treat all of you any different… you deserve nothing less than to be treated with love and respect! you appreciate what i do and i love doing what i do, more than i could ever ask for <3

[thesecretcornerintheroom]

Goodnight Dean ⭐️ (blurb)

Pairing: Dean Thomas x Black female reader

Warnings: Hermonie crying, Kissing, This one is fluffy you guys (I can do a part two if u want 👀) (Honestly this was a cute little blurb cause I never do those)

Word count: 4316

In all honestly I did this for the only black wizard in hogwarts who would have my heart

Part 1

Here’s part 2

EVERYTHING IS RUINED, JUST RUINED. You see Hermonie at the bottom of the steps sobbing, her pink dress sprawled over the steps as she sits clutching her foot, probably getting a blister from her heels. Curls now falling from the perfect bun, you help her do for the ball. “Oh, Hermione, what's wrong you said as you walked down the steps; your curves were showing in your dress. You had a light purple dress with a V-cut and jewels sprawled around the bottom of your dress. The gown was adorned with sparkles and beads. Your hair was down, showing your natural curls, and a white corsage on your wrist was given to you by him. Hermonie, talk to me please you said, now sitting next to Hermonie, clutching her shoulders and moving your curls out your way. “Everything ruined, the ball, my night Ron and Harry are insufferable.” You were still confused and stunned. You didn’t know what Harry did. He was looking miserable all night cause he couldn’t take his dream girl he had been obsessing over all quarter, Cho Chang. Ron, you could believe he’s been a pain in the ass the whole semester, but you could tell it was due to insecurities and his raging crush on Hermonie. It became more evident since last year, and now it’s just getting worse because he’s hiding his emotions and being immature. “Oh honey, I’m sorry,” you said with an honest heart. Let me go to my room and change, and we can have a girl's night. I’ll invite Luna and Ginny, you said. Just shower and unwind before the rest of the girls from the ball consume the washroom”. “But wait, I thought you had plans with him,” Hermonie said with glossy eyes and a pitiful voice. “It’s okay,” I said. Now, standing up, “there are more pressing matters at hand.” You were giving her a smile and a kiss on the cheek. Leaving her to smile and stand and slowly start walking to her room.

As I walked up the steps, my heart was heavy, my eyes wandering, looking to see if he where I left him, and there he was leaning on a wall with my purple glitter Shaw in his hands. You took him in. He’s one of the tallest boys in your grade, his tan skin glowing under the Hogwarts lantern. His curls complement his eyebrows and brown eyes. “Dean Thomas, I’m afraid we must call it a night you said.” Now, walking over to him, Dean had on a traditional suit, but he did have on a purple tie and a white rose pin to his suit to match yours. “Oh, no worries he said with a small smile. “It is getting late, and I’ve probably bored you. I’m sorry, the night was more boring than I expected. We can sneak off to Diagon Alley and get Butter beer instead.” As you walked over to him, you saw his body language became small and awkward, which was funny because he's one of the most confident boys you know in our grade. Before he could finish his sentence, you grabbed the back of his neck, gently pulling him down to you, his hair hitting the tips of your finger. You pull him down to kiss you. That’s what you've been thinking about all night. The entire ball, Dean was sweet, complementing you, dancing with you, laughing with or at your jokes, including you in conversation with his friend, and telling you stories. He was perfect. The kiss was very soft at first. It started as a peck. You felt his lips against yours, and your lips and his danced together perfectly. You felt his body go ridged as he relaxed his stance, leaning into you more. You feel his fingers adding pressure to your hips. His hands started to go lower, and the kiss deepened. You felt him swipe his tongue on your bottom lip, requesting an opening. You let out an involuntary sigh, feeling your body tempter rise. You weren’t thinking about being caught by any teachers, including Snape. You were only worried about the feeling you had you were going to grant his wish as you opened your mouth. You both heard a “Oh my, why did the warbles lead me this way?” causing you and Dean to pull away, hearing the sounds of your lips leaving his as he clears his throat. You straighten out your purple dress. You turn to see Luna in her bright yellow dress. “Luna, I was looking for you,” you said, breaking the tension. Luna looked at you and Dean, puzzled. “Interesting enough, I’m not in his mouth,” caused me to gasp and Dean to chuckle. “Hermonie needs us,” I said with a flustered voice as I grabbed her hand. “Good night, Dean,” you said, looking at the boy whose now eyes were darker and whose lips were covered in your lips gloss and slightly swollen. He held eye contact for you a little longer. If only your friend wasn’t in her room, probably crying, and your other friend wasn’t hunting warbles. “Goodnight, y/n, rain check on the butter beer,” He said, saying the words quickly. “Of course,” you said, pulling Luna away and hurrying to your room to change.

[theteablogger]

Is there by any chance a screenshot of the details of the shaman wizard battle in a better resolution? I cannot make any of it out

Here's a screenshot of another archived version.

In case that doesn't work, here's the full text of the LiveJournal entry in question. m_oquinn is Brittany, who wrote the emails from her and Andy. To avoid confusion, I've put the emails from Brittany and Andy in italics.

28th-Dec-2009 11:32 am

Okay, my friends, here is the sum total of the Astral Undead Shaman Wizard exchange. I am leaving out the contact info and also one entire email that contained extremely specific personal info about Cfc, who is completely innocent of all of this and had no idea this was being done behind her back.

The worst part of this? Cfc has kids, and Andy and company divulged her address and other personal info which should never, ever have been revealed. So that part is left out.

Keep in mind I never bought into this for a second...from my very first response, I was leading them on, for the lulz.

The good stuff is behind the cut. *passes out popcorn* Everything beginning with this > is from me. The others are from m_oquinn and Andy

First: Many weeks ago, I posted about a recurring dream I was having of wandering through the woods. Somehow, that led to this:

Dear [redacted], Look, I know that you were the one to talk to Luvcharlie, AND I know that you did not mean for anything that happened to happen. Someone has been fucking with us. Cfc is under some kind of attack, something is trying to literally eat her kids. She sent message and we didn't get it because we were on road-now when we contact her it is like no one is home. Cheerful, everything is wonderful mode-nothing has been wonderful for ages. there is something big and something dangerous and deadly-You have the capacity and strength and power to do something. We are powerless and have been rung out by trip. Please, this is your dream-the children are in the house in the woods being eaten by monsters-Andy is down and when his shield over those kids break. it. is. over.

> Oh my. > Anything and everything else aside, let's deal with the > important stuff. I can and will help of course. > > I need a general idea of where they are. If you have a pic > you could email that would help. Their names, if you know > them. Anything that would help me zero in on them, > y'know? > I'll do what I can right now, but it won't do much > good without something more specific to work with. > > Please get me whatever info you can asap. > Love you dear, be strong, all will be well. > xoxo > [redacted]

[Way too much personal info, redacted] We will have more info following. The most important thing is to get inside the house so to speak, and distract from the children. Thank you thank you thank you

>working. more info on nature of threat? >please tell andy he can step down and relax, not to burn himself out. i've got some serious >shields started and am trying to target the actual threat, but i can't pinpoint it yet.

Spirit/Astral form of technically dead but v. powerful Seneca Sachem-level shaman, plus allies and minions. I know this sounds crazy, but is true.

>ok. i'm enlisting some help. >do you know why this is happening? who's ultimately behind it? that would help...whoever's >sending the ill will is a tool. i want the source. >something isn't right here. this isn't shamanic energy, but something darker. and there's >only one energy signature, no sign of "allies" or "minions". are you sure of your source? >also, there seems to be a secondary target, but i can't identify it. what's really going on?

A source said that it was above " the wheel" with each spoke a world and the hub a connection place. it was a shaman/wizard cross in late 16th possibly but that has passed from place of dead to something above that. Several targets have been hit so far. Not sure who or what is current secondary. The "allies" seem to have been neutralized by someone from the hub as a favor to Andy.

[At this point, I grew weary of the insanity and decided to go to bed. This was my final reply. I have heard nothing since]

Okay guys, this has been vastly entertaining, but I've had enough. I don't know if you all are serious about all this and therefore either being duped by someone or are in real need of some help, or if you're just trying to draw other people into your little games, but really. This? All of it? A genius level of what-the-fuckery.

Some good lulz, but I like playing in the real world. You've failed your saving throw. Your low charisma stat made this inevitable. Is there a paladin in your party?

Evil twins, IRA, mysterious pasts, Claymore scars, now astral undead wizards? Really? And you all just believe this? Without a second thought? What next, a coma?

Such amazing energy and clear creative talent should be used for something a lot more productive than this nonsense. It's a shame that the talent doesn't seem to be enough.

I'm sorry. I just can't be a part of this drama and lunacy. I have a life, in the real world, and I like it just fine. I hope all of you find the same someday.

[ivyprism]

Masterlist 20

Suggestive? Kind of? *

Character and AU Information:

The Fallen Stars Brothers (Info Dump)

The Caged Bird AU (Info Dump)

The "Angelic" Villain (Info Dump)

The Dying Stars Brothers (Info Dump)

The Fading Stars Brothers (Info Dump)

The Fallen Stars Skelesona and H (Info Dump)

The Dying Stars Skelesona and H (Info Dump)

The Fading Stars Skelesona and H (Info Dump)

OG Skelesonas Updated (Info Dump)

The Dragon's SOUL (OC Info Dump)

The Sun, The Moon, and The Eclipse (Info Dump)

The Sun, the Moon, and the Eclipse Hs (Info Dump)

The Sun, the Moon, and the Eclipse: The Parents (Info Dump)

The Band AU (Revamped)

The Queen of the Deep Seas (Info Dump)

Weapons (Angels Fall AU)

The Significance of Angel Hunters (Angels Fall AU)

Angel Hunters and Demon Slayer Skeleton Boys (Angels Fall AU)

The Cleric and the Warlock Sonas (Info Dump)

The Bard Sonas (Info Dump)

The Ranger, the Sorcerer, the Fighter, and the Rogue Skeleton Boys (Info Dump)

The Artificer, the Monk, the Druid, and the Paladin Skeleton Boys (Info Dump)

The Wizard and the Barbarian Sonas (Info Dump)

The Bard and the Paladin Skeleton Boys (Info Dump)

Spider Lily (Spidersona Info Dump)

Half of a Heart AU (UT AU Info Dump)

Half of a Heart Papyruses and Sanses (UT and UF AU Info Dump)

The Suffering Oblivion (Sona Info Dump)

The Outer Skeleton Boys (Info Dump)

The Witch in the Woods and The Skeleton Boys (Info Dump)

My Old Swap AU: Rewritten Boys and a Sona (Info Dump)

Magic (Worldbuilding)

Main 16 Outfits: Redone (Outfits!)

The OG Skeleton Brothers: Redone (Outfits)

Mermaidsona (Info Dump)

The Puppeteer (Sona Info Dump)

The Puppeteer's Creations (Skeleton Boys Info Dump)

The Other Creations (Skelesona Info Dump)

A Few More Creations (Skeleton Boys Info Dump)

Blossom (Pirate H Info Dump)

The Warlock Sans and the Cleric Papyrus (Info Dump)

Farm Boys (Skeleton Boys Info Dump)

Orchard Worker Sonas (Sona Info Dump)

Horrorswapfell Skeleton Boys (Info Dump)

Heights part 1 (Many AUs)

Heights part 2 (Many AUs)

Heights Part 3 (Many AUs)

Heights Part 4 (Allureswap)

Allureswap Skeleton Boys (Info Dump)

Deer Monster and Half-Deer Monster Sona and Siblings (Info Dump)

Althaea (The Trapped Mermaid Sona)

The Void Travelers: Skeleton Boys (Info Dump)

Heights Part 5 (The Void Travelers)

The Fallen Humans AU (Info Dump)

Bird of Passage thoughts (Creator Rambles: The Fallen Humans AU)

Stories Written:

A few Happy Moments (The Sea's Song Story)

Still Here (The Sea's Song Story)

The Queen of the Deep Sea (A short story AU)

The Queen (Hehehooo)

The Alluring Queen of the Deep Sea (Hehehooo)

The Captains' Dance (Hehehooo)

Needle and a Thread (Angels Fall AU)

Blood Spilt (Angels Fall AU)

I love you (Runyon x Reader)

I'll be your knight (Cathan x Reader)

You complete me (Cynwrig x Reader)

The Silence is Deafening (Sona Backstory)

The Bee and the Flower (H x Honeycomb)

C'mon, Captain~ (Blossom/H x Dusk: Pirate AU)

Blossom x Dusk: How they Met (First Mate Nightmare x Pirate H)

The Truce (Outcode Story)

Aren't you tired of fighting? (Mermaid Pirate Hydrnagea: Not Csanon)

Asks:

Soft headcanons (The Wandering SOULs Fell Sans)

A Caged Bird Info (Info dump)

A Caged Bird "no"s! (Info Dump)

Some Random Facts (Fallen Stars and Caged Bird Boys)

Some Facts (The Dying Stars Sans)

Angst Facts (The Dying Stars Sans)

Nickname (The Dying Stars Sans)

Angst Facts (Mafiafell Sans)

Soft Facts (Allurefell Sans)

Angst Facts (Underfell Sans)

Type? (The Caged Bird Skeletons)

Facts (The Caged Bird AU)

Ticklish? (The Caged Bird H)

Villain Underfell HCS (Stuff lmao)

Erorrotale Facts (info)

Best Dad with best dad jokes (UT Gaster)

Favorite creations? (The Puppeteer H)

Ianira Isn't Here? (The Creations)

Rejected Creations? (The Puppeteer and the Creations)

Opinions on each other? (Farmtale, Farmfell, and Farmswapl

Lolita fashion (yay multiple characters)

Chronically Ill SO (Many AUs)

Blossom x Dusk HCs Part 1 (First Mate Nightmare x Pirate H)

Blossom x Dusk HCs Part 2 (First Mate Nightmare x Pirate H)

Dalton Fun Facts (The Void Traveler Fell Sans)

How they met! (What if two humans fell AU: Various AUs)

The skeleton brothers (What if Two Humans Fell AU: Various AUS.)

Resets (What if Two Humans Fell AU: Various AUs)

[cosmik-homo]

There's something v funny about my Wandering Longcovid Cough coming back this weekend when I have Alfred Costume tomorrow but I'm too lazy to actually craft the joke well. Something something wrong Weiss and Hickman wizard.

[zartophski]

Regrettably I have no silly D&D content for your Monday/Wednesday needs this week because someone (it is me I am the problem) may have done an oops during last week's pain and suffering session, so we will simply go back in time a week

[Future commentaries will be denoted by pain and suffering campaign and complete bullshit campaign for clarity]

Go back in time a week to...

~ The instadeath bard incident ~

(This one is a long one I apologize)

A week after undead head soccer and misty stepping, here is where the party stands:

V - New PC incoming; formerly the barbarian (third dead PC from the previous week), formerly the bard (second dead PC- party killed for killing the first PC)

S - the fighter; formerly the artificer (first dead PC- killed by the bard)

D - the rogue

A - the paladin

N - the wizard

Me - the monk

So, we are introduced to V's new character. And this is where we take a left turn off a cliff, because V IS NOW PLAYING THE RESURRECTED(???) PC OF S. She is a druid now. Instead of an artificer. COOL. DEFINITELY NO MINDFUCKS THERE.

And we're wandering through the woods semi arguing about where to take the Not Hand of Vecna, which is the demonic disease AOE infesting hand of the deceased lich warlord from 600 years ago and is not the Hand of Vecna.

We run across this ghost bard in a swamp playing a sad song about his death at the hand of the evil death ray cow. He wants us to spread his final song so he can move on, and also we can loot all the shit he and his party died with when they unknowingly ran into the territory of the death ray cow.

RED ALERT: MASSIVE DM BAIT (we risked it anyway)

Actually though like we knew full well what we were doing and risking we just really did need a leg up, and we knew that I had an invisible mage hand, the rogue had a +9 to stealth, and the druid had pass without trace available, so we figured we could stealth our way through it.

The DM is rolling distraction from our ghost bard buddy, perception from the death ray cow, recharge on the death ray (3 rounds, recharge on 5 or 6), and we're rolling stealth.

Round 1 goes off in a horror show fashion that should have been our hint to fucking leave, with the rogue rolling a crit fail dirty 20 for stealth, the death ray cow rolling a 24 on perception, and the bard thankfully crit succeeding on the performance to distract the cow. The death ray fires, he's absolutely immune to necrotic damage, now we have recharge rounds.

Round 2 and 3 go off without a hitch as we collect some stuff, the rogue rolls like. base 19s on stealth, the druid and I are vibing on our checks, the cow is fucking up perception, the bard is doing well enough on distraction, We're *jamming.*

Round 4. The bard performance is okay, ish. The DM accidentally, while I'm making my turn, actually rolls a successful death ray recharge. But fairly so, dismisses the recharge because it wasn't on the turn, we're all ahead of the cow in the initiative order. AGAIN, A MASSIVE COSMIC UNIVERSE HINT TO RUN. The rogue rolls another crit fail dirty 20 on stealth. The cow's turn. The death ray recharges. The cow beats the perception roll.

ohfuck.jpg

The save for this death roll is a FUCKING DC 16 Con or take 8d8 necrotic. If you fail by 5, you take 64 necrotic flat out.

The rogue is instadead. (We are level 5 and cannot long rest without specific circumstances and DM approval, so we have constantly failing HP.) PC number 4, everyone!

It is at this point that the roll20 dice are declared homophobic once again, and then we force the DM to jail the LGBTD20 for further homophobic activity (rolling a successive string of crit successes and 19s for six rounds in a row).

LAter everyone points the target at my character as I am the only surviving PC to attend every session, and then we engage in a long discussion about if the Not Hand of Vecna should be considered ableist or not and how it would work with amputees and prosthetics. Normal post session activities, you know?

LMAO THIS IS FANTASTIC

I hope I'm right in imagining the death ray cow to just. be a normal-looking cow that shoots lasers when you look at it wrong.

rest in pieces to the rogue tho, this campaign sounds brutal. lots of death going around, 100% agree the homophobic dice are to blame here.

[emeritusemeritus]

No Good Deeds [George Weasley x Reader]

Part 8

Part 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8

Pairing: {George Weasley x Reader} mentions of previous Fred Weasley x Reader.

Timeline: Set a few years after DH, loosely following Canon.

Summary: A few years after Fred’s death, the investors of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes demand changes to the name. All it would take is two years of a fake marriage to fix the issues, but no good deed goes unpunished.

Warnings: Fake marriage trope because we love the cliché. Mentions of death (Fred). Friends to lovers. Slow burn but mentions of kissing and eventual smut. Swearing. George calls us Angel. Drinking. SMUT. The smut has arrived! P in V, oral (both). Angst, sadness, grief. Illusions of cheating, infidelity, Tags will be updated with each chapter. Not Beta-read or spell checked.

This one got a little angsty 🥀

Marriage was known to be hard work, a long running admittance that was shrouded with humour by those who had known the struggles first hand of maintaining a happy and healthy relationship. Fake marriages were undoubtedly twice as hard; especially when actual feelings were involved and had to be concealed.

After the honeymoon, things had turned almost platonically stale, though you had remained friendly and cordial with George, any hope of furthering your relationship was quickly shot down when you fell placidly into roommate rolls rather than anything more. It was like everything that happened on your honeymoon was forgotten, like it never happened.

Day to day, you carried on as normal, working alongside each other and cohabiting in relative peace but there was little to no intimacy anymore. George had begun sleeping in his own room as soon as you returned back from your honeymoon and had made almost no attempt to sneak into your bed again or initiate anything else in between.

It had been nearly six months since the wedding, five months and a little under two weeks since you'd returned from your honeymoon and you'd completely lost hope that anything was going to magically change between the two of you. You'd tried, at least in the beginning, to initiate more and to subtly flirt with him, trying to reclaim all that had been lost but it was pointless.

You'd had sex twice since returning from honeymoon, both of those times has been the consequence of built up of sexual tension: a release of sorts. This first time, you'd split a bottle of wine and had been watching a movie on the couch, sharing a blanket and one thing had led to another until you were riding him into the couch.

The second time had been after a thunderous meeting with the investors, in which they had found out about your marriage and therefore the redundancy of their name change order. Tempers had flared and George had remained relatively calm, if not a little cocky at their reactions which had only riled them up further. He'd kissed you in celebration of winning his case and you'd barely made it through the door to the flat before he'd taken you hard and rough against the (thankfully) closed front door. It had been messy and dirty, prompted by his business victory with a tangle of kisses, bites and wandering hands that desperately clutched at every piece of bare skin they could find.

The awkwardness that had followed the little slip of judgement had been agonising, taking days to settle down between you where you could hardly make eye contact because of your temporary lapse.

You just had to get through another year and a half of being married before you could part ways and accept that it was never going to happen with George Weasley.

The business had been booming and rightfully so as for the first time in a long time, Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes had launched new products, a whole new line of Wonderwitch potions. They'd been an instant hit and though it had been considerably more work for you in the potions department, you'd worked tirelessly and happily to assist the business, and George. George had even taken on two more employees recently for the shopfloor as the demand was too much for just him, Ron and Verity whilst you sorted the back of house accounts, ordering and potion making.

To boost business further, George had also accepted a deal proposed by Zonko's Joke Shop to launch a small selection of his products in Zonko's including a new Pyrotechnic, Thestral Thrasher, which was only available from Zonko's on a limited edition basis. George had essentially locked himself away for the past month in the apartment above the shop which had become his new workshop and there had been multiple nights that you hadn't seen him, had eaten alone and then gone to bed without him ever stepping foot through the door.

Putting on a brave and mildly forced smile, you checked yourself a over in the mirror one last time. Tonight Zonko's was hosting a grand opening party for the Wheezes range that they would be carrying, a hard launch into the new business venture between the two stores. As George's wife you were expected to be there with a smile on your face and a pretty gown, in support of your husband. The whole Weasley family would be there as well as close friends, basically everyone in your social circle. You knew there would be questions that you'd have to deflect all night and put on a performance which had you feeling exhausted already just thinking about it. You hoped Ginny would be deep into wedding planning for her upcoming nuptials to Harry and would dominate the conversation for the majority of the night, maybe if you brought it up with Molly it would twist things in your favour.

You smoothed down the front of your silk dress, having chosen a dark purple shade, a subtle little hint of your support of George. George had always been the 'purple' twin whilst Fred had opted to wear more orange shades, keep subtle nods to the colours of their business even in their everyday clothes. Even after George had lost his ear and Fred's death, he had still continued to wear purple shades, as if it was his distinguishing feature. You adjusted your breasts in the admittedly rather sexy dress and checked your makeup one last time before you left the flat, making your way to the next place you could apparate.

Apparating into Hogsmeade, you were immediately met with a beautiful display of a thriving town, bustling with partygoers and late night customers to the multiple tea rooms that were just about to close.

Walking across to Zonko's, you paused and burst into a smile at seeing a giant orange and purple bow placed across the entire storefront, alongside a sign that said it big, moving letters 'Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes now sold here'. You'd always been proud of everything Fred and George had achieved kid never felt prouder than in that moment, seeing the place you'd spent so much time in during your youth, dragged by the twins to their favourite shop for restocks now carrying their own range, and proudly so.

"Y/n!" You heard to your left, spotting Hermione waving you over as she stood with Ron and Harry slightly off from a crowd of people.

"Blimey, you look nice," Ron says as you walk over to them with a warm smile, greeting them all excitedly. You didn't miss the little glare Hermione shot to Ron at his words and couldn't help but laugh as he relented, looking as uncomfortable in his suit as he had at the Yule Ball, pulling the collar of the restrictive shirt away from his neck.

"Have you seen George?" Ginny says as she steps over to you, throwing her arms around your neck as you greet you sister in law. You smile as her hand finds Harry's almost as soon as you pull apart and shake your head at her, not having seen George at all today.

"Mum's gone looking for him, something about making sure he had eaten enough before the champagne starts but we all know it's because she saw the photographer going inside and wants in on it," Ron says with a mumble which makes you chuckle, knowing he's probably true. "Dad was with him inside."

You nod at the information, casting your eyes back to the building in the hopes you'd catch a glimpse of his red hair but there were too many people.

"Is Charlie coming?" You ask, trying to divert the conversation away from George and receive shaking heads from Ginny and Ron.

"No he's been travelling, following a horde of short-snouts somewhere in Scandinavia. Said he'd make it to the wedding but couldn't get away for this," she explains, opening the door for wedding questions.

You chatted to them for quite a while before Angelina barrelled over to you with her new boyfriend and immediately stole you away. A few hours later, you felt that you'd mingled the night away, dancing through the sea of people getting further and further away from George, who you'd not even seen yet.

"There she is," you hear a voice from behind you and when you turn, you realise that it's Bill. You visibly relax, glad to be in the company of someone you could be yourself around, not having to mingle with investors and acquaintances from your Hogwarts days you'd not seen in a while.

"Being First Lady difficult?" He teases as he wraps is arm around you, a secure and warm brotherly hug that actually helps you relax.

"Horrible, though I'm yet to actually find my husband," you admit with a laugh, looking around for Fleur who was usually by his side.

"She wanted to be here," he says, noticing your gaze for his wife, "morning sickness isn't her friend right now, mum gave her some potion for it but she can hardly keep it down," he replies with a smile. The couple had shared their happy news not too long ago and you were exuberantly happy for them, though you did empathise with Fleur's sickness.

"Well I hope she feels better soon," you say kindly, which he nods his thanks back to.

"Doubt you've seen much of him with all this happening," he says, referring to George with a nod of his head towards the building where you assumed he would be.

"Oh you have no idea," you say coyly, only realising the depth of your statement after the words had tumbled out of your mouth. If Bill noticed any undertone in your words he hid it well and you quickly diverted the conversation back to his work and his unborn child, safe topics to carry you through.

When the fourth round of champagne and various flights of butterbeer, canapés and special Honeydukes iced biscuits that had been imprinted with the signature 'W' slogan came round, you decided enough was enough. You'd mingled long enough and had waited patiently as you secretly sought out your husband but the niggling tension wouldn't go away, you wanted to find George.

You stepped inside the bustling building, seeking out his red hair and tall stature, expecting to see him over the crowd of people but it was near impossible with everyone tucked so tightly together. Each and every time you thought you'd spotted him, it turned out to be one of his siblings, all of them sporting a similar if not identical flame red hair you were looking for.

You had no idea what possessed you but you suddenly decided to slip past the employee only cordon to the stairs and ascend them quickly, hoping no one would see you or notice you'd gone.

George was clearly avoiding you, keeping himself busy with his friends, family and patrons, using them as a barricade to stay hidden from you, no doubt wanting to put a familiar distance between you like normal. You couldn't do this anymore, couldn't pretend that you were perfectly happy when in reality you felt lower than ever, having lost your last remaining best friend. You came up with a story about needing air, about being overwhelmed and needing to fix your makeup if anyone caught you, but thankfully no one stopped you.

You wished somebody had stopped you the second you crept up to the second floor and instantly spotted your husband looking very cozy with the new employee that had started only a month or two ago, both of them huddled together in the dark store room above the shop. The pain you felt was indescribable, like a guttural stab that didn't relent but you couldn't look away from the sight in front of you. They weren't kissing but George was pressed against one of the many racks, her body pressed against him with his hands beside him clutching the racking.

They hadn't spotted your presence and you hardly thought they could, completely wrapped up in each other as they whispered between themselves. You wanted to scream, cry, completely break down but you had no right, trapped in an endless cycle of feelings but without the commitment. You weren't really married, only by law and he was technically free to see whoever- even if he initially said he didn't want to.  But it didn't stop it hurting any less.

You had to get out of there, disappear to anywhere where no one was around to see you break down and finally let out the gut wrenching sobs that were threatening to burst out of you at any second. You'd lost Fred and now you were losing George, the pain of your mental statement too much to handle.

You tried to think of a way to escape through the crowd without being noticed but your mind wasn't thinking clearly, you could only think of what was in front of you, the image of them together playing behind your eyes with every blink.

You began to turn away, no longer able to stand there and watch your world collapse and prayed that you could silently retreat without them seeing. Just as you turned, movement caught your eye and you couldn't help but turn back around, silently pleading that you wouldn't have to watch them kiss.

George had pushed her away. Had he seen you?

But then you heard him clearly, his voice raised enough that it carried through the silent, dark room.

"Get off me, I don't want you," he says with conviction as he blocks her with his hands, not enough to hurt her but enough to push her back from him to create distance. "I don't know what you're trying to do but whatever it is, it won't work. I love my wife."

The force of his rather blunt statement hits you like a tonne of bricks, the power of his words actually sounding truthful. The words repeat over and over again in your head like a constant replay and you feel completely blind sighted, the rollercoaster of emotions you'd felt in the past minute too overwhelming.

"But Mr Weasley," the girl says in a rather desperate, whiny voice, trying to reach out for him again.

"What don't you understand? I'm married and I love my wife, there's nobody else I want more than her."

"Y/n."

Your eyes shoot up at the sound of your name and you're met with the green-hazel eyes of George who looks horrified at you standing there, knowing what you'd probably seen and heard. You felt his eyes burning into you, as well as the beady eyes of his companion and instantly wanted to disappear again, feeling overstimulated and overwhelmed at the whole situation. It felt like it physically hurt to look into George's eyes and you just had to get away, this time without any hesitation.

You bolted down the stairs, trying your hardest to stay silent and to not cause a scene. It was like you had tunnel vision, completely ignorant of everything happening around you as you set your sights on the door and pushed past the sea of blurred faces, moving quickly with determination until you crossed the threshold of the anti-apparition jinx and disapparated.

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[thegreatsurvey]

The Moving Castle. 

The sun had finally fallen and night began to take hold over the rocky landscape. The castle caught the last rays of warmth as it perched on the edge of an escarpment that overlooked the great Halsean Lake. Steam billowed from its smokestacks; its gears ground to a halt with a bellowing groan.  The Moving Castle sat still, silent, radiating the days last trailings of sunshine as if a part of the outcrop it stoically loomed  above.

The red spider, as it had come to be known in the area, was one of about seventeen known “moving castles” to roam the foothills and outer reaches of Four-Town Bay (named such for obvious reasons). They were generally owned and operated by wealthy, reclusive and eccentric inventors, alchemists, wizards and the more paranormally-inclined; rarely encountered, and even more seldomly interacted with by outsiders. They were rumored to employ multiple families, even generations, of servants and laborers, and as many were centuries old, it’s assumed they were passed down through generations, as were the talents and tricks required to keep them in operation.

If you knew who to know, the servants of each castle could be identified, and were known to frequent various shops in the bay when supplies were needed. The Red Spider, however, was the most mysterious of all. No known servants had ever entered the towns; no one knew the original or current owner; no chance encounters by travellers, hikers or shepherds. The most the townspeople knew of the red spider came from distant glimpses from below the cliffs and the tell-tale clatter of it’s spindly legs and creaking wheels, often heard through the thick mountain fog. 

Some believe it is unoccupied, simply left to wander the landscape by an ongoing, leftover spell until it’s machinery rusts, trusses fail, hinges break and it collapses into the foothills; perhaps the owner died alone, decades or centuries before, their body left to rot in the cavernous living machine; but many have come to fear the red spider. The other castles have products and potions to offer and contribute to the community, even taking correspondence through the mountains to surrounding lands. If the red spider is hiding, they suspect, perhaps it has something to hide. 

Check out the video here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lki0qVp3svI The Moving Castle 8x16″ Acrylic and ink on canvas

Inspired by Howl’s Moving Castle from Studio Ghibli