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hcneymooners · 1 month ago

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⋆ the heart devises, desires, can be stolen.

modern!young!ambessa x curvy!best friend!reader. men & minors dni.

synopsis: ambessa has always been your best friend, and you hers—one half of a duo everyone envies. but it turns out she’ll take any chance to remind you that no one else gets to have you.

cw: straight smut bro i'm ovulating real bad, power dynamics, homoerotic friendships, rich girl bullshit, pining, sexually explicit content, cunnilingus, vaginal fingering, oral sex, face riding, impact play, dom/sub, brat!reader, brat tamer!ambessa, dom!ambessa, praise kink, face-sitting, face fucking, possessive sex, accidental voyeurism (she eats you out while you're on the phone with a date), possible infidelity? may be up to interpretation, insane sexual tension, kinda hate sex, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, clit play, humiliation kink, reader is black-coded but everyone can read!

notes: i have nothing to say for myself. enjoy. love you.

the problem with the medarda heiress is that she’s allowed to want you, but you are not allowed to want her. if you do, you’ve upset something delicate and impossible to rebalance. you’ve leaned too hard into it, and she’ll punish you for the weight. it was an invisible rule, but enforced with brutal consistency. you, and anyone else she ever deigned to touch, had to understand this law to be allowed inside the thicketed, thorn-laced garden of her lioness heart.

you were strategic. played it smart. tied yourself to her not through confession but through proximity. best friendship. a safe zone, or something close enough to perform as one. still, the world you built together had curdled into something sticky. mutated by a strain of possession that could only belong to two bright, beautiful, brilliant young girls, padded by old money and too many afternoons with nowhere to be.

you never talked about it, but you both knew: the relationship had grown elevated beyond all else. separate. sacred. whatever existed between you was observed with more affection than most marriages.

she had your coffee order filed away in the notes of your contact card. you had her credit cards sitting untouched in your apple wallet, every limit obscene. you did her makeup when she was afraid to try something new and needed someone who wouldn’t laugh if it all went wrong. her hands hugged the lunar curves of your hips as she measured you for brands you rarely purchased from. urged you to yield to instructions such as stand still while her thumbs pressed deliciously just below your hipbones.

you knew each other best, which meant you hurt each other best.

when she was displeased with you, she would excise you silently. you’d wake to an instagram feed newly glittering with crowds of people who would ask about the reason you hadn’t been there with rehearsed innocence. in return, you would still celebrate her birthday, but with less respect than owed. show up late. deliver a gift just generic enough to imply you’d forgotten, a last-minute grab from a boutique near the venue. it would make her lips go thin and bloodless at the head of the dinner table, her eyes going flat with insult.

ambessa would follow this with digging her nails into your thigh until she drew both blood and your sharp gasp of pain, and then look over sweetly. her face would enact a perfect collapse, a slow crumple, her face folding into the perfect picture of saccharine concern.

“jesus, [name],” she’d whisper, a hand on your knee, locs twisted up like a debutante. “are you alright?”

only you could see the violence behind it. it matched your own.

later, to get back at her, you’d lock her out in the cold and text her to call in a favor at the ritz. you’d fall asleep sprawled across your shared bed, cheek pressed to her pillow, her scent making something claw in your chest.

but the worst, the thing that really got her, was when you went on dates. she despised it. viscerally, illogically.

she’d watch you get ready from the edge of your bed like a housecat preparing to pounce, her long limbs sprawled out in quiet threat. her eyes would follow your reflection in the mirror as you applied gloss and tucked that evening’s pair of earrings into the soft swell of your earlobe. when you reached for your heels, she'd tug the hem of your dress like she was helping, but always, always popped off a bead or caught a thread.

you’d swat her hand away.

“bessa. stop.”

she’d just blink, slowly and unreadably. “i’m only fixing it.”

you’d kick at her ankle, not gently. she’d wince, delicately performative. it made you feel better, even though both of you knew she could break you in half if she wanted.

she just never did.

she always waited up.

never slouched. never drowsy. only still. it was like a meditation brought on by jealousy that coiled with nowhere to strike.

ambessa kept the suite dim, lit only by the golden hush of a single lamp and the spill of city lights leering through the windows. she sat poised in one of the chaises like she’d been born there, legs crossed, one hand rubbing idly at her temple as she looked over internship applications. her silk robe was belted in a way that suggested absentmindedness. but with ambessa, nothing ever was.

your entrance was deliberate. you’d come late, always sitting by yourself at the table for a few extra minutes just to strengthen the wound. as you walked in, she looked up, eyes glossy but sharp as if she hadn’t blinked while you were gone.

your heels hung from your fingers, limp and thoughtless, betraying nothing of the two thousand dollars they’d cost, you had played it risky, had decided to engage with what your mother once called “the wisdom of a whore”. the outfit was an electric blue, comprised of a candalously tight, micro-skirt and a matching beaded tube top that did nothing to hide the hardness of your nipples.

your hips swayed like a dare. your hair was teased large and soft, fragrant with something tropical and warm, the kind of scent that would linger kindly along bedsheets and a shirt collar. your lip combo was smudged from the sips of the apple martinis you’d ordered, the liquor a toxic green highball. it had felt threatening every single time a sip went down. your teeth bit into your bottom lip, white still gleaming. your edges were immaculate, barely curled.

you looked expensive. you were sure to taste somewhat like trouble. and she abhorred it.

you hadn't even liked the guy, but you liked his effect. it was cruel, but cruelty was the only language you spoke fluently when ambessa got like this.

her eyes crawled over you. slow. bladed. her fingers twitched, and she covered them with the lip of her robe, anxious to keep her emotions unrevealed.

“well?” she said.

you blinked. set your purse on the counter like you hadn't noticed her watching. “well, what?”

her lip curled, delicate and venomous. but then, “did you—did you have fun?”

her voice seemed to get smaller by the end, but you caught the subtle narrowing of her eyes.

you laughed. couldn’t help it. the act was borderline insane. insanely her. you dropped your heels, letting one tumble toward the couch.

“you’re so upset,” you murmured, the sound almost fond.

ambessa stood. “i am not.”

“bessa,” you said, ensuring that you sounded the right side of disappointed. “i thought we agreed to never lie to each other.”

“please,” she scoffed. you smiled wider. you began to move again.

her eyes tracked you, slow and precise, a predator unbothered by the illusion of prey. she waited until you leaned against the island in the kitchen, fiddling with a glass like you might pour yourself water. you didn’t.

then, low and syrupy, “what’d you drink tonight?”

you smirked without turning. “why?”

“i’d like to know what to order if i go there.”

she’d never go there.

you glanced over your shoulder, smiling sharply.

“if you want to know what’s been in my mouth, then come and find out.”

she slipped over like a shadow, walked unrushed and barefoot. her robe parted just enough to flash well-lotioned skin and the flex of lean muscle. her nails were painted a deep oxblood. she didn’t raise her voice when she stopped in front of you, her height even more pronounced in the throes of her possession, but her mouth was hard.

her gaze dropped: first to your gloss-slick mouth, then the dip of your collarbone, then lower still. with it went the last of her mask. her voice grew high and tight.

“did he touch you here?” she asked, reaching out. her fingers hovered. “or was he too busy trying not to cum in his pants the second you sat down?”

you sucked in a breath, heat climbing up the back of your neck.

“you sound jealous,” you said.

“i think you want me to be,” she countered. you had no answer to that.

goosebumps lit up along your arms. you were still warm from dinner, still sticky from the club, but something about ambessa always made you feel brand-new.

she stepped closer. her hand landed heavy on your hip, fingers sinking in. she wanted you to remember just how bruiseable your body was. her thumb brushed under the edge of your skirt. a threat of a touch.

“did he kiss you?” she whispered, like it would kill her to hear it.

“of course not,” you lied, soft and immediate. you licked along the faded edges of your lip liner.

ambessa smiled. not kindly.

“that’s too bad,” she said. it was so fucking hot that she didn’t mean it.

“did he touch my things?” she asked. her fingers ghosted the curve beneath your top, just under the tight squeeze of your left breast. “put his mouth here?”

“nope,” you answered, popping the ‘p’.

she moved to your hip. “here?”

your breath hitched. you shook your head, slowly. still lying.

“what about here?” her hand slipped behind you, tugged up the hem of your micro-skirt until the under-crease of your ass met the cool air. one finger traced the waistband of your thong. “this was twisted when you walked in. that’s not like you.”

you didn’t answer. your glossed lips just parted slightly, as if something invisible had just struck you. ambessa tilted her head.

“i’ll fix it,” she murmured, voice thick and poisonous. “you know how i hate mess.”

she adjusted the strap of your underwear with surgical precision. the backs of her knuckles grazed the softest part of your skin. she made sure to dip downward, drag a fingertip against your clit just to feel it twitch.

you didn’t flinch. you couldn’t flinch. then you’d lose.

finally, she stepped back, just barely.

“and what did you have to eat?” she asked, her rounds of questions cinching tighter against your throat with every turn.

you gave a half-shrug, cheeky. “whatever he was paying for.”

ambessa leaned in. she studied you, breath warm across your cheek, and then cupped your chin. with low eyes, she bit at your lip until they opened and then slid her tongue in to make it a proper kiss. she sucked and lapped at you, curling all around the wetness of your mouth and humming with pleasure when you tried to kiss her back.

then she broke the connection, lips almost engorged red from the tension.

you stood there, stunned. her taste now lived on your lips. your pulse lived in your throat.

“well.” she shrugged, casual. “sounds like it was all very unexciting. shall we go to bed?”

she shouldered past you, unconcerned whether you followed.

ambessa didn’t look up from where she was sitting on the bed, not even when you slipped into the bathroom. you left the door cracked, half-inviting her to watch the undressing of you, but she didn’t give you an inch. it was almost worse, that stillness again. how could she withhold and perform perfect patience while her jealousy dirtied her blood?

you brushed your teeth, wiped your face clean of the night, undid your top like it meant nothing, and re-entered the bedroom in just your strapless bra and thong. you tried not to rush. you knew she was waiting for only a second of displayed desperation.

the air was cooler when you stepped out. low lights spilled across the floor from the floating led light bar above the bed. her robe had been abandoned, and her legs were crossed with the intention underneath the scarlet sheer of her babydoll.

with a stifled sigh of annoyance, you moved toward the dresser to grab your pajamas. but your phone lit up before you could, its thin body vibrating with an incoming call on the bed. it lay there, ringing in suspense of your answer. you squinted and rose on your tiptoes to read the caller id.

[date’s name.]

ambessa’s eyes found it at the same time yours did. she didn’t say anything, but she shut the cover of her ipad case decisively. her gaze lifted to you with the languid, expectant delight of someone about to flip a switch.

“answer it,” she said, voice so even that you knew she must be boiling inside. it wasn’t a request.

your hand hovered. “bessa."

she tilted her head. “you were so sure of yourself earlier. why the hesitation now?”

you sighed, picked it up. “hey,” you greeted, light and airy, as if your best friend wasn’t boring a hole into the side of your head. you were suddenly so aware of your lack of clothing.

ambessa slid off the side of the bed and moved behind you, steps quiet and intentional. she didn’t touch you yet. only looked.

“uh, yeah, i made it home fine,” you said into the phone, forcing a little buyoncy into your voice. “no, it’s cool, i had a great time.”

her hand ghosted over your waist. her fingertips, at first. you turned a fraction of an inch, a subtle warning in your glance. but she wasn’t interested in warnings tonight. she was tuned into her own thing.

you felt the full flatness of her palm, warm and calloused against the small of your back, and then, without further preamble, she pushed you down. you fell with a gasp of surprise, your chest hitting the plush of the mattress and your legs splaying across the cool sheets.

“shit, sorry! i’m fine,” you said, responding to the sudden concern of the man on the other end of the line. “just tripped.”

you went to twist over your shoulder, but were stopped by a firm hand on the nape of your neck. you froze. this was new. you had no plan for this. carefully, ambessa dragged your hips up until you were in a suitable arch with your ass spilling around the baby pink lace of your thong.

“hold still,” she murmured, lips barely brushing the shell of your ear, “and keep talking.”

you fought to keep your breath even as she bent and placed a heated kiss against your shoulder, sliding further down to tattoo one against your back. her palm flattened over your ass, sliding up and under to grasp at your lower belly. her fingers splayed wide, her mouth finding that soft place between your neck and collarbone.

the graze of her teeth made you moan, which you then tried to transform into a weak excuse for a yawn.

“no, i’m not tired. just—” your voice hitched. she dragged her hand downward, slow as silk through a ring. you felt her tug up the front of your thong, so that your lips bulged obscenely around the rim of the fabric.

your free hand clenched in the duvet.

“‘m just getting ready for bed,” you lied. or maybe not. maybe this was exactly how it always went with ambessa; submission didn’t look like a loss. you wanted to obey.

the call continued as she dragged the thong away from you, the graze of lace lighting up every nerve. she left it down around your knees, bringing both hands up to spread you wide and dirty. she gazed silently at the bubblegum pink gape of your body, eyes catching the sloppy drip of your pussy as it pulsed open, messy and glistening, your cream leaking onto the sheets with every shaky breath you took.

“such a pretty girl,” she whispered. you heard the rustle of her sliding to her knees. “keep talking or i’ll make you give him a play-by-play.”

she swung herself around so that she could slide under you, hands coming up to clutch at your thighs. you managed to mute the call as she pulled you down, just in time for the wide stripe of her tongue to meet the throbbing heat of your cunt.

“ohhh fuck, babe,” you groaned, your body falling flush against her mouth. “yeah, holy shit, bessa. right there. please.”

ambessa suctioned her mouth around your clit, suckling and then pulling off with an unnecessary slurp that you knew was done only to make you shiver with embarrassment.

“put it on speaker.”

then she was back to burying her face inside of you.

you hesitated. she noticed. she always noticed. her tongue slowed just enough to make it a punishment.

“bessa, i don’t—”

she pulled back, breath damp against your skin. “i said, put it on speaker.”

you fumbled with the phone, thumb slick as you pressed the icon and heard his voice flare through the room. he was still talking. something dumb. something you didn’t care about.

ambessa hummed, pleased. the vibration traveled straight through your spine.

“hello?” came the tinny voice, tentative now. “you there?”

ambessa hummed again, this time laughing at both of you, and your whole body jolted. you slapped a hand over your mouth, trying not to make a sound, trying not to cum.

“uh-huh,” you said, voice thin and cracking as you ground down into her mouth. “no, i’m—yeah, just—yeah—yeah. shit. um, sorry. thought i dropped the call.”

underneath you, ambessa smiled.

“is this a bad time? ‘cause i can call back.” it was a shame he was sweet.

ambessa tapped your ass lightly. then sank her teeth into your thigh, not enough to mark, but enough to warn. then she went back in like she had nothing to lose. well, she didn’t. you did.

hands gripping your ass, she tugged you even lower, lips messy, tongue insistent. you could feel her breath, hot and damp, every time she moaned low, just to rattle you from the inside out.

“you watching something?” your date asked, and you nodded, forgetting that he couldn’t see you for a moment.

“yeah, sorry! i always have something on in the, unh, background while i do my routine.”

he laughed, filing away your distraction as some cute, quirky fantasy. a far more innocent categorization than the situation deserved. “nah, i get it.”

you tried to focus on the call, tried to nod along to whatever the hell he was saying, something about “doing this again,” “seeing you soon.”

ambessa refused to let up. she devoured you, alternating between firm, unrelenting strokes and soft kisses that felt like taunts. you could hear the slick echo of it, each pull and suck wet enough to shame you. and it was all happening on his time. you weren’t yours right now.

you bit your knuckle, shuddering.

she moaned like you were the one doing something to her, then gripped the backs of your thighs and pulled you further down, spreading you open with no mercy. her tongue lapped deliberately, each movement messier, filthier, designed to make you flinch like a liar under a spotlight. you could hear the wetness now. you prayed he couldn’t.

her nose pressed in. her mouth devoured. it wasn’t sweet. it was starved.

“i’d like that,” you said hoarsely. “tonight was so good. you’re so good.”

“oh, it’s like that?” your date replied, voice dipping with misplaced pleasure. this was not about him right now.

ambessa pulled back just long enough to whisper, lips glossy. she spread your lips wide, watched you clench around the emptiness. her chin was glazed with the drool of your need. “but not as good as this, right?”

then she flattened her tongue and drew a line so slow it made your knees buckle. when she grazed your swollen clit with her teeth you whimpered, far too loud. there was a pause on the other end.

“you okay?” he asked, voice laced with confusion now. “you sound a little more than distracted.”

“yeah,” you breathed, forcing a laugh. “swear. just exhausted. you know. long day.”

ambessa pulled your clit back into her mouth like she wanted to keep it, and your body betrayed you with its shivering and arching. she didn’t stop. she didn’t want you to be quiet. she wanted the performance. wanted him to hear you choke on a lie while she tore the truth out of your body.

you grabbed the edge of the headboard with one hand, the phone shaking in the other as you began to bounce. you needed it to end, needed the focus to ride the fuck out of her face.

she squeezed your ass, giggling to herself as she slapped it and you covered your mouth as your brain whited out.

“hey, look, do you want me to call back? i can let you enjoy your show in peace,” your date offered, tone unassuming and teasing.

ambessa pulled away only long enough to murmur, “answer him, baby. or i’ll do something that’ll make you.”

“no! no, that’s okay. i wanna—i wanna keep talking.”

he said something else, his tone pleased. you couldn’t even hear it, because ambessa was saying something too. between sucks. between strokes.

“look at you, mama. do you want to cum for me?”

she didn’t wait for an answer. she slid two fingers in, knuckles deep, while her mouth returned to your clit like it belonged to her and no one else. you squeezed your eyes shut tightly, tried to focus on breathing.

“you want to cum for me, right? not him. we can keep him on the phone if you want. let him here how nasty this pussy is.” she pressed open mouth kisses to your cunt as she said it, using two fingers to spread your folds as she made out with it. she slid her tongue in, french kissing it like she’d done in the kitchen before this. “it’s okay, baby girl. i’m feeling generous. let him hear what he’ll never have.”

you slapped a hand over your mouth. your eyes rolled back. the phone slipped from your fingers and hit the bed with a soft thud, still on. still listening.

“oh shit, baby, fuck. i—oh my fucking god, bessa.” you moaned, rolling your hips faster.

“yeah?” she said, uncaring of her volume now. she smiled viciously at the thought of the way that man must be feeling. “you feel good? you like it when i put my mouth on you? come on, use your words for me.”

“yeah. i, mmm, i love—i love it. love it when you eat my pussy. ‘s so good. so fucking good.”

you were bouncing vigourously now, ass slightly clapping against her chin. she didn’t mind, only guided you further into her mouth and whined into you. you were dripping, dribbling all over her face, even slipping down her neck. she reached up, brought the phone closer.

the squelch of your pussy was obscene, your walls gummy and tightening around her every time she tried to leave. she drove her fingers deeper inside of you, relishing in the way you squealed and tossed your head back. you fumbled with the band of your bra, finally getting it undone and allowed your tits to fall perky and full into your hands. you pinched your nipples, swiveling delicately as you felt that syrupy heat begin to rise.

“i’m cumming. bessa, i’m cumming, i’m gonna—holy shit—i’m gonna cuuuum.”

ambessa didn’t slow. didn't pause. she held. kept you split open, held down, fingers buried, mouth sealed over you with a precision that felt cruel. her eyes never left your face.

you screamed as you sprayed, thighs snapping shut around her face as you shook and curled inward. the world fell away, your brain tumbling into the searing bliss of an orgasm that was ripping something out of you. your voice pitched high, trembling, frantic, sweet enough to haunt someone for life. then it fell into a vocal blend of three parts: sob, slurred praise, utter disbelief.

the phone was still on, the call still connected. there was silence first. then:

“…what the fuck,” he said, voice hesitant as if he didn’t want to believe what he heard. “what the fuck, [name]?”

ambessa didn’t even glance at the phone. she just kept going, alternating between fucking and kissing against your mess, tongue soft now, lapping it all up like she was savoring victory. you whined, tried to pull back, too sensitive. she didn’t let you.

“uh-uh. you can give me another one, pretty girl. i know you want to.”

she made you ride it out, whimpering, breath stuttering against your lungs, throat closing as her tongue still worked slow, torturous circles through the oversensitivity. another cry ripped out of you, lower this time. she chased every twitch and tremble, drank from you like she was feeding.

the line crackled.

“can you not hear me? because i can hear you. i’m still on the fucking phone with you! you’re fucking—what the fuck is this?”

you couldn't even respond. you were still pulsing, convulsing, twitching in her hands. she pressed her mouth against your thigh like a signature. then, with the most obscene casualness, she reached for the phone and brought it to her lips, their fullness still soaked and shining with your release.

she didn’t rush, her hand rubbing a warm circle across your back as you fell into her. she pressed a kiss to your shoulder and then said, voice soaked clean through with honey,

“wrong number, maybe.”

then she hung up.

you collapsed forward, gasping into the pillow, body wrung out and wet and glowing like a fever. ambessa crawled up behind you, mouth still damp with you, and kissed the back of your neck like she was about to tuck you into bed.

“good girl,” she whispered.

then she bit you, hard enough to leave a mark. her hands slid up the backs of your thighs, sliding between them to spread you back apart and rub a thumb against your nerve-shot pussy.

“you want me to fill you up, sweeheart?” she murmured. “tell me, and i’ll go get it. make you feel full.”

“fuck you,” you breathed. then, “yes, please.”

ambessa’s laugh curled around you like smoke. one arm draped heavy over your waist, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“be right back.”

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olomaya · 6 months ago

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Snowflake Day Tree + Activities

I actually started to make this two years ago and forgot about it but then I got the idea to do it again and remembered that I had already written most of the code. It was sort of like finding money in your pocket you'd forgotten about. 😂

Much like in real life, I prefer to spend my holidays in-game with family instead of randoms and I just want to open presents without having to throw a Gift Giving party. So I made a Christmas Snowflake Day tree to do that where you can decorate and add gifts to open on Snowflake Day.

I also added some holiday activities for kids and toddlers if you have the More Activities Activity Table. It's an add-on so you need that mod (and whatever requirements go with it) if you don't already.

Enjoy and Merry Christmas!

More info after the cut and Updates here

Decorate the Tree (this is meant as a joinable group activity so you can invite others to join; up to 4 Sims (child+) can decorate)

Add Tree Topper (if you have any)

Hang Ornaments (if you have any)

Turn On/Off Lights (if decorated)

Admire Ornaments (sims may get a nice holiday moodlet - Holiday Memories buff)

Add Gift for…

Look at Presents (get information on how many gifts are under the tree and to whom)

Steal Presents (only for Klepto, rebellious, Evil, Mean-spirited; you will get in trouble if someone sees)

Sneak a Peek at Presents - to check out any of your gifts

Invite Everyone to Open Presents - for Snowflake Day, brings everyone on the lot to open gifts under the tree; if someone doesn’t have gifts, they will watch others open presents and if they are in the household they will get a sad buff. Gifts improve relationship score if Sims like it; does nothing if they don’t but if they get too many gifts they don’t like, they can complain about it.

Open Gifts - self explanatory. If you don’t want to gather everyone together, you can open gifts at any time on Snowflake Day. Depending on how many gifts you like/don't like, you will get a special moonlet (Feeling Grateful/Bummer Holiday)

Take Down Decorations

Put Away Tree

Sims can also:

This is a one-time interaction that Sims can use on any family or household member. If a sim gets what they asked for, they will get a special buff (Just What I Wanted)

Thank for Presents (if they had a particularly good Snowflake Day)

Complain about Presents (if they had a bad one)

With the MAAT add-on, children and toddlers can also:

Make handmade ornaments and hang them on the tree. The ornaments can be stored in the decorations box.

Make handmade Snowflake Day cards for friends and family (kids only). You can give them directly to Sims or put them under the tree as a gift.

Notes and Recommendations:

To be able to utilize all the tree features, make sure there is enough space around the entire tree for Sims to gather and interact with the tree

Your Sims need to have a giftable object in their personal or household inventory to add a present to the tree

When a Sim has asked for a gift, the game checks whether any of the gifts they receive are in the same buy subcategory or object type as what they asked for so if, as example, a kid asks for a toy and you get them a cc toy that is categorized as a plant or deco object in the game, it’s not going to count.

To gift jewelry, you need the TS3 Store Jewelry Machine or any custom wearable jewelry objects that is the same object type as the Store Jewelry box object

If you don't have my activities table mod and don't want it, then don't download the two MAAT files.

Requires Generations, Showtime (actually I don't think you need Showtime. I think I wanted to use something from it but then didn't but I'm sure one of you will confirm for me 😭) and Seasons

Details and Instructions:

The tree and box can be purchased in the Entertainment/Hobbies Section (300 and 200, respectively), the tree topper in the Misc Deco (90) or they can all be found in the custom Snowflake Day collection file.

To decorate the tree, your Sim needs both the tree object and the decorations box. Custom ornaments and tree toppers go into the decorations box.

The tree comes with a default decoration but you can create and add your own tree decorations. The file has an XML (HolidayTreeDecorations) where you can add the Resource Key, Group ID for the OBJD of the decoration, whatever name you want to call it, whether you want it to light up or not, and the image (if you don’t want a custom image, just use the default one in my first entry).

Credits: Meshes by EA, tree deco is from Coral Island (I hope Stairway Games doesn't come for me!!) and the ornaments are by me and Freepik. Images are EA and Flaticons. Animations by EA and me.

Download here

#s3cc #s3cc download #sims 3 cc #snowflakeday #holiday activities

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yinyuedijun · 1 year ago

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ZERO-SUM GAME

It’s different with Aventurine. You like being his luxury hand watch. You like being his elegant knife, his liar’s dice, his pretty poker chip. You want to be his object—the object of his affections, something he can parade around just like his expensive suits and his beautiful jewellery and his ostentatious furs. Look at me, he uses them to say. Look at what I own. Look at what I own despite this code on my neck. Look at what I've won despite my eyes and my blood. (Or: Aventurine wins you in a game of poker. He decides to cash out his prize right then and there—to enjoy you on the card table, laid out among all the chips and cards.)

8.6k words of psychological issues, explicit smut, and deranged characterization. aventurine tops, reader bottoms. public sex, voyeurism from strangers, piv, oral (reader receiving), fingering with gloves on, creampie. mild dubcon but the reader is ultimately into it. afab gn reader, they are playing a fem-coded role for an espionage assignment (dress, heels, makeup). themes of objectification. discussion of slavery and sa during slavery (not explicit). dead dove do not eat, mdni.

You are in the grandest casino of Kinyoshi Moon Colony, and Aventurine is running your latest husband into life-ruining debt.

You aren’t cut up about it. If your marriage (or concubinage, rather) were genuine, you'd maybe be annoyed about the loss of capital. But as it is, this relationship is an assignment from the IPC—one of the longest and most excruciatingly boring yet. Fortunately for you, Aventurine’s presence tonight means that you've finally gathered enough intel for Diamond’s needs. It is time for the IPC to terminate your latest contract, and Aventurine is here to collect you.

Which is a little funny, given your relationship. It is strange sitting across from your boyfriend, draped over another man and thoroughly ignoring him. You’re entirely focused on fawning over your husband instead—laughing into his ear, lighting his pipe and filling his whiskey glass, and oh, Mister Li, you're so funny, you're so clever, I think you should go all in!—but Aventurine doesn't react. He only smiles at the two of you, like he isn't bothered by the sight.

This is, of course, an act: when you came home from your last marriage (assignment), he'd made sure to pleasure you so thoroughly that you forgot all about your ex-husband (mark). Aventurine did not openly admit to any kind of jealousy at the time, but you could tell he hadn't been keen on letting another man touch you. He usually isn't too keen about anyone touching any of his things, in fact. Despite appearances, he always abhors the thought of losing anything important.

But any fears he might have are concealed right now. They’re always concealed. Hidden by the expensive suit, the countless stacks of chips, the golden walls and high-vaulted ceilings of the Venetian Zhijin, Masked by his generous gifts, his easy laughter, his careless frivolity. You can see right through his gilded smile. The rest of the table cannot.

They are all intrigued when Aventurine asks, a playful lilt in his voice, “How about we make this game a little more interesting, gentleman?”

The other players at the table consider him. The other plus-ones—concubines, courtesans, gigolos, and so on—look at him with calculated expressions of cursory interest. You do so as well, but only for a moment. Your gaze quickly returns to Mister Li’s face—your husband is meant to be your true focus, after all, not the game. You are not a player at this table, but an accessory. Closer to an expensive watch than a human being.

Some business magnate from the Triangulum Galaxy leans back and raises a brow. “I'm listening,” he says. You watch a bead of sweat travel down your husband’s neck.

“How about we up the ante,” Aventurine says, his voice light, “but instead of betting more money this time, we bet our dates?”

You think, in other star systems, other worlds, such a suggestion would invite riot. But Kinyoshi Colony being what it is, and the Venetian being the establishment that it is, the other players at the table only laugh. Nearly half of them deal in the trade of human beings anyway—this is nothing novel for them.

“Well,” one of them says, “it’s not like winning more money’s gonna make a difference to any of us.” A round of chuckling. He turns to his date—some noblewoman from Jarilo-IV who seems greatly out of her depth—and says, “What do you think, love? How do you feel about being part of my wager?”

She doesn't like it. She clearly doesn't like it, and she also clearly doesn't know how to say it. Were you not on the clock, you might intervene. Maybe. As it is, though, all you can do is observe quietly. All the power in this gambit lies with Aventurine. Even when surrounded by men who manipulate the wealth of entire cities, planets, galaxies—he remains in full control.

“There’s never any shame in folding,” he says, magnanimous. Then he looks your husband in the eye, smiling conspiratorially. “But I know there are some of us who aren't afraid to take risks.”

Li laughs. “You’re right about that, Mister Aventurine.” He gives you a fond smile. And of course he does—you’re his last shot at winning back all his losses for the night. “I think you'd make a pretty little chip, don't you?”

Although Mister Li is clearly less distressed at the thought of betting you than he was at the thought of betting his company just last round, you notice, out of the corner of your eye, a muscle in Aventurine’s neck twitching. It’s very, very subtle, and he'd have never let himself do it if the table’s attention were on him, but he did it. Perhaps it was involuntary. Your mouth curls.

“Sure, darling.” You try not to sound too giddy. “I’ll be whatever you like.”

Ordinarily, you wouldn't be so happy about this farce. This is, put plainly, a stupid way to extract you from your mission. Were the cards in anyone else’s hands, your husband could win and you might be stuck with him for another several weeks, at least—assuming that you aren't discovered and killed first. Or you could go home with another man and be subjected to the kind of things that men do when they trade human beings, and you don't think the IPC would care too much if you were. You are an asset before you are a person, after all. At this table, you are closer to an expensive watch than a human being—and at the Company, you are an overpriced knife.

But to Aventurine, you're a chip in one of his games, and you don't mind that so much. Men who only know wealth will throw around their riches thoughtlessly, but men who have endured poverty will hold onto them tightly—desperately. Aventurine takes care of his luxury watches, his elegant knives, his liar’s dice. His capital. And he never loses anything. He always comes to collect. You trust him to collect you, even with this stupid plan, so you are calm as you watch the dealer shuffle the cards.

The table makes their bets. Most of the players go all-in. A couple fold, perhaps feeling some degree of concern for their partners, but it's more likely that they just have shit hands. A lot of the ones who continue playing have shit hands anyway. Your husband doesn't do too badly—a straight flush. He seems confident.

Then Aventurine lays out his cards. Ten. Joker. Queen. King. Ace.

All hearts.

You have to take a sip of your whiskey to stop yourself from laughing.

Aventurine, himself, has the grace not to look too smug about the outcome. Or maybe it's very unremarkable for him, all these winnings being pushed over to him—poker chips and human beings. Some of the other dates are clearly anxious as they move toward him (they are expected to be loyal to their husbands), and some are clearly excited (they are expected to be frivolous, hedonistic playthings). He humours them all, for a little while. Puts on the usual show as they crowd around him, charms them because it'll be good for business partnerships in case any of their husbands care even a little bit about them. You'd do the same in his shoes. But in your current ones (six-inch heels, black leather, red bottoms, luxury), all you can do is seat yourself on the card table and light up a cigarette. Waiting.

Aventurine eventually sends them all off. All I wanted was to get to know you, he says cheerfully, which is probably not a lie. After they leave, he asks the dealer to close the table and go on break. Turn a blind eye. You raise a brow when they obey him.

How interesting.

You're still enjoying your cigarette by the time he turns to you. You flash him a smile, one of the ones that you use for work. His expression doesn't change, but his thumb brushes against one of his many rings—switching off your synesthesia beacons for some privacy—and he leans back to study you. You know he's admiring you, but it could be mistaken for a leer.

“Well, well,” he says, “If it isn’t the esteemed concubine of Li Fengzhi.”

“The esteemed fifth concubine,” you correct. He hums, looking surprised.

“I thought you were the fourth. Did I misremember?”

“No, just misinformed. He took another concubine right before I arrived on Kinyoshi. He acquired a sixth just last week. Turns out he picks up paramours like they’re strays.”

“How inconvenient.”

“It made no difference to me,” you dismiss. “I’m his favourite anyway, but I’m sure you knew that already.”

“I’d have had to be blind not to notice it. You have the man wrapped around your finger.” Aventurine leans back, studying you as you smoke on your perch. “But before we continue—why don’t you come a little closer, esteemed Fifth Concubine?”

You make a face. “That title doesn’t sound as nearly as flattering in Avgin dialect as it does in Zhijinese,” you note, though you get off the table anyway. You don’t go very far, electing to seat yourself on his lap, your arms draping around his shoulders. The feathers of his jacket tickle at your bare shoulders; the satin of his gloves glide down the skin of your thighs before settling on your calves. “Since you’ve won my company for the night, though,” you sigh, “I suppose I can humour you, Mister Aventurine.”

“Lucky me.” He leans in, his breath sweeping the shell of your ear. His fragrance surrounds you, your body warming at the familiar scent of ambergris and vanilla. You realize, all of a sudden, how much you missed it. You have to stop yourself from pressing your face into his neck and melting—it would be a dead giveaway for your identity and also too revealing of your feelings. Aventurine might be endeared by it, but he might also find it disconcerting. He often needs to be tricked into intimacy.

He does enjoy being wanted though, and he can obviously tell that you want him. He pulls you closer, one of his hands giving your thigh a generous squeeze. It makes you throw your head back in a laugh, exposing the soft skin of your throat. You aren't surprised when he takes the opportunity to kiss it, his lips gentle against your pulse.

“You’re being very forward,” you tease him. “Did you miss me?”

“I’m just trying to be careful,” he defends himself between kisses, his breath warm on your skin. “We should try to conceal our mouths as much as possible. No one can intercept our synesthesia beacons, but someone could still read our lips.”

You give him a funny look. “We’re the only two speakers of Avgin in the known universe. Who could, other than ourselves, could read our—mmph…”

Aventurine has caught the rest of your sentence with his mouth. He’s hungry and wanting for you, the heat of his lips overwhelming. Your tongue is as practised as his, but you find yourself too distracted by your thrill to focus, your kiss wet and eager. Messy. Unprofessional.

You’ve never kissed any of your husbands like this. You’ve never kissed any of your other owners like this. You feel dazed when he pulls away.

You compose yourself. “So you did miss me.”

He smiles. “Guilty as charged.” A gloved hand rests on your face, satin tracing your lips. “How could I not? You’ve been away from the house for so long.”

Your eyes narrow. There’s no idiom for this in Avgin, so you flip briefly to Interastral Standard: “Pot, kettle, black. You leave home all the time.” You smack away the hand at your waist, petty. He looks amused. “And you almost always die.”

He switches out his smile for a pout. “Don’t tell me you’re still mad about last time.”

“You nearly got yourself blasted with atomics, so yes, I’m still mad at you.”

Now he’s frowning. “Am I going back to sleeping on the couch when you come back?”

“Yes,” you say. His deepening frown is meant to be read as a joke, but you know better. Deciding to throw him a bone, you lean in, whispering playfully into his ear: “You can still fuck me on it though.”

Aventurine hums, as if considering. His hands traverse your sides as he contemplates your suggestion. You move to straddle him, your thighs squeezed around his hips. When you grind against him, you can feel how much he wants you despite his composure, his control—his length straining in his pants, pressed against the silk covering your core.

“I don’t think I can wait long enough to fuck you on the couch,” he says, voice teasing.

“No?” You hum as his hands travel upward, feeling every inch of you. “The ship on the way home, then?”

“We don’t leave until tomorrow. Do you really think I can wait that long?”

You don't expect to feel the warmth of his hands on your chest. Your breath hitches when he starts palming your tits through your dress, neon eyes admiring the curve of them. One of his thumbs skims over the peak of your breast, and his mouth curls when your nipple hardens. “No bra? That's convenient.”

“I—” You squirm in his grip, whining. It just makes you grind against his lap more, your cunt moving against his slacks. A wave of heat runs through your lower half, and you clench around nothing. You can see people from a nearby table glancing at you, doing double takes. You can feel their lingering gazes on you, and you know Aventurine can too.

“I—are you going to”—your voice shakes as he pinches your nipple, as his other hand moves to squeeze your ass instead. Your dress is short—designed for easy access—and his fingertips easily skim the underside of its skirt. You wonder if he’s going to pull it up. You wonder if he's going to go even further than that.

But that would be an absurd thing to do in the middle of the busiest casino in the colony, which also happens to be the busiest trade hub in its star system. It would be absurd even for the two of you. Nevermind the reactions of the other players in the room—the staff here would immediately blacklist you, and so would every other gambling house in Kinyoshi.

You try to calm yourself. “Are you—ah—going to take me upstairs?”

He's fully kneading your breasts now. You can feel your clit throbbing, your body responding to his rough and unrepentant touch. “Hm… I don't think I want to.” Aventurine’s voice drops. His smile takes on a distinctly wicked quality. “I think I'll take you right here.”

“But we’ll get kicked out,” you whine. Even as you protest though, you're panting and moving your hips now. Grabbing at his arms, rutting against him like you're in heat. His fingers hook around the thin straps of your dress, pull them down your shoulders, already starting to indulge despite your reservations. You bend into his touch.

“Kicked out? By who? The staff?” He smiles, as always. “I own the place now. I don't think they'll be giving me trouble.”

“Y—you what?” For a moment, you're too shocked to keep up the wanton show. “You do? Since when?”

“Since last night.” He thumbs one of the straps that's fallen halfway down your arms. The rest of your dress threatens to come down with it. “Technically it's the IPC who acquired it—or, well, their shell company did—but I'm their designated representative here. I signed the contract.”

“The IPC isn’t going to be upset that you're fucking a concubine, who's not even your concubine, on their new property?”

Aventurine shrugs. “They know the kind of establishment the Venetian is. People gamble with humans here all the time, you know, so this has definitely happened before. The IPC definitely expects it to happen again. And besides”—he returns his attention to your dress, starting to slip the fabric down your shoulders—“I'm just cashing out my winnings. I'm sure they wouldn't deny a gambler his vices. That'd be bad business.”

You want to say more, but then he tugs, suddenly exposing you. You’re bare in front of him—in front of everyone. You can feel eyes on you. Heat curls in your gut as he grabs your tits again, his satin gloves smooth across your skin, and your nipples pebble beneath them. “Hm… much better.”

“But…” You bite your lip, glancing around. There are so many people watching now—so many voyeurs, who've forgotten about their games and their slots. Though there are a greater number of people who are continuing as usual, studying their hands, smoking their cigarettes, unperturbed. All regulars and VIPs, you know from your intelligence.

Aventurine pauses as you catalogue the room, raising a brow. Probably he's surprised at your sudden modesty; you usually have none when his touch is involved.

“Of course,” he adds, “if you'd rather enjoy the suite upstairs…”

“No—I don’t mind staying down here… it's just that I’ve never…”

Your voice trails off. Your eyes traverse the space again. There are people who’ve fully thrown their cards down, greedily drinking in the sight of you instead. Even some of the dealers are watching between hands, glancing at you instead of watching for cheaters. Like this is public entertainment, like you're a show.

Aventurine tilts his head.

“You've never had sex with an audience?” he guesses. He sounds surprised—perplexed. You don't know why. You know he knows it's a stupid question. You know he knows the answer.

You had sex in front of people all the time before you met him. You did it for the exact reasons that he’s almost certainly done the same. To this table of business magnates, you are closer to an expensive watch than a human being; to the IPC, you are more like an overpriced knife; to this gambling hall, you're an interesting sideshow.

To your captors who fucked you in public, you guess you were something like a toy.

The thought sitting in your mouth is this: you've never had sex with an audience and enjoyed it. It was painful—not painful for the heart or the mind or anything else sentimental, but painful like it felt you were a fish being gutted open by a knife. And even beyond that physical pain, you simply didn't enjoy being passed around. You didn't like being owned by those people. You didn't like being an object for their entertainment, a spectacle to be consumed.

But it's different with Aventurine. You like being his luxury hand watch. You like being his elegant knife, his liar’s dice, his pretty poker chip. You like being his plaything, spread for his viewing whenever he wants. You want to be his object—the object of his affections, something he can parade around just like his expensive suits and his beautiful jewellery and his ostentatious furs. Look at me, he uses them to say. Look at what I own. Look at what I own despite this commodity code on my neck. Look at what I've won despite my eyes and my blood.

You want him to own you too. You want him to show everyone that he won you, that he bought you, that you're his possession now. That he, and he alone, is free to treat you like a toy.

You're getting wetter just thinking about it.

“Nevermind,” you whisper. “Let's do it.”

His smile widens ever so slightly. Slyer than usual.

“Good,” he says. He guides you into standing. “Let’s get you settled then.”

You're seated back on the card table. The cigarette is forgotten in the ashtray next to you. Aventurine takes the time to straighten out your dress, lifting the straps back up and affording you some modesty—before he gently lays you out.

You look up at him as you're spread in front of him, laid out next to his royal flush and winnings. Like you're another chip in his stacks, the most expensive one. He puts a hand beneath your leg, drapes it over his shoulder. He takes the opportunity to kiss your calf, his lips delicate.

You glance at the tables around you. You watch the business owners and politicians as they watch Aventurine. You watch them as they watch your boyfriend pepper kisses up your leg, unless he's settling in between them. Your thighs spread easily for him, and you don't resist as he hikes up your skirt.

Then he frowns.

“I’ve never seen these panties before.”

“They’re new,” you relay.

“From your husband?”

“Yup.”

“I see.”

You can't see his face, but he sounds distinctly displeased. You expect him to complain, to say they're not expensive enough or not designer enough or just plain ugly.

You don't expect him to tear them right off.

“Aventurine?!”

You're so surprised you sit up, just in time to see him throw tatters of silk to the floor.

“What?” He looks up at you, expression unbothered, almost mild. “It wasn't your colour.”

Your mouth opens. “But it was still very nice!”

“I'll buy you nicer ones later. I’ll buy you a whole drawer of nicer ones later, when we’re done here.”

He looks down again, humming. Your cheeks flush as he spreads your legs again, baring your glistening sex to him—this time completely bare. Satin glides along the inside of your thighs, and your breath hitches when he reaches their apex. You feel the light touch of a finger along your opening, and you feel your body responding, tightening around nothing.

“Tell me,” he says, “What else did your husband do with you?”

His voice is casual, almost disinterested, but you know Aventurine is listening carefully.

“Not much,” you answer truthfully. “I haven't cum in months, you know.”

“Oh?” He sounds surprised. “You don't have sex with him?”

“No. He's fucked me a lot. It”—you whimper, pausing when you feel his fingers spreading you open, fluttering hole and swollen clit exposed to him—“it just wasn't very good.”

“Then”—you feel a thumb press against your clit, and you swallow—“he never touched you here?”

“N-no.”

“Stupid of him.” He’s drawing slow, lazy circles into the bud now, making you squirm on the table. You press yourself eagerly toward his familiar touch, having desperately missed it for months. Aventurine, perhaps sensing your neediness, asks, “And you didn't touch yourself?”

“He didn't let me,” you whine, and now he's frowning at you.

“I knew I should have gotten you out of there sooner,” he says, and you have to bite back a laugh. Aventurine’s mouth curls at the sound, and he leans in to place a kiss on your thigh. “But that’s fine. I'll make it up to you now.”

Aventurine kisses are soft and precise. They pepper a path up your thigh while his fingers continue to play lazily with your clit. You want—need—to feel something inside you, but he doesn't oblige. His fingers merely run along your entrance, teasing your dripping pussy with luxury satin, and that's all they do, even as your hips buck needily toward him.

He pauses for just a moment. When you look at him, you see him staring at you—at the brand on your inner thigh, the commodity code that your captors left on you, branding you as a product to be used and sold.

His voice is almost soft when he asks, “And what did your husband say when he saw this?”

“He never did,” you reply. “He always fucked me from behind. And he never went down on me.” You pause, thinking about the way he spoke of his business. Of his trade partners. Of what your captors had done to your home when you told him about it, feigning intimacy only to be matched in cruelty. You think about the way he fucked you, how it felt to be gutted open on his expensive, silk sheets.

None of it matters to you, really. This is behaviour that you’ve long accepted, that your body always anticipates. But you always like to offer Aventurine intimacy, whether real or feigned, whether he returns it equally or responds with undeserved cruelty: “I think it wouldn't have bothered him if he had noticed it.”

You can't see Aventurine’s eyes, but you can feel his reaction when he places a chaste kiss on your product code.

“I should have gotten you out of there sooner,” he repeats. Then he pauses. “Maybe I shouldn't have let you go at all.”

“I didn't mind,” you say. You aren't lying. “You gave me up for a reason.”

He stands. Cups your face with a palm, luxuriant fabric and gold rings pressed against your skin. Sometimes he's given up the aventurine stone temporarily for assignments, parting with it in elaborate gambles that he always manages to win. The way he’s touching you now reminds you of the way he holds the gem whenever it returns to his hand.

“Well,” he says, “I’m sorry it took so long to get you back.”

Aventurine tilts your chin up for a kiss. You meet it eagerly, and it's so tender in its familiarity that every memory of your husband fades. There's only Aventurine, and his gentle mouth, and the way his hands slide your dress down again, how he palms your breasts again. How he teases one nipple with his expensive rings until you're moaning into his mouth. How his other hand travels down until his gloved hand is cupping your heat. You drag your hips against his touch, desperately seeking some kind of friction, your wetness drenching the cloth. Your cunt clenches around nothing, your body aching to be filled by him, aching in a way that it does for no one else.

It’s one of the most addictive feelings you've ever known.

Aventurine only stops touching you so he can push away all the chips, clearing space on the table. He ignores the cacophony as countless stacks fall over, not sparing the plastic coins a single glance. Like you're the only prize that matters to him, even though the sum of his winnings come out to more than you ever were worth.

He lays you out on the table again, flat on your back, exposed, before kissing a path down your body—your neck, your breasts, your stomach, between your thighs. He deigns to give your product code one more kiss, his lips so gentle that it makes you tremble—and then he finally puts his mouth on you. He licks a hot stripe from your dripping pussy up to the crest of your sex, and your eyes close in bliss.

If you felt any uncertainty before this, it's completely gone now. Your hands ghost over your tits, playing with them as Aventurine’s tongue plays with you. He sucks on your neglected clit, fingers squeezing your thighs, keeping you spread open and still for him. He presses in, lets you drag your cunt over his greedy mouth and grind your clit against his face. Heat and pressure coil tight in your belly as he pleasures you, your body flushing with the kind of bliss only Aventurine can give you. You’re so lost in it that you almost don’t notice how quiet the rest of the hall has gotten, the cacophony of chatter and slot machines oddly subdued—almost missing. In their absence, the obscene noises that Aventurine is drawing from your mouth and body are louder than they should be.

The pleasure in your belly is just starting to swell when he pulls away. You give him a pleading look as he leans over you, but before you can start begging for more, you feel his fingers press against your heat. He watches you with keen eyes as he starts rubbing your pussy, maybe enjoying the desperate noises you make at his touch. You buck your hips, moaning as your clit and entrance grind against the fabric of his gloves, seeking friction. You’re empty, aching, desperate to be filled, but you think you can finish like this, just by rutting against his satin fingers—

Aventurine withdraws his hand, and you whine.

“No,” you beg, “please, please keep going, I was getting close—”

He raises a brow, feigning surprise. “Keep going?” He brings up his hand, shows you his gloves. The satin is soaked, shiny and stained with your slick. “I don't think I should. Look at what a mess you’ve made of my gloves.” Aventurine hums, frowning. “These are designer, you know. And limited—there are only 95 pairs of these in the whole universe. And you're ruining them.”

“I'm sorry,” you say, mind so fogged with lust that you can't even return his teasing. “I'm sorry, I'll make it up to you, I'll do anything, just—just let me cum—”

“Anything?” His smile is sly.

“Anything.”

“Well. I suppose if you help me clean this up, I wouldn't mind rewarding you with more.”

You don't need to ask what he means by that. When he holds out his hand to you, runs a finger along your lips, you obediently open your mouth for him. Your tongue slides along the wet satin, only making his glove messier—but he seems not to mind. He merely watches intently as your tongue cleans his fingers, taking in the obscene image of you hungrily lapping your own slick off the expensive fabric.

He lets you ruin his glove thoroughly before finally drawing back, peeling it off.

“I'm not sure that did any good,” he says, frowning. “I’ll probably need to buy a new pair. But”—he pulls away, and you feel him settle between your legs again, his hands spreading them. “I'll still reward you for the effort.”

Aventurine is quick about getting his mouth back on you. His tongue is hot on your skin, expertly teasing your clit. You feel his fingers running along your entrance again, growing sticky with his need. He laughs when you press your hips toward his hand, desperate to be filled.

Then he's pressing his bare fingers into your heat, and your back is arching off the table.

The moan you let out is obscene. It only gets worse when his fingers curl, making the pressure in your belly even heavier. Utterly shameless, you beg for him as he fucks you with his fingers: Aventurine, please, please, I need more, please, I'm so close, I'm so close.

As if taking pity on you, his mouth finds your clit again, his fingers pressing into your sweet spot at the same time. And he doesn't let up, pushing into it even when you think you can't take anymore—tongue swirling against your overstimulated bud, fingers making you gush uncontrollably. You practically sob when you cum, a noise of desperation that echoes in the gambling hall.

His smile looks a little fonder than usual—or maybe just entertained—as he stands again and leans over you. You taste your own release in a messy, open-mouthed kiss, and he strokes your face when he pulls away.

“So good for me,” he praises. “Are you going to let me do more?”

You nod eagerly. “Whatever you like,” you say, all sense of shame gone from your body, “and however you want.”

Aventurine’s mouth curls. “Your husband fucked you from behind, right? Why don't you bend over for me, then? Let's show him how he should have been doing it.”

You see the diamond pupils of Aventurine’s eyes glance off to the side, where, sure enough, your husband is spectating with some of his business partners. You force yourself to turn away before you can smile, hiding your expression from the other men. You’re not meant to derive any real pleasure from any of this, let alone pleasure of the vindictive kind. Your relationship with Aventurine is supposedly nothing but a gambler and his newly won, human plaything. It would be suspicious if you appeared to be anything else.

You slink off the table in a distinctly performative way, and Aventurine plays equally into the show—probably an act as familiar to him as it is to you. He guides you into turning around, your eyes falling on the scattered cards on the tabletop, the casino’s eyes falling on you. His hands waste no time in pulling down your dress and reaching around to knead your breasts, in full view of the rest of the gambling hall. You're only vaguely aware of your audience now, registering the interested, hungry stares, but not really caring. You're too focused on the way that Aventurine is tugging and twisting at your nipples, at how he’s pressed up against your ass, his cock straining through his pants. You grind needily against him, whining.

Aventurine kisses your shoulder. “Poor thing. You've been neglected for so long, haven't you?” His hands retreat, and you hear the sound of a zipper being undone. Then your skirt’s being pushed up and you're being bent over, your dripping pussy fully presented to him. When you feel the press of his cockhead against your entrance, you desperately try to push yourself back onto him. But he doesn't allow you to—only running the tip along your wet folds, still sticky from your release, while he stills you with a gentle touch on your hip.

You make a pathetic, desperate noise. Aventurine chuckles, though there’s now a breathy quality to his voice.

“Be patient,” he chides. “I'll take care of you.”

You know he will. He always takes care of you, in a way that no one else ever has. Even when he gambles your life for some mission, even when he can barely afford you the barest hints of intimacy, even when he displays your body to an audience of slave traders and murderers—he always takes care of you. Even if you are only a knife or a wristwatch or a chip in one of his games, he still treats you like you're worth holding onto.

Aventurine finally moves. Your eyes flutter shut as you feel his cock sliding into you. Usually he needs to be careful after your long missions away from him, knowing you'll be tense. He understands that your body always anticipates being in pain after being touched by other people. But he has you so worked up right now—still dripping from your release, still pliant from his fingers, still eager to please him before the crowd—that your cunt easily swallows his length. The stretch is pure bliss, pleasure unfurling in your body as you're filled up properly for the first time in months. He's just as affected as you, breath shaking as he bottoms out.

“Fuck,” he breathes—laughs. “Nearly forgot how good this feels.” He pauses, his breathing slowing—almost stopping each time you squeeze around him. You turn back, throwing him a pleading glance, and he meets it with an endeared smile. “Eager today, aren't you?” He hums, a hand sliding along your waist. “You really do need to be properly fucked.”

He's stalling. Trying to give you a moment to adjust, but you don't need it. “Yes,” you encourage him. Aching for the press of his cock against your walls, you grind against him, and you hear a strangled groan as you force him to move inside you. “Please, Aventurine—please, please fuck me, I need it so badly—”

He hums, both hands grabbing your hips, his fingers sinking into you. “Well. Since you asked so nicely.”

The first thrust has your eyes going wide, your hands reaching for the card table as you’re forced to bend over. You spread our palms next to the mess of heart cards and shiny tokens, bracing yourself for the way your body’s about to be used. He doesn't give you time to breathe after, each stroke filling you deep and fast. The rest of the gambling hall grows very, very quiet as Aventurine fucks you, and suddenly all you can hear is the appreciative murmur of the crowd, clink of ice cubes in aged whiskey, the noisy flick of lighters as more patrons opt to pause their games and enjoy the show. You hear the shattering of all the stacks beside you, hundreds of thousands of dollars in chips fall over beside you, tokens clinking as they roll across the tabletop. But all of that is soon drowned out by the wet noise of your pussy being fucked open, the squelch of your slick around his cock. You moan each time he bottoms out, eager to be filled.

When you feel his cock press into your sweet spot, your moans quickly turn into cries.

You hear something like a breathy laugh from Aventurine. Your body always reveals itself so easily to him, and you know he enjoys it. He hits that spot again and again, builds an agonizing tension in your body with every thrust of his hips. It has your pussy gushing around him, your thighs growing wet and sticky with your need.

Just when it feels like you can't take anymore, he reaches down and presses his fingers against your throbbing clit. Your knees buckle as he toys with you, chest heaving against the table as he sets a brutal pace. You're—overwhelmed, mind going hazy as you're fucked mercilessly. So far gone, you can hardly register the disgruntled expression of your husband, the hungry gazes of his companions, the way that other players are starting to shift in their seats, palming themselves at the sight of your pussy being split open. There's only the tight coil in your gut, the chips between your fingers as you grab uselessly for something to ground you, the cock that's filling you over and over and over—and oh fuck, you’re going to cum, you're really going to cum after being won in a game, from having your pussy used like a sleeve, from being watched by men who will never own you no matter how many times they trade you, no matter how many times they fuck you, no matter how many times they pass you around, because you'll only ever belong to Aventurine—

Your orgasm crashes through your body, and you sob.

It's a broken, blissed out noise. Your pussy is equally shameless, gushing as you pulse around Aventurine’s cock. You go limp as he fucks you through your orgasm, uncaring about the mess you're making. He only groans as you squirt all over him, hips stuttering as he reaches his own peak—spilling himself inside you, pumping you full. Aventurine’s body slumps over yours as rides out his high, his face pressing into your shoulder. You find the wherewithal to shift yourself, just enough to your lips against the tattoo on his neck. He looks at you for a fleeting moment, the blue ring of his eyes electric on you, before capture your mouth in a desperate, messy kiss.

The two of you stay there for a long moment, panting into each other. Then Aventurine collects himself, remembers how to talk: “Fuck.”

You piece yourself together just as easily. Maybe even faster. Smiling into his mouth, you ask, “Enjoy yourself?”

“Clearly.” Aventurine presses his lips into your neck, lingering only briefly. “Can you walk?”

“I think so.”

Aventurine takes his time with moving, as if basking in the afterglow—or bragging in it. But he does rise, eventually. Pulls out slowly, making you shudder. He helps you to your feet, lets you hold onto him for support. His spend drips down your thighs as you right yourself, messy and hot on your skin. You can feel it sliding down your legs as you walk, braced against Aventurine as he guides you in the long walk toward the elevator. It slips all the way down to your calves, to your expensive heels, even onto the marble floor.

You're fairly certain that it's not an accident when Aventurine flips up your skirt as you pass your ex-husband. At the very least, it isn't a mistake when you stumble in that same moment, bending over and giving him a good look at your well-used pussy, now overfilled with your boyfriend’s cum. You don't stop to look at him, but you know he must be red-faced, displeased—aware that he’s been humiliated. Beaten by a Stoneheart, concubine stolen by Sigonian, one of his favourite possessions claimed by a former slave. You'd laugh if you could.

You can't help but kiss Aventurine while the two of you wait for the elevator, a smile glowing into his lips.

It's absurd, but a staff member approaches the two of you as you indulge in one another. Aventurine pulls away as you’re approached, looking mildly annoyed as he switches on his synesthesia beacon.

“Sir,” the staff says, “you’ve left your other winnings at the table.”

Even in his post-orgasm bliss, Aventurine responds promptly. “I’ll cash it all,” he says. “Send the money to my room. I'm not coming back tomorrow.”

“Very well. And the terms of the… human resource exchange that just happened?”

Aventurine’s jaw clicks. It's quiet, but surprising. You watch him carefully.

“We didn't bet contracts,” he says. “This is a concubine, not a slave. But tell Mister Li I'll buy them anyway. I'll pay whatever price he wants, which I’d wager is the company that he gambled and lost to me. Maybe suggest that to him.”

“Of course,” the staff member replies, bowing. Despite the first-rate service, Aventurine looks like he can't get out of there sooner enough as he guides you into the elevator. You give him a curious look as the door closes.

“You're going to give up a multiplanetary corporation just for this?” you ask.

“Not entirely. The IPC was planning to acquire it anyway. It'll be ours again in a few months.” He stares at your reflections in the mirror, his strange eyes lingering on your dishevelled form. “We’ll put your intel to good use,” he adds, and although Jade or Diamond or any of your real bosses would say this with a smile and reward you with a bonus, Aventurine’s expression is unreadable.

“What's on your mind?” you ask, fingers brushing against his hand. “You’re worried about something.”

Aventurine blinks, and it takes him a moment to recover.

“Nothing. Just hoping we didn't give our relationship away just now.” He cups your face with a hand, guides you into looking at his smile. A deflection. “I might have gotten carried away.”

You lean into his touch, eyes playful: a performance. As if he's some stranger that you're servicing, a captor being entertained; as if you're a plaything about to be used. As if you expect to be treated like the disposable commodity that your husband just gambled away.

“I wouldn't worry,” you reassure him. “I'm sure after the show we put on, it'll be clear to anyone that you're only keeping me around for sex.”

It's very, very subtle, but a muscle in Aventurine's neck twitches. He'd never allow it in a game of cards, never before the IPC, never before the prying eyes of slavers and killers—but he allows it in front of you. He always unwittingly bares himself to you, even as he swallows his discomfort before adopting his usual, vulpine expression. You don't think anyone else would notice what lies beneath the gilded surface of his smile, his liar’s eyes. You don't think anyone else would notice his tells, his vulnerabilities, his quiet fear of loss.

After all, there is no one else in this universe who knows how to trick him into intimacy.

Winning has always come with a certain emptiness for Aventurine. Gambling is, after all, a zero sum game. He plays a royal flush and people lose their homes. Winner takes all. He survives the fighting pits, his blade dripping red with the lives of other slaves. Winner takes all. He runs from the stench of blood and burning flesh, praying for thunder and rain loud enough to drown the screams of his dying kin. Winner takes all.

He alone survives. He alone enjoys his riches. Ever since the Avgin died, he has always been by himself. There is no amount of coin nor credit that will ever change this.

Here is another unyielding fact that hollows any win: that no matter how many credits he collects, he will always be a chip himself. He will always be a plastic token worth sixty coppers. Gambling is a zero-sum game, and ever since the day he was chained, Aventurine has been the pool of riches divided among winners. He has always been the commodity being traded between hands. He has always been the prize to be cashed out and used. Even now, with all this money and power, it will never be him who comes to collect: it will always be the IPC. Winner takes all.

Such is his fate. Luck is always on his side, but he has always had the losing hand against destiny. No matter how many times he wins, there is nothing that will ever truly belong to him.

But then he met you.

Then he met you, and now his luck does not always feel like such a cruel or empty thing. Now the zero-sum game has meaning. He hedges his bets in the market and buys out a planet, and acquires you along with the shares. Winner takes all. He gambles his life against a nuclear power and comes out on top, and the IPC allows him to keep you by his side. Winner takes all. He plays a royal flush and wins at a table of slave traders, and he gets to fuck you until you can't think of any cock but his own. Winner takes all.

Gambling is a zero-sum game, and when you're the reward, Aventurine wouldn't have it any other way. He’ll never share you with anyone. He'll never sell you to anyone.

He’ll never lose you to anyone.

Sometimes it surprises him, this attachment he feels to you. He doesn't quite understand it, but he thinks it mostly just has to do with how good it feels to fuck you. Much like gambling, Aventurine has never enjoyed sex until you came along. Sex for him has always felt like a humiliation, like being gutted open as a captive animal, like being won and passed around in the grand hall of some gaudy casino.

Which is, in fact, another thing he never thought he'd enjoy: having sex in the Venetian Zhijin before an audience of revolting men. He'd resented having to do it as a slave, but he’d enjoyed doing it with you as a Stoneheart. He'd even do it again if he could—take you over and over again on that card table, fill you up with his cum. Spread your cunt in front of everyone, so they could see for themselves that you were now his. Winner takes all.

Winning doesn't feel empty when you're his reward. Sex doesn't either. Because Aventurine isn't a chip or an animal or a commodity when he fucks you—he's a player. Someone with a seat at the table, as just as wealthy and powerful as the slave traders around him. Someone who’s allowed to own something—really own something.

Really allowed to own you.

Aventurine owns you. When he fucks you, he is a player at the table, and you are the prize he gets to keep. And no matter how you feel about him and how you act toward him—this is all the two of you will ever be. He knows this. He knows that you know it too.

So sometimes he can't fathom it, the way he treats you in bed. The way he always kisses your commodity code when he sees it, the way he allows you to kiss his own. The way he always thinks about pleasuring you until you're drunk on his cock, so addicted to him that you’ll never want to be touched by anyone else. The way he always likes how your body feels when it's being shaped by his hands. How different it feels from being forced to touch other people.

How badly you make him want something that he's always hated.

And this is what he understands least of all: how he doesn't like to hear you say aloud the true nature of your relationship. How he doesn't like it when you accept this reality and say, you're only keeping me around for sex.

It hollows him out when he hears it. A bitter feeling swells in his throat, and he forces himself to swallow.

Aventurine keeps his face neutral as he enters the suite with you. As soon as the door is shut, you pull him close—close enough for him to see the blurred lines of your lipstick, smudged from his mouth; close enough to see the white diamond necklace on your neck, a collar for a concubine; close enough to see the finger-shaped discolorations on your throat, poorly hidden by your foundation.

Close enough to see all the things done to your body by others—all the things you didn't choose for yourself.

“How do you want to have me next?” Your fingertip traces his lips. “On the bed? In the shower?” Your eyes are playful. “Maybe against the window?”

Aventurine’s hand cups your cheek, gold rings pressed against your skin. His hold is delicate, more careful than with anything else he's ever handled—any of his watches, his furs, his jewellery. Even more than with the aventurine stone.

“I want to kiss you,” he says.

You blink.

“Kiss me?” Your brow ticks up, but then your face lights up in supposed understanding. “Okay. You can kiss me. And then?”

“And then I'll keep kissing you.”

You tilt your head, not understanding. “Really?”

“What? Is that off-limits now?” He leans in, expression playful. “Don't tell me I've got to go back downstairs and win back permission to kiss you from your husband.”

Before you can say anything else—ask anything else, perceive anything else—he presses his mouth to yours. Your eyes widen for only a moment before falling shut, your arms wrapping around his neck. Your lips part for him, and he delights in the noise you make as he deepens the kiss.

He did lie, in a way. The two of you do end up fucking again—this time in bed, your mouth gasping into his as you fall apart for him, wet and needy around his cock. You're so warm around him, so pliable beneath him, so desperate when possessed by him. He knows that he could keep going, that he could do anything to you, that you'd be eager to let him use you however he wants.

But all he does afterward is kiss you.

This is yet another act that he never thought he'd enjoy. Kissing has always felt like a chore or a power play or a manipulation. It has always come with a certain emptiness—just like gambling, just like sex. And then he met you, and now it no longer feels so hollow. Because when he wins bets for the IPC, he feels like a poker chip in one of their games, but when he’s fucking you, he feels like a player at the table. And sometimes, when he kisses you—when he holds you close, when you come down from your high and press your face into the crook of his neck and in the vulnerable haze of your bliss, tell him, I missed you—

—he finally feels like a human being.

end notes: christ alive I have never written anything so horny glddjsksjs. I apologize for both my mid smut writing and deranged characterization 💔

initially this was supposed to be brainless pwp about aventurine eating you out on a poker table but I kept asking myself “why the hell did aventurine gamble for human beings and why are these two insane enough to be fucking in a casino tho lol”, and thus a coherent narrative was born from my shameless lust for this guy! but please also don't take the story too seriously because this is a dumb smut piece first and foremost and I mostly wrote it with my clit 😔✌️

that being said, if you are curious about the subject matter that I covered – here's an afterword expanding on my intentions with the themes.

#aventurine x reader #aventurine smut #hsr smut #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #x reader #im so tired of editing this the quality of this piece is a lost cause sldkfjsldkfj #DIVIDER BY @/CAFEKITSUNE BTW it is so cute i thought it was perfect for this fic #anyway. sorry to everyone for character assassinating our favourite gambler #yueshuo.fics #dead dove #cw.slavery

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saimblog2369 · 2 years ago

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#nintendo #nintendo switch #free nintendo gift card #nintendo code generator #nintendo gift card #ninten mother 1

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reflectingiridescent · 2 months ago

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The Grand Complication Job

Oh my GOD where do I even begin. This episode was SUCH A GIFT IN GENERAL AND ALSO TO ME PERSONALLY. We've got references to The Inside Job, The Rashomon Job, The Girls Night Out Job, The ACTUAL PILOT, The Runway Job, The Maltese Falcon Job, and that's just me pulling from my first watch.

Also peep Tara "I'll do it but only if you pay me" Cole turning down thanks for the first time EVER and only taking an itty bitty watch as payment.

The fact that it's a very clear-cut 5-person con using Tara and Astrid instead of Eliot/Hardison/Harry. The fact that they USE TARA AS THE ELIOT BECAUSE THAT IS A DISTINCT PART OF HER SKILLSET and we always forget that because she was brought in originally as a temporary replacement for Sophie.

Tara's extremely calm and measured approach to everything. The reference to her previous work with governments and coding. The Russian border.

I HAVE QUESTIONS ABOUT HER GIVING SOPHIE PARENTING ADVICE? DID TARA GET A FOUND FAMILY? WHAT'S GOING ON THERE?

The glow up from her questioning the way Nate and the team did things to just doing them herself.

Parker: You're my wild card.

Parker seamlessly stepping into the role of leader which we all know and love. Sophie seamlessly stepping into the role of distraction so that the team can work. Astrid was kind of being taught here.

The team's ability to turn on a dime and Tara knowing exactly who to defer to and who to call. It's just so good. There is so much trust there.

"Aww, I'd've killed you too, babe."

Tara calling Breanna "hun" and "kid". Breanna acting very lesbian about meeting Tara. The in-episode upgrade to WINGMAN.

How the entire theme of the episode was an inversion of The Inside Job, where there it was two "dads" fighting to get Parker out while she was kind of coordinating her own thing. And this time it's two "daughters" fighting to get Sophie out while Sophie was just like lmaooo just wait until my kids get here.

The big spot of affirmation for Astrid and Parker from Sophie, and how Sophie considers herself to be one of Astrid's weaknesses 💔

Tara & Astrid mirroring that bit that Eliot and Hardison always used to pull! Mind you, they have JUST MET. I do like the idea that Sophie tells Tara so much detail about her team in passing that Tara can work with them if possible, but it also again drives home how much Sophie trusts Tara.

THE REFERENCE TO THE RASHOMON JOB BECAUSE ASTRID DID NOT NOTICE TARA.

Honestly still dying at how the bad guys have so much information on this team and didn't look at who Sophie was having lunch WITH. Sophie and Tara are the definition of DL.

I honestly don't know if Tara, the last time we saw her, would have verbally admitted how much she cares for Sophie in the way that she did this episode. She was so cagey back then. They both were. Warms my heart at how happy she seems and how wholeheartedly she stepped into the way that this team runs.

And I will actually take this growth and elevation of Tara over like, yeah, I know, the gay stuff a lot of us want to see between her and Sophie because like, I don't think any episode of the show has ever hit on how transcendent, rare, and deeply trusting it is for grifters like Tara and Sophie to have remained friends and confidantes for so long. No episode of the show before has ever really put this much emphasis onto the relationship between these two. Tara's always going to be there for Sophie. PERIOD.

We get foreshadowing of Tara's presence with the way that Parker and Astrid were acting on the roof.

Very slight reference to Sophie thinking the way Parker does in the s1 finale with Tara looking at that cable on the roof.

TARA DOES NOT UNDERSTAND PARKER AT ALL BUT SHE RESPECTS HER AND UNDERSTANDS HER AND HER LASER QUIRKS ENOUGH.

We even get the dance nod to Tara's iconic dance scene in s4!!! But no actual dancing which is fine.

Obsessed with how Tara stayed for drinks this time, even though I'm convinced that the only reason why she left with that one guy in s4 is because Sophie was obviously having serious issues with Nate and Tara was not about to stick around for that (never mind that Leverage was not going to pay Jeri Ryan for a whole extra episode).

Like even the styling is super consistent! Tara with all that silver bling around her neck.

We also get Tara driving which she did a lot in the OG series.

The Let Them Eat Cake function was sooo funny and I love how the entire episode is about how women can also be toxic and how they use that toxicity.

We also get Tara with a clothes rack which is a nod to that one fashion episode.

TARA COLE FOREVER AUNT OF THE LEVERAGE FOUND FAMILY!!!

#tara cole #sophie devereaux #leverage #leverage redemption #the grand complication job #parker #breanna casey #astrid pickford #god I can't believe sophie & and / tara #because they have always been ambiguous #NOW GETS THE TAG OF #we're ride or die #ALSO THAT'S THE LITERAL JACKET I WROTE TARA COMING BACK TO LEVERAGE IN #NO SHOW UNDERSTANDS ME LIKE THIS ONE #NONE!#NONE OF THEM!!!#SHOW LOML #imagine the damage we'd do

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cinellieroll · 1 year ago

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☆ random obey me headcanons!

lucifer, mammon and simeon ♡

part two (asmodeus, levi, barbatos)

part three (beelzebub, belphegor, solomon)

part four (satan and diavolo)

cw: a few spoilers ahead from the main story! also one SLIGHT nsfw on simeons part???

small note: i only started writing on tumblr now so idk much on how ppl do those line thingies on the words and then it teleports to a diff post so if anyone knows how to do it please teach me! thank you :3

☆ lucifer:

- generally has a thing for turtlenecks. if you open his closet you'll see a bunch of turtlenecks in there. lucifer is a very conservative man after all.

- speaking of closet, he definetely has a color code for his clothing. blacks, reds, navy blues, anything dark

- you'll never catch him wearing anything revealing. especially his legs. man keeps em hidden.

- has a very sensitive nose. he always scolds mammon and asmo for wearing such strong cologne. he has great sense of smell in general (the bitch can smell anything) and automatically knows when trouble is near.

- EXTREMELY petty when he doesn't get his morning coffee. if he goes a day without it an extra line will appear on his forehead.

- gifts you souvenirs when he enters the human world. claims he's here for business because diavolo told him but we all know that's not the only reason why he came up there.

- he doesn't like writing with modern pens and only settles with quills. he still has his old quill from the celestial realm and keeps it hidden somewhere.

- almost gave head pats to luke once.

- his nose is FUCKING BEAUTIFUL and his side profile too. he has a nose bump for sure and i will die on this hill.

- he's not a big fan of creamy foods like carbonara or anything with cream in general. if he's eating sweets he prefers the icing to be less flavorful. what do you expect? he's a black coffee lover after all.

☆ mammon:

- room is always a fucking mess, but he cleans when he procrastinates so if you ever enter his room and he's all quiet and cleaning just don't disturb him for a while.

- buys bootleg merch for levi for no reason. one time he found this cheap ruri chan stuffy on sale for like 150 grimm and decided to buy it.

- has fucking shit hand writing bro. sometimes it's small, sometimes it's big but most of the time it's ass balls. like why does your k and h look the same?

- he cracks his knuckles and joints often and can't go without a day doing it atleast once. it's kinda hot tbh lol

- when he's in a happy mood he'll sing in like a high pitched way. idk how to explain it but i just see him doing that especially when he's on cooking duty

- sleeps really late he could almost rival levi on it. surprisingly his eyebags aren't that visible though.

- has really pretty features like long eyelashes, plump lips and visible collarbones. eat your heart out asmo xoxo

- convinced himself he'll never ever like or listen to human world songs until he heard you blasting some music in your room. he was singing that song in his head for days on end but refused to ask you what the title was

- he's a very clumsy guy and often drops small things especially during class like his ballpen, eraser or that pack of bubblegum lucifer ended up confiscating

- before you arrived, he liked to vape or juul when he's stressed or felt lonely but now he only spends his time thinking of you when he feels down.

☆ simeon:

- when he turned into a human he had thoughts of becoming a teacher in christian education but realized it's better if he owned a cafe instead.

- he sometimes joins luke during his baking lessons with barbatos even though he already knows all the steps

- occasionally invites you for sleepovers and buys card / board games for you guys to play with solomon and luke! either he or solomon are always end up being the winners everytime though

- always and i mean ALWAYS willing to teach you something when he knows it. baking, writing, recent lessons, etc

- once the exchange program ended he started writing more and more, especially poetry. and mostly wrote about you and how much he misses you <3.

- started making diary entries after the aftermath of the celestial war.

- during quiet nights, simeon often thinks what it'd be like if he was really close with the brothers.

- his eyes are lowkey creepy sometimes when he looks at you for too long. it's like he's trying to detect every sin you've committed.

- idk why i thought of this but his teeth are literally so pearly and perfect but he doesn't really smile with them in view.

- unintentionally moans sometimes. like when he sits down after a long day you just start hearing a soft "ah~" out of nowhere..

#obey me #obey me shall we date #lucifer obey me #obey me lucifer #om! shall we date #om! lucifer #lucifer x reader #mammon obey me #obey me mammon #om! mammon #mammon x reader #simeon obey me #obey me simeon #om! simeon #simeon x reader #obey me x reader #om! x reader #obey me headcanons #om! headcanons

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moonkissedvisions · 1 year ago

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Pick an image tarot reading: Your natural gifts 🎀🍓🧁

Important: 16+. This is a general tarot card reading. Take what resonates and leave the rest. Tarot readings are not meant to be a replacement for any professional advice. I use the Rider-Waite deck. Take a deep breath, think about the theme/question of the reading and pick an image. Let your intuition guide you and HAVE FUN!

🎀 First picture

cards: 6 of Cups, King of Pentacles, 5 of Swords.

🎀 Multitalented

🎀 Inner child

🎀Generosity

🎀 Compassion

🎀 Playfulness

🎀 Creating a beautiful atmosphere

🎀 Cooking

🎀 Decorating

🎀 Jewelry

🎀 Retailer

🎀 Drawing

🎀 Painting

🎀 Collecting

🎀 Servicial

🎀 Money

🎀 Finances

🎀 Comedy

🎀 Working with kids

🎀 Poetry

🎀 Charity

🎀 Imagination

🎀 Instruments

🎀 Memory

🎀 Discipline

🎀 Self control

🎀 Material world

🎀 Counseling

🎀 Security

🎀 Self esteem

🎀 Humility

🎀 Crafting

🎀 Asking questions

🎀 History

🎀 Adaptation

🎀 Inspiring

🎀 Fashion

🎀 Philosophy

🎀 Speech

🎀 Abundance

🎀 Nourishing

🎀 Assertiveness

🎀 Therapy

additional notes: you may be childlike and/or have a baby face. you are forever young. you are outgoing. you like presents. you like learning about the past/your ancestors. you may have melancholic and nostalgic thoughts and emotions. you have a lot of energy. you are caring. you like a bit of destruction and mess (whatever that means for you). you may like wearing adornments. you may have an abundance mindset. people may feel comfortable and happy around you. you may have a hard time letting go of stuff. you may like self-care. Leave a 🎀 if you picked this reading!

🍓 Second picture

cards: The Devil, The Lovers, Wheel of Fortune.

🍓 You could be a 6 in numerology, since you got both 6 life path number cards (The Lovers VI, The Devil XV). 6 may be a significant number to you, or you embody 6 number codes and energy.

🍓 Strong sexual and personal magnetism

🍓 Attracting people

🍓 Sensuality

🍓 Dealing with taboo and dark themes

🍓 Loving

🍓 Generous

🍓 Business

🍓 Tempting

🍓 Unmasking the truth

🍓 Strong intuition

🍓 Designing

🍓 Passionate

🍓 Psychology

🍓 Making love

🍓 Holistic medicine

🍓 Dominance

🍓 Beauty

🍓 Decision-making

🍓 Devoted/devotion

🍓 Romance

🍓 Surrender

🍓 Acceptance

🍓 Wisdom

🍓 Good luck

🍓 Deep understanding

🍓 Manifesting

🍓 Communication

🍓 Effortless persona

🍓 Relationships

🍓 Good lover

🍓 Family oriented

🍓 Artistic

🍓 Beautiful

🍓 Considerate

🍓 Appreciative

🍓 Magic

🍓 Aware

🍓 Psychic

🍓 Occult/hidden

additional notes: you may be considered sexy or conventionally attractive. people are curious about you. people tell you their secrets. you go through a lot of changes in your life/identity. you may be multi-talented like the first pic people. you are considered an open-minded person but at the same time you may be a conventional/traditional or conservative person. you like having a healthy lifestyle. you may not like sharing many stuff about yourself and that could make you a mysterious person. you like witchy stuff/ are open about witchcraft. you may get obsessed easily. you may have a lot of secrets. you may have to deal with self-pity. Leave a 🍓 if you picked this reading!

🧁 Third picture

cards: King of Swords, Strength, Justice.

🧁 Compassion

🧁 Determination

🧁 Integrity

🧁 Power of thoughts

🧁 Power of the unconscious

🧁 Focus

🧁 Respect for life, its cycles and the natural order

🧁 Caring

🧁 Harmonious

🧁 Patience

🧁 Control

🧁 Veterinary

🧁 Taming

🧁 Problem solving

🧁 Wildness

🧁 Royalty

🧁 Law

🧁 Sharpness

🧁 Command

🧁 Good balance of feminine and masculine energies. ☯️ There is an overall balance in you.

🧁 Judge

🧁 Popular

🧁 Honesty

🧁 Impartiality

🧁 Rationality

🧁 Incredible logic

🧁Intellectual

🧁 Unbiased

🧁 Fatherly

🧁 Authority

🧁 Intelligent

🧁 Discernment

🧁 Writing

🧁 Sense of justice

🧁 Giving and gaining respect

🧁 Political/good at politics

🧁 Hierarchy

🧁 Leader

additional notes: you may be a control freak. you deal with emotions harmoniously but you could also seem cold or may dislike emotionality. you are deeply spiritual though. you may be or come across as judgemental to some people but you have a fair judgement. people come to you for advice and help because of your perspectives. you sense when things aren't right or something is unfair. you may love animals and nature. maybe you have a lot of pets or you fight for animal rights. you may be bookish. you like power/feeling powerful and strong and being in high positions. you may have a clean style or like neatness. Leave a 🧁 if you picked this reading!

Thank you for reading my post! I hope you loved it.

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makemoneyonline0o1 · 2 years ago

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laceymorganwrites · 9 days ago

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My two cents on CoD men:

A/N: I´ve been in the fandom for a few months now and am absolutely sick and tired of the wildly dark romance-coded and mischaracterising headcanons so have these instead (and yes I´m once again begging for requests because I´m in a creative slump)

Ghost:

the biggest headcanon I have for Simon is that he is aroace

probably demi leaning though, it just takes an ungodly amount of patience and deep understanding that he never thinks is going to happen

he doesn´t even understand himself beyond his work most days so why should someone else?

loves going to the cinema, prefers late night showings and attends sneak previews frequently

actually doesn´t give a shit about genre either, he´ll watch anything as long as it´s a distraction from his thoughts for a while

actually a decent cook, he just doesn´t make an effort for himself so he usually eats very bland but healthy meals

he so has a home gym and spends most of his time there

Johnny gifted him one of those bad joke books and Simon actually uses some of them in his daily life now

volunteers at the shelter every time he´s on leave and walks the dogs there, helps him feel a bit more at ease in his home that´s never really been a home at all

for some reason he can´t let Manchester go completely though, he still has a small apartment there and even though he mostly spends his leave time with the team now, occasionally he still comes back

Johnny´s family was super quick to welcome him into their home and he still doesn´t understand why

genuinely doesn´t believe he´s worthy of happiness and good things in general

overworking himself on the job, taking more missions than he should, that´s his way of repenting for whatever he must´ve done wrong as a child

and while he´s been in therapy for almost 15 years now he still blames himself for every bad thing happening to him

it did help with his intrusive thoughts though, helped him focus more at work

one time Johnny tried to set him up with one of his sisters and it ended up in one of the most awkward dates he´s ever been on

they´re still good friends though and she sends him vacation pictures sometimes

Simon has a very old smartphone, doesn´t really use it all that much outside of work

barely replies but doesn´t mind his teammates and friends reaching out at all

he still wonders why anyone would even care enough about him to keep in touch but he´s learned to be grateful for that

perfect example of "you don´t have to love yourself to be loved by others"

I think that if he ever found a partner he would slowly learn to accept himself, flaws and all

but he´d still never talk about it openly, he just can´t

physically unable to talk about his feelings or problems

believes it will either just go away or he can handle it alone

he never does

so deep in burnout it can´t even unfold fully

and lastly credits to my best friend for the one headcanon I can´t stop thinking about since then:

he´s capable of catching feelings but team: "they wouldn´t like me anyway"

Soap:

I fear we do have to start with the horny for him

he´s a switch but a very overeager one, very much focuses on his partner and their needs

loves exploring new things together as well

really enjoys the moments of self discovery in a relationship

he loves going on action dates! hiking, kayaking? he´s all in

his family is super big, he has like 5 sisters and is super close with his family, makes sure to visit every single time he´s on leave

they do super cheesy homemade photoshootings as well and send out Christmas cards to the whole team every year

doesn´t care if you don´t understand his Gaelic, it just matters that you understand his heart

sometimes he´ll teach you a few words though

couldn´t wait to move into the city when he graduated since he comes from the countryside

loves going clubbing as much as he loves visiting local pubs

big on karaoke and always begs the team to come whenever they have shared leave

his mohawk started out as teenage rebellion but he liked it way more than he thought and has kept it ever since

never really got into trouble with his family either, he did do a few stupid things in his youth but none outright dangerous or immoral

he was just raised right

the best uncle and babysitter his sister´s kids could ask for

super great with kids in general

he wants to start a big family someday too

totally a dog person, he can´t wait to get one and just go on his daily jogs with the dog

he grew up with mostly women so his music taste is essentially just pop queens of every era

cannot handle spicy food at all but pretends he can to impress people

nobody is impressed

he never once regretted inlisting, it was his dream ever since he was small and he is so proud of the work the team does

a huge sweettooth for baked goods of any sort

he´s a regular at literally every local bakery in his home village

all the elders constantly try to set him up with their grandchildren

he´s very unsure about starting a relationship just because of his job, long distance doesn´t really work for him since he´s so clingy and he doesn´t want his partner to be alone for so long

but he doesn´t do flings either, it´s always meaningful with him

he literally has "sea wives" in the sense that when he meets someone on leave he will be with them the entire time leave lasts and make sure they have the best time together, no regrets, no sadness, just fun and genuine connection

Price:

most definitely is married

he just thrives off that life so much, knowing he has a home to return to

loves being pampered but never expects it

king of doing household chores

however if he is pampered he will show his gratitude in tenfold

loves a good craft beer

reads a lot, mostly non-fiction

football is his favorite hobby, be it in the stadium or in front of the TV

cat dad, probably took in a few strays at first and everything else just sort of happened

doesn´t use any hair or beard products until you gift him one of those fancy sets for his birthday one year

keeps a picture of you and the team in his wallet

does scrabble evenings with Laswell

started doing dad noises in his 20s

puts on weight surprisingly easily but can´t say no to a homemade treat so he just does extra workouts

80s action movies are his favorite

still has a old radio and CDs

very fond of live music, he prefers small unknown bands that perform at his local bar though

occasionally he will go to bigger venues too but only as an event with friends

probably plays some acoustic guitar as well but has gotten rusty

he is the go to handyman in his neighborhood

he will fix anything from broken engines to rusty pipes

generally a very good neighbor, likes keeping in touch with everyone and holds barbeques whenever he´s on leave

his baby is definitely his oldtimer and his motorcycle he treasures and takes care of religiously (the only thing that´s almost older than them is that one leather jacket from college that´s already falling apart but he refuses to let go of)

Gaz:

boyfriend material

the only one who actually has his life under control

the most likely next to Price to actually have a steady partner

loves going to local sports games, doesn´t matter if it´s a small team, he always supports them

his favorite sport is baseball

collects vintage caps

has a vinyl collection and actually uses it regularly

listens to mostly rock and some jazz but is also a proud swiftie, mostly listens to her albums pre reputation though

would be seen at Eras tour

crazy coffee guy as in he has one of those super expensive machines and grinds his beans himself

can´t say no to matcha either though, overall very big on fancy non alcoholic drinks

otherwise he´s a classic beer kind of guy

does photography as a hobby and he´s super good at it too

his polaroid collection is actually insane, mostly landscapes or his partner

water guy, he loves the beach and lakes, be it just taking a walk or swim, renting a boat for a nice fishing trip has got to be his favorite though

he´s a dom, expert at aftercare

very good at flirting, almost scarily so

hasn´t let go of the concept of pranks yet and everyone has to suffer the consequences

probably had his ears pierced in college, now it´s just tattoos

great cook, super messy too and the process is questionable at best but the results are so worth it

Keegan:

he is a film bro and even worse a metalhead

his collection of physical media is out of this world and he is always actively hunting for the most out of pocket and niche things

listens to bands nobody has ever heard of but hates concerts because it´s too crowded

superb sense of humor but nobody really knows because he never talks to anybody

dad coded in the way he will eat the most vile ready meals without so much as flinching

his favorite food is pizza-

his place is surprisingly clean all things considered

definitely was a frat boy in college

has a soft spots for kids but is pretty much mean to everyone else

doesn´t know how to get close to people and isn´t interested in it either

he has his team and that´s enough for him

ridiculously big on Halloween, his entire house is decorated beyond belief, he hoards candy for the kids and himself and his costumes are always on point only that nobody ever recognizes them because they´re so out of pocket (what do you mean you´re going as the sickle that one killer in that one bad Jason ripoff from 20 years ago used??)

dad jokes and bad puns. shoot me right now

enjoys fairs and carnivals way too much for someone his age

has too many dating apps on his phone and uses them too much

only ever has bad dates with them but loves annoying Logan with stories of what went down

mostly has one night stands with people from bars and clubs he frequents (niche metal parties, I tell ya)

had a long hair and guyliner phase after watching "The Crow" (it´s a canon event)

still plays guitar and drums from a failed band project in high school

brags about how easy it would be for him to bag a milf but he just couldn´t handle them to save his life

somewhere deeply hidden in his childhood home there´s a bad poetry album he wrote in his teenage years

he did keep up the sketching though and is surprisingly good at it

which shouldn´t work as good as it does when it comes to flirting

he really just needs someone to put him in his place just once-

König:

the ONLY cod man that is actually babygirl

severe anxiety aside he´s so much fun!

like if you get his humor and play off on it he´s likely to at least consider warming up to you

subby good boy but make it classy

doesn´t realise he has a praise kink until he does and now he can´t stop thinking about it

super awkward at dating so he prefers not to do it

victim of his team trying to set him up

only that it actually works because they know him so well

he hates how it worked and he now has...feelings

it´s the last thing he needs

likes dogs and cats

tatted up and has a motorcycle but doesn´t really ride it that often

acidentally washed his mask shirt too hot once and it was way too tight on his face

his mother sends him care packages to this day, they have a very close relationship

hates overly sweet things but is a sucker for dark chocolate

surprisingly good at gardening

expert bread maker too

has a small apartment back home he lives in on leave even though he could have a beautiful home somewhere

much like Simon and Keegan he doesn´t like staying in one place and instead travels a lot

it helps with his anxiety that he goes to places where nobody knows who he is

still loves reading fantasy novels like he did when he was a boy (only now he´s annoyed at the amount of romance in them)

he watches mom TV (crime shows, med shows, Desperate Housewives and such)

doesn´t drink a lot and doesn´t smoke either

he doesn´t like swearing

joining the military hasn´t helped his insecurities as much as he hoped it would

he does enjoy the power he has now, the sheer strength and the fact that nobody would dare go against him

but it doesn´t help that he´s still too tall and his body hurts all the time, it doesn´t help that he always stands out

super bad at handywork outside of his job, cannot follow a youtube tutorial to save his life and ends up making things worse

probably the one with the highest libido on the list but also the worst kisser because the thought of others seeing him naked just fills him with dread and he never does anything about it

watches camshows occasionally instead

surprisingly not porn addicted though

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cityof2morrow · 9 months ago

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CDK/MoneyMAT: Cashpointe Set

Published: 9-14-2024 | Updated: 2-18-2025 (V2) SUMMARY MoneyMAT is a collection of modified objects for financial operations and storytelling in your game. The series includes functional cash clutter, as well as tools for banking, loans, and investments. #CO2MONEYMAT This is a crossover with the #CO2CDKSERIES. Cubic Dynamics by John B. Cube and Marcel Dusims forged the future with furnishings that were minimalist in design and maximalist in erudite pretension. Generations later, the company continues to produce edge-of-cutting-edge designs. Celebrate the 20th anniversary of the Sims 2 (EA/Maxis, 2004) by adding various currencies from the simsverse to your game – simoleons, magicoin, simoles, OMEGA, neo simoleons, simoleon sprouts, war simoleons, and more. Canon currencies and extra recolors allow you to create a color-coded banking/investment system. All items are grabbable, sellable and available in the catalog as well. Watch out for robbers!

The newly enhanced Cashpointe ATM (Honeywell, 2019; Katy76/PC-Sims, 2007) can be used for small loans, currency exchanges, and investments: (1) LOANS of §250, §500, §1K, §5K, §10K, §20K, or §30K with no payment schedule! After repaying in full, sims can take out new loans, (2) GET CASH by converting household funds to individual cash notes, coins, rolls, stacks, cards, or palettes, and (3) INVEST in virtual currencies which increase/decrease in value over time. Children can do everything except take/repay loans.

Collector’s coins can be sold and make great gifts for investors. Simoleon, Magicoin and Simoleon Sprout coins always increase in value over time while NeoSimoleons and other CryptoCoins increase AND decrease daily (sometimes they fluctuate twice in one day). DETAILS Requires Sims2 and all EPs/SPs. §1 - §30K | Buy > Electronics/Misc You need the Company Expo (Mesh Pack) set (Simmons, 2024) for TXTRs to show properly in game. ALL files in the CASHPOINTE set with “MESH” in their name are REQUIRED. Apply a recolor of your choice to cards or cryptocoin piles AFTER purchasing them from the ATM (or select directly from the catalog). Investment objects will NOT change in value while stored in a sim’s inventory – they must be placed on a surface for that effect. IMPORTANT: The individual cash notes (§1, §5, §10, §20, §50, §100, §500, and §1000) share the same GUIDs as those in Honeywell’s Money Jar (2019). The money Jar will use the notes from this set instead. Remove the originals. The original version allows sims to pocket items from this set if they’re left out in the open and aren’t marked for sale. In Version 2 (V2), sims won’t autonomously grab these items unless their FUN level is low (-80) AND they meet ONE of the following conditions:

Theft Skill = 3 or higher Traits = Burglar, Deadbeat, Dread Pirate, Desperate, Joker/Harley Quinn (insane trait), Kleptomaniac, Poison Ivy, Ratchet, Rogue, Scammer, Scrub, Venom/Symbiote If you use default replacements for any of these traits, they should work as long as the GUID has not been changed. Required fun/skill levels can be tuned in the “Action Variables” BCON using simPE. ITEMS Notes (§1, §5, §10, §20, §50, §100, §500, and §1000) (4-6 poly) Rolls (§1000, §2K, §5K, and §10K) (168-170 poly) Stacks (§1000, §2K, §5K, and §10K) (20-62 poly) Coin Piles (§100, §500, §1000, §5K, §10K) (660-1904 poly) Cards (§100, §500, §1000, §5K, §10K) (4 poly) Palettes (§10K, §20K, §30K) (286-710 poly) Collector Coins (§300, §500, §1000, §2K, §5K, §10K, §20K, §30K) (76-732 poly) Signs (332-376 poly) Card Shelf (9 slots) (104 poly) DOWNLOAD (choose one) CASHPOINTE OBJECTS (Original Version) from SFS | from MEGA CASHPOINTE OBJECTS (V2) from SFS | from MEGA RECOLOURS & COLLECTION FILE RECOLORS from SFS | from MEGA MoneyMAT COLLECTION FILE from SFS | from MEGA

CREDITS Thanks: SimCrafters, Chocolate City, and Sim Shenanigans Discord communities. Testers/TXTR Help - @logansimmingwolverine @gayars @ch4rmsing @chocolatecitysim @crispsandkerosene Sources: Beyno (Korn via BBFonts), EA/Maxis, Offuturistic Infographic (Freepik). Other Sources: Pierre, G. via Jovan, 2014); Applesee, 2023; Cgoodw, 2024; Iamsosha 2024; Kalagoglu, 2023; Olena_Skrypka, 2024; Oliveira, 2023a-b; Sam, 2024; Solsnare, 2024; Katy76/PC-Sims, 2007; D_dgjdhh, 2019/2011; The Ninth Wave, 2019; Tvickiesims, 2019, Honeywell, 2019.

#ts2downloads #sims2cc #ts2cc #co2cdkseries #co2moneymat #ofbprops #sims2anniversary

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donovaneagle2098 · 1 year ago

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A Complete Encyclopedia of the Lore of Every Witcher School

This is a project I've been working on for a long time. The Witcher Schools in general have lore spread across 3 or 4 different sources, so it's very easy to find inaccurate details about each school due to a person only going off of one source without even knowing of the others. Hell, I've been guilty of this in the past. So I've gone out of my way to find every source available for the various Witcher Schools and compile it into one master post, mostly pulling from the standalone Gwent game, and the Witcher TRPG, as well as an email conversation I've had with the TRPG's writer, Cody Pondsmith. Without further ado, let's start out with the original school, the Order of Witchers.

Witcher schools are like the Clans of Skellige, subtly different, but largely united by their common ground, and that common ground is the Order of Witchers.

The Order of Witchers began as an experiment by the rogue mages Alzur and his mentor Cosimo Malaspina. They "recruited" tests subjects from orphanages, buying them from neglectful parents, or outright kidnapping street kids.

From Cosimo's Gwent Card:

"Children keep asking him for gifts. He doesn’t know why, but it really helps with finding subjects for his experiments."

The main goal of this project was to create an order of knights artificially mutated and imbued with extreme levels of magic to protect people from a world where, at the time, monsters were often literally around every corner.

The mutation experiments were grueling, and most early candidates died horribly, the girls especially, as the mutagenic compounds the mages were working with at the time were better suited for a boys physiology, and they quickly stopped trying to find a mixture that worked well with women, instead refining the more successful candidate pool to meet deadlines. Even with these refinements, however, the Witchers couldn't actually generate much in the way of magical power, at least not nearly as much as those funding the project had hoped for.

These early candidates were encouraged to stick to political neutrality, were told of their duty to protect the common people, and their sword instructor tried to encourage them to take on knightly virtues to live their lives by, though only a few candidates actually bought fully into these particular knightly ideals.

The school developed a training regimen that all later Witcher schools would put their own small twists on. They perfected the whirling sword style, practiced on the Pendulum and Gauntlet training courses. They learned the Witcher Sign magic, created by Cosimo. They were taught hunting and monster lore from experts hired from across the world, and master alchemists crafted the famous Witcher potions.

Ultimately, funding from this school would be pulled due to the Witcher candidates lack of truly powerful magic ability, and the order would start to fracture. Witchers dissatisfied with their lot in life after being forcibly mutated, and railing against the Order's enforced ideals began getting combatative with other Witchers over petty contracts. At this time, contracts were so plentiful that there was no real need to fight over them, but these dissident Witchers did so anyway out of a desire for autonomy and to be free of the Order's code, which they saw as having no practical purpose to prepare new Witchers for the road ahead, and hypocritical as it was forced on them by the mages who never cared for the Witcher's lives. This culminated in one such outspoken Witcher, Arnaghad, attacking another Witcher who poached a contract from him.

After being forced into the painful life of a Witcher, Arnaghad loathed anyone who imposed their will upon him, the Order and it's codes especially. He led an attack on the Order proper, aided by fellow Witchers who respected his defiance towards authority. Once they were beaten back, these dissidents fled to the Amell mountain range to start the next Witcher school, the School of the Bear.

The School of the Bear is one of the most misunderstood schools of them all, owing to the first major lore drop about them being largely in-universe rumors and conjecture surrounding the school, and as such I may need to go more in depth. The two major misconceptions stemming from this is the rumor about their armor, which claims that they don't bother dodging like the other Witchers and instead take blows head on (generally a bad idea, according to Geralt in the books), and the rumor about them attacking most Witchers they meet.

I contacted Cody Pondsmith, who wrote a great deal of this lore, and he mentioned that Bears do often threaten or even fight other Witchers, but in a very Skellige way, only to ward off the other Witcher from contracts they want. The Bears just want to live lives where they aren't commanded by others, and were trained especially brutally, and so will fight for what contracts they want. However they will NEVER kill another Witcher, just draw first blood (outside of duels to decide who runs the school, which occasionally turn deadly. It's unknown if Arnaghad has ever lost these duels) and if that other Witcher stands up to the Bear, they'll let them have the contract and if they meet up and work together enough even maybe become a lifelong friend.

To quote Cody himself: "I like to think of the Witcher Order as a big family in which the Bear School is the blunt, no-nonsense brother. He can be prickly and a bit of a bully sometimes but he takes his job seriously and he can be a good drinking buddy if you get to know him. Not the friendliest of people but far from evil. If you stand up to him and show him you're not afraid of him, he'll respect you."

The other rumor is also an exaggeration. The Witcher TRPG mentions that the Bear armor was designed with flexibility in mind, and while they trained to take on weaker blows with their armor and "mastery of the Quen sign", they also trained how to move quickly in their armor if they needed to dodge a fatal blow. The Bears also still trained on the gauntlet and pendulum like the other schools. Cody Pondsmith also confirmed that the Bears are just as agile as the other Witchers.

The Bears' core philosophy is almost very Lambert like, viewing Witcher's work not as a duty, or knightly virtue, but as difficult, brutal work. The only reason they stick to this work is to do a job where no one else commands them and they're left in peace. They focus only on the practical aspects of their profession, and as such discourage their students from working together in training, since Witchers work alone. As Arnaghad said, "We pass through life alone, better get used to it!" As a result, Bears are very isolated, preferring their own company to that of other Witchers, and were encouraged to value their autonomy and self care above all else. The Bears' approach to teaching was embodied as "let them better themselves through practical, dangerous trials. Survival of the fittest", embodied by final trial, that involved climbing to the top of Mt. Gorgon and back, and any who died from the cold were left "as a sobering reminder of the dangers of their trade". This resulted in the students of the school seeing things in a very callous, survival of the fittest way. Be as strong as you can, and let the perils of Witcher training and life pick off those who can't keep up. As a result, the Bears were by far the smallest Witcher school.

Despite this, the TRPG has a list of random early training events Witchers from all schools can have, and Bears could sometimes make friends amongst their fellow witchers in training just like members of every other school.

Once the new Bear students left their keep of Haern Caduch, most wouldn't return to winter there, unlike the other schools. They developed a reputation as being terrible to fight, and for being firebrands, often speaking very bluntly and quick to anger no matter who they spoke to, authority included. One such Witcher, named Gerd, was asked by a Duchess to help kill her father. He insulted her so badly he got a warrant for his death placed on him, though all the peasants he met spoke rather highly of him. As a result, Bears found it easiest to make friends amongst the similarly minded Dwarves and Gnomes of the Amell mountains, and people of the Skellige Isles. According to Cody Pondsmith, this is the main reason the Bears stayed together as a group at all. They valued autonomy above all else and so long as they functioned as a Witcher school, they were left alone and no rulers would try and command them. They also largely take their ideals of free will and apply it to others, never seeking to rule over others. They simply wish to live their lives free.

One of the original Witchers to side with Arnaghad, Ivar Evil-Eye, had extra mutations done to him by the Order of Witchers during his trial, allowing him to see into other worlds. In these visions he saw the Wild Hunt rampaging across them, conquering them. Ivar became obsessed with stopping them, and tried to kill Arnaghad to take command and lead the Bear school against the Hunt. This failed, so he and his supporters left to form the Viper School.

The Witchers of the Viper school, based in Gorthur Gvaed, were said to be the most secretive, taking contracts as both assassins and witchers. They at first dedicated themselves finding a way to stop the Wild Hunt, amassing a massive library on the subject. Fighting with an unpredictable, ambushed based variant of the Witcher fighting style, Viper Witchers employed poisons, brewed by skilled Viper alchemists, on both their swords, and a dagger in their offhand, their biggest deviation from typical Witcher combat techniques.

Vipers, for an unknown reason, eventually forgot their purpose. In his time, Letho of Gullet could only guess at why the school had been founded. Instead, they became famous for their skill at political killings, dealing with the nobility of the southern countries before Nilfgaard had even become a large-scale power.

Viper students had a different type of trial, after more grueling than typical training. Instead of any physical task like the other schools, the Viper students were given a pet at their induction to the school. And to graduate, they simply had to hunt it down and kill it, showing their lack of mercy.

While most of those who supported Ivar followed him to the Viper school, one group broke off and west east, across the Korath desert, to Zerikania, founding the School of the Manticore.

The School of the Manticore was founded by the Witcher Iwan, from the School of the Bear, following Ivar's assassination attempt on Arnaghad. They got work in the Korath desert as caravan guards, earning the attention of the Zerrikanian Queen after a deadly battle with a manticore. The Queen sponsored the Witchers of the Manticore, making them the only school to be officially backed by any government. They were experts on potions and anti-toxins, a necessity of dealing with the poisonous creatures of the Korath desert.

A unique adaptation to the monsters of the desert also had Manticore Witchers employ shields into the whirling combat of their Witcher training. Given their extra support, the Manticores held two keeps, Behelt Nar and Bailsuf Alsarea, on opposite sides of the desert, so that they might better patrol and guard those within it.

The Manticore is the final school to come from the schism Arnaghad had led. The other voices of dissent against the ideals of the Order would soon hear of these new schools and decide to break off as well to form the School of the Cat.

The School of the Cat was founded out of a response to the hatred and distrust Witchers received. They desired to be seen in a better, more respectful light. Ironically, they would end up doing the opposite. The Cat School stole away with several of the mutagens needed to make more Witchers and headed to Ebbing, and Stygga Citadel, where they would begin to experiment on human-elf children in an attempt to perfect the mutations. Its possible that the mages at this time furthered experiments on making women Witchers, but this is not confirmed yet.

Attempting to make a name for themselves, the Cats hired themselves out as spies, assassins, and mercenaries, genuinely earning them some respect from common folk for killing bandits.

In their attempts to perfect the mutations and further dull the emotions of their Witchers, the Cat school experimented harshly on a group of children that resulted in the opposite, giving these Witchers hightened emotional responses instead. These students, cast aside and left for dead, fled into the arms of a group of elves, who agreed to support them if this branch of the Cat School supported the elves' fight for freedom.

This branch, led by Gezras of Leyda, attached itself to the Dyn Marv caravan and traveled the continent, lending their services mostly to those nonhumans who could pay, while the main Cats at Stygga ended up getting assaulted by angry royals incited by their political maneuvering. This left the Dyn Marv branch as the only functional element of the School of the Cat. These Cats would train students' agility in a light, fast Elven take on Witcher fighting style, and would train their balance by making students walk a tightrope, starting low to the ground at first, but getting higher and higher each attempt.

The Cat school's breaking of Witcher neutrality and reputation for bloodlust earned Witchers such a bad name that those in the Order who most cherished their old swordmaster's knightly virtues would leave to form the School of the Griffin.

The School of the Griffin, led by Erland of Larvik, wished to truly achieve the dream of the original Order, and Gryphon, the Order's sword instructor. They traveled north to Kaer y Saren, an old fortress the Order once used, and cleansed it of the spirits of those who died in the first Witcher mutations. From there, they began a Witcher school focused on respectability and honor, believing in their knightly duties. And it worked, somewhat. The Griffins were sometimes advisors to nobility, and seen as honorable, but the prejudice against Witchers would never leave, and most would never see a Griffin Witcher as anything more than a monster playing at being a knight.

These Witchers tried their best to cushion their students against the pain of their lives on the Witcher's path, and were more brotherly than the other schools, though their knightly virtues and brotherhood were oftentimes cold comfort to Griffin students.

From the Witcher TRPG Sourcebook:

"Witcher I knew couldn’t really remember much ‘bout his past. Heh, too young to really form a lotta memories when they took him to Kaer Y Seren. Told me that the memory he did have made the mutations easier. Poor bastard clung to a memory of his pa takin’ him on a horse for a ride in the fields. Don’t know why he chose that one. Probably the only normal memory he had."

The Griffins amassed a huge library of magical knowledge, though they could only push sign magic so far, and the books were likely wasted being in a Witcher library. The library held several incredibly famous tomes on magic within, and was the envy of full mages across the Northern Realms. Despite all their efforts, they never could achieve their goal of bringing about the Order of Witcher's vision. The Griffins even had their own breaches of Witcher tradition in pursuit of their knightly heroics. An often said mantra of the Griffin school in Gwent is "To slay dragons! Tis our knightly duty!" despite dragons being largely innocent, intelligent beings who mostly wish to be left in peace.

Code Pondsmith had this to say about the Griffins:

"The Griffins stuck to the knightly traditions that the original witcher order tried to uphold. As a result it's safe to say that the Griffin school taught that monsters were the enemy of mankind and must be defeated. I don't think they would all be blindly overzealous but they wouldn't have any qualms about slaying sapient monsters if they believed it was for the good of mankind. Similarly, it's likely that they would side with humans in any conflict between monsters and humans. In a way, the Griffins' knightly virtues made them easier to manipulate than the other witcher schools. They were bound to protect humanity and thus were more likely to be convinced to hunt a monster if a local noble or alderman claimed it would be for the good of the people. This is the case with the dragons. The kingdoms and jewelers guilds of the North convinced the Griffin School that dragons were a blight upon humanity and the Griffins started slaying dragons regardless of whether all of the dragons they slew deserved it. Additionally, the knightly values might make Griffin school witchers more likely to take pity on desperate humans and work for free."

Those few Witchers remaining in the Order by now traveled to northern Kaedwyn, and started a school based on their tempered, traditionalist, and realistic view on the Order's goals. They based themselves in Kaer Morhen and dubbed themselves the School of the Wolf.

The School of the Wolf is the most famous Witcher school, known for their professionalism and efficiency. They don't kill humans like the Viper or Cat. Aren't bold or brash like the Bear, or put Knightly virtues above Witcher ideals like the Griffin. I mean, anyone reading far this knows who the Wolf Witchers are, so I'm not going to get into to much detail. They're Geralt's school. Ciri's school. While the Griffins school wasted it's energy on trying to be what Witchers were supposed to be, the Wolf set its goals on being the best they realistically could be.

They took a balanced approached to Witcher life and as such trained Witchers who were the best adjusted out of the schools, with neither the Bear's harshness nor the Griffin's egocentrism. They perfected the Witcher's style of combat, refining their swordsmanship into an incredibly graceful dance. Combined with their professional attitude and teachings that allowed Wolf Witchers to adapt very well to most situations thrown at them, Wolf Witchers were lauded all across the Continent.

With all Schools formed, the Golden Age of Witchers began, at first with the Bears and Griffins making peace. From Erland of Larvik's Journal (The TRPG's monster manual):

"Surprisingly enough the fracturing of the witcher order had lead to a more effective organization for us witchers. Spread across the Continent and each making more witchers independently, it was no longer the task of 60 or 70 witchers to patrol the entire Continent from Nilfgaard to Kovir. Each school patrolled their own path and when a Gryphon met with a Bear each knew they had their territory and any infighting wouldn’t be worth the bloodshed. We managed to broker peace and live as somewhat estranged brothers rather than bitter enemies"

Witchers at this time were seen largely as heroes, with their detractors' voices largely simmering underneath. With Witchers around to kill monsters, people felt safe and so ignored any misgivings they might have.

Witchers, no matter the school, aren't too dissimilar from each other, and so the Cintinent at large formed an overall opinion of the Witchers based on the traits they all shared. From the TRPG:

"In the heyday of witchers there were many many seperate schools, which all mutated new witchers and taught them the neccesary skills to hunt monsters and lift curses. While it’s generally agreed that there is a core set of skills required to a be a witcher, each school taught its students differently and focused on different aspects of witcher training. Thus, witchers from different schools often act differently and go about their jobs in similar but varied ways."

During this period, the Schools all would produce hundreds of Witchers (though at any given time, most schools had about 20 Witchers running the school, a handful of novices undergoing the trials, and around 30-50 Witchers on the path hunting monsters. This fluctuated from school to school. The Bear's brutal training resulted in the lowest number of Witchers amongst the schools, while the Wolves' prolific status and high success rates meant they took in more candidates and had more Witchers than the other schools), and each was their own person, With their own preferences and personality, despite the schools themselves having reputations for Witchers with only a few certain traits. For instance, the Bear Witcher Ivo of Belhaven fought like a Viper or Cat Witcher, but in personality was a perfect fit for the Bear School with how standoffish he could be. The schools kept to their own territory at first, but as time went on and contracts got ever more rare, these already thin lines fell apart and the schools stopped caring much about territories.

They also all customized their gear in different ways, usually keeping their gear in similar fashion to their school's, as its what they trained in an were used to. For example, Bear Witcher Junod of Belhaven wore what appears to be a set of Wolf School armor he had modified to fit Bear Witcher style.

Witchers also at this time experimented with signs. The Griffins obviously focused on making them more powerful, and the Bears pushed Quen to a level beyond any other school. But the most interesting case is that of Warrit, a blind Viper Witcher who used the lesser known Suppire sign as a form of echolocation.

The Golden age lasted for around 150-200 years or so, ending around 1160 when the monster populations had been hunted down enough that people's main concern stopped being the monsters, and became the Witchers themselves.

The Griffin School, refusing to share the knowledge of its library, was destroyed by jealous mages. A group of peasants and mages attacked the Wolves' keep out of nowhere. The Bears failed to destroy a powerful cabal of vampires and, when peasants rioted and came for their keep, chose to disband rather than engage in needless slaughter. The Cat's keep of Stygga is destroyed, but the Dyn Marv chapter may still be alive and well. The Manticore School failed to protect an important prince from a fire elemental, and so lost their funding and closed. The Viper refused to support the Nilfgaardian usurper and were destroyed.

If you've made it this far, holy shit, thank you! I hope you have a great day!

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