#Automatic door closer hinge

[raajrajasharma]

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[dragonsholygrail]

Puppy bf being a good boy and waiting by the door when you come home from work, his cock already nice and hard. Waiting impatiently he wags his tail so hard it smacks against the wall. Whining about how badly he needs you.

Sending even the slightest signal he’ll be on you before you can blink, his snout nuzzling against your nose as he crowds you against the door so that you can feel the straining bulge in his pants. His hips move on their own as they automatically start grinding against your clothed core.

You protest, trying to at least go to the bedroom, but as soon as your bf gets a whiff of your arousal he’s done for. His nails catching on your clothes and tears them off in one single jerk of his arm. His quickly following.

You cry out, trying to cover yourself up before his hand pins both your wrists above your head. You look at him in shock and he immediately whimpers, bowing his head to you as his hard cock now rocks into your exposed folds. Wanting to be good even as his need consumes him and your arousal drips down onto his length.

“Don’t I deserve your pretty pussy? Haven’t I been good for you?“

His free hand slowly begins to trail down your body, not being able to help but grab fist fulls of your flesh on the way down. You moan softly, head rolling back against the door as he continues his journey until he’s cupping your cunt in his hand. Fingers cheekily running through your glistening folds.

“Y-yes,” you stutter, barely able to talk. Your bf whines louder and dips his fingers inside you just enough to have you jerking in his arms before they leave to swirl around your clit.

“Then please let me fuck you. I’ll do anything! I’ll lick you raw, I’ll make you cum till you pass out, I’ll make you feel better than you ever have before.”

You both know he was going to do all that anyway, but at the desperation in his eyes you know you can’t deny him any longer. And you can’t deny yourself either. Today was stressful and all you want right now is for your bf to pound into you until you’re seeing stars.

All it takes is you hooking your leg around your bf’s waist and his eyes brighten, immediately understanding your signal. Before you can even blink he’s thrusting inside you and he doesn’t stop to let you adjust.

Grunts and moans ring throughout your home and you’re more than certain all the neighbors can hear your bf fucking into you with reckless abandon. The door rattling on its hinges from the sheer power of his cock plunging into your wet heat.

Your bf whines lowly in your ear, nuzzling into the fold of your neck. Slowly turning to a puddle now that he can feel your squishy body back against his and his cock back inside of you.

“Why won’t you touch me? P-please, need your touch. Been forever, do you even love me anymore?” He whines dramatically.

He starts fucking up into you even harder. As if trying to remind you of the sensations that only he’s ever been able to bring out of you. You pant heavily, your eyes clouded with lust to the point you can barely think straight either.

“Baby, you got my hands.”

Your bf looks up and sees his claws still trapping your wrists against the door. His cheeks blaze with pink and he lets you go before hiding into your neck, rocking his hips so his pelvis grinds against your pussy in a silent apology. Your jaw drops, pussy clenching around him and he growls until your hands claw down his back and he calms down.

His length still sliding along your walls at a punishing pace, bringing you closer and closer your release. It’s as if he can sense it, grinding harder against your clit. Wanting to feel you milking his dick more than anything.

“Waited so long for you, to feel your tight pussy sucking my cock back inside you. Felt like years. Missed you so much,” he whimpers, rutting into you furiously like he doesn’t want to leave your cunt for a second.

“I’m right here. Not going anywhere,” you whisper breathlessly in his ear.

With one more thrust you’re coming so hard on his cock that your ears ring. Your pussy clenching down so tightly on his length that he instantly cums right after you. Satisfied growls leaving his chest as you two help work each other through your climaxes.

You sag against him and his hands tighten on your hips, insistent on keeping you close. And he does as he helps take you to your room where he plans to make sure you don’t go anywhere as you’ll be too busy writhing on his thick tongue.

[cutiecusp]

A mini drabble based on this (popstar x John price)

Diva

Tw. Minor (v.minor) violence. Protective Price. Feelings.

Diva.

You heard that term all your career. Men would call it you as you shake off unwanted hands, and women would call it you in interviews and the press.

Your skin had grown used to the barbs they threw at you, until eventually nothing stuck.

You were a diva. Strong, confident, talented, beautiful. That's what being a diva meant to you.

You treated your staff like gold, knowing how valuable each person was, from the seamstress making your clothes, to security keeping you safe on tour.

Your bubble popped one night however, when you got back to your bus after the last show you had negotiated with John.

A tobacco scent unlike John's cigars cloaked the room, while a lone figure sat in the dark.

"Do you have any idea how long I've waited for you, princess?" Came the southern drawl.

Leaning forward, you recognise the ashy blonde hair and dimpled smirk anywhere.

"Phillip." You breathe, shock evident on your face.

"As I live and breathe, Darlin" He says, standing up with his arms outstretched.

"Don't I get a kiss? After all, we were good together..." he trails off, his body moving closer to yours.

Grabbing your forearm so you were flush to him, he whispers in your ear.

"You owe me a hit, Princess. You stole my career."

You shiver under his touch, repulsed by the cigarette and whiskey combination on his breath, you pull back.

"You slept behind my back while I was on tour." You seethe.

He laughed dryly, and a familiar feeling of dread washed over you. The shame, the humiliation. You two had been on the cover of every magazine, the next best thing since Stevie and Lindsey, and almost as destructive.

"Everyone fucks around on tour, doll." He explains to you, as if you were stupid.

"I didnt." You insist angrily. "Now get off my bus."

"You may not have fucked around on tour, but I know what you are like, those carpet burns on your knees that brought you a record deal, whoring yourself out to executives and producers. We are two sides of the same coin, Darlin' and you know it."

You push him to the door, but not before he grabs both of your arms tightly, causing you to wince.

"You owe me." He repeats, his eyes wild in anger, his words starting to slur.

You yell as he pushes you against the closet door of the bus, praying one of your team is out there. Your voice loud enough to stun Phillip, taking a moment to push him off you.

You hear footsteps across the tarmac before the door is ripped open, the flimsy hinges snapping automatically.

"Get your fucking hands off her." Boomed a deep voice, and instead of recoiling, something sparked in your chest.

John pulled Phillip out of the tour bus by the scruff of his hoodie, cursing him the whole time.

Before handing him off to his security, he got a few punches in.

"My fucking girl." You overhear, as you stumble to the steps, eyes wide at the sight before you.

John was in jeans and a green t shirt, a far cry from the fancy suits you've seen him in before, his dark hair wild, his face red with anger.

You take in his broad chest and big arms, his solid frame towering over Phillip's, who was backing off under the scrutiny of John's security.

At last he turned to you, and your breath hitched in your throat.

"John. I-" you begin, but he cuts you off with a stare.

"Y'alright?" He asks gruffly, his gaze roaming over your body. Unlike in the board room, this gaze felt different, feral.

You nod shakily, your heart pounding in your chest.

"I'm okay! He didn't-" you trail off.

Suddenly you feel strong arms envelope you as big tears fall down your cheeks. A familiar cigar and sandalwood scent calmed you, and you held onto John as if he was a life raft in a stormy sea.

Because, to the world, you were a diva. Strong, brave, beautiful, confident, resilient.

But to John. You were his.

................

A/N I know there's a little time skip between the first part and this. But I will be writing John's POV which will make it all make sense 🖤

@xoxunhinged @muneca-lemon-steppa @livingoutsidethetardis @gardenof-venus @misshugs @soraya-daydreams @frudoo @renpodz @yesornowaitidontknow @thevoiceinyourheadx @shadowdark00 @rynbeerose @lunamoonbby @incredible-walker @identity2212 @pukbadger @urbimom @corvid007 @wordsfromshona @shadows-empress @m00xy @canyonmooncreations @oniraki @evie-119 @havoc973 @kylies-love-letter @ishipdabands @cmbghost @heckinspooks @midwesternwitchery @eggy-yoke @redzluvvesage @daydreamerwoah

[darkestspring]

Could you do one where Helaena’s lover, who is also her personal guard manages to stop blood and cheese from happening and him comforting her afterwards and the kids kinda looking at him as a father figure bc aegon wasn’t really interested in them until he became king so naturally they’re more attached to him please?

technically a part two to this but can be read on it's own.

You found one exiting Aemond's empty chamber as you were walking past and automatically put a sword through his chest, watching him bleed out quickly as you raced past and reached the twin's room. you quietly opened the door, the hinges don't squeak anymore, after you insistently had a servant fix the issue when it started bothering the twins. you pressed your finger up to your lips as Helaena and she pretended that she didn't notice you. She looked distressed and so did the twins but none of them were harmed.

you quickly plunged the sword into the other one's chest, only ripping it out when he started to fall to the floor before stabbing him twice more for good measure, for each person in the room he frightened.

"Come," You urged Helaena closer and she flew towards you, sobbing into you and you cradled her head softly with your clean hand. "It's okay, it's over." You assured her softly. "Wait here while i take care of the body." You whispered quietly to her. "Barricade the door in case there is more. Don't let anyone in but me." You didn't know who else was in on it.

Helaena nodded in fright as she rushed back over to the twins and you followed suit for a moment.

"Ser," Jaehaerys sobbed and you frowned softly, hatred filling you. You wished you had tortured the two men, for making the three lights of your life scared.

"I'll be right bad, once I clean up this mess and make sure no one else is coming to bother you, I'll be back." You whispered to him softly, leaning down and kissing his forehead before turning to Jaehaera. "I'll be back soon, my sweet loves."

You turned to Helaena, "I'll make certain that the three of you aren't in any danger and I'll come back to you. Don't let anyone in but me, not unless you truly trust them." You told her once again, looking down at her.

"Please be safe," She whispered softly, you reach up and cupped her cheek with your clean hand.

"I will be. I will return to you unscathed." You promised before exiting the room, dragging the dead man with you.

You weren't certain where you were going but you dumped them somewhere away before having another guard take care of it. His penance for not knowing what was about to occur to the queen and her children.

You took off your bloody gear when you were certain there was no one else hiding in wait to hurt her but kept your sword on you and you knocked softly on the door to the twin's room. "It is me." You called out softly.

The sound of something scraping against the floor sounded and the door opened and you saw the relieved look on her face. She sut the door after you walked in. You set your sword to the side, close enough to grab but out of the children's view. No need to traumatize them more.

You picked up jaehaerys and jaehaera and sat with them in your lap as they snuggled closer to you. "I checked every nook and cranny, you're safe now. No more evil men coming for you. I will always keep you safe." You whispered to them as they fall back asleep in your arms.

"I mean it." You looked over at the hovering Helaena. "I will always protect you and keep you safe." You assured her.

[charnelhouse]

What if Joel accidentally ran into a woman he dated before the cordyceps happened and Dolly wants to stand up for what's hers very inspired by how Joel defends what is his

She’s rippling with irritation as Joel follows her down the hall. Her hips swinging, hair flying. She’s tense, knotted with something he can’t discern. She’d been this way the entire week.

Joel thinks back to the events of the day. Nothing unusual. Yesterday? No.

He calls her name and she doesn’t turn around. In fact she slams the door open so hard that it bounces off the wall before striding inside.

Bristling, Joel follows, gingerly closing the door just in case she’s damaged the hinges. He turns to her, hands spread. “What…the fuck?”

She narrows her eyes, arms crossed over her chest defensively. She takes a beat before saying: “She was all over you today.”

“Huh?”

“Emily!”

Puzzled, Joel begins to move forward. “What about her?”

“She’s into you.”

Joel scoffs.

“You don’t see it, but I do.” She points a finger at him, prodding him straight in the chest. “She’s at your damn heels-desperate for your attention.”

Joel thinks he might laugh. She looks so pissed, utterly indignant and he can’t understand why. He’s never given Emily anything, but a rather stunned greeting when they ran into each other. It had somewhat stung him, that sharp reminder of his life before the outbreak. But nothing more. She’d been around, but he figured she was only trying to ingratiate herself into the community.

“Dolly,” he says softly as he slips into her space. Her flesh is warm and her brow damp from the day's sweat. She’s beautiful and even more so when her eyes are sparking with frustration or is it jealousy?

He drags his knuckles across her bottom lip and her tongue automatically darts out to flick the calloused, peeled skin. They’re both filthy. “You can’t seriously think I want her?”

“You had a thing!”

“We fucked one time in the 90s,” he returns, snaking an arm around her waist and tugging her against him. “We were drunk.” Their foreheads meet and she sighs.

“I don’t know,” she huffs against his parted lips. “Maybe - you’re sick of me.”

“No,” He hauls her closer. “I can’t lose that million-dollar pus-

She laughs, hands flying to cover his mouth. “Rude!”

“I don’t know…” He nuzzles his face into her throat. She’s so soft and tender and sometimes he finds himself addicted to it. For all the shit they’ve been through, he finds these pockets of intimacy that surprise even him. He doesn’t do affection. Not like this.

“Don’t know what?” She’s rocking into him, fisting the back of his hair. All breathy. Sweet.

“I’m usually the one scaring off the men who won’t keep their eyes to themselves.” He kisses her jaw lightly. “You being jealous is kind of fun.”

[imaginesofeverykind]

Witches Brew ~ Chapter 1

Warnings: HEAVY mentions of blood/gore, magic described as visceral, catholic-centric monotheism demonised, gore themes, Aegon being the epitome of ‘omg i’ll do whatever except tell mum’, Body horror, 18+ Minors DNI

Tags: DnD-Esque style AU, Targaryens aren't royalty but they are Noblefolk, some things are purposefully vague :S :S

Chapter Song: Go Tell Aunt Rhody (RE7 soundtrack) - Michael A. Levine, Jordan Reyne

Summary: To practice magic is to slight God with the devil's embrace. It is evil, sin, consuming and the price one pays is never worth what one seeks. Yet people, in times of desperation often turn to desperate measures, in Aegon’s case, medicinal remedy is not an option. No healer can undo what has been done. But the Hag tucked away behind reeds, water topped with algae and the voracious bog may be able to. For a price.

Word Count: 3.8k

Series Masterlist

Vicious rapping squanders the peace and quiet of a relatively silent part of the swamp. Moonlight splits off, cutting through the canopy of overgrowth that shields a peculiar abode entangled within the trunk of an elder tree. The crickets sing among the toads’ baritone croaks until they cease, abiding by the loud pounding on the wooden door that barely stays on its hinges, splintering from wood rot.

”Please!”

A guttural plea, desperation lingering atop the vowels. No one ever came to the decrepit hut unless they were on the brink, teetering the veil of life, quite literally on death's door. But death hardly answered, in its wake, oftentimes stood you; for those who braved the trek.

He had almost given up, muscles begging him for rest, for a modicum of reprieve from the toil it took just to arrive at the steps of a stranger's hut. The weight, the pain, it was enough to finally buckle his shaky grime covered knees, splinters embedded themselves into the palms of his hands the moment his hands hit the wood beneath him. 

“I need —,” a whimper, is all that managed to escape his throat. His eyes flickered to the body beside him — not body, he wasn’t dead yet — to his brother laying beside him, laboured breaths that sucked through his barred teeth in discomfort. 

Lips curled into a snarl, he brought his fist down on the decking one final time, “open the door you fucking wretch!” 

He nearly cowered when the door yanked open, yellow light spilling out into the dark bog from the hearth that roared inside. No one stood in the frame of the door, no one beckoned him inside the derelict home and despite this, he rose to his feet, scraping his newly acquired trousers. There was little energy left in him, just enough to drag the mauled body of his brother - one that inched closer to the afterlife - over the threshold of the hut.

”Sit.” 

He spun on his feet, nearly tripping over the pile of wood stacked beside the hearth when his eyes landed on you, who had appeared, simply materializing from nothing. It was only mere seconds until he was set on you again, a frantic torment that willed him near you, “Hag, you must help him!” Despite his weary disposition, he demanded help.

A nobleman. You think, taking his appearance in. Both men donned the same white hair, similarly crafted attire that screamed wealth and you are automatically aware of who was inside your abode. The township off the Kings Road comes to your mind, owned by a Lord as it had been for the past century.

”Well?! Must I get on my knees?” He was angry, that much was clear, but he was more afraid above all.

You waved dismissively, though not toward the stranger, the Lordling. The table of apothecary jars and dissected creatures vanish, though they never are truly gone, and you gesture for the man to place his injured companion. He’s confused at first, most people are when they come to you. Magic was no longer what it was, you could feel it wane the harder religion sought to destroy it. He most likely has never seen it this close.

But he silently obeys, with great effort hauling his brother up on the table and like you had before, appeared behind him as silently as the fog that began to seep through the crack beneath the door. He flinched away instantly, you fought back a sly smirk but your focus was on the man with long matted locks. The hair was a brilliant white, the same as his brothers, identical as the Lord of the closest settlement, but it was marred with the crimson syrup of blood.

You bring a finger to his mutilated face, your pointed nails more akin to talons than that of humans, they threaten to crack the white porcelain of his skin. Swiping a long line down, coating the pads of your fingertips in blood and bringing it to your mouth for a taste. Bitter. The able bodied man recoiled at the sight, but you pay him no mind as you examine the injured one.

His eye was gone. That was a shame. You were fond of eyes as payment.

”Can you heal him?” The man beside you asked, voice small, almost childlike and feeble. ”Name your price, make him whole again and I’ll — I’ll give you whatever you want. Fix him.” His anguish raked through your ears and rattled against your mind like razor sharp teeth, your neck instinctively lolling from left to right as if to ward off the discomfort that followed.

”They’ll know.” You answer cryptically, caressing the side of the younger man's face much like a mother would when tucking in a babe for the evening.

“Can. You. Fix. Him?” His patience was wearing thin.

You sigh, turning to face him properly for the first time since he arrived. Violet eyes. Magic touched his very heritage and yet his own kin sought to erase it, the irony was not lost on you. “He will be different.” You say as a warning, a politeness he certainly didn’t deserve yet you gave it anyway.

Anger overcame him, outstretching his hands and coiling his fingers around the scruff of your filthy dress to yank you toward him. You happen to catch the brief glint of silver, but you had caught it, the blade with your hand wrapping around it to stop it from piercing your chest. Not that it would have damaged your heart, you wonder if his intent was to scare or if he simply forgot which side the human heart resided.

The blade cut through your skin, rivers of red beginning to run down your wrist. The pain is welcome.

“Fix him. Or else I’ll drag you to Oldtown where you can burn in the circle you filthy animal.” 

Animal. As if you were no longer good enough to be likened to a person, a human person capable of human things. ‘They fear what they cannot control,’ the voice is recalled into your mind, a vague memory of the past resurfacing as though it meant to reassure you.

Your lips twist into an awry smirk, and the second he blinks you have once again dissolved through his hands like an apparition. Reappearing by his brother's side, sliced hand outstretched to let your own blood drip tantalizingly slow over the unconscious man’s face.

In your other hand is a surprisingly ornate steel flask, an eyesore amongst the natural clutter. Whatever liquid you have delicately poured down the man’s throat is sanguine, syrupy thick like honey. You sense there is something not quite right mere seconds before the man begins to convulse violently, gasping for air that he cannot breathe.

”What have you done?!” Nostrils flared and ire rising, the able bodied one charged toward you like a boar gone rabid. 

You grew tired of his impetulant outbursts, whispering a soft incantation with hurried hand flourishes and his movements ceded. Burnt into the wooden boards around his feet, still smoking with specks of orange embers were runes, etched into a circle. Something felt off, the air reeked of acrid mildew mixed with copper and you knew instantly what triggered the reaction.

Ignoring the binded man’s threats you let the magic sing to you, caress you, consume you while softly speaking in a forgotten and forbidden tongue.

The windows and door fly open, inviting in a malstrom of wind, tempestuous and bludgeoning, the centre it wishes to converge is at the body on the table still choking, still clawing at himself for air. His spirit dwindles at every garbled breath but you sense his will and you could feel his fight, he was a warrior through and through even in the face of imminent mortal peril. Not many of those who seek you, offer the same resoluteness. 

The older brother is driven to shield his face from the vacuum of wind battering him against the unseen magical force which keeps him in place. Fear was evident in his eyes, perhaps even a touch of regret and guilt though you don’t linger too long as you shout a final mantra, holding both your forearms with formidable strength that is unbroken until the last word passes your lips, you break your grasp.

And then suddenly, the gale force of destruction dissipates.

Silence follows. And you are sat beside the young brother, placing a paste across the part of his face which had been torn away viciously. “What attacked him?” It was the first time you had spoken so directly, but it was because you knew the answer, the nobleman before you couldn’t possibly know what lurked through the mangroves and stalked beneath the stillwater.

He doesn’t appear to comprehend the question at first, muttering to himself a litany of false truths to explain what had happened right in front of him. His very own trembling brings him back from his prison of thoughts as his gaze lifts cautiously to meet yours, “a Direwolf.”

“How did you know it was a Direwolf?” You ask instantly, predicting that he would say as much. No matter, you step over to the cabinet that housed jars filled with all sorts of assorted components for potion making or spell casting, the moon light coming through the window casting an eerie shadow on the workspace.

”What else do you call a giant fucking wolf, what does it matter?” He grew restless again.

You dripped a small phial of black liquid into the mortar filled with other ingredients with great haste, eyes curiously peering out the window looking at the moon as you grimly sigh and mix together what’s been obtained. “It matters,” you grit, trying to grind the remainder of the paste, “the difference between a Direwolf and what attacked him is an exceptionally vindictive blood curse.”

He blinked at you, “what?”

You discard the mortar and cross the room swiftly, shelves littered with bones, glowing rocks and a variety of ceremonial looking daggers. Though magic and its very history were being erased by the ‘new god’, you still hoped those within the settlement weren’t entirely sheltered. 

“He will know no master lest it is the moon, he will know no anger stronger than wrath, he will know only pain and isolation.”

The expression that fell across his face told you all that was needed; He understood fully what was at stake, just as you had moments before. Though his resolve hardened and he met your gaze once more, “cure him. Whatever it takes, I do not care!” Both of you knew he was in no position to demand, not when he was still held in place by unseen magic and you had proven many times how easily it was to simply disappear.

And that is what you did, if only briefly, shooting him a coy smile before vanishing and leaving him in ruination for the moment. In the silence, forced to look at his brother made his lip tremble. He hoarsely called out to him, shaky words choking in half sobs to beckon him awake and rip him from unconsciousness to no avail.

”He’s not here,” You softly say, causing him to jump when you reappear and brush past him. “His soul is in limbo, he won’t hear you.” But I can, you think, the energy sings to your soul in a gentle hymn and your blood sings back to it. In your hand a lock of silver hair clasped in your fist, having come from where you disappeared to, though it caused immediate alarm for the man. 

He pointed a finger at your hand and grimaced, his bottom lip still trembling but no longer from hopelessness. Though he doesn’t ask the question out loud, you know what he’s thinking and you were certain he wouldn’t like the answer regardless of how you explained it.

“Whatever it takes,” you gently repeated his words and it was enough to silence him, for far longer than you thought was possible. Though the silence was welcomed, encouraging concentration while you handled the spellcraft with the care and love that had been taught to you. The woman in your memory that provided warmth and affection was not your mother by blood and yet she lived through your very essence as if she were.

She was there with every spell, whispering gently and coaxing a power buried deep within you. She was in the walls of the hut, imbuing you with much needed protection from creatures and men. And she was here, watching you through omniscient delight as you dedicated part of your essence to a stranger and his injured brother.

The serenity only just takes the edge of tension away, as if you weren’t tending to the impossible feat of near resurrection and stitching a man whole together once more. Life was fragile, mortality was inevitable even to those who yearn against it but magic could manipulate it enough even if it took great energy. It wasn’t without drawbacks, though. Transactional in nature, to undo what has been done required blood magic, the type of magic you were versed well in but it almost always came with consequence.

’What is taken, must be given back’ the words of your ‘mother’ echoed superfluously everytime your duty required meddling with the laws of nature. Perhaps that was why many travelers or townsfolk revered you as a hag, if not for the way you dressed or looked or lived, then for your duty as an indiscriminate arbiter of unfairness and misfortune.

Magic was fair, balanced and it obeyed karmic laws, this was why you cradled such energy. Life was not, it was often unfair and that much had been made clear the moment your real mother left you in a swamp to be taken by whatever monsters prowled in search for their next meal.

So you do what needed to be done - if only a little self serving to you personally but - you give back the injured man what had been clawed away and take something from his family locked away in their fortress within the walls of their beloved township. Not without a final twist in the knife for the older brother who demanded your help many hours ago. Appearing beside him like a shade, gripping his wrist abruptly and slicing a line across his palm to draw blood.

He attempted to fight back but he was bound, he could only wince and complain while you squeezed the blood into a medium phial. When you had finished, he snatched his hand back, holding it to his chest as if to soothe the pain and grimaced at you almost childishly, “you could’ve asked.”

A faint smile tickles the corner of your lips, though it was no matter of if his words were amusing or his mannerism when he calmed down were fascinating, there was still a task at hand. 

The final part of the brutal rite fell appropriately on the witching hour, where the crow sings thrice while the moon is still high. To complete everything, you dropped several dribbles of the brother's blood into the injured’s mouth and finished off your words of sacrilege.

”He will recover,” You announce, finally after what seemed like hours upon hours of the sounds of your transfixed mumblings and careful spell work.

The man hadn’t heard you at first, in fact he had barely registered the runic circle by his feet had disappeared quite some time ago which meant he was no longer bound in place yet he still remained as if he were. But the only thing that broke him from his trance had been the shallow breath followed by his younger brother lurching forward in a confused panic.

No longer was his face torn, eye gouged, the only indication of that was the faint pink scar that remained. His eyes — both, set on you and he surged forward straight toward your neck. Not that you could blame him for being in such a state, though it would be rather humorous to allow him to indulge in his urges and let him throttle you, you step out of his reach like an alluring treat that only served to frustrate him.

The older one flung himself forward, fretting over the younger and the tension immediately dispersed into quaint relief. Though it lasted no longer than a matter of moments, chaos stalked the two like they were messengers from the god of chaos himself, the energy between them repelling from one another like static in a storm. You could merely watch on in light amusement at the bickering duo.

“— I already think so low of you and yet you exceed expectations once more. Bringing me to this devil whisperer's den?!”

”Well I was simply not going to bring you home marked and dying!”

“If you must lie that you care for me dear brother, at least have the conviction to not pretend you had my interests at heart when we both know you wish to save your skin. Now I have to explain to mother why I stench of sin.”

You laughed, quite loudly it had broken the two from grappling one another to look over. The glimpses of lives you often see when people stop by are often times quite enlightening, just as it appeared in the present between two quarrelling brothers. One who thirsts for recognition and appreciation while the other wishes to disappear and fade to obscurity.

“Do we amuse you, hag?” The younger ones eyes set on you, his grimace was apparent as he did little to hide his contempt.

“Quite.” You hum, barefoot toes curling into the splintered wood while thinking aimlessly. No words followed, not when your gaze cast on the elder who had gone a shade lighter in his face, his limbs beginning to quake and tremble. Cracked lips curling into a smile as you watch him collapse to the floor, writhing in what one could assume was unrelenting pain, the type of pain that embedded itself into a person.

“Aegon — Brother!” The younger falls to his brothers side and you watch curiously, how interesting the dynamic was between the brothers. Their resentment ran deep yet there was still a matter of love beneath it, a bond that weaved itself between them despite such obtuse differences.

The younger was furious, shooting his deadly gaze at you with nostrils flared and he lunged at you, this time for mere entertainment, you let his hands wrap around your neck and press you hard against the cabinet. “You fucking monster! What have you done to me! To him?!” He spat, rightfully so, you thought that someone as pious as him would befall such a fate, though from the little information you’ve gathered on the two, Aegon — as you now know him — did not share such piety.

A weary smirk pulled at the corner of your lips, choking out, “I am no monster, little lordling though it pleases me so, to bestow a mark on your family who seeks to reject their very own heritage.” 

The screams and pleas of Aegon in the background fuelled this one’s anger, “we’ll have you burnt for that —“ His hands tighten their grip, leaving you to his mercy for now in his hands like a ragdoll force to move at his whim, jerking you forward and then slamming you back into the cabinet. Glass shattered from the impact around the both of you but your focus remained on him, the only thing to do in the instance was laugh and so you did.

“Quite the ferocious brute you are — you’d have made a fine servant to the moon, though I cannot say the same about your brother.” His hands squeezed down on your windpipe with malicious intent but you remain unperturbed despite the immense pressure building within your head. Like a bubble about to burst.

The elders' whimpers of pain droned on in the background, mixing into the symphony of nature that carried on throughout the marsh. You had a little too much fun toying with people, if they were to treat you a certain way, who were you to not at least get amusement from it? 

You laughed, bringing a fist full of powder up and flicking it in his face before disappearing through his fingertips like grains of sand. The powder served distraction enough, staggering him back and you silently thank your motherly figure for always ensuring you carried turmeric. Even if it was to ward off bad spirits only.

When you reappeared, your lips barely skimming the shell of Aegon’s ear as you whisper a soft incantation, it felt lewd and profane but at once his pain ceased. The wrinkling in his forehead and face softened while beads of sweat trickled downward, threatening to sully his eyesight by falling into it.

In your hand was the phial of blood you had taken from Aegon, the other held the scruff of his neck. His brother only just recovered from having powder flung in his face, the searing and burning had barely stopped when his eyes settled on you, hovering over Aegon like an enchantress with ill intent.

You crushed the phial in your hands, glass cutting the insides of your palm mixing two bloods together, placing your bloodied hand to Aegon’s sweaty forehead and began muttering swift words. You turned to the younger one, haggard and crazed with a look in your eye that seemed to elicit fear in both of them, raising a clawed hand up you pointing directly at him.

“I have done what is asked of me, to unmark and unburden you. And the cost has been paid. He —“ you look down at Aegon’s fearful eyes, and something in your mind whispers to you to show mercy, it is not your voice, rather hers the one who taught you the ways of magic, “he may now be a servant of the moon but he is bound to me.  Every lunar cycle when the moon is at its fullest he must come to me lest he be made an example from the zealot’s who poison your minds with promises of false salvation and piety.” You were still rather on the theatrical side, not truly enforcing a blood bind on him. And yet, it had the desired effect. Fear.

“And if he doesn’t?” The younger asks in mock defiance, serving as a mask to hide the fear so prevalent in his eyes.

“Then when you pray at night you better hope your false god listens.”

——— Taglist ———

Lemme know if you wanna be tagged for the next update! :D

@karlachs-soldier

[themosthatedbeingg]

There’s the sound of peppy jazz coming closer and closer to the hotel. However, with that, there are screams and sounds of cars swerving off the road as the pavement cracks underneath Alastor’s hooves. Fire hydrants automatically explode throughout downtown as he makes his way home. Once again the coffee shop may have crumbled into the ground along with several other buildings.

“Salutations!” The hotel’s entrance doors blew off their hinges. “Sorry I’m running a bit late, had a very, busy, busy, night! What a wonderful night it was! Had me a rather large fried chicken dinner! Ah, I do love a good bird, so savory and tender. Gosh! I should have brought some back, how incredibly rude of me! Does anyone else smell and taste stardust? Or is it just me? HA-HA-HA!!” He slapped his knee as a laugh track starts to play. His voice box is crackling with static, his words are fast and a little incoherent.

“Oh my! The wonders of the universe and creation all at their finger tips and what do they do with it? Have little TEA parties and GOSSIP! What a WASTE of potential! Why is everything buzzing? Where are the bees? Why are there stars inside the hotel? Did someone decorate? Hell, forbid we have a little class in his place! I should set this whole place ablaze….!!”

His breath starts to become labored, for a moment he has to stop and gather up his barrings. The music comes to a screeching halt for a minute before it picks right back up again. “Golly! So Sorry about that! Back to your regular schedule program!”

Lucifer was at the bar with Husk, trying to show off to the unamused bar tender that he could juggle both oranges and apples when he felt a crackle of power and extended his wings on instinct dropping the fruit he had been juggling .

What in the seven Hells was going on?? What was Alastor on??

He glanced over at Husk, “did you put something in his coffee ?” He whispered , a bit concerned by the display the other was making .

“Uh.. Al? You ok there Bambi?” He asked a bit concerned .

[milf-harrington]

Ooh tell me about trailer park neighbours please

gladly!! it's one of my steve-has-an-older-sister fics, and it's a mix of pov's and a bit of a relationship study w/ a side of steddie it's just not the focus. i also think i might end up making it a 5+1 fic, but im not sure yet.

louisa, older than steve by about 5-ish years, lives in the trailer park after being kicked out by their dad. her plan was to move to chicago and go to school or something, but she couldn't bring herself to just leave her mum or her little brother, so she stuck around. despite being really close as kids, their parents manage to turn steve against lou by basically just brainwashing him, but when steve starts reevaluating his life in s1, he realises he misses her and reaches out and they wind up having weekly dinners

in the beginning those dinners tended to end in arguments that cut the evening short and steve would storm off and drive home, it happens less and less as they grow closer again and stop feeling like they constantly have to have their guards up around eachother

and then there's eddie, who is one of lou's neighbours and doesn't really know who she is - he sort of thinks shes one of king steves conquests at first, what with the way they were yelling at each other that first time he saw them, but then steve just keeps coming back and eddie can't really make sense of it

and then, july '85, someone starts banging on eddie's door and it's louisa and she's like "i need to borrow your first aid kit" and eddie ends up following her back to her trailer and finds a very bloody, slightly delirious, steve harrington on her couch which is when he finds out they're siblings. and steve's like. still a tiny bit drugged and also finally coming down from the adrenaline of the whole night so he just sleepily babbles about how pretty eddie is and eddie's like o///o

here's a lil snippet also:

Someone was knocking on his door, frantic heavy slamming like the slap of an open palm. "Alright, alright!" Eddie yelled, trying to wrap his hair in a towel and yank on pyjama pants at the same time. He threw open the door, hinges groaning and skin still damp from the shower, to find the woman from down the road standing on his porch. Her name was Lisa, or Lucy, or something, and she looked frazzled, dressed in a grey singlet and pink pyjama shorts, hair falling out of its scrunchie. There was blood smeared on her shoulder and jaw, staining her fingers. "I need to borrow your first aid kit." Alarmed, Eddie let go of the towel half wrapped around his head and felt it fall, hot and damp, around his shoulders. His hair followed, cold strings of wet spaghetti down his neck, but he ignored it. "Are you okay?" "I just need your first aid kit, do you have one or not?" "I- yeah?" He stuttered, automatically stepping back to let her in. She glanced down the road, towards her own trailer, eyes worried, before following him inside. "It's just in the kitchen." He told her, somewhat uselessly but unsure what else to do, as he reached up to pull the box from the top of the fridge. "So, what do you-" "Can I just take the whole thing?" She asked, clearly itching to get back to whatever emergency she needed the kit for, and Eddie paused. "Do you need help?"

[folliesandfolderols]

Writing Prompts Day 1

From this prompt list. I set a goal of writing at least 150 words per day in 2024, which sounds pretty pathetic but if you take into account the fact that I haven't written any fiction since 2019 it felt like a feasible target. Anyway I've finished the first draft (it topped out at 88k words) and will be unlocking each post as I edit.

***

"So how do you want me to fuck you?"

***

Tim was crawling under the bed in his old room in the Manor, looking for an external hard drive he'd misplaced ages ago, when the door slammed open and then slammed shut again with just as much vigor. He nearly hit his head on the bedframe, but managed to keep that much dignity before slowly rising to his feet.

"Damian?" It had been a long time since they were at each others' throats as a matter of course, but the instinct to view Damian with caution remained. Admittedly, that was due to other reasons now rather than out of fear for his life.

Damian nodded at him in acknowledgement, eyebrows furrowed. "Drake."

Tim stepped closer as he realized that what he'd first interpreted as anger (teeth gritted, muscle jumping at the hinge of Damian’s jaw, redness crawling up his neck and into his cheeks) looked like a different emotion altogether. He hadn't recognized it at first because Damian so rarely allowed himself to appear embarrassed. "What's wrong?"

"I—I require something of you." Tim gave him a dubious look in automatic offense, and Damian hastily changed tactics. "I request something of you. I have a burden which must be shed and I believe you are an tolerable associate to help me do so."

Tim moved closer still, enough to reach out and touch Damian, except that the other's clear wariness kept him from making any sort of gesture. "Sure, you know I'm happy to assist.” A lie, but a useful one until the truth needed to be spoken. “What's the problem?"

Damian squared his shoulders and fixed his gaze somewhere over Tim's left shoulder. "I have yet to engage in sexual relations with anyone. I am asking you to take care of the problem."

Tim froze. He didn't kid himself that he'd heard wrong, because his brain couldn't have come up with a more inconceivable combination of words no matter what the circumstances. His initial, inconsequential response was to think, Well, that's several suspicions I had confirmed, in one fell swoop.

This might explain some stuff. Damian had been acting weird for a few weeks now.

First came the drone. Or rather, Damian dropping the drone in front of Tim’s face onto the desk where Tim was working in the Cave.

“May I help you?” Tim had drawled, not that he actually wanted to.

“I would like to request your expertise.”

Tim had whipped his head around to stare at Damian in shock. “You. You what?”

Damian must have known how bizarre it was for him to ask for any help whatsoever from one of his least favorite people, but he met Tim’s gaze with nothing but defiance on his face. “I would appreciate your help in repairing the broken traces on a circuit board in this drone. I could do it, of course, but I have other demands on my time.”

Tim, stunned into wordless compliance, had pulled the drone closer and given him a nod. Damian nodded back in acknowledgement, turned on his heel, and left without further ado.

So that had been strange.

But then came the weapons smuggling case.

It was unusual for Jason to ask for assistance from any of them with his cases. Damian seemed an odd choice for helper as well, although the two shared a great deal of experiences, if at disparate times. Still, Tim hadn't thought about it much until Damian sent him a folder of crime scene photos from a recent weapons deal gone wrong, along with notes on the leads he'd found.

The accompanying message had read, Your help in examining the scene for further clues would be useful.

Intrigue didn't prevent Tim from texting Jason to be sure the request had actually come from Damian. It was weird enough to be suspect. But when he got confirmation, the case had instantly sucked him in. It was a multi-pronged operation with both northern and southern arteries, its heart in Gotham, and exactly the sort of conundrum guaranteed to get Tim’s full attention.

This current situation was definitely a step up on the Damian Weirdness Scale.

Tim’s heart seemed to have split itself into multiple pieces and was now pulsing madly in his throat, his ears, his palms. His dick, too, because God forbid he make anything easy on himself. 

Damian must have interpreted his shock as a desire to be persuaded, because he continued at a rate of speed that suggested the words were being forcibly shoved through his teeth. "It's rapidly becoming a liability. I don't want to go pick someone up anonymously when Father will almost certainly find out, because he manages to find out everything humiliating. Anyone else whom I might consider is currently partnered in a monogamous relationship. You are unattached at the moment—unless you have been keeping the truth a secret even my detective skills are unable to uncover, which is of course impossible. And judging by some indiscreet things your former partners have said in the past, you are at least moderately competent in these matters. You are a logical choice for my sexual denouement." He darted a sideways glance at Tim's face, and just as quickly redirected his gaze out the window as his cheeks blazed a darker shade of crimson. "I would consider it a satisfactory training exercise if you were my sparring partner."

"What kind of sex are you picturing exactly where I'm your sparring partner?!" Tim demanded before he could think better of it, then shook the resulting images away from his brain and started over. It would be irresponsible to ignore all the signs that Damian was highly uncomfortable, the red flags ranging from defensive anger to having foregone contractions. "Damian, I'm flattered, but—you're only twenty. What do you mean, a liability? It's not that big of a deal. It's not like you're being sent on honeypot missions, right? Please say no." Damian wordlessly shook his head. "Okay, so . . . what's the rush?"

At that, Damian met his gaze with sheer fury. "The rush is that I want to. Now are you going to help me, or not?"

Tim glared back, an answering surge of rage coming to his sanity’s rescue. Of all the people to actually consider fucking, Damian had to be one of the worst prospects. He'd probably stab Tim if he felt like his technique wasn't up to par. “Absolutely the fuck not. Now get out of my way.”

And he stalked out, hoping that Bruce hadn't replaced the bugs in the hallway lately.

***

After making his demands, Damian retreated into ignoring Tim when at all possible and speaking like Mr. Darcy but with a bigger stick up his ass when it wasn’t. It made things kind of weird with the single case they shared, but Tim decided it was a relief to have everything else back to normal.

The problem was, now he was noticing Damian.

He seemed to have settled into his adult height, having outstripped Tim a good five inches ago. (No, Tim wasn’t bitter. At all.) His newly broad frame boasted muscles nearly as thick as Jason's but lithe and flexible as Dick’s. And those eyes. It would’ve been hard for anyone attracted to men not to notice, but somehow Tim had managed until Damian forcibly brought the matter to his attention.

He was trying not to stare at Damian changing the tires on his motorcycle one night after patrol when his desk chair spun in place with a sudden well-placed kick from Stephanie. He put his feet down in time to face her scowl. 

“Oh my God, Tim, are you listening to a single word I’m saying?” she demanded.

“No,” he replied without thinking, then ran the past several minutes back and amended, “Sort of. When did Babs want to have us over for movie night?”

Appeased, Stephanie started to reiterate the plan. Behind her, Damian’s face relaxed into an almost-smile as Alfred the cat hopped on his lap and yowled plaintively. 

“How did you get down here?” he asked, soft-voiced, caressing Alfred’s head. The cat started purring loudly enough for Tim to hear from his seat. “And don’t bother complaining to me. You’ve got plenty of food, where it’s supposed to be.”

Tim swallowed, watching Damian’s hand move down Alfred’s spine, gentle as always when it came to his pets.

“Seriously.” He jerked his gaze back to Stephanie to see her rolling her eyes. “You’re obviously exhausted. Please go home and get some sleep so we can have a conversation.”

“Uh-huh.” She started toward the showers, and he called, “Sorry!” after her because that had been an asshole move, even though he hadn’t meant to do it.

Involuntarily, Tim looked at Damian again, only this time Damian looked straight back. Bruce was gone on Justice League business, so it was just the two of them now.

They stared at each other in silence for a minute, then Tim found his words. “Come here.”

To his surprise, Damian actually rose to his feet and approached, though he stopped a good three feet away. His face was blank, but his fingers tightened into fists against his thighs.

Tim gulped against a sudden dryness in his mouth because it had been a while and the baby had grown up really fucking hot. He idly wondered what it would be like to grab those wide shoulders and pull him close. Fortunately his voice came out unruffled, even though it sounded far away. “I’ve been thinking. Since the last time we talked. Do you still want me to . . . to do what you said?” “Yes,” Damian said, almost before he finished speaking. His back had straightened to military attention.

“Okay.” Tim stood up and rubbed suddenly damp palms down his thighs, ignoring the fact that his costume was designed to repel wetness so it wasn't really an effective gesture. At least it spread the sweat out a little. “Why don’t you give me a head start and then come over to the Nest tonight? Unless you’re too tired.”

Damian gave him a jerky nod, a single bounce on his toes giving away his nerves. “That would be fine.”

“Great.” Tim had to resist the urge to wave or something equally dorky. “Uh. Yeah. See you there.” He turned on his heel and retreated as fast as he could without breaking into a run.

True to his word, Damian gave Tim plenty of time to shower, head home, and eat before he knocked at his front door like a civilized human being. When he swung the door open, Tim spotted telltale wetness around the edges of his hair that meant Damian had showered before coming over, too.

"Come in," he invited, then shut the door and re-armed the security system while Damian kicked off his shoes. "You hungry? Thirsty?"

Damian scoffed. "I see no reason to delay the main event with meaningless niceties."

Tim rolled his eyes as he started to lead the way to his bedroom. "Don't be a brat. I prefer to at least display a modicum of social skills with my partners. Courtesy begins outside the bedroom, and should extend into it too."

"Spare me the lecture. I'm here for a physical act, not instruction in other types of human relations."

Tim spun to face him at the bedroom door, extending his arm to block it when Damian would have continued past him. He narrowed his eyes and jabbed Damian in the chest with his other hand, ignoring his look of outrage. "Excuse me. This is part of the physical act for me. I'm sure lots of people are different, but I can't enjoy getting naked unless I know I'm with someone who bothers showing me the bare minimum of respect when we're both fully dressed. Is that gonna be you, or am I kicking you out now so I can get some of the sleep I need way more than I need sex?"

Damian hesitated, and Tim tried to look bored with the delay. Finally, Damian swallowed, hard enough for his Adam's apple to bob visibly, and dropped his gaze. "I apologize. I recognize that you're doing me a favor. I’m uncertain of my skill set in this arena."

Tim allowed his surprise to show on his face. "Thanks. For being honest with me, I mean." That much wasn't easy for anyone in the family. Damian really had been growing up, in more ways than one.

Damian nodded in acknowledgement. Tim let his arm drop, and Damian walked past him into the bedroom, sitting at the foot of the unmade bed with his legs close together, hands folded. Tim closed and locked the bedroom door, then checked the windows too, just in case anyone got the bright idea to drop in uninvited. Turning back, he saw Damian hadn't moved an inch, but was watching Tim with singleminded focus.

Something needy and grasping lurched in the pit of his stomach. He shoved it away, and immediately felt guilty he had to do so when Damian's hands tightened on each other till the knuckles went pale.

"Hey." He knelt at Damian's feet, put his hands over where Damian's were knotted together. "You wanna stop now? If you're having second thoughts—"

Damian flipped his hands, quick as thought, and held Tim's in a loose grip. "I am not. I simply do not know what to do. In my minimal previous experience, we engaged in the precursors to this sort of activity without any previous discussion or planning, so this type of interaction is outside the scope of my experience."

Tim folded his lips in tight, considering. It was hard not to overthink this, to ask all the questions whirling in his head that he just couldn't help having, but none of the answers were things he was entitled to know. Damian had asked for a favor, and no matter what standards Tim had for courtesy, he was no stranger to casual hook-ups. This was a transaction between acquaintances. Coworkers? Sort-of friends. 

"Okay. Let's start with this, then. What are you already comfortable with? What have you done before that you liked?" He shrugged. "How do you want me to fuck you? That's figurative 'fuck,' by the way, penetration isn't necessary for sex to happen."

"I know that." Damian gave him a withering glare, but his heart clearly wasn't in it. "I enjoyed kissing. Both on the mouth and elsewhere. I enjoyed being touched anywhere that isn't ticklish, like the bottoms of my feet. I enjoyed frottage. I haven't done much more besides."

Tim tried not to sound as incredibly turned on as he was at the moment and likely failed miserably. "Anything you didn't like?" God, the mental image of Damian grinding against someone—probably Jon but who knew—until he came was enough to make him lightheaded. 

"I am not comfortable . . . being penetrated." The color in his face was bright enough to glow in the dark at this, but he pressed on. "Either by myself or anyone else. Anything else, for that matter." His lashes lowered as he stared at Tim's hands, still laid quiescent under his own. "If you change your mind, knowing that, I will understand."

Tim freed his hands so he could rub Damian's thighs, watching closely for any reaction. The pulse point in his neck beat a little faster, and his pupils dilated a bit, but those both seemed positive. "Not at all. There's a lot left on the menu if that's the only no you have. Of course, you'll probably find out you have other limits as you try more stuff, but we'll keep it basic tonight. Are you okay with doing the penetrating? Or trying it out?"

Damian nodded, fast and eager. "I would be willing to try."

Tim suppressed his smile, in case Damian thought he was laughing at him. Honestly, that was pretty cute. Not a term he was used to applying to Damian, but this night was already full of surprises so why not one more? "We can try, then. How's your stamina?"

One big shoulder jerked up. "Typical for one of my experience and age."

So probably about five minutes, max. "No worries. That just means your recovery time is great, too." Tim slid his hands up again, and this time skimmed one higher so he was palming Damian's obvious erection. It felt like he'd grown up proportionate everywhere, which was nice. “What about condoms? It’s been more than six months for me and we both have Bruce’s health screenings to deal with so . . . is it okay if we go without?” 

Damian shrugged with obviously faked casualness. “I don’t believe anything could get past Father’s tests. It’s all right with me.”

“Great.” Tim fiddled with his pants button. "Why don't I blow you so we can make you come right away, and then we can work our way up to the rest?"

Damian's voice came out breathy. "That would be acceptable."

Tim couldn't keep himself from giving him a Robin grin, sharp edged and cocky, as he opened Damian’s pants and pulled them and his underwear out of the way. Damian's eyes widened with shock as Tim closed his fingers around his dick. Uncut and thick and fucking gorgeous, already dark with arousal. Tim's mouth was watering at the thought of sucking it. "Let's see if we can get this whole thing a little bit past acceptable."

day two here

[instantartific]

Hi! May I hear some HCs about Kliff who knows that he’s stuck in a video game?

(I answered another ask about something similar to this here, but I have a really good idea this time, so: )

ও

This depends on how exactly he knows he's stuck.

Is he aware of the player?

Or is it that he pieces it all together himself through witnessing things that he was never meant to see?

It could be little things, really. Tatiana came into power, NSR's empire is in place, these little pieces that're all a part of her charade to keep her control line up into place, but... well, the harder he thinks about it in those points he's alone, the more it occurs to him that there's things he really doesn't remember.

What... even came before she was in power? He should know this. He's older than her, of course he should know this. But his memory, it just... it fails him the more he considers it. Of course, there's posters scattered around about some districts or another of old bands, but he can't even remember their names.

He knew all of this. With how obsessed this city is with music, he'd have to know it.

But he... doesn't.

Almost as if that information never even existed at all, albeit how illogical that is...

Perhaps he tries going somewhere he isn't meant to be, to try and remind himself what he'd forgotten after a certain amount of frustration over this. And he sees things (where the player hasn't been recently, and thus isn't rendered fully--a fact which he's currently unaware of, yet later discovers) are wrong.

People are there, but they aren't moving. He can hear conversation, yet there is none. No one speaks. No one responds. And the closer he looks, the people really can't be called people either. As only silhouettes, they look fine, but looking closer? Any closer than a silhouette and you can pick out details that are warped and wrapped in the wrong ways. The buildings, too. And, he eventually notices, even his clothes and beard and skin.

But after long enough of his shock, everything lurches; almost as if he were in a car that slammed on its brakes; a sensation so jarring, he's a grown man and nearly had to hold his stomach. Suddenly, when he composes himself from the feeling and breathes in deep and looks around, everything is fine. It's as it should be.

And here comes two children, sprinting by. They practically ran him over in their jittering and jumping about. Then they left, and Kliff remained, and once they were far enough, everything eased back into being wrong.

And as time continues, this keeps happening. After enough time he notices these children acknowledge that he's there when he stands in certain locations. When that does happen, words come out his mouth that he could hardly expect to say.

But he allowed himself to play along.

As this little plot plays out, there are plenty of things he does that he never would have expected himself to do. It's a very weird sensation, honestly. Having full awareness that the movements you're making and words you're saying are automatic, completely independent of yourself. But one he allows.

Because there are certain things that are consistent.

And all that matters is that Tatiana keeps moving.

That Tatiana stays right.

And every time he's seen her, she has been right.

So...

So, if that's the case.

Then perhaps leaning into this story unfolding before him can't be that bad of an idea.

And he knows this because he checked. It was simple enough to walk right into the concert halls in the troublemakers' wake, given they destroyed everything and practically tore the doors right off their hinges. And just as he thought, they weren't moving when he was there. The two left. And they stopped, right where they were left.

The man so proud of his own talent he let himself be slighted. Kliff wasn't entirely sure about him until he suddenly appeared back down on Earth.

The ragtag group of kids wanting to make a change with their music. All still huddled up in that (admittedly incomprehensible) hub.

The mother and her child that only wanted to raise all that money for such a noble cause. They were playing that dilapidated piano.

The disemboweled lapdog that thinks he's so high and mighty, still broken and trapped in his theatrics.

That odd artist that... hm. He still isn't sure about that one. In all honesty, he had no drive to figure out what really made her tick.

He grew desensitized to it after a point. And, well. He figured it didn't really matter if he wasn't. He only went to "see if they were okay" to prove a theory he had, born of a morbid curiosity to know if they move when the troublemakers aren't there. And he knew he was right by the time he saw that cutesy little idol fried. So there's little consequence as to what happens to the next one... right?

Right.

All that matters is that Tatiana is always moving, in the glimpses he sees and hears of her.

Check-ins with the other artists.

Her voice flittering through those hopeless sewers.

Tatiana is always moving, and that's what matters.

(Well... the only times Kliff has been close enough to Tatiana to fully see her is times in which those two were close enough for her to be fully rendered. In videos, in the clips of her voice from the radio.

But perhaps he's too eager to acknowledge that.)

[aurumacadicus]

Fictober 10/31 -- “Think! For once!”

Heehee hoohoo >:3c Over 1K so look out for the cut!

--

“God fucking shit damn it to hell,” Lottie muttered, running her fingers over the door for any gaps.

There were no hinges on her side, and it was so tight in the jamb she wondered if it was a sliding door. There was no window to peer in or give food, either, which made her wonder if she’d live long enough for a meal or if they expected her to die here. She took a step back and gave the door a good sidekick. It didn’t move, so she focused on a partial shift, remembering that she’d read somewhere that leopards had the strongest legs. She kicked again. The door shuddered a little, but there was no damage when she moved her shoe away, and it didn’t sound as if she’d kicked it off any track.

Trapped still.

Lottie screamed and slammed her fists, pressing her forehead against it. It still didn’t move, and she felt a sob welling up in her. But that wouldn’t help, she reminded herself, blinking back tears. She knocked her knuckles against her head. “Think, Lottie. Think!” She shoved her head against the door with a frustrated whine. “For once! Come up with something!” She remembered what Phil had always said, and Natasha and Clint had reiterated during their sparring with her; it was no good wasting time or energy, so stop, take stock, and decide your next move based on that information.

She turned, pressing her left hand against the wall and pacing the length. Six feet. She pivoted at the corner, counting down that wall as well. Seven feet. No windows. She looked up at the ceilings, high enough that her eyes automatically shifted to slit pupils to see the dark corners. Her eyes were arrested by the blinking red lights in the back of the room. Cameras. She turned the next corner, watching them, and—yes, they followed her around the tiny room. She stared back, feeling a growl rumbling in her chest, then scowled and turned her head to the door-side of the room.

A vent. Lottie paused, but only for a moment, forcing herself to keep moving. If they were watching her, she didn’t want them to see her getting any ideas. Her eyes kept darting to the vent. It was small, maybe a foot across. As a human, she wouldn’t fit. And if the people who kidnapped her only knew her by her mutant name, thinking she could only turn into big cats, they’d expect she wouldn’t be able to fit through it that way either. But as a domestic cat… or even a littler big cat… maybe.

She looked back at the door, then back up at the cameras. The door looked like a standard one. She remembered her dad saying the average door was eighty inches tall. Almost seven feet. It looked like the ceiling was maybe a little higher than if there was another door stacked on top of the other. Sixteen feet, maybe. She felt her lips twist into a smirk.

Mountain lions could leap up to eighteen.

Lottie didn’t bother taking her clothes off—she doubted she’d have time to change back into them once she started running. Instead, she just shifted, fabric tearing as her body melted into a larger one. There wasn’t much room to maneuver when she was six feet long from nose to tail tip, but there was enough for her to jump straight up. She took out the camera on the left with one swipe of her massive paw, crushing it between the wall and her paw pad, then went after the one on the right. Once they were destroyed, she turned, leaping up for the vent. Her claws tore through the metal like paper, and it came free of its screws easily, clattering to the ground beside her as she dropped back down to her paws.

With the way to the vent clear, Lottie leaped again, shifting as she got closer to it, and she daintily landed on the edge of the vent opening on four tiny paws, a smoky gray cat that was almost black, so she could melt into the shadows. She paused a moment to wash her face, on instinct, then remembered she was fleeing and began padding down the metal passage. It was dark, but her wide pupils with the low light from all the other vent covers and twitching whiskers helped direct her from walking into the walls and making noise.

As she was passing another vent, she heard a sniffle. She stopped, tipping her head in the direction of the vent. Another prisoner? She wondered what she should do. If it was an adult, they wouldn’t be able to come with her. If it was a child, who knew if they could keep quiet as to not get caught. And who knew how long they had, until the guards noticed she’d destroyed the cameras and went to check on her? She hadn’t heard any alarms yet, but that could change at any moment.

There was another sniffle, and a whimper, and Lottie knew she couldn’t just leave. She padded over to the vent cover, peering through the slats.

The cell it opened into was bigger, and it had a barred door instead of the solid one she’d had on hers. She could break the door open, easily. There was enough space that whoever was inside could stand clear while she ripped it off its hinges. She pawed at the vent to see how sturdy it was.

Then she heard a familiar voice saying, “There, there, don’t cry,” and she found herself backing up and then ramming her body into the vent cover full force.

The cover popped off with little effort, and she shifted back into a human as soon as she passed through it, crying out, “Mr. Cheung!” She landed on her feet and turned on her heel.

It was Mr. Cheung, who had gone missing from the market a month ago, standing with both fists up as if he was going to get into a fight with her. He looked thinner than Lottie remembered, paler. He had a device on his wrist, she assumed it was to keep him from using his mutation. Someone had tried to put one on her, but she’d gnashed sharp teeth at them, and they’d all backed off in terror. Maybe that was why she’d been locked up tighter.

Mr. Cheung recognized her after a moment, and his face crumpled with—relief, or dismay, she couldn’t tell. Maybe both. “Little Charlotte,” he said, pulling her into a hug with shaking hands.

Lottie hugged him back tightly, burying her nose in his shoulder. He still smelled like ginger, under the sour tang of stress sweat. The ginseng scent had faded though. Then she lifted her head, peeking over his shoulder, to see who he was protecting. Her breath caught in her throat when she saw three kids huddled down in the corner, ranging from what looked like twelve to eighteen. And old Mr. Cheung had been about to protect them with his fists. She’d never be able to slip back into the vents. She couldn’t leave them alone.

“I’m glad to see you’re well,” Mr. Cheung said, leaning back. He gave her shoulders a squeeze. Paused. Frowned. “Where are your clothes.”

“Uh,” Lottie said loudly, and immediately shrank into a short-haired tabby in embarrassment.

[theimperialnuisance]

FFXIV Write 2023 || FFXIV Write info\\Prompt list\\Character info \\Master post ||

Prompt 13: Check

Examine (something) in order to determine it’s accuracy, quality, or condition, or to detect the presence of something.

Character(s): Atticus Wolfram Cw: none Word count: 506 Notes: saved this one for makeup day because I had a lot of ideas when I saw this word and couldn’t narrow it down. Landed on Atticus cause he’s been my favorite to write next to writing for Kien <3 this is set during Endwalker around the lvl 82 msq. Turned into a bit of drabble I plan to clean up when I get home.

The moment they secured the camp, Atticus slipped out quietly. He knew he probably shouldn’t wander off but once he overheard Alisaie comment that the destruction from the civil war extended outside the city, the Elezen couldn’t push away the urgent need to check on his childhood home.

It had been years since he’d stepped foot in Garlemald and while most people would be happy to return to their homeland, Atticus felt a strange sort of bitter nostalgia. The last time he’d been here, he’d been fleeing for his life, knowing his parents would announce him dead for his betrayal in hopes to cover up his mistake so they could still go about their rebel operation.

Gods. All of that trouble and things still lead to this. His father was dead but his mother was still alive. He didn’t know if his home was even still standing but he had to see it for himself. He had to see if his mother was still there waiting for him.

The trek across the icy land was easy enough to navigate. Atticus was used to the bitter cold of the winters and he knew the quickest way to get from the old village to his home. As he got closer to the outskirts of the city, he felt his heart drop to his stomach. The destruction did extend beyond the walls but the extent of it was far worse that Atticus had thought.

He broke out into a run, feet guiding him automatically through the streets, leaping over debris and dodging fallen buildings as he went. He managed to remain unseen by any rogue magitek and any he did encounter, he was quick to dispatch them.

He began to slow his pace as he grew closer to his street, the dread already sinking in as he finally stopped short. Gasping for breath, he looked up to to see the remains of what used to be his home.

The structure itself was still standing for the most part but the walls and roof had been blown out and the door was hanging off its hinges. Everything on the inside was gone, as if it had always just been an empty stone building. What remained of his home was cold stone and scorch marks and Atticus had to resist the urge to crumple to the ground in grief, still trying to process what he was looking at.

Memories flooded through him as he walked through the rubble of his house, his throat feeling tight. The possibility that his mother was even alive in the wake of the civil war was lost on him but he had to check every corner he could in case she left something behind to indicate if she escaped.

After nearly giving up, Atticus felt a spark, spying a paper tied to a metal post. A letter. The contents gave him the whereabouts of where his mother was. The train station. It wasn’t too far from here. He wanted to go right then and there but knew better to not wander off any further so he held the letter close and made his way back to camp to tell the others.

He would be reunited with her soon. There was still hope.

[sarang7jk]

Essential Door Hardware Materials: Top 8 Types You Should Know

Door hardware not only serves practical purposes but also influences the aesthetics and functionality of your space. Here’s a guide to understanding the features, uses, and benefits of eight essential types of door hardware that you should consider for your home or office.

1. Door Closer

What It Is: A door closer is a mechanical device that automatically closes a door after it has been opened.

Purpose: It ensures doors close securely and smoothly without slamming, often used in commercial buildings for safety and energy efficiency.

Applications: Ideal for exterior doors in commercial spaces, fire doors, and other frequently used areas where manual closing is inconvenient.

Materials: Commonly made from aluminium or stainless steel for durability.

2. Door Catcher

What It Is: A door catcher holds a door in a fixed position when open, preventing it from swinging or moving unintentionally.

Purpose: It helps in maintaining a door open at a set angle, making it useful in windy conditions or high-traffic areas.

Applications: Suitable for exterior doors, especially on patios, decks, or porches where doors need to stay open.

Materials: Usually made from brass or stainless steel for outdoor durability.

3. Door Knob

What It Is: A door knob is a rounded handle that allows users to open and close doors.

Purpose: Door knobs provide easy access to rooms while also offering privacy and security when integrated with locks.

Applications: Found in both residential and commercial spaces, door knobs are commonly used on interior and exterior doors.

Materials: Available in a variety of materials such as brass, bronze, stainless steel, or nickel, often with finishes that enhance the decor.

4. Curtain Brackets

What It Is: Curtain brackets are the hardware used to support curtain rods, enabling the hanging of curtains or drapes over doors and windows.

Purpose: They hold the curtain rod in place and provide structural support for the curtains, enhancing privacy and room aesthetics.

Applications: Used above doors and windows, they are especially helpful for glass doors or large windows in living rooms, bedrooms, or office spaces.

Materials: Commonly made from stainless steel, brass, or iron, depending on the decor and curtain weight.

5. Hinges

What It Is: Hinges are mechanical bearings that connect two solid objects, typically allowing a door to pivot on its axis as it opens and closes.

Purpose: Hinges enable smooth door movement while supporting its weight and securing it to the frame.

Applications: Used on all types of doors, from lightweight interior doors to heavy exterior doors.

Materials: Steel, brass, or stainless steel are commonly used for durability and rust resistance, especially in exterior settings.

6. Door Locks

What It Is: Door locks are mechanisms that secure a door, preventing unauthorized access to rooms or buildings.

Purpose: They ensure privacy, security, and protection from intruders.

Applications: Installed on both exterior and interior doors, locks are essential for main entrances, bedrooms, and bathrooms.

Materials: Typically made from brass, steel, or nickel to withstand force and tampering.

7. Door Stopper

What It Is: A door stopper is a device used to prevent a door from opening too far or hitting a wall or furniture.

Purpose: It helps protect walls, furniture, and the door itself from damage caused by sudden or forceful opening.

Applications: Commonly used in residential spaces, especially in living rooms, bedrooms, and hallways where doors might swing too far.

Materials: Often made of rubber or metal, designed to absorb impact effectively.

8. Door Sliding Fittings

What It Is: Sliding door fittings include the tracks, rollers, and guides that allow a sliding door to move smoothly along its track.

Purpose: These fittings help sliding doors open and close effortlessly, often used when swinging doors aren’t practical due to space constraints.

Applications: Ideal for closets, patios, or in areas with limited floor space.

Materials: Typically made from stainless steel or aluminium for durability and smooth operation.

Conclusion

Each type of door hardware has a unique role in ensuring the functionality, security, and aesthetics of your doors. Whether you are enhancing security with door locks, providing smooth operation with hinges, or creating a sleek, modern look with sliding door fittings, choosing the right hardware will significantly impact your space. Understanding the application and material of these essential door components will help you make informed decisions for your home or office.

[incer]

The Importance of Fire Door Inspection: Safeguarding Your Property with Incer.co.uk

In today's world, fire safety is not just a matter of regulatory compliance; it's a crucial aspect of protecting lives and property. Among the many fire protection systems in place, fire doors play a vital role in preventing the spread of fire and smoke, providing essential time for evacuation and emergency response. However, the effectiveness of fire doors is only as good as their condition, making regular inspections a necessity. This is where Property Inventory Report comes in, offering expert fire door inspection services to ensure your safety measures are up to the highest standards.

Why Fire Door Inspection Matters

Fire doors are designed to withstand fire for a specified period, usually 30 to 60 minutes, depending on their rating. They are a critical component in a building's passive fire protection system, meant to compartmentalize fire and prevent it from spreading to other areas. However, over time, wear and tear, improper installation, or modifications can compromise their functionality.

A routine fire door inspection is essential because:

Compliance with Regulations: The Regulatory Reform (Fire Safety) Order 2005 in the UK mandates that fire doors must be regularly inspected and maintained to ensure they meet safety standards.

Prevention of Fire Spread: Faulty fire doors can lead to the rapid spread of fire and smoke, endangering lives and increasing property damage.

Liability: Failure to maintain fire doors can result in significant legal and financial consequences for property owners and managers.

What Does a Fire Door Inspection Involve?

A comprehensive fire door inspection by Fire Risk Assessment includes several key steps to ensure each door is fully operational and compliant with safety standards:

Visual Inspection: The inspection begins with a thorough visual check for any signs of damage or wear, such as cracks, gaps, or warping in the door or frame.

Door Alignment and Fit: The door must fit snugly within its frame with no excessive gaps that could allow smoke or fire to pass through. The inspector will check the alignment and operation of the door, ensuring it opens and closes properly without sticking or dragging.

Seals and Intumescent Strips: The inspection will verify that all seals and intumescent strips (materials that expand when exposed to heat to seal gaps) are intact and properly positioned. These components are crucial for preventing the spread of smoke and fire.

Hinges and Closures: The functionality of hinges and door closers is examined to ensure the door closes fully and automatically after being opened. This is critical in preventing fire from spreading through an open door.

Signage and Certification: The inspector will check for proper fire door signage and verify that the door is certified for its intended fire rating.

Documentation and Reporting: After the inspection, Incer.co.uk provides detailed documentation, including any issues found and recommendations for repairs or replacements.

Why Choose Incer.co.uk for Your Fire Door Inspection?

Incer.co.uk is a leading provider of fire safety solutions in the UK, specializing in comprehensive fire door inspections. Here's why you should trust them with your fire safety needs:

Expertise: With a team of certified inspectors, Incer.co.uk brings a wealth of knowledge and experience to every inspection, ensuring your fire doors meet all regulatory and safety standards.

Thoroughness: Their meticulous approach to inspection ensures that no detail is overlooked, providing you with peace of mind that your property is protected.

Compliance: Incer.co.uk stays up-to-date with the latest fire safety regulations, ensuring that your building remains compliant and safe.

Customer Support: Beyond inspection, Incer.co.uk offers ongoing support and advice on maintaining your fire doors and other fire safety systems.

 

Fire door inspection is not just a regulatory requirement; it's a vital part of protecting your property and the lives within it. Regular inspections ensure that fire doors function as intended, providing critical protection in the event of a fire. Incer.co.uk stands out as a trusted partner in fire safety, offering expert fire door inspections that help you stay compliant and, more importantly, safe. Don't leave your fire safety to chance—schedule an inspection with Incer.co.uk today.

[imaginesofeverykind]

Witches Brew - Series Teaser

I recently read Napoleonville by @inthedayswhenlandswerefew (go and read everything they’ve written holy SMONKS) and the swampy, everglade setting just fucking embedded itself in my head for this one.

It’s KINDA a DnD AU, if you squint really hard it sits between something like DnD and I guess???

If you wanna be tagged when the full first part comes out let me know! <3 <3 <3

Warnings: HEAVY mention of blood, Magic described as visceral, magic is outlawed, catholic-centric monotheism demonised, Gore themes, language

Aegon ii Targaryen x F!WitchReader

Summary: To practice magic is to slight God with the devil's embrace. It is evil, sin, consuming and the price one pays is never worth what one seeks. Yet people, in times of desperation often turn to desperate measures, in Aegon’s case, medicinal remedy is not an option. No healer can undo what has been done. But the Hag tucked away behind reeds, water topped with algae and the voracious bog may be able to. For a price.

Vicious rapping squanders the peace and quiet of a relatively silent part of the swamp. Moonlight splits off, cutting through the canopy of overgrowth that shields a peculiar abode entangled within the trunk of an elder tree. The crickets sing among the toads’ baritone croaks until they cease, abiding by the loud pounding on the wooden door that barely stays on its hinges, splintering from wood rot.

”Please!”

A guttural plea, desperation lingering atop the vowels. No one ever came to the decrepit hut unless they were on the brink, teetering the veil of life, quite literally on death's door. But death hardly answered, in its wake, oftentimes stood you; for those who braved the trek.

He had almost given up, muscles begging him for rest, for a modicum of reprieve from the toil it took just to arrive at the steps of a stranger's hut. The weight, the pain, it was enough to finally buckle his shaky grime covered knees, splinters embedded themselves into the palms of his hands the moment his hands hit the wood beneath him.

“I need —,” a whimper, is all that managed to escape his throat. His eyes flickered to the body beside him — not body, he wasn’t dead yet — to his brother laying beside him, laboured breaths that sucked through his barred teeth in discomfort.

Lips curled into a snarl, he brought his fist down on the decking one final time, “open the door you fucking wretch!”

He nearly cowered when the door yanked open, yellow light spilling out into the dark bog from the hearth that roared inside. No one stood in the frame of the door, no one beckoned him inside the derelict home and despite this, he rose to his feet, scraping his newly acquired trousers. There was little energy left in him, just enough to drag the mauled body of his brother - one that inched closer to the afterlife - over the threshold of the hut.

”Sit.”

He spun on his feet, nearly tripping over the pile of wood stacked beside the hearth when his eyes landed on you, who had appeared, simply materializing from nothing. It was only mere seconds until he was set on you again, a frantic torment that willed him near you, “Hag, you must help him!” Despite his weary disposition, he demanded help.

A nobleman. You think, taking his appearance in. Both men donned the same white hair, similarly crafted attire that screamed wealth and you are automatically aware of who was inside your abode. The township off the kings road comes to your mind, owned by a Lord as it had been for the past century.

”Well?! Must I get on my knees?” He was angry, that much was clear, but he was more afraid than anything.

You waved dismissively, though not toward the stranger, the Lord. The table of apothecary jars and dissected creatures vanish, though they never are truly gone, and you gesture for the man to place his injured companion. He’s confused at first, most people are when they come to you. Magic was no longer what it was, you could feel it wane the harder religion sought to destroy it. He most likely has never seen it this close.

But he silently obeys, with great effort hauling his brother up on the table and like you had before, appeared behind him as silently as the fog that began to seep through the crack beneath the door. He flinched away instantly, you fought back a sly smirk but your focus was on the man with long matted locks. The hair was a brilliant white, the same as his brothers, identical as the Lord of the closest settlement, but it was marred with the crimson syrup of blood.

You bring a finger to his mutilated face, your pointed nails more akin to talons than humans, threaten to crack the white porcelain of his skin. Swiping a long line down, coating the pads of your fingertips in blood and bringing it to your mouth for a taste. Bitter. The able bodied man recoiled at the sight, but you pay him no mind as you examine the injured one.

His eye was gone. That can’t be helped.

”Can you heal him?” The man beside you asked, voice small, almost childlike and feeble. ”Name your price, make him whole again and I’ll — I’ll give you whatever you want. Fix him.” His anguish raked through your ears and rattled against your mind like razor sharp teeth, your neck instinctively lolling from left to right as if to ward off the discomfort that followed.

”They’ll know.” You answer cryptically, caressing the side of the younger man's face much like a mother would when tucking in a babe for the evening.

“Can. You. Fix. Him?” His patience was wearing thin.

You sigh, turning to face him properly for the first time since he arrived. Violet eyes. Magic touched his very heritage and yet his own kin sought to erase it, the irony was not lost on you. “He will be different.” You say as a warning, a politeness he certainly didn’t deserve yet you gave it anyway.

Anger overcame him, outstretching his and coiling his fingers around the scruff of your filthy dress to yank you toward him. You happen to catch the brief glint of silver, but you had caught it, the blade with your hand wrapping around it to stop it from piercing your chest. Not that it would have damaged your heart, you wonder if his intent was to scare or if he simply forgot which side the human heart resided.

The blade cut through your skin, rivers of red beginning to run down your wrist. The pain is welcome.

“Fix him. Or else I’ll drag you to Oldtown where you can burn in the circle you filthy animal.”

[chenmadoor]

Understanding the Classification of Entrance Fire Door Fire Resistance Ratings

The Entrance Fire Door plays a critical role in the safety infrastructure of buildings, providing a crucial barrier against the spread of fire. The effectiveness of these doors is determined by their fire resistance ratings, which are meticulously classified to ensure they meet the specific needs of different building types and safety requirements. This article delves into the intricacies of how Entrance Fire Door fire resistance ratings are divided, the criteria used, and the importance of these classifications in safeguarding lives and property.

The classification of Entrance Fire Doors is based on a standardized set of tests that measure the door's ability to withstand fire for a specified period. These tests are conducted under controlled conditions and are governed by national and international standards, such as those set by the International Organization for Standardization (ISO), the European Committee for Standardization (CEN), and the American Society for Testing and Materials (ASTM).

The primary factor in classifying Entrance Fire Doors is the duration for which they can resist the passage of fire. This is typically measured in hours and is denoted by a numerical value, such as 30, 60, 90, or 120 minutes. The higher the number, the longer the door can withstand fire, providing more time for occupants to evacuate and for firefighters to respond.

In addition to the fire resistance duration, Entrance Fire Doors are also classified based on their structural integrity and insulation properties. Structural integrity refers to the door's ability to maintain its physical form and prevent the collapse of the door assembly during a fire. Insulation, on the other hand, measures the door's ability to prevent the transfer of heat to the unexposed side, thus protecting the area beyond the door from the effects of the fire.

Another aspect of Entrance Fire Door classification is the type of door construction. Doors can be made from a variety of materials, including wood, steel, and composite materials. Each material has its own set of properties that affect the door's fire resistance rating. For example, steel doors are known for their high strength and durability, but they can conduct heat more readily than wood or composite doors. As such, steel Entrance Fire Doors may require additional insulation to achieve the desired fire resistance rating.

The classification of Entrance Fire Doors also takes into account the door's components, such as the hinges, locks, and closers. These components must also meet specific fire resistance requirements to ensure that the entire door assembly can perform as expected during a fire. For instance, a fire door hinge must be able to withstand the heat and pressure of a fire without failing, as a failed hinge could compromise the door's ability to close and seal properly.

Furthermore, the classification system also considers the door's performance in a fire in terms of smoke control. In many cases, smoke can be as deadly as the fire itself, so Entrance Fire Doors are often tested for their ability to limit the spread of smoke. This is particularly important in high-rise buildings, where smoke can quickly spread through vertical shafts and pose a significant risk to occupants.

The classification of Entrance Fire Doors is not only about the door itself but also about its integration into the building's overall fire safety strategy. Doors must be installed correctly and maintained regularly to ensure they remain effective. This includes ensuring that the door closes and latches properly, that the seals around the door are intact, and that any automatic closing mechanisms are functioning correctly.

In conclusion, the classification of Entrance Fire Doors is a complex process that involves a range of factors, including the door's fire resistance duration, structural integrity, insulation properties, material composition, and component performance. These classifications are essential for ensuring that Entrance Fire Doors provide the necessary level of protection in the event of a fire, helping to save lives and decrease property damage. Understanding the nuances of Entrance Fire Door classifications is crucial for architects, building owners, and safety professionals, who must select the appropriate doors for their specific applications and ensure they are installed and maintained by high safety standards.