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#hidden depths: {info}
mechahero · 3 months
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//I said I was going to talk about this so here.
Lambda can't really wildly teleport all over the place (although he sure can look like it), he has to have a place to teleport to. And even then, he has to clearly visualize the place he wants to teleport to in his mind. Anything he can deem as a landmark to use as a grounding point does help a lot. Or having a picture of the place and focusing on that. However, even with that, it can be a struggle for him to go place to place.
Doesn't stop him from being a very effective killer though.
Places may be a bit hard for him to remember but people are not. Especially if it's someone he's chasing down. And since it's thought based (for the most part) teleportation, all he needs to do is think of the person he's going after and he'll be back on their trail in no time.
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autopotion · 3 months
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Top 3 Misericordes: Hedwig, Margaret, Darcy
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slytherinslut0 · 4 months
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Why Not Both.
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PAIRING: Mattheo Riddle x Reader x Theodore Nott
INFO: Lucius Malfoy, fueled by disdain for your family's wealth and competitive Pureblood status, makes an unwanted advance at a public event. Fortunately, two old friends from your Hogwarts days come to your rescue, and grateful for their intervention, you seek a meaningful way to express your thanks.
TAGS: 18+, THREESOME. complete filth. slight sexual aggression/unwanted touching, violence, an ungodly amount of flirting, SMUT, fingering, hickeys, drug use, mentions of blood, throat fucking, oral(mrec), piv, degradation kink, praise kink, italian!theo.
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"Please, for the love of all things magical, conduct yourself appropriately tonight, figlia."
Hidden behind the obscurity of your tinted black sunglasses, you executed an eye roll so pronounced you half-expected your eyes to vanish into the depths of your skull. The subtle percussion of your tongue against the back of your teeth preceded the moment as you composed yourself enough to deliver a response.
"I already told you," you retorted, curtly. "I'll play nice if he does."
Your father reciprocated the eye roll, reclining back against the supple leather of the limousine seat with an irritated huff. His gaze lingered on you, a silent calculation etched across his face, contemplating what tempting offer might sway you into comportment. He knew that you were not going to make it out of this gathering alive if you let your attitude get the best of you.
"What's the price tag this time, hm?" He tutted, fingers deftly adjusting his tie while sharing an anxious glance with your mother, perched nervously beside him. "A new purse? Some shoes, perhaps? Or are we gunning for another car?"
Suppressing a smirk, you lowered your sunglasses down the bridge of your nose, casting a pointed gaze over their rim at him.
"Are you seriously resorting to bribery, padre?" The feigned disbelief laced your voice, but your mother's glare sliced through it like a knife--a silent command to hush, one you chose to disregard. Adjusting your glasses, you exhaled a theatrically exasperated sigh. "Your lack of faith in me is genuinely disheartening. I assure you nothing but the epitome of professionalism from me tonight."
"Stronzate," (bullshit) your father snapped back, his eyes smouldering with a frustration intense enough to sear through your facade, clearly fed up with your antics. "Last time you peddled that line, you ended up with Lucius Malfoy's hand around your throat during what was supposed to be an informal business dinner."
You scoffed, a smirk playing on your lips before you could restrain it. "Not my fault that lunatic can't handle the damn truth. Would you prefer I let him take advantage of you? Step on you like a fucking cockroach?"
"Listen to me," he shifted to the edge of the limousine seat, his elbows finding a perch on his knees, hands firmly clasped together. Leaning forward, his gaze locked onto yours, his serious demeanor demanding your full focus. "Just because we have money doesn't mean I will bail you out if you happen to land yourself behind bars tonight. Do not fuck with the Malfoy's, figlia, I mean it."
"You sound afraid of him," you fired back, your expression a stoic mask, unruffled. "I wonder how your esteemed associates would feel about that...one of the wealthiest Pureblood wizards...intimidated by a bleached blonde-"
"Enough," he exhaled, weariness tainting his tone as he implored, "For Merlin's sake, behave your age for once--just tell me what you want."
Pouring a measured amount of champagne, he lifted the glass to his lips, the subtle clink echoing a blend of frustration and reluctant acceptance in his gaze. You huffed, reaching into your purse and retrieving your lip gloss and flip-open mirror. As you leisurely applied it, your thoughts raced, contemplating what might rein you in.
"I want him to stop mentally undressing me in front of his wife," you declared bluntly. "It's just plain rude."
Tossing your lipgloss and mirror back into your purse, a ripple of annoyance traversed your father's features, his countenance ready to unleash a torrent of reprimands in Italian, ones you'd heard a countless number of times before. It didn't take much to get under your father's skin.
However, before the first word could escape, your mother intervened with a firm, "Cut that out, figlia--just answer the bloody question."
Her intervention carried the weight of both authority and exasperation, effectively halting the imminent linguistic storm your father was about to unleash. With another dramatic eye roll and a matching huff of irritation, you straightened out against the leather, flattening the fabric of your tight black dress out against your thighs.
"Fine," you ground out through clenched teeth. With your chin defiantly raised, your gaze flicked back and forth between your parents. "Bags. A new Fendi, a replacement for the Christian I lost, and another Prada."
Your father grumbled something discontented in Italian, the disappointment clearly etched across his features as he parted his lips to respond; his brows pinched so tight it looked painful--until your mother swiftly raised a calming hand, quelling the potential storm.
Turning her eyes to you, she wore a wry smile and declared, "Deal."
A devilish smirk played across your lips as you nodded in agreement, satisfaction colouring your calculated arrangements. Handbags were hardly a necessity, considering you already owned more than you knew what to do with--but, if your father was determined to buy your silence, to keep you from retaliating against the biggest assholes in the entire wizarding world, one of whom was intent on tearing down your family's name out of sheer jealousy--then the price wasn't going to come cheap.
As the limo glided to a stop outside the opulent venue, you composed yourself, aware that tonight meant facing a sea of influential figures. Pureblood wizards--from the Nott family to the Riddles, the Malfoys, and the Berkshires--were all gathered at this prestigious ball, amongst many others. You knew tonight carried immense importance for your family, and you harboured every intention of keeping your opinions in check, and keeping your mouth shut.
But you couldn't say the same about your legs.
Stepping gracefully from the limousine, the resonance of your red stilettos hitting the cobblestones beneath them echoed in sophistication. A subtle adjustment of your dress against your thighs preceded your purposeful stride toward the entrance. Cameras relentlessly flashed from all angles, rendering the protective shield of your sunglasses almost futile against their blinding onslaught.
Squinting, you ascended the velvet stairs, only to feel a sizable hand rest on the small of your back, accompanied by a honey-like drawl in your ear.
"Easy there, Bella...we wouldn't want that perfect ass meeting the cobbles, now would we?"
You scoffed, your smirk undeniable. Turning your head, you caught a glimpse of the charming Italian boy you hadn't seen since graduation. The desire to fling yourself into his arms simmered within, yet you reserved such greetings for the more private confines indoors.
"Gods, how I've missed that sexy voice of yours," you teased, a pleasant warmth enveloping you at the sight of him. Clad in a crisp black suit, his hair styled to perfection with light stubble grooming him nicely--he looked even better than your memory served. "Remind me to grant you a proper kiss once we're inside."
"Missed more than just the voice, I hope," he quipped, a smug grin playing on his lips. Adjusting his suit jacket with a casual flair, he leaned in, his voice a low murmur. "Inside or outside, Bella, I'm not one to decline such tempting offers."
"Believe me, I'm keenly aware," you retorted, a sly grin playing on your lips. "You never were good at resisting temptation."
"Can't resist the irresistible, principessa,"  he replied, his tone laden with a provocative confidence. "I'd take your ass right here if you asked."
"Aren't you as bold as ever," you quipped, a grin playing on your lips as you finally reached the grand double doors. Theo's hand reluctantly left your back as he positioned himself behind you, gently ushering you forward. "Perhaps you could at least buy me a drink first?"
He huffed. "Anything you want--it's yours, angioletta."
Theodore graced your ass with a subtle smack as the two of you glided into the grand ballroom, its excessive expanse pulsating with the energy of wizards and witches converging from every corner of the globe. The occasion? A celebration for the new Minister of Magic--a matter that scarcely held your interest. The real allure? A night to revel in intoxication and reconnect with the charming Slytherin boys you'd wanted to see since graduation.
And here you were, the night only just unfolding, already engaged in a provocative exchange with one of the men you'd been yearning for. His hand rested tantalizingly low on your back, skillfully guiding you through the bustling crowd.
You drew nearer to Theodore as the two of you continued weaving through the crowd, lowering your voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "My parents gave me strict orders to steer clear of the Malfoys tonight, specifically Lucius."
"Huh, can't say I'm shocked," Theo chuckled, his grin stretching across his cheeks. "After that little incident at the meeting, I'm surprised they're letting you share the same room with him."
"So you heard about that." A flush warmed your face as you peeked at him over the edge of your sunglasses. "Was I really that terrible?"
He cast you a sidelong glance, his eyes twinkling. "Let's just say, your mouth has a reputation for getting you into quite a bit of trouble."
"Maybe," you quipped, your gaze confidently drifting towards the bar across the room. "Then again, it's also been known for getting me out of a fair bit of trouble."
Theo slipped behind you as you navigated through a cluster of witches, their dazzling diamond necklaces almost blinding, even through your shades.
"Mm, I wouldn't doubt it," he husked, the audible smirk in his voice. "That mouth of yours has its own set of skills, Bella...some men just can't handle it."
"Well, lucky for me, I prefer those who can handle a little challenge," you purred, turning to shoot him a sultry glance over your shoulder. "I intend on staying far, far away from him tonight."
"As much as I want to take your word for that..." he replied with a sly grin, cocking an eyebrow. "We both know how you are."
As the two of you finally reached the bar, a dazzling array of diamond bottles adorned the shelves against the wall. The counter, a masterpiece of ornate gold foiling on a white marbled surface, beckoned with an air of opulence. Theodore leaned over it, flashing a cheeky grin at the bartender.
"Two glasses of Dom Pérignon champagne," he requested smoothly, the words gliding off his tongue like silk, "per favore e grazie."
"Dom Pérignon?" Your jaw fell open, and you drew your sunglasses down the bridge of your nose to look at him. That champagne was over three hundred dollars a fucking glass. "Are you trying to get me to fuck you, or fall in love with you?"
He choked, snorting at your bluntness. "Why not both?”
Your grin was untameable as Theo's laughter resonated through the bustling room. Collecting himself, he accepted the glasses from the bartender, presenting one to you with a deviously charming grin. His eyes sparkled with desire as they traced the curve of your lips, before falling to observe the way your red-manicured nails delicately wrapped around the crystal glass.
Shaking himself from his reverie, he met your gaze again, his smirk growing wider. "Not to burst my own bubble or anything...but if it weren't for my parents picking up the tab, we'd be toasting with sparkling cider."
A soft laugh escaped you at his cheeky admission, and you raised your glass to meet his with a playful clink. "To your parents' tab."
As you toasted, you couldn't help but savour the familiar charm that had always intrigued you about him. Despite the magnetic connection and your undeniable attraction, the boundary between friendship and something more had remained uncharted territory throughout your school years.
You had every single intention of changing that, tonight. 
As the liquid elegance glided down your throat, leaving behind a lingering warmth steeped in opulence, you held Theo's gaze as you lowered your glass, acutely aware that his eyes had yet to stray from yours. Taking a measured step closer, you tilted your head back slightly, maintaining the captivating connection as you closed the distance between your bodies.
"I believe there's still something I owe you, hm?" you purred, your voice a sultry whisper. "And perhaps...given the circumstances," you gestured to the expensive champagne in your hand, moistening your lips, "I might now owe you more."
Theo's response was a low, husky chuckle as his free hand found its place on your hip. His fingers pressed into your side with a possessive grip, while the hand clutching the glass tightened, threatening to shatter within his fingers.
Spurred on, you continued. "Unless, of course, we consider it a mere indulgence on your parents' generous tab...either way-"
"Oh no, no," he interrupted with a knowing tut, his gaze piercing through half-lidded eyes. "My parents appreciate repayment just as much as I do...consider me their collector."
"Mm," you breathed, red fingernails on your free hand trailing up his chest. "I suppose I better get to work, then, hm?"
His response was a low huff, a smouldering spark in his eyes. "Dio mi aiuti..."
A smirk played on your lips, a rush of heat colouring your face as his teasing plea to God sent a surge of desire through your thighs. Gliding your fingers higher up his chest, you seized his tie, drawing his mouth down to yours in a deliberate, unhurried kiss. With no sense of urgency, you explored his mouth, savouring the moment for all it was worth.
Until, abruptly, a curt voice sliced through the charged air, instantly extinguishing the flames that had been blazing between you and Theo. The sound made you want to vomit near instantly, the feigned niceness in its tone grating on your nerves like nails on a chalkboard. You knew there was only one fucking man a voice that sickening could ever belong to.
"Well, isn't that just adorable...young love in all its glory," he sneered, and as you and Theo reluctantly pulled away from each other, you released your grip on his tie, taking a measured step back. "...never thought you'd be able to find someone who would put up with that attitude of yours...colour me shocked. "
As your gaze met the tall, arrogant blonde man peering down at you, you bit your tongue hard enough to taste the metallic tang of blood. His eye twitched as he shamelessly scanned your body, tracing over every curve and inch of body that his evil gaze could find. You were grateful for your sunglasses now more than ever, as they perfectly concealed the intense eye roll you were directing at him.
And then, just as you were poised to respond, you caught sight of his son, Draco Malfoy, and his nephew, Mattheo Riddle, two more of your old housemates. Draco, accompanied by his wife, Astoria Greengrass, sauntered up beside his father. Each of their eyes widening in disbelief at the unexpected sight of you.
As Mattheo Riddle approached, clad in a crisp black suit and tie, his curly brown hair framing gleaming dark eyes and a strong jawline, your body ignited once more. The charm he exuded brought forth a desire you had worked extremely fucking hard to suppress during your school days, now resurfacing with an intensity that left you breathless.
"Holy shit," Mattheo breathed, moistening his lips as his dark eyes roamed over you from head to toe. He pulled you in for a hug, the smell of his cologne filling your nostrils and making your head spin without effort. Against your neck, he muttered. "Now that's a fucking sight for sore eyes."
Heat flooded your veins, spurred on by the sight of him and his compliment. You let your hand rub tender circles into his back, feeling the taut muscle tense beneath your touch.
"Flattery will get you everywhere, Riddle," you purred against his ear, your grin impossible to conceal, the warmth of his embrace intensifying the heat that flooded your veins. "I see your charm hasn't lost its touch...surprised you're not locked down yet."
"Never been more glad that I'm not," his hand slid lower, finding the small of your back, calloused palms catching on the fabric. "You're leaving very little to the imagination, wearing this..."
"Little something to fuel those late-night thoughts," you murmured, your voice a sensual drawl, heat rolling off your tongue, overflowing your veins. "Better enjoy the view while you can."
"Mm," his hand found your ass, giving it a harsh squeeze. "Don't doubt that I will."
As Mattheo finally pulled away, stepping over toward Theo and embracing him in a bro-hug, Lucius peered down at him in disgust. The atmosphere was filled with the low hum of conversation as Theo, Draco, and Astoria were deep in discussion.
Lucius was busy rambling on to Theodore's father, who had now also joined the group, seemingly oblivious to the tension simmering beneath the surface--but then abruptly shifted his attention to his nephew.
A wry huff of arrogance escaped him. "Do you possess any self-control?"
"Some, on a typical day," Mattheo replied, undisturbed, and with his gaze drifting back to you, he smirked. "Currently, almost none.”
"Right." Lucius' voice was flat, devoid of any emotion as he turned back to you. "Where are your parents? I've been needing to discuss some things with your father."
"They're around," you replied flatly, taking another sip of champagne, determined to deflect his probing. "I'm sure you'll run into them eventually; no one would ever dare ignore you, Lucius."
"A compliment from you? How peculiar." Lucius tilted his head slightly, a malicious glint in his eyes. "Similar to your father's recent behaviour...I must say he has been raising a few eyebrows lately."
"And how is that any concern of mine?" you retorted, your tone laced with partially-restrained irritation. "I don't keep tabs on my father's every move. Perhaps you should address him directly with your concerns."
"Perhaps." He smirked, his gaze lingering on you as he stepped closer--Theo, Mattheo, Astoria and Draco lost in their own conversation now. "But I believe you're easier to talk to, more...amenable."
Your eyes narrowed at his implication, but you maintained a stoic exterior. "I have no interest in entertaining conversation with you."
As he closed the distance, his gaze briefly shifted to the boys beside you, ensuring they were sufficiently distracted before refocusing on you.
"You should," he murmured, an insidious charm lacing his words. "You should want to hear what I have to say."
"Your arrogance is outstanding." Through gritted teeth, you practically snarled at him, "Get to the point."
"Your father has been dabbling in rather dubious dealings of late. It reflects poorly on me and those associated with him." Lucius leaned in closer, his voice a low murmur filled with calculated venom. "If something doesn't change, I'm going to have to take matters into my own hands."
"I try my best to stay out of my father's business," your pulse quickened, a surge of anger coursing through your veins, the air around you growing tenser with each passing second. "But, if I'm being honest, Lucius, I don't appreciate the way you're running your mouth. My parents-"
"Ah, ah," he raised a hand, silencing you. "You'd do well to remember your place, little witch." Lucius's eyes glinted with a sadistic satisfaction, and a smirk played on his lips. "Though I do suggest you start caring about your father's affairs; it might save you from the consequences of his foolish actions."
"I never asked for your advice," you hissed, the thread of restraint in your voice now frayed. "But if we're trading favours, I suggest you leave me the fuck alone before this gets ugly."
Lucius eradicated the remaining space between you, his imposing presence sending a shiver down your spine, the strong scent of whiskey enveloping you. Your gaze remained locked with his, refusing to yield, but as he leaned in, your body tensed. His lips brushed your ear, and you swallowed, fighting the discomfort.
"Women shouldn't curse, little witch, it isn't very ladylike..." he sneered, his voice dripping with vindictive amusement, the words crawling over your skin. "Perhaps your parents failed to teach you that? Amongst other things, it seems..."
You fought the urge to retch. "Get fucked, Lucius."
He huffed, his touch ghosting your hip as he muttered, "I just might."
The moment you felt his fingers graze your body, your hand rose instinctively, before you even had a chance to process it--delivering a swift slap to his cheek, making his head whip to the side, blonde locks flinging upon impact. A moment of tense silence hung in the air as you watched the anger seep into his features, witnessing his eyes darken with fury. Mimicking a move he'd pulled on you before, he seized your jaw, forcing your back against the edge of the bar.
But then, before he could utter a word, the scene unfolded like a rapid, chaotic dance. Strong hands forcefully grappled his shoulders, ripping him away from you within an instant.
"Keep your fucking hands off of her." It was Theodore's voice. Followed instantly by Mattheo's. "The fuck is wrong with you."
In the blink of an eye, Theodore was in action, hooking his arms around Lucius to restrain him, while Mattheo, fueled by raw anger, threw a powerful punch that landed square on Lucius' jaw. The room buzzed with gasps and whispers, the unexpected altercation taking center stage in the glamorous event.
Your stomach fell dramatically. There goes the handbags you'd bargained for.
As Lucius seethed with fury, he forcibly pulled himself out of Theodore's grasp, retaliating by landing a punch on his nephew. The impact split the skin over the bridge of Mattheo's nose, but undeterred, Mattheo swiftly retaliated with another punch, forcing Draco to step in and restrain him.
Sensing the escalating tension, you rushed forward, attempting to break up the skirmish. However, Draco hissed at you, his arm darting out to halt you, eyes narrowing in warning, "Just get out of here. You've done enough damage."
"Are you kidding me?" you snapped back, the clink of your glass punctuating your frustration as you discarded it on the bar. "You've always been a sickening little daddy's boy--wake the fuck up, Draco. Your father is an absolute asshole."
Before Draco could respond, the voices of your parents, entwined with Mattheo and Theodore's parents, resonated through the room, silencing and halting every single one of your collective movements. Your father unleashed a barrage of reprimands in Italian, while your mother shook her head in utter disappointment. She gripped your arm with enough force to make you groan.
Her words were no less than a snarl in your ear. "You had one fucking job tonight. One."
"I didn't do anything--he started it," your heart pounded, vision tinged with red as you spat back, uninterested in the ridicule. "He fucking touched me."
Lucius, now somewhat composed, turned to the security guards standing amidst the commotion and pointed decisively at you, Theodore, and Mattheo, his stern tone leaving no room for negotiation. "I want them removed. Immediately."
Your mother's grip on your arm loosened, her voice now softer as she said, "We'll talk about this later."
The security guards seized you, Mattheo, and Theodore by the arms, forcefully guiding you away from the group. Under the intense scrutiny of Lucius' gaze, you were pushed through the concealed back exit, leading to a row of valet cars waiting in the shadows. The door slammed shut behind you, leaving the chilly night air to greet you as the security guards swiftly retreated back into the vibrant chaos of the celebration, leaving you, Mattheo, and Theodore standing alone in the dimly lit alley.
Without missing a beat, Mattheo smoothly extracted a small container from his pocket, revealing a blunt that he quickly found a comfortable spot for between his teeth.
An irritated huff escaped you as you yanked off your sunglasses, shoving them into your purse. "What an insufferable prick."
The night air became tinged with the scent of both smoke and potent weed as Mattheo exhaled, Theodore hastily loosening his tie around his neck as Mattheo passed him the herbal offering.
"He's got his eyes set on you," Mattheo stated matter-of-factly, the words casually hanging in the air as if discussing the weather. "Not exactly discreet about it either, especially when his wife's not around."
As Theodore passed the blunt to you, you took a long, slow drag--the bitter taste of the weed lingering on your tongue as you mulled over Mattheo's words.
"He’s just looking for another thing to hang over my father's head." A sardonic smirk curled your lips, and you passed the weed back to Theo. "I'm not interested in anything he has to offer...there’s nothing he can give me that I can’t get myself.”
Theo smirked, the dim light casting shadows across his features as he took another drag of the blunt.
“I'll have to admit, it was quite the sight watching you slap Lucius bloody Malfoy..." he purred, smoke twirling around him as he paused, passing it back to Mattheo now. "Not many would dare."
“Well, he had it coming,” you chuckled, the tension of the evening dissipating slightly. “...I'm not one to back down."
"Oh, we know." Mattheo laughed, smoke escaping between his lips, wiping the blood off his chin with the back of his hand. "Your bad ass is always stirring up trouble, don't think that'll ever change."
You smirked, the corner of your lips curling with a hint of mischief. "What's life without a little trouble, hm?"
Theo chuckled, practically a scoff. “A little?"
"Please," you teasingly nipped at your bottom lip, head tilting in a seductive manner. "You know you love it."
Stepping closer to them, you sensually reached out, your fingers making deliberate contact with the fabric of their suit jackets, covering the strength of their strong arms. Moving slowly and deliberately, your touch trailed upward, both of their eyes locked onto every nuanced movement, captivated by your enticing grace.
"I believe I owe you both a special thanks for coming to my defense back there...my heroes." Your voice dipped lower, a sultry edge creeping in as you trailed your fingers upward, grazing their shoulders. "How could I ever repay you for such...courageous acts..."
"Sexy little damsel in distress…" Mattheo smirked, the blunt dangling from his lips as he leaned in, eyes dipping over your lips before falling lower, tracing your curves. "I can think of a few ways you could show your appreciation.”
Theo's grin mirrored Mattheo's as he added, "I think we'll have to discuss those options somewhere more private...back at my place, perhaps?"
"Mm," your stomach leapt with excitement, your stomach tightening in anticipation, you slowly withdrew your hands, stepping back. "Lead the way, boys."
Without needing to hear another word, Mattheo and Theo exchanged a knowing glance before they began to move toward the valeted cars, Mattheo's eyes scanning the line until they landed on a sparkling blacked-out Range Rover. Discarding the blunt with a casual flick, he turned back to you, a smirk playing on his lips.
The night air shimmered around Mattheo's dark pools as he confidently asserted, "We can take my car."
A casual wave set the valet into motion, retrieving his vehicle for him within an instant. The driver expertly guided the sleek black Range Rover to the forefront, its glossy paint reflecting the ambient lights. Mattheo opened the back door with a flourish, gracefully sliding in and making himself comfortable on the far side. A sly grin danced on his lips as he gestured for you to join him.
"After you," Theo's purr accompanied a playful smack to your ass, forcing a slight squeak from your throat, and you tsked at him before obliging.
As you settled into the lavish embrace of the Range Rover's spacious backseat, Theodore smoothly slipped in next to you, closing the door behind him. The interior exuded opulence, the cold leather meeting the warmth of your thighs. Mattheo leaned forward, parting the partition to share Theodore's address with the driver, his cologne enveloping you in an intoxicating embrace.
The air crackled with anticipation as he ended the conversation and slid the partition shut, reclining back against the seat with a provocative spread of his legs. Loosening his tie, he extracted a small bag from his pocket, revealing a white powdery substance within its confines.
"Fuck sakes," he grumbled, catching Theodore's attention. You both met his eyes. "Any chance you've got a mirror in that purse?"
"Who needs one when you've got her?" Theo huffed, snaking an arm around your waist, pulling you snug against his chest. His lips hovered over your ear, and he added, "She's got more than enough to work with, hm?"
As Theo's lips brushed your earlobe, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine, you couldn't ignore the electrifying sensation that danced across your skin. Mattheo's intense gaze fixed on you, adding to the palpable tension in the air as he waited, seemingly holding his breath for your response.
"Mm." Your voice came in a breathless, shuddering whisper, "go on then, Riddle."
Mattheo's eyes darkened with a mischievous glint as he inched closer. Unhesitatingly, he tapped a sprinkle of white powder delicately above the neckline of your dress, right on the edge of your chest. Theodore pulled you even closer against him as Mattheo leaned in, his head lowering to quickly sniff up the line of powder. A cascade of goosebumps erupted across your skin, and your back instinctively arched.
After he'd finished, lingering tingles traced along your skin, intensifying by the millions as Mattheo sensually licked up the remaining powder. His tongue danced against your skin, brushing the delicate tops of your breasts, provoking a series of deeper breaths from your lungs. Your thighs clenched involuntarily, all while Theodore chuckled softly into your ear.
Mattheo pulled up, his lips dangerously close to yours as he whispered. "You want some?"
When you shook your head, Mattheo shrugged, moving to pour more onto your chest--your heart racing as you watched him, eyes dark, jaw tensed. On instinct, you tugged your dress down a bit further, offering him better access. Arching your back into him, your breasts spilled out as you tugged the fabric a little too far, now nearly entirely revealed, nipples just barely covered by the black fabric. At the sight, Mattheo sucked in a sharp breath, jaw falling open.
"Fuck me," he murmured, his hand instinctively coming up to grope the one not covered in cocaine.
Theodore groaned against your ear, watching the entire show with just as much exasperation as Mattheo. His hold on your waist tightened, fingers digging into the fabric of your dress as through he was trying to tear it apart within his grasp.
"That's what you've been keeping from us...." Theo's voice rumbled with dark lust, the words almost tangible in the air as his lips grazed your skin. "…for all these fucking years."
The tender caress of Theo's lips on your neck elicited a soft whimper, matched by Mattheo burying his face in your chest, sniffing up the rest of the drugs, his fingers tightening their grip on your breast, kneading it with a primal urgency. Theo's initial gentle kisses on your neck evolved into hungry bites and passionate flicks of his tongue, sucking vibrant welts into your skin.
Your body wrestled with conflicting waves of sensation, not knowing which to focus on first--blood pooled beneath Theo's teeth as he broke the vessels and marked you violet, inspiring an electrifying surge between your legs, growing more desperate with each passing second. Each touch and graze intensified the sensitivity of your skin, leaving your mouth slightly agape, head tilted back, giving both men easier access.
Mattheo groaned into your chest, a primal sound echoing desire. His rough hands moved lower, finding the hem of your dress and sliding beneath it with urgency, hiking the fabric higher up along your thighs. Your legs willingly surrendered, drawn onto his lap as he pulled them there. His nails dug into your skin as he shifted his mouth higher up your neck, capturing the side opposite Theo, working his teeth along your pulse as he too began marking your skin, sucking purple possession marks to life.
A low, sensual moan escaped your parted lips, a delicious shudder rippling through your spine. As Theo pulled his lips from your skin, you turned your head toward him, drawn by an irresistible force. The moment your eyes locked, an electric charge sparked between you, and in an instant, his lips claimed yours--a blend of sweet champagne, the faint taste of cigarettes, and the lingering hint of weed creating an intoxicating mixture, dizzying your head even more than it already was.
Mattheo's grip tightened around your thigh, a deep, primal groan escaping him, reverberating against your neck. You gasped against Theo's mouth, your fingers moving to find Mattheo's big hand, squeezing him tightly, conveying a silent, unspoken urgency--inviting him to go higher.
Taking the invitation, Mattheo's fingers crawled upwards, pushing your dress further up your thighs until your thong was nearly visible. Theo's hands left your waist, curling around your stomach before moving higher, cupping your breasts and tightening his hold on them; palming and groping and squeezing as much of the supple flesh as he could.
As you whimpered into his mouth, he groaned in response, bucking his hips against you as his long fingers worked to tug them free, exposing your entire chest to the thick, heated air within the Rover.
"Fucking hell." Mattheo muttered, instantly stalling his movements, his plush lips glistening with saliva as his eyes hungrily took in everything you'd just exposed to him. "Now this is fuel for my late night thoughts..."
Lowering his face to your chest again, taking one of your nipples in his mouth without hesitation while Theo gently rolled the other one between his fingers, their collective movements causing you to whimper and squirm against them, eyes rolling back as they each panted against you; lips and hands and teeth claiming as much of your body as they could.
Mattheo's palm slipped higher, grazing your heat over the fabric of your panties, the pads of his first two fingers catching your clit through the thin layer--immediately causing your hips to buck toward his touch as he swirled his warm tongue around your nipple, sealing his lips around it, teeth giving it a gentle tug before he released it with a wet pop.
You moaned, entire body shuddering with need as Theo's teeth tugged on your bottom lip. Breaking the kiss, his mouth moved to press hot, moist kisses against your cheek before falling to your jawline and softly nipping at the ridge. You met Mattheo's gaze, his face flushed with lust, his eyes drilling into yours as he teased you, rough fingers ghosting over your slit, catching on the hem of your panties, watching every single subtle ministration of your face as he did.
"Please," you whispered, the desperation in your voice palpable. "Stop teasing me, Riddle."
"Eager little slut..." Mattheo huffed, amused, and you could feel Theo smirk against your skin, each of their grips hardening to iron. "Look at you...spoiled little rich girl--fuck...you need to be finger fucked in the back of my fucking Range, don't you?"
A guttural groan escaped you, your head falling back against Theo's shoulder. He huffed in your ear, and there was a shared satisfaction between the two of them as they reveled in the newfound ways they had you wrapped around their fingers, surrendering to them in ways you had never dreamed of before.
Mattheo exhaled, a visible effort to rein in his self-control, brushing his thumb against your clit, his free hand coming up to grip your jaw, redirecting your eyes back to his.
"You wanna make a mess all over my expensive fucking leather, huh?" His voice was torn, shredded, a snarl past his teeth. "Tell me."
Theo's hand inched lower, his teeth nipping at your earlobe, and you nodded, swallowing the knot of lust clogging your throat. "Yes-fuck-I do-please."
"Say it," he muttered, voice low, leaning closer to you as he brushed your clit again, sending a burst of electricity through your veins. "I want to hear you fucking beg for me."
Theo's hand found your thighs, slipping between them and pulling them further apart, his heavy breathing washing over your ear.
"Mattheo, fuck-please," you grumbled through a heavy breath, lungs hitching as he teased the band of your thong, slipping under and trailing down to your mound, pausing there. "Please stop being insufferable."
"Oh, Bella...wrong fucking answer..." Theo chuckled, nails biting into your thigh. "Try again."
You groaned, attempting to inch your pelvis forward, attempting to coax his hand further, but Mattheo was unyielding, instead choosing to shift his hold on your face, forcing your jaw apart with your thumb.
"Did you forget that we saved your pretty little ass back there, hm?" His thumb pressed on your tongue, eliciting a gag, his dark eyes taunting you, revelling in your vulnerability. "Drop the fucking attitude or I'll do it for you."
You nodded against his hand, tongue fighting him to no result. His fingers jabbed into your skin, craning your head back, forcing the back of your skull to rest against Theo's shoulder. He relieved your mouth of his thumb, quickly shifting his hand to your neck.
"Tell me you need it." He commanded, tightening his grip, partially obscuring your airway. "Tell me how bad you fucking want it."
"Please," you gasped, spit leaking from the side of your mouth. "I need it so bad, I need you to make me fucking cum-fuck-please..."
"Look at that...much better bambina..." Theo murmured against your ear, his warm breath inspiring a rush of heat to your cunt. "Who knew the spoiled little rich girl could beg."
You rolled your eyes, and Mattheo caught it, returning his thumb to your mouth while simultaneously rewarding your obedience. The pad of his finger drew slow circles around your clit, warmth flooding your body, your lids fluttering in relief. Your hands shifted, one clutching Theo's thigh and the other wrapping around Mattheo's shoulder, thrusting into his hair as Theo pulled your thighs further apart.
"Mm, you're already fucking dripping..." Mattheo growled, rubbing faster in response, sending shocks of pleasure through you, your hips bucking. "Filthy little bitch."
His words, accompanied by his movements, made you groan--and Mattheo huffed, craning your head back further. You were looking into the ceiling--not that it mattered. A haze of pleasure was clouding your vision, drool spilling from your mouth as he massaged your tongue with his thumb.
You felt Theo's fingers creep lower, tugging at the fabric of your panties before slipping under, slicking two of his slender digits in your wetness, teasing over your throbbing entrance. You mewled against Mattheo's thumb, causing him to retract it; and he shushed you with his mouth, capturing you in a slow, breathless kiss, long lashes fluttering shut as he increased the pace on your clit.
Theo's chest was rising and falling against your back as he slowly thrust two fingers into your wet cunt, provoking a restrained squeal as your entire body jerked in response, your cunt clamping hard around him. He growled against your ear, curling his fingers inside of you, scissoring you open as he began to pump them in and out.
"My fucking God, principessa..." Theo husked in your ear, his voice torn. "Such a tight little cunt...so fucking wet..."
As Mattheo pulled back, lips falling to attack your jawline, you were working hard to stifle your moans, spreading your legs wider, hips bucking toward their touch. Their movements were frantic and unyielding, as though they were trying to drive you toward orgasm as quickly as possible, your eyes rolling back and your chest reaching for oxygen it failed to find.
"You want to cum, don't you?" Mattheo muttered, his own voice cracking. You bobbed your head frantically, chewing on your lip hard enough to make it bleed. "Let's hear you say it, pretty little whore..."
"Please," you whispered, your voice shredded, trying your best to keep your voice down as Theo increased his pace, the slick sounds of his fingers pumping in and out of you filling the heated silence within the Range. "Please-please-please-"
"Please, what?" Theo husked, his voice breathless, driving his fingers deeper into your cunt.
"Let me cum," you pleaded, eyes squeezing shut, unable to stop the tightness coiling in your core, unable to slow your impending release. "Please, please let me cum."
"Mm," their response was a collective groan, Mattheo's lips trailing back up to find yours as he murmured against your lips. "Cum for us."
Theo grunted, working a third finger into your cunt, rolling his wrist, and Mattheo increased his pace, the two of them collectively dragging you over the edge--and without being able to control it, you wailed, hips bucking and walls pulsing as you came around their fingers, your ears ringing and your heart pounding as the results of their overwhelming, cumulative movements wracked through you, drowning you in a sea of pleasure.
"There we go..." Theo cooed against your pulse, the deep husk of his voice rolling through your body like thunder, your orgasm wracking every nerve, every cell. "I feel that little cunt squeezing me...fuck-I need to get inside you..."
"Oh Gods...oh fuck-" you whimpered, gasping and trying to catch your breath against Mattheo's mouth as the two of them continued to run their fingers along your slit, switching places as Theo brushed his first two fingers over your clit, and Mattheo thrust two of his own into your still sensitive cunt.
Your nails dug into Theo's thigh, the other gripping Mattheo's curls with force. "Fuck-oh...I can't--Theo-Matt...Gods-"
You broke open, moans flowing from your lips like water, unable to keep yourself quiet, unable to take the onslaught of pleasure that was encompassing you. Still sensitive, you were squirming, whining, whimpering into Mattheo's mouth, and they both shushed you, cooing softly as they increased the pace on your cunt.
Mattheo's free hand kneaded your tit, muttering against your lips. "Come on, little slut...you can take it..."
"We know how much you like to be spoiled, principessa..." Theo husked, lips pressed to your ear. "Don't pretend to be shy now...
You whimpered, squirming as you fought through your overstimulation, and this only seem to spur them on as Mattheo grunted before moving back to the side of your neck, hungry to consume any inch of your skin his eyes could catch.
With another groan, he latched on to you and sucked broken capillaries to existence, littering you with his possession. His hips rocked into the side of your thigh, the bulge between his legs becoming more insatiable with every passing second, electrifying the already unfathomable sensations sweltering inside you.
The atmosphere in the car was quickly changing, the two of them becoming far more aggressive, far less patient. You were flying, heart hammering in your chest, every single inch of your skin buzzing and shaking with pleasure. You knew it wouldn't be long before you broke again, your body screaming and begging for more.
"Such a pretty cunt..." Mattheo purred, curling his fingers inside you, jabbing you deep, rocking his wrist in ruthless rhythm. "You like that, little slut? You like letting us make you cum like this?"
"Yes-fuck-" the response was immediate, involuntary. "I love it-I fucking love it..."
"We wanted to do this years ago, bambina..." Theo purred, his voice like a soothing melody in your ear. "All those years in Slytherin...seeing that fat ass in the common room every fucking day..."
"Complete fucking torture." Mattheo added with a groan, the strain in his voice palpable. "I'm going to fuck the life out of this tight little cunt...fucking cum for me, slut."
You whined, your thighs quaking with the onset bursts of ecstasy, Theo moving his fingers over your clit in short, rough strokes--wetness seeping from between your legs and moistening the leather beneath them.
And as much as you tried to keep it together; to not crumble so fucking quickly, the two of them were too skilled, knowing your signs too well, and began to increase their paces, thrusting you deep under the surface of bliss once more--eyes lolling back as your body shivered in wake of your second orgasm.
"That's right." Theo purred, praise lining his lips. "Good girl... così buono.”
Gasping, you swallowed, noting the drool that had began trailing down your chin, and once you were squirming in sensitivity, they both pulled off--conveniently synchronized with the moment the vehicle's movements slowed, before finally coming to an abrupt stop. A discreet knock on the partition signaled your arrival at the destination.
As you readjusted your dress in an attempt to regain some form of decency, Theo popped open the door, gripping your hand and practically dragging you out of the car. Mattheo's palm lingered on your lower back, holding you steady and guiding you until you stood upright, each of them waiting until you'd regained some form of composure before moving. The two of them led you towards the villa, with Theo's firm grip wrapped around your wrist and Mattheo's hand planted securely on your lower back, your heels clacking off the stones with each step.
They ushered you into the opulent house, a stunning display of luxury that stole your breath. Mattheo swiftly took your purse, carelessly placing it on a polished bench by the entrance, shedding his jacket as he disappeared down a hall. Guided by Theo, you marveled at the plush furnishings and elegant decor as he led you toward the kitchen, his grip on your wrist tight enough to bruise.
The second you entered, the atmosphere shifted, the air becoming charged with anticipation as Theo's lips crashed onto yours once again, hungry and urgent and unyielding. He shoved your back against the marble counter, his hands gripping bunches of your dress and tugging it up your thighs, stomach, chest, before urging you to raise your hands--tugging it off and tossing it to the floor beside you.
His eyes widened, tongue darting out to wet his lips as he took in your exposed figure, inch by inch. "Oh mio Dio..."
A mischievous smirk played on your lips as you took hold of his tie, pulling him closer. Your lips collided passionately, and with a sense of urgency, your fingers worked swiftly to strip off his suit jacket and move toward his belt. The desire for release consumed you; you needed him now.
"Fuck, you're so hard..." you murmured against his lips as you'd undid the clasp and grazed your fingers over his throbbing length, wasting no time before tugging his pants down, revealing his black briefs. "Does this make us even?"
"Not quite, but it's a good start," he groaned, his words a breath past his teeth. "You one time inside that little pussy can settle a fucking three-hundred dollar debt?"
You huffed, biting back your smirk. "Only one way to find out."
In a swift, intense motion, Theo seized your hips, spinning you around and forcefully pushing you against the cool kitchen counter. Your breath hitched as he pressed his body against yours, hard cock grinding against your ass as his hands deftly hooked around the band of your panties, smoothly sliding them down your trembling thighs.
As soon as the fabric hit the floor, he groaned, knocking your legs further apart with his knee. His rough palm caressed the curve of your ass, before following it with a sharp spank, making you yelp, jolting forward as pleasured pain rang out over your skin.
Instinctively, you clenched, and from the border of your vision you noticed movement--Mattheo joining back in from where ever the fuck he'd ran off to, his tie removed and the first of his buttons undone.
Bringing himself to the side of the counter opposite you, his eyes traced your form, bent over, breasts pressed against the cool marble, Theodore looming behind you as he began to tug down his boxers, his thick length springing free in relief; tip glistening. The part of the counter you were bent over was not very wide, giving Mattheo the perfect position to loom in front of you, entangling his hands in your hair as he leant down, softly pressing his lips to yours.
"You want this, puttana?" Theodore cooed, teasing your cunt with false thrusts as he slicked himself along your slit, palm caressing the burning flesh of your ass. Before you could even think to respond, he spanked you once more, your flesh quaking from his power as you whimpered into Mattheo's mouth. "You want to take this cock like a good little slut?"
Mattheo pulled back, allowing you the ability to speak--his dark eyes boring into yours as he murmured. "Answer him."
You swallowed, yelping as Theo whacked you again. "Yes! I want to..."
"What to, what?" Mattheo purred, the sadistic nature of his voice drawing heat from your veins. One free hand shifting to palm his crotch.
“I want to take your cock..." you groaned, and Mattheo cocked an eyebrow, a silent gesture telling you to finish the sentence. "...like a good little slut."
"There we go..." Mattheo murmured, leaning in to kiss you again. "Such a good girl."
"Mm-so fucking wet," Theo groaned, teasing you with the head of his cock. "Shit..."
With his hand on your hip, he plunged into your warm, wet cunt, choking on his breath as you whined and pulsed around him, enveloping him to the base. Fuck--he was big--his thick girth stretching you open, the sweet sting causing you to moan helplessly into Mattheo's mouth.
"Fuck..." Theo cursed under his breath, hissing your name as you clenched around his length, head slamming into your cervix with the very first thrust. “Porca puttana…you're so tight..."
Mattheo pulled back, straightening out and smirking down at you as he fumbled with his belt, undoing the latch before pulling out his throbbing length, your stomach instantly doing a cartwheel at the sight of it. He was just as big as Theo, and equally as fucking needy--cock pulsing as he wrapped his fist around it, pumping himself a few times as he eyed your body--took in the sight of his best friend fucking you against his kitchen counter.
And then, Mattheo's hand resumed its place in your hair, yanking your head back as he directed your eyes to meet his. He leaned in slightly, dark gaze burning wounds into your skin. "Open that filthy mouth...stick out your tongue."
Moans were flying from your lips as Theo quickened his pace, pulling out and slamming back in, pinching your hips between his fingers, cursing under his breath in Italian. Through the haze of pleasure, you obeyed Mattheo's command, jaw dropping open before sticking out your tongue.
Mattheo leaned in, closer, and spat into your mouth. "You want to suck this cock?”
Your eyes rolled back, quickly losing yourself in the hurricane of pleasure Theo was providing you with, a deep growl leaving Mattheo's throat as he tightened his grip on your hair.
“Yes, please-“ you whimpered, scalp stinging. “Please let me suck your cock.”
With an approving groan, Mattheo moved closer, guiding his twitching length past your lips, using the hold on your hair to crank your head back, the angle allowing him a long, deep stroke into your mouth, and you groaned, gagging around him.
"Shh," Mattheo purred, head falling back, lids fluttering. "Relax your throat for me."
You choked, drooling and panting as he overwhelmed your throat--but he was so far gone, so encased in fogging fizzles of lust that he didn't even put anymore thought toward your struggles, his groans growing louder with every thrust.
"Fuck..." he breathed, tightening his fist in your hair, tugging the strands with force. "That's it," pushing further, he released a moan when your neck bulged, swelling with the invasion of his cock. "Choke on it, whore."
He snapped his hips, pushing deeper, and you gurgled against his dick, but it only caused him to increase his pace, adjusting your head back as he started fucking into your throat. Every thrust brought a noise from your mouth, and every noise he ignored, fingers scraping your skin as bliss overwhelmed his senses.
Your body was throbbing, desperately fighting off its third orgasm, tears stinging your eyes as Theo fucked you deep, stretching you wide, your wails being suffocated by Mattheo's thick cock, your body physically convulsing in overwhelming, toe-curling pleasure.
"She likes this," Theo breathed, his hand snaking under your hip, fingers connecting with your clit, and you wailed against Mattheo's cock, eyes rolling back in your skull as you drowned in pleasure. "…she likes being used like a piccola troia del cazzo.” (little fucking slut)
"Mhm," Mattheo breathed, voice hoarse with pleasure. "Yeah she fucking does."
Delight resonated at their words--you were so drunk on the euphoria of being fucked that you could only moan helplessly in agreement. You were close, your orgasm a quickly rising tide, ready to crash over you at any given moment. Your body was trembling, near convulsing, cunt clamping down around Theo, pushing him dangerously close to his own peak.
"Fuck-" Mattheo choked, lungs sputtering--Theo's fingers swirling your clit harsher, quicker. They were both close, you could tell. "Fucking pretty little mouth feels so good wrapped around me..."
As your eyes fluttered, dangerously close to reaching your own peak, both men stalled, pulling out abruptly. You almost wailed in protest, almost chewed them each out for abandoning you so fucking close to orgasm like that, until they moved, switching places as though it was a silent understanding, as though they communicated without you hearing it.
Theodore stepped around to your side of the counter, quickly fisting your hair and forcing your mouth to his cock. You whimpered, tasting your own juices on his thick length, but before you could even generate a thought in your head, Mattheo sank into your wet heat, sucking in air through his teeth as it swallowed his heavy, hard length.
"Fucking hell..." he groaned, hands sliding up your sides and finding your tits, cupping them as he began pummelling your cunt. "Fuck-this pussy was worth the wait...so fucking worth the wait..."
You howled in ecstasy, moaning and gagging simultaneously as Theodore fucked your throat with no mercy, thrusting in and out with an animalistic pace. Mattheo slid a hand down your stomach, trailing over the mound of your pussy, connecting with your clit and rubbing vigorous circles against it. The reaction was immediate--your whole body jolting and withering under each of their massive frames, your lungs gasping and panting for air.
"Fuck-you're squeezing me so hard-I'm gonna cum in this tight cunt..." Mattheo breathed, free hand giving your swollen ass cheek another harsh smack. "Fucking slut-shit..."
You whinged, your climax fast approaching, and Theo jerked your head further back, meeting your glossy eyes. "You want to cum, huh?" He muttered, fucking deep into your throat. "You want to fucking cum for us?"
You nodded, or tried to anyways, and Theo grinned, gracing your cheek with a playful smack. "Go on then."
Body obedient out of habit, you snapped, pleasure storming through your raw, shredded nerves, stripping them of any control they had left, legs twitching and lids squeezing shut while you screamed onto his dick. He cursed in satisfaction, his hands squeezing fistfuls of your hair while he held off his own peak, fucking into you until you began to struggle for breath, your lips and jaw going numb.
"Fuck me,” Mattheos voice was shredded, physically in pain, free hand whacking your ass. "She likes cumming on my fucking cock…sexy little bitch-fuck-“
Theo groaned, the sound doing unspeakable things to your body as Mattheo pulled his fingers off your clit and returned to clutch your hip. You knew they both were close, their movements turning erratic--Theo's chest sputtering with each breath until as you felt his hot cum shoot down the back of your throat, you mewled--swallowing every last drop.
You must have blacked out, you must have disconnected from your own body for a moment, because when you came to--all you knew was you could feel Mattheo's climax rupturing through him--you felt the violent fucking into your cervix, the hitching, stuttering of his hips, felt him silence himself against your back while he poured jets of cum into your cunt, felt him throbbing at the hilt as he stopped, wiping the sweat from his brow as he pulled out, tucking himself away.
The room was silent, and for a few moments you were paralyzed, focused on trying to bring breath back into your lungs, focused on trying to return your heart rate to a normal pace. At this point, you weren't sure what was intoxicating you anymore--wether it was the alcohol or the buzzing, overwhelming lust that was slowly fizzling off your skin--but you knew that you were spent, your body nothing more than a limp, exhausted, sweaty mass of flesh.
Mattheo gripped your arms, tugging you off the counter. Theo passed him his white dress shirt, and Mattheo aided you in slipping your arms inside before wrapping his arm around your waist--walking you over toward the couch, plopping down and lying back along its length. Theodore joined in, moving to your other side, the both of them nuzzling up against your exhausted body as the three of you worked to come down from your highs, worked to return your pulses back to a normal pace.
After a moment, once your head had stopped spinning, you flicked your gaze over the both of them, smirk teasing your lips. “Round two?”
5K notes · View notes
sankttealeaf · 6 months
Note
Can I request Tav and astarion but they get trapped together and astarion has to feed but feels like Tav offering isn’t really giving consent since they are trapped and he thinks they feel obligated. Bonus points if they’re also bickering and pining for other
this was so much fun to write! i may have gotten a little carried away but i hope you enjoy!! requests are still open if anyone is interested<3 i'm really enjoying writing these and am open for more ideas!!
✧・゚: *✧・゚:*
trapped
pairing ; astarion x gender neutral!reader
summary ; a wild treasure hunt leads to an unfortunate situation where you find yourself stuck in a cave-in with Astarion. / ao3
other info ; wyll, karlach and gale get special roles in this because i physically cannot stop myself from including other companions in the background. no real spoilers for the game so you're free to read wherever you are in the game!!
warnings ; vampire feeding, blood mention, vague mention of Astarion's past, general conversation surrounding consent (but everything is consensual because that's hot)
word count ; 5.9k (again. went a little wild)
You have no idea how long you have been walking for. It feels like days though you are certain it was only a few hours. The lack of sunlight is starting to get to you and the cramped cave system you are walking through is really not where you wanted to be today.
Was it a little ridiculous to be chasing a lead you found on a note on a dead traveller? Probably. Did you have to convince everyone that it wouldn't be a waste of their time? Yes. But here you are, travelling in the dark to hunt down buried treasure.
Karlach was more than happy to join you, in fact she was the first one who volunteered to be part of the “treasure hunting team”, as she called it. She managed to get Wyll involved and you were happy with this group. As you were getting ready to leave you had a last minute addition to the team - Astarion. Why he wanted to join you trekking through a damp cave, you had no idea. You weren’t going to ask, either.
So, here you are in the depths of a cave system, following a badly drawn map that should lead you all to hidden treasure. It took you way too long to get to this location and the day is already drawing to a close. You are certain you weren’t going to make it back to camp before nightfall. This treasure has to be worth it.
Through flooded areas and tight walkways, the deeper you get into the cave the quicker your hopes that this treasure would be easy to find crumbles. On the map it looks simple, yet the actual cave was difficult to navigate and you are not as prepared as you thought you would be. Perhaps you should have taken the spare rope from Halsin before you left camp. Karlach spends the time picking up interesting rocks she comes across, rushing over to show you with a grin on her face and a list of places to put it back at camp. You have a few rocks she gave to you in your pocket and you are glad that her optimism never falters the longer you travel. Wyll has marked arrows on the walls to keep track of where you have been, which is an idea that didn't even cross your mind until you noticed him doing it. And Astarion is… complaining.
Maybe complaining is the wrong word. It's more like he has been announcing loudly how he thought this would be an easy task to complete. He didn't sign up to be wading through knee deep cave water or scrambling over rocks to get to the next area. Neither did you, but you aren’t complaining about it.
You have managed to drown out his comments for the most part, keeping your focus on following the map and making sure not to get lost. There have been a few times where you almost walked on some loose stone and went plummeting down into the depths of the cave and you really didn't fancy getting stuck down here. You have also noticed the further you went into the cave the more dust and debris that fell from the ceiling. A sinking feeling begins to settle in your stomach and you approach each step with caution.
“Personally I think this map is leading us to a dead end,” Astarion says as he slinks up next to you, ignoring how lost in focus you were. “We should cut our losses and return back to camp before nightfall, don’t you agree?”
The dust from the ceiling drops in front of you again as you pause, reaching an arm out to stop Astarion in his tracks. “Be quiet, would you?”
“Everything alright?” Wyll asks from behind, hand reaching for his rapier in case something jumps out to attack.
Either something was down here with you or the cave ceiling isn’t as strong as you would like. You didn't know which thought was worse. Turning back to Wyll and Karlach, you shake your head slightly. “Be on your guard. Something’s off.”
“This is what I’ve been saying for the past five minutes. Have you seriously not been listening to me?” Astarion asks as you continue walking at a slower pace now, acutely aware of every foreign noise that doesn’t come from your group.
“Not really. I’m trying to keep us alive here,” you reply quietly, eyes darting from the floor to your surroundings in quick succession.
You stop in your steps as you hear the rumbling grow louder, though Astarion keeps talking even after you shush him again. It’s a rolling noise, one that grows the more you focus on it; a sound of rock against rock and a low rumble from above. You cast your gaze upwards and spot the beginnings of a large crack splitting the ceiling. Like pressure on ice, it splits into several off shoots before crumbling beneath whatever weight was on it.
You quickly pull Astarion towards you, dragging him away from the collapsing ceiling as you both fall to the floor with a thud. In an instant, your surroundings grow darker as a wall of stone and rubble barricades you and Astarion from Wyll and Karlach. The dust settles from the sudden upheaval of rock and the noise you have been hearing stops. Shit.
“Are you both alright?” Wyll calls out from behind the rubble and you can hear the sound of stone grating against stone which only cements your idea that this could be an early grave for you both if you didn't think fast.
You glance over at Astarion who is dusting himself off, rubbing at his elbow in a way that makes you assume he landed on it wrong. “We’re alive… just.”
“Does the map show any other ways to get to you? I’m not certain we can budge all this stone…” Wyll asks as you hear the sound of metal against the stone and a disappointed sigh from Karlach. You sit upright, grabbing the map from where it fell onto the ground and frown. It was a one way system, looping back around the way you came once you got to where the treasure was. This pathway is the only way in and out of the cave. You are stuck.
“So, uh… bad news… There’s no other way around,” you reply. The silence that follows on their end is not a good sign, however it is quickly broken by Astarion.
“What?!” He looks at you in dismay, his face falling at the thought of being stuck here. “You cannot be serious.”
“We’ll find a way to get you guys out! Don’t even stress!” Karlach yells. Her voice gets quiet but you can still hear her. “Do you think they’re stressed, Wyll?”
You take a moment to assess the cave-in, trying to budge a few rocks out of place but nothing moves. Perhaps with enough force they could be displaced, but you don’t have anything on that level right now.
“Wyll? Do you have anything that could push the rocks away?” you ask, hoping he has something in or on him that could force the rocks out of place.
“I don’t…” he pauses for a moment, before you hear him click his fingers together as an idea forms. “But Gale does. I know the spell you are hinting at. We can go back and get him?” he suggests, and you run the time it would take for them to get back to camp and back here again in your head. They would be back by early morning at the earliest… Which means you will need to spend the night in a cold, slightly damp cave. You give Astarion a look.
“Don’t look at me like that. I’m not going to dig our way out. My hands are way too delicate for that,” he says, turning his back to the problem at hand.
“Gale seems to be our only way out, which means we may need to spend the night here…” you tell him.
“Gale? Our only hope? What is he going to do, talk the rocks to death?” He rolls his eyes. “Surely there’s another way out?”
“There isn’t.” You sigh, rubbing at your temples as you begin to feel a stress headache forming. “And he can use spells, Astarion. Gale can shatter the rocks or something. They’re too tightly packed to move them normally. We’re stuck here until he can sort it out.”
“Great. Wonderful, actually. I’ve always wanted to spend a night in a cave. Thanks for this, really!” His voice drips with sarcasm and you have to physically hold yourself back from getting annoyed at him.
“I didn't personally cause this cave in! You think I want to be stuck here with you like this? Gods, you are infuriating.”
Before the argument could escalate, Wyll calls out from behind the wall of rocks that he and Karlach are going to head back to camp and grab Gale. They’ll be as quick as they can, he promises. It gives you some reassurance that you will not be stuck here for too long with Astarion.
The sound of your fellow companions leaving fills you with anxiety as the clock begins to tick on getting you both out alive. This is not how you planned this trip to go and you are starting to wonder if this was even worth it at this point. Astarion didn't seem to think so.
"For your information, I am not sleeping on the floor with no bedroll. This is expensive fabric, I’m not ruining it.” Astarion gestures to his outfit as you begin to set yourself down on the ground, ready to call it a day.
“We’ve camped in worse places, I don’t understand why you’re complaining so much about this,” you say, rummaging through your bag and thanking the Gods you packed some food for yourself.
“At least at camp I have my tent. And all my belongings. And comfort. Do I need to go on?” He shifts in his stance, looking down the tunnel to avoid your gaze.
You glare at him. “Okay, fine, I guess this isn’t an ideal place to rest. But I don’t want to travel too far in case we get lost. And then we’ll probably die down here. Do you want that?”
He sighs but doesn’t make a comment. You take it as a win.
After placing the contents of your bag onto the ground you come to two conclusions. One: the floor is far too damp to start a fire which means you are going to spend the next few hours cold. Two: you have enough food for yourself, but you aren’t sure if Astarion bought anything of use with him. You didn't see him pack much before he said he was joining you. He is still standing when you look over to him again.
“Are you going to stand all night?” you ask as he nods, still avoiding your gaze.
“Like I said. Expensive fabric. I’m not ruining it because someone got us trapped in here,” he replies and you roll your eyes. Wordlessly, you unbuckle your cloak from your shoulders and place it down on the floor for him. The dampness of the floor is most likely going to ruin your nice and expensive cloak, but at least it will stop him complaining. Hopefully.
He looks from you to the cloak and back again, confusion crossing his face and disappearing as quickly as it arrived. “What’s that for?”
“Just sit down. Please.” You start to reorganise the contents of your back, returning the tinderbox and an almost empty waterskin but keeping out the food you swiped before you left. When you look back up, you see Astarion has sat down atop your cloak. You hold back a smile.
The silence that falls over the both of you is broken by droplets of water or the sound of other vaguely ominous cave noises. If your timing is right you are certain it was now early evening. Hopefully Karlach and Wyll have left the cave by now.
“Did you bring any food?” you ask after a little while passes. It’s only when the question leaves your lips that you realise it is a stupid one. The look Astarion gives you only enhances your point.
“Yes, actually. I have three live rabbits tucked neatly away in my bag in case I fancied a snack,” he responds, opening up his pack with a flourish. “Did you want one? I’m so happy to share.” A few books and his trusty thieves tools were the only things you spot before he shoves his bag to the side with a frown. “Of course I didn't bring any food.”
You feel bad holding a stale bread roll in your hand as he tells you that and you lower it down slightly, letting him continue his rant.
“I was considering going to hunt down a cave bat or something. Not what I wanted, but I guess a life of “adventure”-” he says the word with exaggerated air quotes around them, “means that I bury the idea that I’ll ever get a lavish meal again.” He crosses his arms in annoyance.
“You shouldn’t eat a bat. You could get sick. Rabies, or something like that,” you tell him, though you aren’t sure your fun fact is a welcomed sight right now. The look on his face tells you that it isn't. “Halsin told me that after I tried to convince him to keep a family of bats that were living near one of the spots we set up camp a while ago…”
Astarion blinks, unsure of how he is supposed to react to that nugget of information. “Now my meal options have been reduced to nothing. Thanks. You’re truly a beacon of hope.”
An idea pings into your mind as you take in how irritated he is getting, most likely from the lack of food on his part. Not that you have been keeping tabs on when he would feed but from your calculations it had been a while. The last time he fed on you was a week or so ago and you still felt the sting of his fangs against your neck even now. It is an uncomfortable sensation and you were certain that it would only happen again in dire circumstances.
This feels like a dire circumstance…
“You can feed on me if you want.” The words come out quickly before you have a chance to think too deeply about the implications of it. You take a mouthful of bread to stop yourself from taking back the offer.
The irritation on his face dissipates into a softer look, one you didn't recognize. His usual quick remarks have vanished at your suggestion and it takes him a good minute to respond. The minute feels like hours to you as you start to regret even offering. Was it weird? Did you say it in a strange way?
“You don’t… I mean, I’m sure I’ll manage until we get back to camp.” He waves nonchalantly though you are unsure if he really means it.
“No offence but I have noticed you lagging behind a little lately…” you begin, unable to hold your gaze on him. “I just assumed, well, y’know… Plus I have a lot of blood to spare, so I don’t mind.” You cringe a little at that last sentence, wondering why you said it like that.
“It’s really not a big deal, I’m perfectly fine! If need be I can always go and find…” he grimaces at the next few words that leave his mouth, “a cave rat or something.”
You aren’t sure if you should feel offended at how he hasn’t jumped on the opportunity to feed from a person. Maybe it is because of how little you allowed him to feed on you. Maybe he hates you and would rather drink blood from a rat than you. You push that thought away with a frown.
“Astarion, I’m offering this to you if you need to,” you say as you set down your own food. “I’d rather you do it while I’m awake this time.” You see that he is thinking of more ways to put barriers between him and feeding on you and you wish he could be straightforward with you and say no.
“You’re all the way over there and like I said before, I don’t want to get my clothes wet,” he says and you can’t help but laugh at that. “What?”
“You can tell me no, it’s okay. I just thought I’d offer seeing as I really doubt you’ll find many cave rats around.”
He’s quiet for a moment and you can’t work out what he’s thinking. With what little you know about Astarion and his past you can’t help but assume he hasn’t had that many opportunities to say no to things.
He considers his words, opening and closing his mouth a few times before sighing, looking at you with a soft frown. “I don’t want you to feel like you are obligated to do this considering our circumstance.”
You blink in confusion at that, unsure why he feels that way. You wouldn't have offered if you didn't feel comfortable in allowing him to feed, so why was he convinced you were doing this because there was no other option?
“We haven’t built up much of a feeding rapport, that’s all! We haven’t… done this much. It still feels new.” He looks away and it clicks in your head at once - he’s nervous. You are also incredibly nervous about this, but if it means he is at the top of his game afterwards then the pain would be a small price to pay for it.
“I have no idea how else I’m supposed to say this: I’m giving you permission to feed on me, Astarion.” You want to know what he is thinking as your words hang in the air. You want to tell him that this is you telling him it’s okay, you’re wanting this just as much as he needs it.
He waits a moment, like he is expecting you to tell him you're joking or change your mind but it doesn't happen. When he realises you mean this and aren't saying it for the sake of it, he gives you a nod.
"Alright. Only if you're sure," he says quietly, moving over on your cloak to give you room beside him. You move over to sit next to him, glad to be off the cold floor and sitting on something that wasn't as uncomfortable.
"Is this alright? Do you need me to be in a certain position?" you ask quickly, shifting yourself from sitting on your knees to crossing your legs.
"It's easier if you lay down," he replies, quickly adding, "for the blood flow."
"Right. That makes sense." You check to see how much room you have of your cloak behind you before shuffling forward, coming face to face with Astarion for a moment. The sudden closeness causes you to stop in your tracks for a moment, holding his gaze for a moment longer than what is normal.
It's strange how you never really see Astarion without his guard up. Whenever you two bicker it was always with his signature smile on his face and a carefree laugh after each comment. But seeing him here and now with the gentle furrow of his brows and the soft lines etched along his face you can't help but try to memorise it all. Without even realising you found yourself moving a hand up to brush some hair from his face, stopping yourself once it rested ever so lightly against his cheek. You are about to pull away until you feel him lean into the touch, something you had not planned on happening.
The sound of a loose rock falling a little way away causes the moment to break as you pull away from him quickly, ready to move in case there was another cave in.
In an instant, the facade he has is pulled back up. "Are you trying to get me to starve to my death?" he asks once you have realised there was no chance of another incident. You laugh a little in response, cheeks warming up at the moment the two of you just shared.
"Wanted the last thing I saw to be something good. You know, in case you drink all of my blood and I die," you tease, before laying back on your cloak. The reality of what was about to happen is starting to settle in now and you keep your focus on the ceiling above you, not on Astarion.
"I promise you I won't kill you. I don't have any way of getting you back and I'd rather not have to explain to the others what happened," he replies, hands moving to either side of your head to hold himself up. He's at an angle, legs staying to one side of you. It's a little awkward and you can tell it's not ideal for him.
"That's good to hear! I do bring a scroll of revivify with me everywhere so we have a backup plan… just in case." It is hard to keep your gaze on the ceiling now as Astarion leans over you. Your heart pounds heavily against your chest and you cannot work out if it's because you know you are about to lose blood and it was working to keep it flowing or perhaps because of something else you didn't want to admit to yourself.
"Are you ready?" he asks softly, and you can already anticipate the sharp sting of his fangs piercing your skin. You give him a nod and turn your head to the side, exposing your neck to him.
He leans in and you can feel his breath against your neck. It takes everything in you to not turn to look at him, even seeing him so close out of the corner of your eye was enough to redden your cheeks. You hope he didn't notice.
The sudden pain is sharp and takes you off guard, reaching to grab onto Astarion's shoulder tightly to try and take your mind off of it. It's not as bad as the first time he fed from you, but it certainly isn't any better. He shifts positions as you see his legs now straddling you, and if anyone were to suddenly burst down the wall of rock it would be a rather embarrassing encounter for everyone. You forgot how intimate this whole ordeal could be.
You close your eyes as the pain subsides, now giving way to a feeling of numbness that crashes over you. You're very aware of the feeling of his lips against your neck and it would be so easy to let yourself imagine this was something else entirely. But then you move and the discomfort of your blood being removed from your body kicks back in and you have to stop yourself from allowing him to take too much from you. You give his shoulder a soft squeeze, and when there's no response from him you are forced to find your voice.
"Hey…" You mumble, tightening your grip on his shoulder. "Astarion..?"
He does nothing except press himself closer to you, savouring every last drop he could get. Black spots begin to fill your vision and with what little strength you had in you, you smack your arm down into his side to get him to stop.
He pulls away from your neck at the impact, blood smeared across his lips and his pupils dilated - you can hardly see the red anymore. Would it be odd to say that he looked so very handsome like this?
"Shit," he says breathlessly, "might have over indulged there. Sorry."
You give him a weak laugh, feeling your head spin at the sudden blood loss. "S'alright. Just glad you didn't kill me."
His eyes glance back at your neck as you speak, and when he leans you worry that he was going in for round two. You are taken aback when he licks across the area he had just bitten. If you weren't so dizzy you would have questioned him as he sits back, still straddling your waist.
"I'm not about to waste perfectly good blood," he says, noticing the confusion on your face. "Are you alright, though? You look a little pale."
You give him a thumbs up, still laying down. "All good. Missing some blood, that's all."
He nods, watching as you close your eyes again. You could quite easily drift off to sleep right now, the dizziness and the general feeling of not being right only adding to the need to rest. When you don't feel Astarion move off of you, you open one of your eyes to make sure he was okay.
"Are you alright?" you ask, catching him deep in thought.
"Oh, yes, I'm great. Wonderful. Absolutely perfect," he replies too quickly for it to be truthful. You frown, sitting up slowly to be at eye level with him.
"Is there more blood there still?" you ask him, watching as his eyes keep going back to your neck. "If there is, you should get it."
His touch is so soft you cannot discern if he was cleaning up some blood on your neck or if it is a kiss. When it happens again you realise he isn't cleaning up your neck but kissing over the spot he had just bitten. It is a strange feeling and one you didn't expect to feel after being drained from your blood, but as he moves along your neck leaving faint kisses in his trail you wonder if perhaps he had similar feelings towards you as you did him. You have always been happy to push those feelings down, keeping your focus on the main goal at hand. But here, trapped in a cave with no one to bug you to keep on track, maybe you could indulge yourself this once.
Astarion pulls back from your neck to look at you, his lips are still tinted a softer red from your blood and you find yourself staring at them for a little too long. Gently, you place your hand back on his cheek, smiling when he leans into the touch again. His hand moves to cover yours and you are still in shock at how soft his movements are.
The gap between you both closes slowly and you are aware of what this would lead to. Playful remarks and comments about hooking up were one thing, but this was not playing out like how you imagined it would. You didn't picture yourself being stuck in a cave with him, for starters. You want to ask him if this was okay, if this was even allowed.
You opened your mouth to speak and are suddenly caught off guard by the sound of more rocks falling elsewhere, echoing through the cave. The sudden sound causes you to flinch as you both turn to look in the direction it came from, further along the tunnel. At least it wasn't the way you came, you thought.
Astarion looks back at you after a moment and clears his throat, sitting back to put some distance between you both.
"You should get some rest. I'll, uh, keep watch in case the others turn up," he says quickly, climbing off of your lap in a clumsy manner. You can't help but feel slightly sad at the loss of his touch, but sleep was begging for you to join it.
"Wake me if anything happens," you tell him as you lay back down, already closing your eyes. You don't hear his response as sleep greets you with open arms.
Sounds of your name being called over and over again wakes you up from your slumber. Your head hurts and you feel as if you've been fighting fifty different battles and didn't win one of them. There was a pressure on your chest and as you come to you are met with a mess of white hair laying on you, Astarion's arms wrapped tightly around your midriff. You smile softly at the scene, hand moving to brush through his hair slowly. He hums in response but the moment is broken by your names being called again.
"Are you both still alive?" It's Wyll, you note, which only means he and Karlach had either gotten lost and returned back or they had Gale with them.
"We're still here!" you call back, still groggy from sleep. "Is Gale with you?"
Gale's voice is heard next and you have never been so happy to hear him speak. "The one and only!"
"Thank the Gods. Gale, I promise you that I will buy you whatever you want when we get to Baldur's Gate, just please tell me you have a way to get us out of here," you say, hoping that he had good news with him.
Astarion stirs from all the loud conversation, pressing himself closer to you in an attempt to drown out the noise. You move your hand from his head as you try to sit yourself up. It doesn't work.
Gale continues speaking. "I have a way to get you both out, don't you worry. I will need to ask you both to stand as far back as possible. I mean it. Far. Back."
You give Astarion a shake of his shoulder, trying to wake him. "Hey. Get up. We're almost out of here."
"This is not a good time to wake me up," he grumbles, swatting your hand away with a groan. "Too early."
"Gale is literally on the other side ready to blow this wall of rocks up. Wake up." You continue to shake him awake, ignoring the groans of protest.
He turns to look up at you with pleading eyes. "He can wait five more minutes. Please?"
You want to say yes, to give in and allow himself a moment of comfort. But your back hurts from laying on rock for hours and you want nothing more than to sit in your own tent and get some fresh air. You sit up quickly, causing Astarion to lose his place on your chest and sit up with you.
"I cannot believe this betrayal," he exclaims dramatically, giving you a half-asleep but playful glare. "Being this pretty doesn't come easy, you know. I need my sleep."
"You don't even sleep," you mumble, ignoring how your head sways as you push yourself up to your feet. "And you're pretty enough already." You blame the aches and pains for that last comment, though it doesn't seem to go past Astarion as quickly as you wish it did.
He grins. "You think I'm pretty?"
"Shut up and move your things. I want to get back to camp." You begin to pack away your belongings, shoving things back into your pack and waiting for Astarion to do the same. He picks up your cloak and gives it a quick brush off before putting it on himself. You're too busy putting distance between yourself and the rocks to even notice this. He slides up next to you after a moment, arm wrapping around your shoulder with a grin.
"Okay, I think you're good to go!" you yell, hoping Gale can hear you through the wall. You get confirmation almost immediately afterwards.
You feel Astarion lean towards you as you wait. "I think we should get trapped together more often. Who knows what else it could lead to?"
"More puncture holes in my neck, probably," you mumble in response. He laughs, his lips meeting your neck again just under the place where he drank from you hours ago.
"But you're so delectable," he whispers and you glare at him. The blush rising on your cheeks tells him you aren't mad.
With an almighty crash of thunder, the rocks that made up the wall you have been trapped behind suddenly disperse, the larger ones shattering and the smaller ones turning into dust. You cover your face at the impact and when your ears stop ringing you turn to see Gale, Wyll and Karlach on the other side.
Karlach immediately runs over, arms outstretched and embracing both you and Astarion without thinking.
"I'm so glad you both aren't dead. I have no idea how I'd break the news to Scratch and the Cub! Or everyone else, I suppose," she says once she lets go of you both, your clothes slightly singed by the warmth emanating from her.
"Did you find the treasure?" Gale asks when the three of you walk back to him and Wyll and is only slightly disappointed when you shake your head no. "Ah, well, nothing lost then! I'm sure there's plenty of other treasure to be found. Hopefully not in caves, though. Might I suggest avoiding them in the future?"
"Suggestion taken. I miss sunlight," you reply, feeling Astarion's hand move from your shoulder to the small of your back.
"We had fun though, didn't we? A cave-in can certainly bring people closer together. Right, my dear?" Astarion grins, giving you a wink.
"As much as we all would love to know what that's insinuating, we really should get out of here before there's another freak accident," Wyll suggests, gesturing to the way out.
You nod, wanting nothing more than to breathe fresh air and be away from cramped spaces.
The journey out of the cave is long and feels longer due to the woozy feeling of having a little less blood than you started the journey with. You find yourself leaning on Astarion for support every now and then and he is more than happy to wrap an arm around you to keep you up. The two of you are at the back of the group; you didn't want your slow pace slowing everyone else down.
"I never thanked you earlier," Astarion says quietly to you, a look of sincerity on his face.
"Oh, it's no problem," you reply, nudging him with your elbow. "Just don't almost kill me next time."
"Next time?" He raises an eyebrow with a grin. "You'll allow me to go for seconds?"
"As long as you treat me as nicely as you did afterwards, I may consider it." Thinking about the almost kiss that happened after makes you blush and Astarion shrugs casually, though you can spot the faintest hint of pink spreading across his cheeks.
"Maybe. We can always do that without the biting part," he suggests. "Only if you want."
"I'd like that." You give him a smile, leaning over to press a kiss onto his cheek. "Only if you want, too."
The first sign of daylight causes you to pull away from him before he can respond as you rush over to the opening of the cave with Karlach, thankful to get fresh air again.
Astarion watches you go, listening to you cheering and praising Gods you didn't believe in. How quickly his plans could crumble. How quickly you made him feel accepted. There was a knot present in his stomach that was slowly untangling itself the more he thought about intimacy with you. Perhaps, one day, he would want that with you.
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kaysdenofchaos · 3 months
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Hello there! I love your "TMMT" incarnation! It's so creative and well-drawn. On that matter, I'd like to know: what weapons do the four boys and Splinter use?
Teenage Meddling Mutant Turtles: Weapons
awwwgdhw, ty <3333 in general the boys all still use the same weapons as their predecessors, but id be more than happy to go more in depth :]
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most simple are raph and leo, who both use their twin sais and katanas, respectively. while raph has a set of the classics, he prefers the mobility of the yin-yang sais, as shown above. they're great as a throwing and disarming weapon, allowing him to subdue enemies easily. leo on the other hand uses katanas, inspired by Splinter and previously Mikey. he's as skilled, if not more, in weapon fighting as Raph, but loses when it comes to experience and strength.
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though mikey primarily uses nunchucks (they're fun), he's trained and skilled in all of his brothers' weapons- especially the sword. before raph, mikey spent many years (9-13+ yo) fighting solo, so it'd been necessary for him to develop his skills and adaptability fast. donnie on the other hand, having only joined the family less than 2 years ago, is still learning how to use the bo staff. its smth hes trying to adjust to, even if he prefers range weapons. regardless, theyre both good for attacking from a distance, which helps protect his plastron.
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bàba shen is,, heavily inspired by the grandfather in bullet train lmao. though his old age wears him down like rise splinter, he still fights well, either with his fists or his hidden sword. he once trained in yearning for revenge of what he's lost- now he trains to protect what he's left.
+ extra sketches :3
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~~~
TMMT Iteration Masterpost || Commission Info
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bunni-v1 · 6 months
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Aommgg
Could I request the nrc staff + grim finding out you‘re a girl (plantonic)?
Or do they all know straight from the start?
TW: None
Info: Crowley, Grim, Sam, Cruel, Trien x Reader (Platonic)
🍓Hello lovely! I didn't want to make a whole long post about this, but I do want to talk about it. I'm so glad you asked! So the staff is... made aware of the situation, obviously. But, I think I'll go a little into depth on how each member deals with this information.
Crowley knows because... well... he sees you out of the ceremonial robes before anyone else does. He handles it as well as he does every other issue he comes across. "Just cover it up!" Famously said by Crowley. He's not unkind though, he does ensure that you get the help you need and he makes sure you keep what you need hidden, well, hidden. But... he won't do more than the bare minimum unless his hand is forced. Like... with Scarabia, he pretty much threatened the whole dorm with expulsion if they so much as uttered a word to anyone but amongst themselves. He is, unsurprisingly, not a father figure to you. He's more like... you're weird quirky uncle that you like, but only in small doses.
Grim, our little guy, finds out at the same time as Crowley... and he's a little harder to convince to keep his mouth shut to start. He doesn't like you, okay, you stole his position at NRC (like he had a chance at all). With a few well-placed cans of tuna from both you and Crowley, he keeps his little rat mouth shut. However, when you're actually granted studentship as NRC? His tune changes. It changes because Crowley holds his position as a student over his head, but it changes. Not a SINGLE person will ever hear you're a woman from Grim. He can't lose this position, not after so much work to get where he's gotten to. Besides, he grows to really love you! You're family to him, and no one out family. Seriously, he's so protective of it, once Ace and Deuce figure it out they're too scared to talk because of Grim's looming presence.
Sam is the first member of Staff to find out, other than Crowley. How? Crowley's sudden interest in pads, tampons, birth control, and all the fun stuff that comes with being a woman. Sam usually would just shrug his shoulders and excuse Crowley's quirky behavior, but then you come in looking like a lost deer and he gets it. He is genuinely so nice to you though! If you ever feel unsafe on campus, you talk to Sam and he'll handle it for you, okay? Sure, he jacks up the prices on your feminine products, but it's considerably less than his normal prices. Hell, if you're short, he'll "suddenly" remember he's got a discount on those items. He's like a cool older brother, honestly. He lets you hang out in the back of the shop and do homework when you ask, and he gives you snacks at a discount when you're there!
Crewel doesn't really treat you any differently than anyone else. Admittedly though, he's fond of you, even if you're a troublemaker. When you come into his class on your first day in a uniform six times too big for you, he feels pity for you. You didn't ask to be here, and now you have to wear that atrocious old uniform? You poor little pup. He's not exactly easy on you, but he's more understanding of your mistakes. Eventually, after you get to know him better, he offers to get you a nicer uniform and also privately tutor you. This is his excuse for keeping you busy so that you don't have as many chances to get found out, and it's also because you are horrifically failing his class and it looks bad on him.
Trien treats you the most differently out of everyone on staff. The SECOND he found out you were a girl and were being forced to hide that fact for Crowley's sake? Oh my god, grandpa was PISSED. Crowley got an EARFUL after that meeting. This man makes it his mission to make your stay as comfortable as he possibly can make it because sevens know Crowley won't be doing SHIT. After he meets you? Oh my god, you remind him of his own girls when they were little. He absolutely adores you, and everyone can tell. It's so odd to the other students because he clearly favors you, and when they ask you about it you've got no clue. He is your dad here at NRC, as out of character as that might be. You are a young woman lost in a world that is not kind to you going through so much more than you need to. He doesn't want to add more to your plate. You can come to him for anything and he will provide as best as he can.
Vargas (I'm sorry for forgetting about him lol) is a lot like Crewel in the fact that he doesn't treat you too differently from his other students. You're still made to push yourself to your upper limits for gym, still expected to keep up with your peers, and still expected to meet his general expectations. However, if it's way too much for you to do, out of fear of Crowley and Trien breathing down his neck, he'll lessen your load. Otherwise, he doesn't really have much chance to be around you outside of class. He finds you amusing and knows you've got a good head on your shoulders, but that's about it from him.
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edgeray · 22 days
Text
“LATE NIGHT DEVIL, PUT YOUR HANDS ON ME
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and never never never ever let go”- Teeth, 5 Seconds of Summer
Mafia AU! Arlecchino x Reader Oneshot
Author's Note: It's been a while since I've actually published anything on here. Well, my gay ass is back with another oneshot. This one has been in the works for at least a month. I'm considering making a Part 2, but that will definitely take at least a couple weeks for me to publish (if not months). I wish I was kidding. School literally hates me and my teachers are incessant on killing my GPA. This is also a gift for @megistusdiary because it'll be her birthday when I post this. Please go check out her blog for amazing genshin wlw content (especially Arlecchino content!) Would you guys like this on AO3 as well?
Content Warning/Info: This is a long af oneshot (6.3k words), long af descriptions and kinda long intro, Arlecchino is referred to with they/them pronouns, implied female but no usage of feminine pronouns for Reader, general dark-ish content, pet names, Arlecchino is a lil scary, I've never been to a club so I apologize for the very inaccurate information, nor have I ever been apart of the mafia so also inaccurate, a bit suggestive but otherwise sfw, if I'm missing anything feel free to tell me!
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Monsters are said to have lied underneath beds–waiting to ensnare an unknowing victim–or stalk hidden among the depths of a closet–awaiting an opportune moment to strike its next prey. Monsters are fabled entities that are used to scare off children from bad behavior and are quickly eased from the mind by coddling parents. The mere notion of a monster shooed away like a pesky fly, swept underneath the subconscious like forgotten specks of dirt. 
You know otherwise. Real monsters don’t lurk on the undersides of mattresses; no, they lurk both in the skies above and the depths below. They do not stalk dark closets because they instead stalk alleys in daylit streets. Monsters are very real, that you know is true since you’ve seen your fair share of them. You’ve met monsters in person–they’ve come to you before. Terrifying is an understatement for them, and each time one has appeared as a client, you’re no less scared shitless.
You’ve learned that even inhumane demons find themselves in need of entertainment; like the sinful creatures they are, they seek self-pleasure. And that is how you found yourself in this particular circle of hell, meant to serve and please demons, devils, and monsters alike. Perhaps it was a revolting job, working at a strip club run by a criminal organization but it paid decent money for being danced on the fingertips of whoever you were unfortunate enough to be assigned to.
If it was a regular strip club, being an exotic dancer would have been fine. It wouldn't be so bad. Lustful and prying eyes can be accustomed to quickly, and so are the flattering compliments and the awkward flirting by middle-aged married men. However, there was a difference between lecherous and predatory gazes. Here, you aren’t even viewed as a person, no, the clients here, those that come in reeking of smoke or blood (though sometimes both), armed with knives and guns on their person, see you as nothing more than a toy or prey for them. Even in the eyes of your employer, you're less than human in their eyes. 
‘You harm our merchandise, you’ll pay for it,’ is the warning given to every guest when they first enter. Merchandise. That's what you are. And that single line of words is the only thing that assures you of your safety among mafia members, gangsters, crooks, and whatnot. You've heard that the organization behind this strip club does well in enforcing that rule according to other dancers, but you personally don't want to see if the statement is true. You've been here for a little over a year, and besides bruising grips and pulled hair you’ve surprisingly yet to be seriously injured in any way. So maybe monsters do have a little humanity in them. 
You're quickly growing to be a fan favorite as of recently, which means more money goes your way, but you're not sure how you feel about all the attention on you. It's most likely because of how often you offer private dances and private rooms to clients. Whatever gets you the most money; the faster you make money the faster you can pay off your debt and be out of here. 
Tonight is supposed to be no different from other nights. You perform on stage, you rile up the crowd, you get showered in tips, and if there is a customer that looks mentally sane enough not to murder you in private, you take them to the back. Except, tonight, you're approached by your boss, who informs you that the entirety of the club was reserved by the Fatui, a well-known mafia more powerful and larger than the one that backs you up, for some celebration. These kinds of occurrences in the club rarely crop up, but when they do, they're often the most opportune time to bag in an abundant amount of money. Big shots like the Fatui pay and tip well, but there's one unsaid risk that comes with this: as a mere dancer like yourself, your life quite literally dangles in the Fatuis’ hands tonight. The organization that owns this establishment can't retaliate against the Fatuis if they so choose to dismiss the warning. They can't even compare to the might of the Fatui.
Simply put, if a Fatui kills you tonight, no one could do more besides bat their eyelashes. You're not at all pleased with this predicament of practically bordering on death, especially when you know one wrong move with one too hot-tempered Fatui could land you at the pearly gates. Keep pleasing the crowd, keep entertaining them, keep racking in the money, you remind yourself as you continue your dance, twirling around the pole sensually, and the customers devour every movement with their eyes. The only comfort you're given is that you've heard the Fatui are quite reasonable and diplomatic most of the time. This is especially true for the Harbingers, you've heard, the twelve most elite members that serve under the Tsaritsa, and the ones that are the most exclusive customers this night. That doesn't mean the Harbingers are any more humane than the average crook. Having worked in a strip club run by the mafia and surrounded by criminal organizations, the more rumored something is, the more dangerous it is. They can be considered devils amongst demons even. That's simply how vile they're supposed to be. 
The most concerning problem about the Harbingers is that you don’t know what they look like, only the occasional whisper has alluded to how to distinguish between the twelve. Perhaps, you can survive through the night if you try not to draw too much attention; let the other dancers shine instead and hope you don’t get requested for a private room or dance. That way, you can ensure you don’t end up dead. 
Your time to go upstage comes sooner than you’re prepared for. Your hands are clammy, and your form trembles in a way that only happened during your first month. Both reactions don’t make for a very good combination when your survival relies on you not fucking up and disappointing criminal customers. As you approach the pole, just like every time you’ve done, you make sure that the crowd’s gazes are in the backdrop of your mind, and instead, fixate on repeating the movements you’ve been taught and have mastered with your experience. Bet your survival on the provocative sway of your hips, the practiced showcase of your legs, and the allure of your dancing form. Beguile the crowd, but not too much, just enough to wow them. From what you can tell by the volume of the crowd, you’re doing a good job pleasing the Fatui enough. Your body stops tremoring after a few minutes on stage, and with one last final push of courage, you focus your eyes on the crowd before you.
Unsurprisingly, the makeup of the Fatui are men, though there are notably quite a few women. Either way, all of their attention is on you. As your eyes scan across a crowd, for one reason or another, you stop at a particular set of eyes near the back of the crowd. Intent, pitch-black abysses stare back, like they were trying to bore into your soul and devour every single motion of yours. They don’t quite hold the same ravenous desire as many of those before you right now, you mentally note with curiosity. It feels like your form is being calculated, in the way a predator would cautiously observe their next prey, a sensation you’ve experienced a few times, but each is no less chilling. The weight of their engrossed gaze causes you to shiver momentarily, and you snap away from their disturbing gaze to prevent any fumbling or faltering while you’re on stage. 
Tonight marks the first time you actively seek out the same viewer while on stage, or even, during your entire time here. For some reason, you feel awfully bold, or curious, whichever two comforts you more, and unlike the meek little rabbit you usually are, you instead search for the viewer’s gaze. You find the pair of eyes with relative ease, as you remember that above their eyes are distinctive snow-white strands with streaks as black as their orbs. You take a moment to study them, and they remind you of a lion–or lioness–among hyenas. The aura they exude varied quite a bit compared to the other Fatui in front of you: not rambunctious, or arrogant; it's apparent they held an aura of indomitable authority just from the way they held themselves. Perfect posture with their clasped hands nested in their lap, with one leg raised over the other. They’re an embodiment of perfected elegance, however, much like a porcelain doll, they’re also expressionless, their appearance unmarred. You don’t examine the Fatui’s form for much longer because their scrutiny on you pricks at your skin irritatedly. 
You don’t look for them again throughout your performance. In fact, you hope you never meet those charcoal pits again. You’re afraid that if you do, you’ll be ensnared by whatever beastly claws or fangs you know that Fatui hides underneath that impenetrable mask. The moment your time on stage ends, you rush back to the changing room to shake off your nerves. You sit down at a nearby chair, taking in deep sighs as you attempt to forget how you were stared down like a you were cornered, defenseless animal. And that is what you are, as much as you hate it. There’s nothing that can protect you from the Fatui. Maybe if you hide, never show your face for the rest of the night, they’ll forget they ever saw you and they’ll target another dancer. Surely, that will work, won’t it? 
You’re able to steady your breathing before you can delve into a panic attack. Tonight, you decide, you’re not going to take any customers to any private rooms or take any private dances. You’d be missing out on a lot of money, but your life is more of a priority as of currently; not after the ‘encounter’ with that individual, you don’t want to think about how many more are just like them, hiding in the crowd like they were awaiting an opportunity to pounce on your vulnerable form. 
Unfortunately, it seems like someone else has other plans for you because your manager storms into the room asking for your whereabouts before his eyes narrow on you. You immediately sit up, stiff as a board when he practically marches his way towards you. 
"Someone wants you." 
You sigh and shake your head. You should have known. "Not tonight." 
He clicks his tongue. "You know I can't allow that tonight." 
You bite your lip. "Just pass them to someone else." 
"They're not someone you or I can refuse." 
"Who?" You question with a shuddering breath, your nails digging into your thigh. 
"The fourth one. The Knave. Lord Arlecchino."
Fuck your life. You might as well pull the trigger now. You’ve heard faint whispers of each Harbinger from the customers audacious enough to speak of them. The youngest, the eleventh, charming and boyish. The ninth, money-obsessed but a pretty looker. The eighth, elegant and cold, yet no less alluring. The seventh, as human-like as their robotic creations, which to say isn’t very. The sixth, is hotheaded and mysterious. The fifth, unknown. And the fourth?
Insane. Ruthless. Bloodthirsty. That’s how the fourth is described. You shiver at the horrors that appear on the forefront of your mind when imagining what may come for you. If you're lucky, you'll be alive at the end of the night, more than likely clinging to the edge of living. 
“Well? What are you waiting for? Get ready as soon as you can.” 
And you do. It’s not long until you stand in front of the private room’s door, your guest is already inside more than likely. The Fourth Harbinger is waiting, you remind yourself, fruitlessly trying to swallow down your stress. You can be dead the minute you step inside, this room could be marked as your grave. Whatever he tells you to do, you’ll obey wordlessly to survive. Just nod along, smile, and do whatever it is that he tells you regardless of the demand. You inhale deeply, regaining some ease of mind, before you bring your knuckles to the door, knocking. 
“Come in,” comes a deep, flat voice, slightly muffled by its distance but what surprises you is how feminine the Harbinger sounds. Maybe you got the wrong room. You glance back at the room number plate on the door, and it’s the room you remember your manager mentioning. It’s the right room. Maybe someone else? You don’t have time to wonder, however, as you enter the room, knowing that if it is the Fourth, it wouldn’t be wise to keep him (Her? Them? You’ll just stick with ‘them’ now.) waiting. 
“Lord Arlecchino?” You inquire as you enter the room, closing the door behind you. Sucking in a harsh inhale, you instantly recognize their distinct hair. It’s them. Your sight is immediately greeted by the figure sitting on the couch before you, sitting in exactly the same way you discovered them–crossed-legged and lounging back with unfaltering confidence. The Knave wears a scarlet blazer over a black compressed turtleneck, with a matching set of crimson leggings. Upon closer inspection, you’re able to make out red irises in their jet-black eyes. Despite the blatant and literal red flag, something about their appearance draws you in even when they scream danger. They’re… you’re not quite sure how to describe them. You admire the unblemished and pale skin, their elegant and rugged demeanor is like the perfect balance between femininity and masculinity. Are they beautiful, or are they handsome? You think both. 
Arlecchino stares back at you like they’re considering devouring you then and there. You can’t suppress the shudder that runs down your spine. You’re a sheep before a wolf. There’s something so chilling about them that even with your experience with other clients, none has ever made you feel this way with just their mere gaze alone. This is what separates the average crook from one of the most powerful mafia members you've ever heard of.
You wait for a response but they only continue to observe you. You take the silence as confirmation to your question and that they’re anticipating something from you. Biting back a sigh of resignation, your hands hook underneath the band of your bra top and you lift it just the slightest amount before a cutting voice makes you freeze.
“What are you doing?” the Harbinger demands, their tone chilling and apathetic, making you want to shrink in yourself immediately. Your blood pumps loudly in your ears and your hands tremble a bit. Something about how designing their gaze makes you suddenly self-aware in a way you’ve never felt before another client–you’re practically half-naked in front of them with your skimpy bra top, undergarments, and fishnets and now is the only moment that you've actually considered how little covering is on you. 
Why are they stopping you? Isn’t this what they wanted you to do? Or maybe they just want to do it themselves. Those types of customers always have the most bruising of grips and suffocating of holds. You stiffen at the notion. How are you going to survive this night with a Fatui Harbinger of all things? How many of your limbs are going to be fractured and how many of your bones are going to end up broken? 
“I…I’m undressing,” your meek voice sounds out and you hate the crack in your speech. The Harbinger continues to scrutinize you. You don’t dare continue disrobing yourself. 
There are several beats of wordless response before they then stand up from the couch. 
Oh shit. You’ve fucked up. Are they going to kill you now? Is this your end? 
Every thought is telling you to run in the opposite direction as they stalk up to you, but you're petrified as you realize with a chill that they’re taller than you. You’re not short by any means, a bit above average height, but they tower over you, looking down at you from above and casting judgment on you like a god. Once they stride toward you, you avoid eye contact by looking straight, observing their neck and clavicle that protrudes from underneath the fabric. You tense when they raise a hand, their manicured fingers placing themselves underneath your chin and long, carmine nails dig into the underside of your jaw, making you wince. They forcefully tilt your head, raising your focus onto their face. 
It’s like they plunged their hands down your throat and ripped out the oxygen from your lungs, leaving you unable to breathe. Up close, the first thing you notice is their lips, plump and red from their lipstick. Briefly, you wonder what color their lipstick would look on your skin. Then your eyes travel up, red-crossed eyes gaze back at you and you gape quietly at the distinct shape of their pupils. You swear that their pupils flash red as you finally lock eye contact with them. 
“Did I tell you to?” Their tone is cold compared to the strange softness of their handsome (beautiful?) face. 
Something in your gut coils inwardly and you want to look away, but their firm hold on your chin prevents you. You bite your bottom lip to repress a whimper. You’re delicate glass in their hands, and they can break you so, so easily. 
“No, sir.” Only the numerous times you’ve said this phrase ensures you don’t stumble over your words. They don’t answer promptly, but as they observe your features, their lips quirk up the slightest amount. 
“You know how to address me. Very good,” Arlecchino purrs after several beats of silence, in a low, oh-so-sultry tone, and oh. Oh. 
You’re not sure why, but their last two words make your stomach churn, but not in a discomforting way. In the way that lights a fire underneath your skin and spreads heat to every part of your body. You’ve never quite felt this way with another customer. You couldn’t believe that your body reacts this way just from a single praise but it doesn’t stop the pooling heat in your bowels. The chill down your spine still remains in place, but there’s an off-putting equilibrium of iciness and fervor generated from the client. 
The Fatui’s eyes stay fixated on you wordlessly until the hand on your chin turns your head, finally breaking you free of their intense behold. Their grip slackens so that they can trace their nails gently down your throat, every inch of surface their fingertips brush against ignites a blaze on your skin. A shuddering exhale leaves your lips and it seems like they take notice because from the corner of your eye, the small uptick of their mouth grows. Despite how sensual and probing the Harbinger’s touch feels, there’s nothing lecherous about it–purely just intrigue and fascination. It’s a touch you both have and never experienced before. Cold nails rake against your throat, not enough to mark or scratch, but enough to invoke shivers. 
You’re aware you should be terrified, but for a reason you can’t pin down, you can’t jerk away from their touch. You try to reason with yourself it was only because you’re one upset away from getting yourself killed but that reasoning falls apart when their hand gingerly traces your jawline and you make the softest of groans, a barely audible noise of content. Unfortunately for you, the sound seems to have reached Arlecchino’s ears and their expression softens slightly: their eyes narrow less and their brows aren’t as creased. And that smirk–if you could even call it that from how faint it is–becomes a half-smirk. 
They pull their hand away and your trance is broken, reality returning back to you as you remember that the person before you is still a Fatui Harbinger, no matter how bizarrely melting their touch was. They turn on their heel and walk towards the couch in front of you; the slightest bit of heaviness is placed on your heart. You remain stationary where you are, observing them as they seat themselves gracefully on the couch, and their attention encounters yours again. Their black pits hold expectancy in them. At first, you’re clueless as to what the criminal desires from you, but then their legs spread apart, an inviting gesture that beckons you and every rational thought leaves your easily swayed mind. Your heart skips a beat, and you're sure this time it's not out of trepidation. 
Even if you didn’t command them to, your legs would take you to their seating figure. You stand before them, feeling blatantly disrespectful to look down at Arlecchino, but you await their order. They lean back, lounging laxly against the couch, their posture never lacking their usual self-assurance. It only ties the knot in your gut tighter. You’re aware of what they’re instructing you to do, but the absent confirmation makes you hesitant. It seems like the Knave picks up on this because the room echoes with one definitive spouted word from their lips, authority and dominance ringing through their husky voice. 
“Sit.” 
Your legs buckle underneath you from the one-worded response, the demand only stoking the consuming fire inside you. Eager to please, you perch yourself on their lap, straddling them, your knees pressed into the furniture below you and encasing both of their thighs between your own. 
Oh, you think to yourself as your legs make contact with their thighs. They're firm. And for some reason, that provokes your stomach to churn in itself even more. You're so close to them, enough to feel their breath cascade against your skin. 
As you seat yourself, you nearly clumsily topple over, instinctively grasping onto their shoulders for support. Their shoulders are remarkably broad, you regard, well-muscled as well. Their hands creep up on your hips, steady but gentle hands grasping on each bare side of yours to stabilize you. The heat that radiates from their hands is infectious, regardless of the nails that burrow into your plush waist. For the first time, you flush considerably, a sweltering inferno forming in your cheeks and your head fills with dizziness. Their touch is gentle–something you rarely experience with customers–so, so gentle that you would describe it as heavenly. How can someone so inexplicably vile have heaven on their fingertips?
It's not a position you never found yourself in. In fact, it's far from the first time you've been like this with another client. But here, as you're sat on top of the Fatui Harbinger, and red x-pupils search yours, a foreign feeling passes through you. Placing your finger on it, you dubiously think it's bashfulness, but the heartbeat that sings in your ears and pulses underneath your fingertips tells you otherwise, tells you it's something more. Against that, you remove your grasp on their shoulders and place your palm flat against the couch’s surface behind the Knave. 
You squirm a bit, nervousness in your form as you remain as still as you possibly can, waiting for any more instructions. All you need to do is act like an obedient doll for them in order to survive; compliance is the best way of ensuring survival with people like these. You feel like you're merely eye candy from the way that their attention flits across your body, but you're immobile throughout the entirety of their observance. Being looked at is much better than any physical interaction. Their hands still cup your hips, but slowly, they descend to the side of your thighs, making your skin feel tingly. 
Impulsively, you mumble out a quiet "Sir…" as strange sensations brush against your skin. 
The sound surprises you and you feel on edge as their eyes travel from your lower half to your face. You gulp considerably. From their stare, they expect more of a response, a reason for their addressment, but even you don’t know yourself; it seems like an unconscious calling that just rolled off your tongue. You cow underneath their gaze, even when the two of you are at eye level. When you linger in quietude, their hand releases one of your thighs and lifts to your face, supporting your chin while their thumb rests on your bottom lip, unfurling it just the slightest amount to implore an answer from your now parted lips. Gleaming scarlet pupils grip your regard sternly, piercing into you and instilling you to spew something out. Except, you still can’t, now too entranced and lost in the crimson. 
“Doll.” 
Despite the pet name, it's devoid of any affection or warmth. It's a word that drips of command, a reminder of your place: simply a toy that they can play with however they want, a manipulated and decorated plaything for their amusement. That means you answer to them, and so when they request a response, you're under the obligation to please them. Your survival is in their palms anyway, if they wanted you to dance, you would just so they wouldn’t strangle the life out of you. 
However, its implication doesn’t prevent the tingling shudders that wrack your body nor the involuntary clenching of your thighs around theirs. Was it the gravelly voice that aroused your behavior? Your cheeks flare at the knowledge that Harbinger sensed the physical reaction. It shouldn't be possible. It shouldn't be possible, your thoughts repeat, but then they're interrupted by: 
"Oh?" Arlecchino inquires to themselves, a stark amusement in their speech. Their red glare illuminates slightly, replacing the lost darkening with a faint glow in their pupils, and the corner of their mouth curls up. It is only then that you discover something entirely new: that monsters can be sinfully, cataclysmically, terrifyingly beautiful and the sight before you is the most exquisite example. A devil has you wrapped in its claws and its fangs readied for devouring but it’s disguised as an ethereal angel; blinded by their perilous allure, you mistake their snow-white hair, their lustrous piercing rubies, their flawless porcelain skin, and their burning, fleeting touches as traits of a seraph. From a measly smirk, you forget the atrocities lying underneath their fingertips and dismiss the hazard their presence holds. 
The hand on your thigh rakes its fingers up, red nails trailing across the surface of your fishnet, wrenching out a breathy gasp from you as they travel inwards. Tingling pleasure injects into your veins as you subconsciously lean in, imploring for further sensual contact. A plea sits on your tongue and nests in your eyes as you beg them through your pitiful expression. They drink in your desperation with a slow swipe of their tongue over their lips, and that single action is debauched enough to elicit a soft groan from your throat.
“Well, aren’t you an amusing toy?” They drawl out with a preposing rasp and dark abysses glint with an insatiable hunger. 
They smirk enticingly, their thumb running across your bottom lip and smearing your lipstick on their thumb pad. Their grip on your chin tightens a bit, pulling you even closer to them before a shadow casts over you when their face nears. Before you can even fathom their intentions, they descend upon you, closing the distance between the two of you. Your lips are greeted with something pillowy soft and fervently warm, and you sharply inhale from the sensation. Every one of your nerves sings frenziedly, your muscles tense all over, and your heartbeat drums deafeningly in your ears–all of this as your body is engulfed in a fervid tornado of heat that makes you lightheaded with pleasure. It takes you several beats to realize the reason for this is that Lord Arlecchino, the Fourth Harbinger, the Knave is kissing–no, kissing is far too intimate, devouring–you voraciously like they're trying to rob you of any air, trying to imprint themselves on your mouth. Their mouth dominates yours, pushing against them with a deep fervor and famished urgency, eager to swallow every bit of shocked noise you make. 
You close your eyes and allow yourself to indulge. 
You first taste lipstick with a waxy flavor hitting your tastebuds. It’s cold against your lips, yet warm at the same time. But the physical texture and flavor of their lips are irrelevant; there’s only one true manner you would distinguish their taste: 
They taste like sin. 
The type of sin that’s chocolate coated and sprinkled with colorful toppings; depravity so sweet and charming it makes you reconsider the bounds of right and wrong. Degeneracy is far, far tastier than anything you’ve indulged in before. How can something so evil be so heavenly? Cushiony soft, placidly warm, flatteringly zealous, it’s like having a dance with a devil; so unequivocally immoral but no less gratifying. You question if they really belong to the Fatui because how can something like this come from such? You want to engrave the texture of their mouth onto your memory, feel this faux intimacy even when you’ve long parted. The Fourth Harbinger, you surmise as you surrend your will to them, is decadent–the only word that can be defined as both wicked and delectable at once–the perfect word to describe them. 
The last remaining bit of reasoning comes to the backdrop of your thoughts and begs you to not be swept away in the heavenly embrace. You discount it in favor of accepting this godsent gift by leaning further with a weak imitation of their ravishing lips and pressing back. It’s a feeble attempt to match their insatiate nature, far too domineering and forceful than you can manage but they display a token of appreciation when they squeeze your thigh, indenting your skin shallowly with the burrowing of their nails. The action exposes just how sensitive you’ve gone underneath their touch and you reward them with the sweetest of sounds. 
“Arlecchino,” you mumble with half-lidded dazed eyes in between ravenous exchanges and it evokes a depraved throaty growl from the Fatui, like provoking a call from a starving beast. They lean deeper to indulge in your taste. The gruff sound reaches your ears and it’s like a psalm–you shudder from its musical melody. 
Their clutch on your jaw releases and their fingers outline your jawline before snaking to the back of your head. Well-manicured digits entangle themselves in your hair, and there’s a gentle shove against your skull that forces you deeper into the kiss. Your hands clutch onto the couch underneath you as tight as you physically can for any sense of grounding and your knees attempt to close in even more to feel more of their body against yours. The hand on your leg, in turn, caresses the length of your thigh. 
Every graceful touch, stroke, and brush exudes an unyielding and infectious warmth that only adds to the stoking fire in your gut, and you’re bathed in so much swelter from the ecstasy that you feel dizzy. Yet, you never want it to end, you grow more addicted and drunk with each encounter of their lips. That, paired with your strained breathing, prompts your stamina to falter much sooner than the Harbinger’s. You let out a soft whine to signal your depleting oxygen, and their mouth unlatch with yours, pulling away despite your ache for more. With the separation comes a small string of saliva attached between the two of you, evidence of the shared intimacy that’s snapped when they lick their lips. The hand behind your head detangles from your hair and you silently mourn over the loss of contact. 
You heave for air, your chest rising and falling rapidly. You’re a little perturbed when you notice that they’re not even out of breath, a small but firm reminder that they’re as inhuman as humans can be. That knocks a sense of reality back into you. Customer, mafia, Fatui, Harbinger, it comes back to you like a train. Here you are swapping spit with them while in the lap of potentially the most dangerous criminal you could ever meet, but fuck were they a good kisser–you’ve never experienced anything that came close to this in your lifetime.
Any foolish doubtful contemplation of the morality of this interaction is swept away just like that when you hear:
“Greedy little thing that you are,” they regard with the most cunning and handsome of smiles, discrete amusement dripping from their words. Their dark pits behold you entirely, the same way they have always done when it seems like they were contemplating what part of you to savor the most. Only this time, you’re not so disturbed by the notion. If anything, the swirling heat in between your legs suggests the opposite.  
Greedy wasn't a word often associated with you, yet you couldn't more correctly describe yourself in that moment. Greedy. Greedy for a Fatui Harbinger no less. As ashamed as you should be, there's no use denying that you crave for their touch, for their gaze, for anything and everything they're willing to give you. You want everything and more. The more you contemplate, the more it seems obvious why you wouldn’t. Are they a devil disguised as an angel, or are they an angel that fell from grace? Regardless, they bring nirvana to you. An incessant desire bubbles inside you, your throat swelling up with an urgent request on the tip of your tongue. Would they allow such a thing if you plead? Would they be offended by your impudence? Would they punish you for such? But the necessity outweighs any reconsideration of your insolence and the supplicant beg tumbles out of your loose lips. 
“Can I… touch you please, my Lord?” You croak out, wincing at just how wretched it comes out. The response from them is not immediate as the two of you stew in silence, a building sense of dejection building inside of you. The expression on their face noticeably contorts, smile lessening, their brows furrowing, and their red x’s glinting dimly. Their free hand raises to near your neck and you suck in a harsh breath as their fingers enclose around your throat. The mere action sends a stinging reminder to your lust-dazed thoughts about their position, and a chill pierces you. 
Mafia, Fatui, Harbinger, the Fourth Harbinger, the Knave–the labels cycle through your thoughts. Though their grip is lax, not exactly suffocating and giving ample space to breathe, their fingertips does acutely jab into your skin, a display of their impressive grip strength. You have no doubt that they can suffocate you with one hand alone, snap your neck, or, as your mind ventures into more harrowing territories, crush your skull. Those thoughts alone has you breathless with anticipation. A heavy weight suddenly appears in your gut, so heavy that you feel like you can’t move so much as a muscle. 
Did you just go too far? Was that too much to ask? Was this how you were going to die?
The reflex to gag and inhale combat each other in your throat, a discomforting sensation that crawls up your spine while you tremble. You’re almost certain that the nails have penetrated the layer of skin, drawing beads of blood that’ll trail down your mark. You whimper at the prickly pain. Yet, in all your unease, the most masochistic thought arrives briefly at the forefront, and you can’t help but consider: this position is just as intimate as all the other interactions. You’re already so vulnerable in their lap, does the hand around your neck change your peril in any way? No, you’ve been a defenseless lamb to a slaughter the moment you’ve stepped into the domain of a menacing wolf. 
Ah. Even now, you can’t dismiss the warmth of their fingertips. 
“Do you still want to touch me when I do this?” They demand callously, their voice harsh and reverberating through the room. Their grasp closes more around, and you feel your supply of oxygen inhibited. Tears begin to brim your eyes, but you’re undeterred. Unlike Arlecchino’s, your answer is instant and breathless. Your eyes intently lock on theirs, the hardened expression enough to satisfy their question. There’s no need for contemplation. Danger, you determine, is addicting. 
“Yes.”
The previously small smile stretches across their lips considerably. Content, or dare you say it, thrill writes itself over their face and the boulder previously pressed against your shoulders is lifted. Your throat is freed from their hold, but their touch doesn’t halt there. Instead, they rotate your head for you to face to the left, exposing your side profile to them. From the corner of your eyes, you watch as their face draws closer to your skin, hot breath cascading across the small dents her nails created. The one on your thigh finally leaves, moving to one of your hips, tender strokes across your flushed surface. They lean forward, and moist, plush skin meets yours. Lips traverse over the length of your neck, teeth scraping against, making you weakly groan. It takes all of your will to still your body, only allowing for the Harbinger to do whatever they desire to your form. Their touches are burning, burning, burning–so hot that you wonder if you’re experiencing a heat wave. Peppered kisses follow the edge of your jawbone, all the way up to your earlobe. A wet kiss graces your ear and then the most sinful of statements dignifies your eardrums, like a devil whispering hymns directly into your ear. 
“I think I’ll keep you to myself after this.”
A short hum follows afterward. 
“If you want to touch me, you’ll have to work for it. You’re only mine for tonight, aren't you? Entertain me. Give me a private dance, doll. After all, you have me for all night.” 
---
Link to M-Alexa's amazing art and how I imagine Arlecchino to look like in this oneshot.
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extrajigs · 10 months
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Wanted to expand on some domesticated animals of Mirum. These are basically cat-dog birds, ranging in size from cat to medium sized dog. Still need a name for group over all, suggestions appreciated! In depth info below the cut! 
1. The OG This is the wild ancestral form, basically the wolf to the dog. They are from the grass/shrub lands of Mirum and spend most of the year scrounging around for food until the end of the wet season. Once the floods are over they pop out babies like nobodies business while feeding on the debris left by the flooding. By the time fire season rolls around their numbers are pretty scarce. They travel in little groups with multiple hens and one big buff man! But this man does not necessarily need to be a male, or a bird even! They were the first species domesticated by the chimera and the only one to leave Mirum with them.  The ‘Natural’ Breeds These are just the morphs bred into these fellas without any magical manipulation involved, so they still look relatively close to their wild ancestors.  2. The Cupid  These are purely pets, originally kept just for eggs they lost that purpose as more efficient birds came around for that. Now they just make docile lil lapbirds. Though inattentive owners will find old eggs hidden throughout the house if they’re not careful. Most of the time though they tend to stay by their owners ankles.  3. The Ruff Fluffy lil guys who make for great pest control, they’re a very sporty breed despite everything and need a lot of energy to stop them from destroying their surroundings out of boredom. Will do well with another ruff or dog of similar size, though they can be a bit of a bully in the care of a lax owner. 4. The Gallop Literally just made for running, can keep up with a chimera at full sprint and at a normal long distance run. For those with a more active lifestyle. Though they will just as happily laze around all day, just happy to be included honestly. These are also the best swimmers of the natural breeds with their extra oily coat.  5. The Dome This is a purely ornamental bird, stocky and colorful they are the most relaxed of all the birds. Most prefer chimeric company to that of other birds and have a habit of separation anxiety when not with their owner. In line with that, these are the most accepting of chimeric ‘talk’ with most quickly getting accustomed to projected commands. Though please don’t overwhelm your bird, casting the full range of sentient experience unto lesser beings CAN and WILL cause them existential distress! Not to mention your personality may displace your pet’s. 6. The Fluff  The original pillow stuffing. These guys feathers are softer than any other. Keeping a mostly downy ‘undercoat’ for their whole life. That being said these guys can get absolutely RANCID if not kept clean and tidy. Only for the most advanced and attentive of owners unless you want an unholy dingleberry beast skulking around. They also are VERY bitey.  7. Crested These are historically for eating, but have grown to be a very pish posh fancy breed. Most are pure white, thanks to inbreeding, and albeit are not the sharpest tools in the shed. But if you are looking for a bird who may just ignore your commands but love you eternal, this is your bird! 
That’s them so far, will make the magical monstrosities later. Also wanted to try a different lineart style. Thin is nice but I miss my chunky brush. Glad to have tried it though! 
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yuurei20 · 19 days
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Grim Info Compilation part 2: Animal vs. Monster vs. Cat vs. Dire Beast vs. Tanuki (pt1)
Grim has been called a variety of different things by the different characters: when he first appears Crowley repeatedly calls him the prefect's familiar but Grim insists that he is not.
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Rollo makes the same assumption during Glorious Masquerade.
The prefect calls him a tanuki (an animal that is similar to a cross between a raccoon and a dog, “weasel” on EN) upon their first meeting.
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Several other characters call Grim a tanuki throughout the game including Crowley, Leona, Ace and Kalim, but usually to insult him.
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Grim has the joke, “that’s animal cruelty…not that I’m an animal” on EN, but that is something he has never said (there is a place on EN where Crowley refers to him as an animal but this was also an addition to EN: in his original dialogue, he is again calling Grim a tanuki).
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The closest we come to Grim self-identifying as anything might be a line in the prologue where he says that dragons are “what all monsters yearn to be,” but it is unclear if he is including himself among “all monsters” or just making an observation about monsters in general.
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When other characters call Grim a monster (Crowley, Ace, the prefect, Deuce, Jamil), they use the English-language word “monster" in katakana, audible in the audio.
In one scene Crowley says “monster” aloud, over a hidden meaning of another word: dire beast.
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And that might be what Grim actually is, with Riddle, STYX technicians, Rook and Ace all calling Grim a dire beast at different times, and Idia providing an in-depth explanation based on an analysis performed at STYX.
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reasonsforhope · 10 months
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This is maybe an odd thing to put on a good news/reasons for hope blog, but I've also had people tell me that they find this info really, genuinely comforting, so I'm putting it up. Also, further understanding could do a ton to advance medicine, esp. re: allergies, autoimmune diseases, and depression. You can read more about this at the link.
"More than half of your body is not human, say scientists.
Human cells make up only 43% of the body's total cell count. The rest are microscopic [co-contributors].
Understanding this hidden half of ourselves - our microbiome - is rapidly transforming understanding of diseases from allergy to Parkinson's.
The field is even asking questions of what it means to be "human" and is leading to new innovative treatments as a result.
"They are essential to your health," says Prof Ruth Ley, the director of the department of microbiome science at the Max Planck Institute, "your body isn't just you."
No matter how well you wash, nearly every nook and cranny of your body is covered in microscopic creatures.
This includes bacteria, viruses, fungi and archaea (organisms originally misclassified as bacteria). The greatest concentration of this microscopic life is in the dark murky depths of our oxygen-deprived bowels.
Prof Rob Knight, from University of California San Diego, told the BBC: "You're more microbe than you are human."
Originally it was thought our cells were outnumbered 10 to one.
"That's been refined much closer to one-to-one, so the current estimate is you're about 43% human if you're counting up all the cells," he says.
But genetically we're even more outgunned.
The human genome - the full set of genetic instructions for a human being - is made up of 20,000 instructions called genes.
But add all the genes in our microbiome together and the figure comes out between two and 20 million microbial genes.
Prof Sarkis Mazmanian, a microbiologist from Caltech, argues: "We don't have just one genome, the genes of our microbiome present essentially a second genome which augment the activity of our own.
"What makes us human is, in my opinion, the combination of our own DNA, plus the DNA of our gut microbes."
It would be naive to think we carry around so much microbial material without it interacting or having any effect on our bodies at all.
Science is rapidly uncovering the role the microbiome plays in digestion, regulating the immune system, protecting against disease and manufacturing vital vitamins.
Prof Knight said: "We're finding ways that these tiny creatures totally transform our health in ways we never imagined until recently."
It is a new way of thinking about the microbial world. To date, our relationship with microbes has largely been one of warfare.
-via BBC News, April 10, 2018
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nat-20s · 21 days
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a fic featuring Fourteen and Donna being so so eepy (also on a03)
During one of The Doctor’s usual puttering about at 3 am in the Tardis, they immediately notice two things about a certain door. The first is that in the latest rearrangement of the floor plan, this door has gone from the hidden depths of what we’ll call it “the basement”, to a fairly central area of the top level. Second, and perhaps more alarmingly, this door that has been locked for millennia is now cracked ajar.
He doesn’t, however, feel any immediate panic. Instead, a little smile he can’t quite hold back appears on his face. Soft in their old age, really. Should at the very least check that what he thinks is behind the door is there, and not some sort of intruder. Technically, while the bio-metric locks that had been put in place were some of the finest in the universe, he had enough experience to know that no locks were truly unpickable.
As gingerly as possible, The Doctor opens the door enough to peek their head inside; it’s immediately revealed that he truly needn’t have worried about a break in. Donna Noble, currently prone on the bed, had been the one to open her room, just as he had guessed.
He should have worried about how now, apparently, Donna was an extremely light sleeper. He had been almost certain that he hadn’t made a noise, but not even a full second later, she rolls over to face the door and stirs awake. Blinking away some of the sleep, she sees him and gives him a half-sheepish, half-tired smile. Before he can say something along the lines of “don’t mind me, get some rest”, she pats the space next to her and gives him a “c’mere” nod of the head.
The Doctor goes willingly, and even manages to not hold their breath stepping through the former mausoleum of their best friend’s memory. He settles next to her, face to face in a classic “talking too late at night during a sleepover” pose. Because of who they are, he can’t help but let the first thing he says be, “I seem to remember someone lecturing me about sleeping in the Tardis when there’s a perfectly good bed in a perfectly good house, spaceman.”
Donna must be half-awake, because instead of arguing, she gives a one shoulder shrug and scrunches up her nose in amusement. “You caught me.”
“I thought everyone but Granddad was at the London house tonight?”
“Oh, they are. Work ran late and here was closer, so I sent off a text letting them know I was crashing here instead.”
“In the Tardis?”
“Well. No. That’s my little secret. Or, I suppose, our little secret now.”
The Doctor raises an eyebrow at her, asking for more info, to which she replies with a sigh. “You know, I wasn’t a super fussy baby-”
“-a bit shocking to hear, considering-”
“Oi! As I was saying, I wasn’t colicky or anything like that, but if Mum just could not get me to settle down, she would pop me in a car seat and drive around the neighborhood. Said I was out like a light within minutes.”
He has no idea where this story is going. He finds he doesn’t mind. It’s silly and sappy of him (what isn’t, these days?), but he finds it deeply charming when Donna goes on a little ramble. Especially when sleepiness is slowing her words and she keeps blinking for more and more seconds. They think they’ll get maybe 5 more minutes to chat before she’s fully gone again, and they’re going to savor it. She continues, “She stopped doing that when I old enough to toddle into their room and fall asleep between them. God, one morning they had gotten up early and I apparently screamed my little head off thinking they had left me forever.”
She says that last statement with a roll of her eyes, passing it off as one of those things kids do, but The Doctor’s heart lets out a pang. He wishes he could’ve told little Donna that it was okay, that her parents are there and they love her so so much. He wishes he could tell all Donnas that she won’t be left behind, not in the end. (They also wish they could tell themselves that they don’t get left behind, eventually.)
Personal timelines, however, are messy, and best left alone. Instead, he stays now, and he listens, and he takes Donna’s hand in his own. “Honestly, I don’t think my sleeping habits have changed that much. I still hate sleeping alone. I still hate sleeping motionless. Stick me on a boat with someone to cuddle up to and I’ll have the best rest of my life.”
She looks around the room briefly, then presses her forehead to the Doctor’s and continues, “You know, kind of like the nights I spent here. The Tardis, this room...it was only my home for a year. But it was also the most home I had been for a long, long time. And the house is lovely, so lovely, still can’t believe you bought us a house, but right now it’s too quiet and I missed it here. The various whirs and clicks and hums the Tardis makes? Better than any white noise machine on the market.”
The Doctor grins at her, feeling a bit smug and a lot soppy. “Now you know how I feel.”
She gives a half hearted poke at his chest, which is rather undercut by the yawn she lets out. “Still, ‘spect you to stay with us the majority of the nights.”
“Hey, I’m with you right now, aren’t I?”
She closes her eyes, giving a grin and a hushed, “Yeah, you are,” before slipping straight back to dream land. He technically could slip away now, but he’s already under the covers, are the steady breathing of his best friend is having a rather lulling effect. Remembering that he’s now allowed to rest, whenever he wants, he snuggles in closer, pulls the blankets tighter around them, and does just that.
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mechahero · 4 months
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@outofthiisworld asked-🤔 THINKING FACE — what are some of your oc's quirks/mannerisms? oc details (accepting!)
Physically? It's stuff like tilting his head, fiddling with whatever he can get his hands on to keep them occupied, his eyes also move around the place a lot too because he usually can't stay entirely focused on one place and he's kind of used to doing that? He also kind of zones out a lot. It's not unusual to see him sitting, staring off into space. (He's usually fine though, don't worry.) His speech pattern is kind of odd, as well. At least, compared to "normal" people. So what sounds like a completely normal statement to him might sound unstructured and a bit longwinded to most people.
Additionally, if he eats a certain type of cookie and only this certain kind of cookie, he eats it with his pinkie out. He's not sure why. He's kind of always done that. And sometimes, very rarely in fact, he'll shudder. Just shudder. It's never because he's cold or internally, it's just something that happens to him. Again, he's not sure why because it's something that's always happened to him.
Internally, it's a little weird. He has to choose the soda bottle with the most bubbles he goes out of his way to avoid touching things that he thinks might feel gross and has to try not to hurl when he ends up thinking of the perceived sensation he thinks it might have anyway.
He likes the idea of filing his nails but hates the noise that comes with it, as its enough to have him shudder in disgust. Listening to music or videos does not help in the slightest, as he claims to be able to hear the nail file over them. He also sorts his pens by colors he likes and their importance, with glitter pens being sorted near the top and reserved for what he sees as very important documents or things to write. Stuff like that.
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sensualnoiree · 3 months
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8th house astro notes
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The 8th house in astrology is an enigmatic and profound realm, encapsulating themes of transformation, shared resources, intimate partnerships, and the exploration of life's mysteries.
This house delves into the depths of human existence, encompassing the profound aspects of life such as death, rebirth, sexuality, joint resources, and psychological realms. Its domain includes the merging of energies, financial partnerships, inheritance, and the unspoken facets that shape our lives.
The 8th house, associated with Scorpio, signifies a realm of secrets, taboos, and deep psychological experiences. It symbolizes the metamorphosis that occurs through life-altering events, intense emotional connections, and the exploration of hidden aspects of existence.
Astrologically, planets located within the 8th house or influencing it can denote inherited patterns, unresolved emotions, and energies that demand conscious understanding. They may represent both challenges and opportunities for growth, urging individuals to confront hidden fears, desires, and psychological complexes.
This house represents the intricate web of shared resources, joint finances, and partnerships that require trust and vulnerability. It encompasses not only the physical aspects of shared wealth or assets but also the emotional and psychological merging that occurs in intimate relationships.
While the 2nd house represents personal possessions and values, the 8th house extends to shared possessions and values that are mutually owned or inherited. It signifies the complexities of shared resources and the intricate dance of power struggles, trust, and intimacy that often accompany these joint ventures.
Furthermore, the 8th house encompasses the psychological journey towards self-mastery through crises, deep introspection, and transformative experiences. Planetary placements within this house or aspects to its ruler can signify areas of life where deep change, psychological exploration, or inherited traits come into play.
The 8th house invites individuals to confront fears, obsessions, and the darker aspects of the human psyche, encouraging self-awareness and the release of compulsive behaviors or hidden anxieties. It serves as a battleground for self-understanding and self-mastery through confronting challenges related to death, trauma, and inherited patterns.
However, it's essential to note that planets in the 8th house are not inherently negative or malevolent. Instead, they may signify areas where individuals experience obstacles or challenges that require a deeper understanding and a slower, more profound approach to transformation.
This house also encompasses the concept of inheritance beyond material possessions, including ancestral memories, family legacies, and psychological imprints passed down through generations. It addresses the legacy individuals leave behind and the inherent struggles and strengths inherited from ancestors.
In essence, the 8th house signifies a realm of depth, transformation, and shared experiences—where the exploration of the psyche, shared resources, and inherited traits intertwine to shape an individual's journey towards self-mastery and understanding.
𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘪𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘢 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘱𝘪𝘦𝘤𝘦 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘱𝘪𝘤. 𝘐𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘯 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘢𝘭 𝘰𝘣𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘰𝘶𝘵! 𝘔𝘺 𝘢𝘴𝘬 𝘣𝘰𝘹 𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘯!
𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘰 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘢 𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵 𝘥𝘢𝘺 🤸🏿‍♀️
For more info follow me here! 🤸🏿‍♀️
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slytherinslut0 · 5 months
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MATTHEO RIDDLE- Beg For Me
Chapter Eleven-Info: You and Mattheo have been butting heads for months, since you were assigned as his tutor, and one day during a session full of tense bickering, he has enough.
(This will essentially be a toxic book where we are Theos fucktoy. No love here, very minimal fluff.)
Tags: 18+, Sub!Reader, Dom!Mattheo, Dirty Talk, Toxic Behaviour, Jealousy, Possessive Behaviours, Manipulation, Sexual Aggression, Angst, Emotional Manipulation, Slytherin!Boys, Weaponizing!EnzoBerkshire.
****FIND THE REST OF THE CHAPTERS HERE.
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Friday morning arrived, but you found yourself ensnared by an unwelcome visitor: illness. Your usual vibrant energy was replaced by a lethargic heaviness, your throat scratchy, and your head pounding with each heartbeat. Emily's concerned eyes followed your every move at the breakfast table, her worried whispers barely audible above the hum of the Great Hall.
Thursday had been a disaster. Despite the guild meeting's anticipation, you couldn't summon an ounce of excitement. The prospect of seeing Tom, once a source of thrill and exciting opportunities, now felt like a daunting challenge. As you walked past him, you avoided his gaze, keeping your eyes fixed on the floor and not daring to converse with him outside of a few small shared words during the meeting. Ignoring him was a desperate attempt to shield yourself from the whirlwind of conflicting emotions that threatened to consume you.
Every fiber of your being wanted to be excited, but the illness, accompanied by the haunting words from Mattheo, had drained you of joy and left only a hollow emptiness. The guild meeting, once a highlight of your week, felt like a distant obligation. Your world had shifted, leaving you adrift in a sea of uncertainty and discomfort, the very essence of your existence shaken by the turmoil within.
"Are you okay?" Emily's voice sliced through the quiet, laced with concern. "You look like you're about to faint."
"I'm just not feeling well," you replied, your voice barely audible above the buzz of the Great Hall.
The words that left your lips were somewhat true, but they were a mask over your real problems. A torrent of conflicting emotions churned within you, the chaos of Mattheo's unpredictable behavior warring with the complexities of your situation with Tom. Each thought pulled you in a different direction, leaving you in a state of internal turmoil that threatened to consume you whole. Despite your efforts to hide it, the storm inside your mind was evident in your eyes, a silent plea for understanding that you were desperate to keep hidden.
Emily's concerned expression softened into one of understanding, her eyes reflecting the depth of her friendship with you. She didn't press further, sensing the boundaries you had set. Instead, she offered you a gentle, reassuring smile.
"You've been working so hard," she said, softly. "You should cancel your tutoring tonight. You need a bloody night off--you're working yourself sick."
Internally, your turmoil grew. If only Emily knew the real reason behind your illness, the tangled web of secrets and emotions that threatened to suffocate you. The rule-breaking involvement with Mattheo weighed heavily on your conscience, a constant reminder of the dangerous path you were treading, one that was bound to explode at some point, one that was certain to bring your entire world crashing down with it when it did.
Yet, you couldn't bring yourself to confide in Emily, to burden her with the knowledge of your own reckless choices. The fear of judgment and the complexities of your feelings kept you silent, trapped in a cycle of self-imposed secrecy.
"I appreciate your concern, Emily," you replied, forcing a weak smile that didn't quite reach your eyes. "I honestly think I might just do that...I'm going to tell him now."
Emily's face fell, her eyes widening with a mix of worry and disbelief. She opened her mouth as if to say something, but the words died on her lips. Before she could voice her concerns or attempt to hold you back, you were already rising from your seat, your determination etched on your face like a battle flag. With every step toward the Slytherin table, your gaze bored into Mattheo's disheveled appearance like a laser, an unspoken challenge burning in your eyes.
Your feet carried you forward with purpose, each step echoing your heartbeat which relentlessly thundered in your ears, drowning out the ambient sounds of the bustling Great Hall. The world around you blurred, the faces of your fellow students becoming mere smudges of colour as you zeroed in on Mattheo. A surge of adrenaline coursed through your veins, urging you forward even as doubt gnawed at the edges of your mind.
As you drew closer, you realized the gravity of your decision, the precariousness of the situation you were about to confront, but in that moment, you knew you were already in too deep, you knew that there was no turning back.
"Riddle."
You uttered, your voice slicing through the air like a dagger. However, it was as if your words were swallowed by an invisible void; no one at the table even remotely acknowledging your presence.
"Riddle."
You repeated, your tone sharper this time. This caught Draco Malfoy's attention, his sharp, silver eyes locking onto yours with predatory amusement. His smirk, a cruel curve etched on his lips, seemed to mock your efforts. You shot him an eye roll, dismissing his silent taunts, but it only fueled his amusement, his head tilting slightly in enjoyment. Frustration simmered beneath your skin, a restless energy seeking an outlet. Exasperation surged through you, a tempest of emotions threatening to burst from within.
"Mattheo!"
You finally exclaimed, the name carrying the weight of your frustration and determination. The word hung in the air like a thunderclap, freezing everyone at the Slytherin table in their tracks. The effect was immediate and profound. It was as if you had tossed a live wire onto the table, sending shockwaves through the once-buzzing atmosphere.
A sudden, eerie silence descended upon the Slytherin table. The lively chatter ceased abruptly, and every single pair of eyes turned toward you with an intensity that bordered on disbelief. Berkshire, Zabini, Nott, Black, Malfoy, and Riddle, as well as a few unfamiliar faces, locked their gazes onto yours, each expression mirroring a different shade of astonishment--ranging in various raised eyebrows to widened, shocked eyes.
Before you had a chance to compose yourself, Berkshire, seated directly in front of you, sported a wide, contemptuous grin, his eyes gleaming with disdain.
"Well, well, look who's decided to grace us with her presence," Enzo sneered, his tone dripping with condescension. "Did you finally tire of your precious textbooks, sweetheart? Or are you just here to make a fool of yourself?"
Mattheo's eyes widened in mild astonishment, his usual mask of indifference momentarily slipping as he watched the scene unfold. His lips twitched, almost forming a smirk, but he remained silent, keenly observing the confrontation.
You straightened your back, your gaze unwavering as you met Enzo's sneer head-on. "I'm not here to entertain you, Enzo," you replied, your voice cutting through the tension like a blade. "But if you have nothing else to do besides insult people, maybe you should consider finding a hobby that doesn't involve being an insufferable prat."
The table fell into a stunned silence, the previous atmosphere of mockery dissipating like smoke in the wind. Enzo's sneer faltered, his expression contorting into a mixture of surprise and indignation.
Zabini raised an eyebrow in mild amusement. "Looks like this raven has some fuckin' claws...watch out boys..."
Nott stifled a laugh behind his hand, clearly entertained by the unexpected turn of events. Black shot you an approving nod, wordlessly acknowledging your verbal victory, and even Malfoy, though still aloof, seemed intrigued by your bold response.
Mattheo's eyes, however, bore into yours with an unreadable intensity, a hint of something flickering beneath the surface--mixture of surprise, pride, and a touch of something more complicated. Enzo's face flushed with anger, his eyes narrowing into slits as he prepared a retort. However, before he could unleash his reply, Mattheo's voice sliced through the tension like a dagger.
"What do you want, Raven?" His tone was calm, collected, almost entirely unfazed.
Inhaling deeply, you mustered your courage and looked directly into Mattheo's eyes. "I won't be able to make it for potions tonight," you stated firmly, your voice unwavering despite the charged atmosphere. "Feeling a bit under the weather."
Mattheo's lips curled into a subtle smirk, a glint of mischief in his eyes. "Under the weather, huh?" he said, his tone laced with feigned concern. "Such a shame. I suppose I'll have to find another way to occupy my evening."
There was a playful challenge in his words, hinting at an unspoken understanding between the two of you. Around the table, the boys exchanged raised eyebrow glances, their expressions laced with sadistic curiosity. Their eyes flicked between you and Mattheo, absorbing the interaction with keen interest, as if trying to unravel the depth of the connection between the two of you. The atmosphere crackled with unspoken tension, each of them leaning in slightly, eager to catch any nuances in your conversation, their curiosity piqued by the intriguing dynamic at play.
"I suppose you will," you said, your voice laced with venom. "Enjoy your evening, Riddle."
Just as you attempted to leave, a cold, harsh grip closed around your wrist, making you gasp in surprise. Glancing down, you found Berkshire's twisted face leering up at you, a sadistic smirk playing on his lips.
"If you ever need help getting that stick out of your uptight ass, I'd consider lending a hand," his eyes glinted with malicious intent as he taunted, "of course, for the right price...I'm not as generous as Mattheo."
Your eyes narrowed, fury burning in your veins like wildfire. "Mattheo, generous?" you scoffed, disbelief lacing your words. "That's the last word I'd associate him with."
Berkshire's lips twisted into a cruel smile, his eyes glinting with sadistic satisfaction. "Oh, trust me, little bird," he sneered, leaning in closer, "generosity might not be his best feature--but sometimes, when you're dealing with snakes, it's better to know which one bites less."
His grip tightened briefly before he released you, leaving you seething with anger and frustration. Mattheo's jaw clenched visibly, his fingers curling into fists at Berkshire's audacious words. His eyes narrowed, a storm of anger brewing beneath the surface, but he maintained his composure.
"Watch your tongue, Berkshire." With a chilling calmness, he spoke, his voice laced with a warning tone. "And what did I tell you about fucking touching her?"
His words hung heavy in the air, a subtle threat underlying the calm facade. The atmosphere grew tenser, and even Berkshire seemed to falter slightly under the weight of Mattheo's gaze. The unspoken tension between the two boys crackled, leaving an electric charge in the room.
But then, Berkshire's lips curled into a sinister smile, as if he'd just come to some sudden realization, his eyes glinting with malicious amusement.
"My apologies, Riddle," he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm, glancing around at all of the other boys at the table. "I didn't realize she was off-limits...but, I have to say, it's quite intriguing, isn't it? The way you guard her so fiercely. Makes one wonder just how close you two really are."
Your irritation swelled, the annoyance becoming almost tangible. How had you thought Mattheo's snark was bad? This guy was in an entire fucking league of his own.
"What truly intrigues me is how someone as insufferable as you manages to function on a daily basis," you hissed, each word dripping with venom, spat out through gritted teeth. "I didn't think it was possible to be more arrogant than Mattheo, but I suppose congratulations are in order. At least you win at something, unlike Quiddit-"
Before you could finish your sentence, Berkshire erupted from his seat, his face contorted with rage, poised to confront you, stalling your lungs in your chest. The rest of the boys swiftly intervened, seizing him and forcefully yanking him back down into his seat, averting a potential escalation of yet another confrontation, each of them exchanging uneasy glances.
Mattheo's demeanor was a storm of barely restrained fury, his eyes dark and blazing with intensity. Despite his efforts to remain composed, the anger seeping from him was palpable, casting a shadow over the entire table.
You shot a scathing look at Berkshire, his gaze avoiding yours as he muttered bitter words under his breath, unwilling to engage in anymore direct confrontation.
Despite the tension, your voice dripped with disdain as you whispered, "bloody pathetic."
The words hung in the air, heavy with disgust, lingering like a ghostly mist--and before anyone had a chance to say anything else, you turned on your heel and left the hall. Each step echoed the frustration and anger that churned within you, the atmosphere thick with the lingering tension of the encounter. As you stormed down the corridor, your footsteps reverberating off the stone walls, you couldn't shake off the seething anger that clung to you like a second skin.
The distant echoes of the Great Hall's chaos faded into the background as you retreated into the quiet corridor, seeking solace from the storm you had unleashed. Just as you began to regain a semblance of composure, Mattheo's voice cut through the air like a sharp blade, his frustration palpable in the way he growled your name. You turned to face him, meeting his intense gaze, where anger and concern danced in his eyes like a tempest.
"The hell was that, Raven? What were you fucking thinking?" he demanded, his footsteps closing in with purposeful strides. His voice, though edged with annoyance, held an undercurrent of worry. "Starting a fight with Berkshire in the middle of the Great Hall? Are you trying to draw unnecessary attention to us?"
"You think I fucking started that?" Your eyes flashed with defiance, refusing to back down despite the intensity of Mattheo's gaze.
"I won't stand there and let him disrespect me, Mattheo," you retorted, your voice cutting through the silence with sharp precision. The weight of his annoyance only fueled your determination. "I'm already your doormat, I won't be his too."
There was a challenging edge to your words, a fire that refused to be extinguished, even in the face of Mattheo's frustration. It was a declaration of your unwillingness to be treated as less than you were worth, a resolve that echoed in the defiant set of your shoulders and the unwavering determination in your eyes. Mattheo's jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing with a menacing intensity. He closed the distance between you in a few more swift strides, his presence overwhelming.
"You're not my doormat, Raven," he hissed, his voice low and dangerous. "But if you keep pushing...if you keep running your mouth like that, you might just find out what it feels like to be truly under someone's heel...I can't keep defending you without drawing suspicion."
"Oh, look at you...big tough guy, huh?" Your defiance blazed in your eyes, undeterred by Mattheo's threats. You stepped forward, kinking your neck back to catch his eyes. "What are you going to do about it, hm? Get out the belt again? We both know I can handle more than that, Riddle..."
"You're playing with fire, princess..." Mattheo warned, his tone dripping with dark amusement as it dropped to a low whisper. "And we both know how that usually ends, don't we?"
His smirk, etched with wicked allure, deepened into a predatory grin. His eyes, like shards of obsidian, glittered with a potent mixture of dominance and danger. Leaning in, he invaded your personal space, his head tilting slightly as his gaze flickered to your lips, an unspoken challenge lingering in the air. Your pulse quickened, each beat echoing the intensity of the moment. Despite the adrenaline surging through your veins, you met his eyes with unwavering courage, a silent declaration that you would not be easily swayed by his aura of power and intrigue.
"Seems like that's all I do these days," you whispered back, allowing your defiance to blow away with the wind as you remembered why you even ventured to his table in the first place. "I can't do this anymore, Mattheo...I can't keep doing this...whatever the fuck this even is in the first place..."
Mattheo's eyes softened, his usual facade cracking for a moment as he reached out, his thumb tracing a gentle line along your jaw.
"Raven," he murmured, his voice filled with a complexity of emotions, "we're in too deep now...you and I both know there's no turning back..."
The dim light of the corridor cast deep shadows across Mattheo's features, highlighting the sharp angles of his face. His eyes, normally ablaze with confidence, were now clouded with uncertainty, a storm of conflicting emotions. His dark hair fell messily over his forehead, adding to the enigmatic aura that surrounded him. As he leaned in, the scent of his cologne wrapped around you, intoxicating and alluring.
"No, Mattheo..." you breathed, turning your head to avoid his lips. "You said no strings but there seems to be a lot of fucking strings...it’s all too much…”
Your inner turmoil churned like a tempest within, a whirlwind of conflicting emotions tearing at the very core of your existence. There was an ache nestled deep in your chest, a painful acknowledgment that you were bound to Mattheo in ways that defied logic and reason. The desire for something genuine, something profound and real, clashed violently with the brutal truth that it could never be.
It was a cruel paradox: Mattheo's possessiveness, his insistence on claiming you, even in the shadowy realms of secrecy, left you feeling both wanted and yet painfully isolated. The longing for an authentic connection battled relentlessly with the reality that this clandestine affair could never transform into something meaningful. You found yourself ensnared in a complex web, a moth irresistibly drawn to a flame, unable to resist its allure despite the inevitable burn.
His games and possessive gestures were merely agonizing reminders of the insurmountable boundaries. Yet, the magnetic pull of his presence, the way he ignited a fire within you, kept you entangled in this perilous dance. Your feelings for him were perplexing, a tumultuous mix of intense desire and seething resentment. He made you experience emotions you had never felt before, confusing you with the sheer intensity of your reactions.
You hated him, despised the way he treated you, yet he had an inexplicable power over you, making you feel both alive and trapped simultaneously. The dichotomy between the pleasure he brought and the pain he inflicted left you utterly confounded, adrift in a sea of emotions, desperately searching for an anchor that seemed forever out of reach.
Mattheo's eyes softened even further as he blinked, catching the flicker of turmoil in your gaze. He stepped back, the intensity of the moment breaking as he ran a hand through his tousled hair, a gesture of frustration and resignation.
"You're just not feeling well..." he said, his voice void of emotion, as though your turmoil was inconsequential, as though your current health state somehow made any fucking difference. "Get some rest, Raven. See you Wednesday."
His words hung in the air like a bitter aftertaste, a reminder of the futility of your situation. With a final, detached glance, he turned away and spun down the dimly lit hall, his figure gradually fading into the shadows. The weight of his indifference settled on your shoulders, a heavy burden that mirrored the ache in your heart. As he disappeared from view, you stood there, alone in the corridor, feeling both abandoned and entangled, like a moth caught in a web of its own making.
—————-
Chapter twelve->
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i-heart-hxh · 2 months
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This is a question that rarely gets asked, but do you think Kikyo Zoldyck has a hidden side to her? I don't necessarily mean a good or softer side, but a reason to explain why she is the way she is? One post I saw brings up the fact that she had grown up in Meteor City, a place where the residents have very warped ideas regarding your place in the world/relationships with loved ones (exhibit A: The Phantom troupe). I'm willing to bet she has a lot lot of generational trauma from growing up in that hellhole and then being whisked off to Kukuroo Mountain as a teen bride (considering she had Illumi when she was 18) in what must have been a very drastic and disorienting change in social standing. Hell, she probably didn't even have parents, or if she did, then they probably weren't really good ones; she literally has no idea what being a mother truly is, and if she had to claw her way up in the world to the point of being able to marry Silva, then no wonder she doesn't bat an eye at torturing her own children (after all, gritting her teeth through all the suffering and hardship worked out great for her in the end, didn't it?). In fact, I wager that is why she (and by extension Illumi) is so fixated on Killua being the heir. Why would her darling son ever give up a life of wealth, privilege, and security? Why won't he appreciate her sacrifices and all that she had to do to get this life? It also adds a lot of dimensions to why Illumi or Kalluto are the most devoted out of all the Zoldycks; since they spent the most time with her, they probably were exposed to her anxieties and fears the most.
Again, none of this is to excuse the abuse or trauma she inflicted on her own children, but it does add a lot of depth to her beyond being a nagging wife.
Thank you for the very thoughtful and fascinating ask!
Togashi tends to imbue his characters with a sense of humanity even when their appearances are brief, so it wouldn't surprise me at all if Kikyo has reasons like this for the person she became and the decisions she makes. Very few characters in HxH can be considered purely "good" or "evil" in any sense--above all, they're portrayed as being humans with their own individual interests and motivations (which are understandable to a degree even in cases where the actions they lead to clearly aren't excusable).
I do like that, even with her small role in the series, we're left with little tidbits of her that are intriguing and in themselves lead to a sense that we can connect a narrative to them--like the fact that she's from Meteor City, must have been young when she married Silva, and the mystery of her visor and why she wears it/what function it might serve exactly. It's entirely probable her background explains her emotional instability and attitude around Killua, though of course at this point we don't have enough info to say for certain what her full backstory might be.
The way you filled in the gaps would make a wonderful basis for a fanfic, honestly!
I'm not sure if we'll ever get more solid info on her in canon with how much remains unanswered and unfinished in the series as it is, but regardless it's amazing how even the small bits of info we're provided on her offer enough for you to put together this compelling writing on how she came to be the way she is and how it affects her children. I would love it if we get more info on her and the rest of the Zoldycks in the future of the series, but regardless this makes a great argument for the potential basis of her character, and it connects well with the facts we do have on her. Thank you for writing this up!
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dystopianam · 7 months
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THE SIMS 2 TRACKER FOR NOTION V.1.3
V.1.3 UPDATE (02/21/2024): Added the missing hair (fhairmessy) and fixed some names. A more in-depth check will be done in the future to fix other errors.
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V.1.2 UPDATE (09/06/2023): FIXES, SMALL CHANGES, NEW VIEWS FOR THE PERSONAL DEFAULTS TRACKER AND MORE! SEE BELOW!
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GET THE TEMPLATE HERE
V.1.2 UPDATE (09/06/2023):
#Fixed some pages where I forgot to remove my stuff to test things.
#I changed the property "Do I have a default?" from checkbox to "Status". Now it looks like this:
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Why did I do it? Because I noticed that sometimes I wasn't sure about the defaults I downloaded, so I wanted to have… more options to mark things. One check wasn't enough for me.
#I've added four new views, taking advantage of the new property, to help you to better group the defaults you have and don't have. See the screens here.
#I have added other list compilation for cc and mods which may come in handy.
#I added the "Camera Mod" section in the "Graphics" section.
V.1.1 UPDATE (09/04/2023): PERSONAL DEFAULTS REPLACEMENT TRACKER ADDED!
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Small clarifications:
# I also added some optional proprierties to fill in in case you use some mods. I made sure they are hidden because not everybody use those mods. So to see them click on “more proprierties”.
These options will only remain visible if you fill their box.
These are:
1. Height (If you use Lazy Duchess’s Height Mod here)
2. TS3 Traits (If you use the Trait System here)
3. The favorite color and the disliked color (if you use the color mod here)
Also, In ”Life States” I took the liberty of also adding midgethetree’s custom occults, but if you don't use them you can delete them.
# Some properties are hidden because not all sims have info for those properties. So to see them click on “more proprierties”. These options will only remain visible if you fill their box.
These are:
1. Death Cause (Don’t all sims are dead)
2. Business (OFB Business, it can be a shop a bakery etch)
3. Role in Business
4. All school/university-related properties, if your sim doesn't attend it.
# Some properties are hidden and cannot be made visible even if you fill their boxes. These are for the template filters, so please don't touch them. This property is literally called "Filters”.
My tracker has many more proprieties than a classic tracker and I filled it with ready options so you don't have to write everything by hand yourself (that's why it took me a long time)
ALL the properties have ready options, you just have to choose without the trouble of writing anything (unless you want to insert custom options yourself)
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The tracker has also a lot of different views and I'll let you discover them yourself!
I didn't want to add extra options for gender identities and sexual orientations because I don't want to forget anyone, so you can add whatever you want!
And as a last thing to say I can say that for the "currently played family" view, I copied the idea from this template from @skittlessims-deactivated2023082 / @skittlesplays
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