#translucent ceiling film

[youraverageaemondsimp]

Metanoia ;

Aemond Targaryen x Transmigrated!Strong!Reader

>> Chapter I : The Beginning.

Summary: "Be careful what you wish for" is what everyone says, you realise that you should've taken them seriously when you find yourself reincarnated as a character in the show who never existed.

WARNINGS: CANON TYPICAL INCEST, CONTAINS SPOILERS OF F&B, S1 AND S2, reader's appearance isn't described, only the fact that she is a strong, you can imagine her however you like, the picture used in the header is only to capture the feel of the story. A/N: divider credits to @cafekitsune

masterlist // next

“Jesus Christ, fuck this show, fuck everything, what the fuck is wrong with the writing?” You exclaim in annoyance after witnessing the scene that was supposed to be heavily impactful be butchered.

“That is the most anticlimactic death scene I've ever witnessed, this has to be a joke.” You furiously ramble. You decided to give House of The Dragon a try after your friend had recommended it, the show currently has released three seasons, with the fourth season in production, you thoroughly enjoyed season one and decided to binge all the seasons.

However, everything started to go downhill from season two, yet you still decided to watch for the sake of your favourite characters, daemon and aemond, only to witness the battle that was supposed to be intense and stressful get finished in the span of two minutes.

You stared at the screen, rolling your eyes in annoyance as you witnessed Aemond falling into the lake along with Vhagar, Daemon was knocked off Caraxes too and fell to his death.

They wrapped up the battle in mere moments, which made you angry as you were so hyped up to see them fight.

“Ugh, I never hated a show more than this, waste of my time, they did season one so well, what happened to rest? I did not expect this.” You sigh in frustration, feeling like you just wasted your time.

“If only… If only I ever get a chance, I'd change entire plot and script because fuck this.” You lay down on your sofa, staring at the ceiling, the show still playing in the background. You recollected the entire plot in your head, thinking of every moment in the show, trying to come up with an easy solution.

“If only they had married Jace to Helaena, it would have been peaceful.. Or at least if they had an older daughter married to Aegon or Aemond.” You mumble, but then shake your head, “What am I saying? Things still would've been complicated anyway.” You wonder in disbelief at your own words.

You yawned loudly, stretching out your limbs and blinking your eyes rapidly, your vision began to get blurry and you sighed in content, finally willingly wanting to sleep after you forced yourself to stay up all night to binge the series.

Your vision darkened slowly as you closed your eyelids, head spinning as you took slow breaths of air, cool breeze brushes past your cheeks and before you know it, you're slowly succumbing into slumber.

You blink your eyes open, realising you fell asleep, you sigh stirring on the soft sheets, entangling them between your legs.

Soft sheets?

Your sofa doesn't have any sheets.

You quickly blink again, taking the note of a translucent veil hanging from above, surrounding the bed you're in, creating a curtain around your bed.

Why were you in bed?

You sit up looking around, taking in your surroundings, your eyes widening in fear as you don't recognize this room at all, ancient tapestries, brown wooden furniture, and the source of light being only from the candle.

Have you been kidnapped?

You look down at your body, noticing you are in a white nightgown instead of the shorts you fell asleep in. Your heart begins to race and you panic, unable to understand where you are or how you got there. You steady your breathing, wondering if someone kidnapped you to play a role in a mediaeval film of theirs? But why would anyone do that?

The sound of metal clanking harshly against the floor and a small scream made your head turn the direction it came from, the liquid in the decanter spilling out rapidly as the person behind the fallen cutlery stood in shock.

“The princess is conscious!” She yells loudly before turning around and running out of the room in a hurry.

Princess?

Is this a prank?

You barely have any moment to think when you hear the sound of multiple footsteps coming from outside to your direction, you could almost feel the ground rumbling, noting that everyone was rushing to this room.

You push the veil to the side and stand up, getting out the bed and examining your surroundings, looking at the sigils and the paintings. All of this looked familiar somehow.

A small gasp echoed through the room, coming from the entrance, which made you turn around to take a look at who was in the room once again. Your eyes widened at the sight.

A lady with platinum blonde hair, blue eyes stood in front of you, someone who resembled Rhaenyra and next to her stood Jace and Luke breathing heavily, looking at you in shock.

Did the house of the dragon cast kidnap you to play a prank on you?

That sounds too unreasonable.

“Oh my sweet daughter!” Rhaenyra rushes over to you, embracing you tightly, tears flow down her cheeks as she peppers you with kisses “I-i i cannot believe this, you finally woke up after many years.” She sobs, you look at her questioningly. “Sister.” Jacaerys speaks up, coming to you and joining the embrace of you and Rhaenyra, Luke joins in as well.

“We missed you.” Jace says and you stare at all of them confused.

This has to be a joke.

They notice the expression on your face and their faces immediately drop, “Your grace, the princess woke up after many years, she might not be able to recognise you.” The maester chimes in, Rhaenyra nods, sniffling yet understanding your condition.

“Emma? Is this a joke?” You question, referring to the actor of Rhaenyra, “I’m not Aemma darling, she is your grandmother.” Rhaenyra corrects you. “I think she must be confusing the names of everyone due to her hazy memory.” The maester tries explaining, you sigh.

Yeah this must be a dream.

You shake your head gently and immediately slap yourself to wake yourself up.

“Ouch!” You yell in pain, cupping the cheek you slapped yourself on, Rhaenyra is mortified and the guards rush in and hold your arms back so you don't further hurt yourself.

This is not a dream.

You can’t feel pain in your dreams and you will wake up right before impact.

You look at Rhaenyra’s face, she is as real as a living person, standing right in front of you.

She looks just like Emma. of course, after all Rhaenyra is indeed played by them.

But this is not them.

She is not Emma

You can feel the vibe, it's very different.

You’ve met Emma before in costume, yet they did not give off the vibes as what Rhaenyra is giving off right now, after all, when you met them; it was just a show, but now it's your reality.

Did you die in your world?

You’ve definitely transmigrated into this show, but as who?

Did Rhaenyra ever have a daughter? You knew she didn't.

“Mirror, get me a mirror.” You ask and they look at you questioningly, your form begins to shake as the realisation is too overwhelming, there are many questions in your mind, “Please!” You cry, and immediately a servant moves and rushes over with a mirror.

Your eyes widen.

It's you.

You had not become someone else, but you remained as yourself. “What is my name?” You ask, “Y/N.” Rhaenyra replies. Your mind begins to spin, you are in another world as yourself, you have not possessed anyone else, which means your body must’ve disappeared from your world.

You try to stay calm in this situation, breathing heavily, “You are?” You ask, wanting to reconfirm, you watch as Rhaenyra's face crumples into that of a sad face, probably feeling hurt that her own daughter doesn't recognise her.

“I'm your mother, you are my eldest daughter, they—” She points at Jace, Luke and Joffrey, “—are your younger siblings.” You turn towards them.

You nod, pretending to play the part while you figure out everything. “I'm sorry, I do not remember.” You apologise and Rhaenyra shakes her head, “It is alright, you have been unconscious since the past six years, this is better than losing my daughter.” She replies.

“Six years… Did I fall unconscious after Aemond lost his eye?” You think out loud and Rhaenyra looks at you in shock, “You remember him?” She asks and you clear your throat, “It's hazy, my memory.” You answer back.

“Your grace, the event was probably traumatic for her, hence why she can remember it in parts.” The maester explains it to Rhaenyra, you mentally thank the maester for covering up for you always.

You noticed how they were all dressed up, looked as if they were about to leave but their plans were cut short, and you recognize this gown of Rhaenyra.

It was the gown she wore when she left for King's Landing, in order to settle the matter of Luke's right to driftmark. “You guys were departing somewhere?” You ask, wanting to really confirm it, “Hm? Huh, Yes, We were about to leave for King's Landing.” Jacaerys answers your question.

“Can I tag along?” You blurt the question.

“.. Tag along?” Lucerys repeats your words in confusion, your language confusing him.

“I mean to say, can I come along?” You ask the question in a proper manner, Rhaenyra shakes her head, “No- you've just woken up, you might still be weak- I cannot risk-”

“Mother! I am perfectly fine!” You cut her off, breaking free from the guards hands and running around the room, doing jumping jacks, showing her that you aren't weak and are perfectly capable of physical activity.

Rhaenyra watches in shock, seeing you move like this but she chuckles, shaking her head in comic disbelief, “I guess she has not changed after all.” The maester comments which makes Jace and Luke smile.

“Very well, Pack the princess’ belongings, and get her ready for departure, we will depart two days later.” Rhaenyra orders the maids and you smile at her.

“But mother, I do not have many dresses—”

“You do, I had them tailored every year, whenever you grew, hoping that you would wake up.” She replies softly and you just then realise how Rhaenyra loves her children.

“The maesters said that you might not ever wake up, and that your body will be stunted from growth, yet… I'm glad their predictions never came true.” She smiles gently at you, you smile back.

The maids come in with a bath as everyone leaves, some of them begin packing your belongings. You notice how your body doesn't look how a person in a coma state should be looking especially in the mediaeval times, but instead you seem to be well taken care of, treated as if you were alive.

The maids quickly finish your bath and dress you up, you have to pretend to get used to this atmosphere and era even though you're highly uncomfortable, the mere thought of having servants made you feel bad.

And with that, the night fell, you couldn't sleep thinking about how you're going to deal with everything, could you really prevent war from happening? It happens due to a misunderstanding in the show right? What if the misunderstanding doesn't occur? Your mind was filled with such thoughts through the whole night.

In King's Landing.

“My queen, Rhaenyra, has sent a letter saying that their arrival will be delayed further.” The master sums up the contents of the letter in the council room, in front of Aemond who had been called by Alicent for an urgent matter.

“Why so?” Alicent asks, furrowing her brows.

“Princess Y/N had woken up from her unconscious state.”

An ear piercing shattering sound of glass is heard through the entire room, when turned to look at the origin, It is known that Aemond had dropped the wine glass he was drinking from.

“Y/N is awake?” Aemond asks the maester.

“Yes my prince.” The maester replies.

Aemond's heart begins to pound in his chest loudly, his mind spiralling at the thought of you finally waking up all these years later.

“Please excuse me.” Aemond gets up from the chair, excusing himself from the council and leaving the room, his brain occupied with the thoughts of you.

There wasn't a day where Aemond hadn't thought of you, he would at least think about you once a day- the news of you waking up from unconsciousness made the adrenaline in his body rush.

He felt like a hungry snake that had been starved for many years who at last found a prey to feast on, he felt like a drought-stricken land finally receiving rainfall, he felt like a garden void of any flowers which started to bloom once again.

He was thrilled.

He reminisces of the fond memories you both shared, he could never ever forget them, smiling at the thought of you.

He wondered if you had changed or remained the same.

Whatever it was, he couldn't wait.

He couldn't wait to receive you.

[skelly-words]

Witch's Garden Part 2

A couple ppl asked for this, so I made it real quick bc i'm not finished with anything else yet. This au was already cursed but now it's worse.

Go read Part 1 if you haven't already <3

tags- smut, tentacles/vines, ovi->hatching, aphrodisiac so non-con too? the witch is futa

wc- 1.2k

No minors, 18+ ONLY

The eggs kept warm in your pussy hatch several days before The Witch even remembers you're stuck in the rosehip bush. She needs shears to get you out. Even then, some of the vines encircling you have grown too strong and she doesn't bother cutting them. It's not worth the effort to totally free you, so she trims just enough to check your pulse and pry your trembling legs apart.

You whine as she stops you from rubbing your thighs together. Her eyes feel hot. You know she's staring at you even though you can't see it. Each egg has hatched into a thin tentacle, ending in a pulsing rosebud. The seedlings stretched and thickened, growing unnaturally fast. She could see your poor pussy could barely take it.

The plant doesn't have to feed you its sugary nectar so forcefully anymore. You slurp it off a dripping blossom whenever your mind gets a little too clear. It hangs above your lips, waiting for you to loll your tongue out and suck it off again. You're looking up but can't see the ceiling of the greenhouse through the vegetation. The Witch hasn't cut the vines milking your tits either, conveniently letting them continue to pinch and suck at your stiff nipples.

She lifts your hips up to prop you up on her thighs. It's difficult for you to make proper words, but you moan and buck weakly until she touches you. Her finger gently circles your slick entrance and loops up to your clit in a lazy figure-eight. The muscles in your cunt spasms and your thighs try to clamp shut on her hand, but her shoulders keep you spread open.

She settles her thumb on your clit, swirling around the button. Her other hand begins to pull out one of the tentacles. The first of many. It doesn't come free easily. The vine squirms in her grip in an attempt to rip free from her fingers.

You groan as the bloom slips out of you and she tosses it onto your stomach. It leaves stickiness in its wake, wriggling down your abdomen to latch its petals onto your clit. Her fingers dip back into your pussy to ease out the next seedling. Your mouth hangs open in a gasp as the pulsing vine massages your walls. The bud feeding you nectar takes advantage and shoves past your lips. You don't resist or complain, glad that it muffles all your whining.

The second vine winds itself around the others. It's firmly stuck inside you, using the knot of the other twisting tentacles as an anchor. You can feel them shift and rub on your insides. One of the buds still inside you is gently suctioned to your g-spot and it's making you see stars. The witch's grip tightens and she sits back on her heels to get the thing out. You're so wet. Pussy drooling down to gloss your puckered hole.

"Fuck," she grunts and finally, the vine pops free. "I should've pulled these weeds earlier."

You can feel her cock beneath her robes, twitching in frustration against your lower back. It throbs when you arch your spine to grind on it, hoping to tempt her into taking it out. A deep groan crawls from her throat as her hips rut weakly. She barely moves, but you can feel as the girthy outline of her dick drags between your asscheeks.

The newly freed vine twirls itself around her wrist. It stays, cuffing her arm as she yanks on another. The blossom on your clitty suckles and tugs until it's swollen. It gives a couple throbs of warning then you're cumming. Cream drips out of you as your cunt spurts juice down your legs. The vine loudly squelches when it comes loose. Your gaping hole flutters as the sensitive edges squeeze nothing.

You're given a couple seconds to catch your breath. She tentatively swipes the rosebud through your slit. A translucent film of your slick coats the head as she guides it down. The thing thrashes in her grip, fighting to dive back into your sloppy pussy. She tosses it aside and resumes her task.

She pulls over a dozen of those slippery vines out. The discarded seedlings take turns sucking your clit or putting hickeys on your skin. A couple of them wander a bit low and nose at your fluttering asshole. You're already lubed up for the eager buds. They slip in easily once their syrup starts to ooze down your skin. You grind on her cock the whole time. All your mess has soaked through the layers of her robes.

There are only a few vines left inside you, tucked so deep in your cunny that her fingers can't reach. She shoves her middle finger as deep as it can go and tries to coax one out. None of the tendrils take the bait, staying tightly coiled against your cervix.

You can feel them in your guts, rearranging as she presses a palm into the flesh of your tummy. That's all it takes for you to cum, adding more glaze to your inner thighs. She drags a finger through the middle to give it a try. And you taste sickeningly sweet. Laced with the same aphrodisiac that the rosehips keep pumping into you.

It makes her unfold the front of her robes and rub her palm over her flushed tip. She's so close to the edge, leaking a river of pre-cum from her cockhead. Her bottom lip is tucked under her incisors to keep her moans in. She quickly lines up her fat tip and thrusts in. Your pussy is greedy, taking every aching inch as she pushes her hips flush to the backs of your thighs.

Her cock barely pulls out before she's bullying it deeper into your oversensitive pussy. The vines still stuck curl tightly around her dick. They spiral to form thick ridges up the length. One of the tendrils winds higher, slipping out of you, and chokes her heavy balls. Her angry cock rams into you over and over as the tightness keeps her from cumming. If she were to pull out now, the starter plants would be successfully removed, but there's not much she can think about besides getting off. The tentacles must be intent on torturing her. They stroke her swollen shaft as she pounds into you, but never let a drop of cum spill out.

"Please, please, please." You hear The Witch whine, words slurring together as her thrusts get rushed and sloppy. She's desperate for her release.

Your legs start to go numb from being thrown around her shoulders for so long. She doesn't let up, using you until the vine that's edging her decides to loosen. Her cock pulses inside you before bursting.

Warm sticky semen pours into you, squeezed from her spurting tip as her hips snap forward. The vines finish milking her dry, filling you up with her own seed. She refuses to pull her dick out, plugging her cum inside with the fat knot of vines cinched around her base.

She keeps you like that for what feels like hours. Your cunt weakly clenching around her the whole time. She'd beaten it into a puffy mess and your short orgasms shoot through you like electric shocks. Two small blooms still plug your ass, butt staying stuffed even as she starts to twist and ease her cock out. Her opalescent spend comes out in gushes each time your muscles tens. The new propogations have all been removed and she lets them play with your pussy and tits some more as she clears the remaining vines.

A/N- masterlist if you want more of my work <3

[tadpolesonalgae]

Demon!Azriel x reader: Teeth and Talons - Chapter 11

Warnings: murder, general death, Azriel, gore

Word Count: 3,549

-Part 10-

——————————————————————————————————————————————

It’s been simmering away long before he turned you. Maybe even before he met you. Bubbling and festering deep in the marrow of your bones, suppressed and denied over and over until it became something awful and ugly, untameable and unstoppable once it’s leash finally snapped. Wreaking devastation with wide-grinning teeth, talons that snicker-snack through flesh, crushing corpses beneath its leather covered paws.

You can feel it cracking open an eye, a slimy, translucent film beneath its lid, opening blearily, fully fledged at last, and ready to wreak havoc on everything around it.

And you know just the place to begin your destruction, how to set the doomsday in motion.

The twisted fucker that got you into this situation in the first place.

—————

It’s been a long time coming, this selfish sense of justice that you need to bring.

How many other women and innocents have they murdered in the name of mild boredom. The devil makes work for the idle, and their palms are softer than cotton. Easier to shred through.

Night hasn’t even fallen when you crawl up the walls of the palace, built in the centre of the citadel, able to see the priestess’ temple from the high crenellations. In a fleeting thought, you wonder what she’d think of your actions, if she’d condemn them or turn a blind eye for the sake of your own suffering. But she won’t be spared either—she should have warned you. Not sat you down over a cup of tea and given out her own simpering story.

Your claws hook over the balcony, effortlessly hauling yourself into the boy-king’s chambers. Take in the gaudy and lavish spread, undeserved opulence at its finest, long past the line of decadence. Nobody needs a golden chamber pot beneath their bed, no matter how well they eat.

Heightened senses pick up the beat of two hearts outside the door, filthily-paid guards positioned at the entrance, and your forked tongue flickers out over dark, rubbery lips. Drool drips onto the floor, but you pay it no mind, snaking silently across the marble before flinging the doors from their hinges. Blood splatters and bone splinters beneath the force, glittering talons making a wretched mess of the spurting bodies, unthreading sinew as you crush their lungs beneath your paw, the steel of their weapons nothing against the raw hide coating leathery limbs. At your back, your tails thrashes, gouging slashes in the stone as spikes slice through marble, putting breaks in the castle that nearly broke you.

Your nostrils flare, picking up the scent of someone young, blood too sour to enjoy laced with the overripe flavour of age. The sag of skin practically a flavour in and of itself as you skitter down the hallway, scrambling up the walls, clambering along the ceiling as you spot a familiar pathway, ones you’d been forced up when you were human. A human woman with bare feet and scrappy clothing, still shot through with remnants of sickness.

The great hall looms before you, and your pulse spikes, screaming for you to loose hell on the people within. Your back arches in a stretch, easing your muscles into working condition, warmed from the earlier blood-bath.

With a flick of your great, thrashing tail, the massive doors cave in, being flung from the frame in a crash of dust and stone. It doesn’t even take a minute before the guards within are splattered upon the pristine walls, dripping blood and viscera onto pretty, marble floors. Staining the stained glass red.

The boy-king screams, a high pitched wail that grates on your ears as you slither through the hall, only to come to a stop at the foot of the dais, watching as an acrid smelling liquid drips from the too-large throne where he’s cowering. Blacked-out eyes flick through the room, but the advisor is no where to be found, fury lighting you ablaze, rage rippling through your soul as magic pulses through the room, shattering the glass, sending bloody fragments raining down on the gardens below.

You hardly feel his tiny bones crack beneath your palm, as simple as squashing a fly—the difference being you’d feel bad about the latter, stealing food from the spider. Hot flesh is crushed into the floor, leaving a mushy pile of indiscernible parts dripping from the throne, iron mixing with ammonia.

Again your nostrils flare, heart pounding with bloodlust as you search for the man who’d sentenced you. Who’d been responsible for casting you out into that forest, beyond reason.

A broken cry sounds from the entrance, and you whip around, rubbery maw sharpening into a grin as you find your meal, held upon narrow, shaky legs that wouldn’t make more than a mouthful. His eyes are round and terror-filled as they take in the hell-beast you’ve become.

Shadows writhe at your wings, crowing them in a corona of darkness, tail thrashing and tearing at stone.

The advisor stumbles back on doddery old legs, stumbling and tripping as he falls on his bony behind, hands scrambling as he frantically pushes back from you, like a baby trying to crawl away. Razor-sharp teeth glitter, kept clean and pristine, waiting to be used.

You prowl forward, excited to take your time stripping his skin from his skeleton, feeling it peel from his flesh. Claws click on the marble floor, ticking like the second hand of a clock as you revel in the rising scent of his terror, so many wonders afforded to you with this new body.

His mouth opens in soundless scream, a wet gasp rasps from dry, old lips, hot breath wheezing from sinking lungs.

You press your paw over his chest, pinning him to the ground as his skeletal hands weakly rub at your fingers, trying to remove the great things from spearing him entirely as they curl into his back, tearing at sagging muscle. You wish you could gloat, could tell him who you are, see if he remembers what he did to you. See if he remembers being the one to suggest leaving you to the devil you’d sold your heart to in order to be cured from the plague.

His eyes are wide and glassy…the old man with already fading hair and wrinkles that swallow his eyes beneath flaps of loose skin.

The memories pour in, the rope biting into your wrists, weakness coating your muscles…eyes as black as the devils. The look alone had been enough to have nausea roiling in your stomach, threatening to upend it right there on the marble floor you’d been shoved to. Eyes that had swallowed you whole—black like you’d never seen black. Dark as pitch.

(alarmingly void, more than anyone’s have any right to be…and lacking in definition. Just one solid layer glazing across the obsidian coloured surface. Depthless.)

Terror-stricken blue eyes stare up at you, watery and weak as they strain and bulge beneath the pressure on his chest.

Ice glazes through your veins, blood freezing over just as a wave of pure power slams into you, throwing you back through the hall.

Your head cracks back against the marble, spine aching from the shockwave and you slide down onto the floor, collapsing behind the throne before slithering back to your feet, snaking down the dais. Eyes locking with cocoa.

There’s a brief moment of sorrow that flashes. It’s hardly noticeable, and passes before you can fully grasp it, but it’s enough for her to slip in.

Elain raises her thyrsus, knocking its base against the floor, a thrumming wave of power gathering in a shield as your talons clack against the stone, warily prowling forward, mouth watering to sink into his flesh. Cocoa flicks through the room, finally taking in the carnage—the blood splatters, and splintered fragments of bone dripping from the dais you’re standing on. The warped and crushed corpse of the young king.

“What have you become?” She breathes vehemently, delicate brow narrowing over cold eyes, shields rising up and locking down, sceptre spinning in her hand as she sets one foot before her, the other behind at five o’clock, pointed outward. A snarl rips from your chest, watching as she takes up a defensive position between you and the exit—between you and the rasping advisor. Between you and your meal.

Before you can think properly, you’re darting forward, faster than a shadow, shooting across the floor as talons crack down on her shield of magic, the staff appearing as a way from her to convert her power into a weapon. Burning rage pounds through your skull, yearning to obliterate as magic gathers at your fingertips, rubbery lips stretching into a grin when it coats your claws, slicing through her barrier.

She’s thrown back in the room, robes skidding through cooling pools of blood until she reaches the threshold of the caved-in doors. Glee beats in your chest as you skitter forward, the sound of leather stretching as your grin widens, showcasing gleaming rows of razor-sharp teeth, ready to rip and shred to your pleasure. The staff has been knocked from her tender hand, and she grapples for it as you scuttle closer, speeding up the closer you get until darkness is building at your back and your wings are flared in a display of dominance, keeping her pinned to the bloody marble with shadows.

Incisors glitter in the light as your jaws part above her, preparing to bite down and end when steel wreathed in fire slides beneath your throat. “Step away from her.”

Eyes flick up, jaw locking as stinging, searing pain lances down your right collar bone, bleeding into your shoulder as your gaze locks with a whirring, mechanical eye. Golden and russet narrows with unforgiving fury, glowing like the flames from a forge as the blistering steel raises in warning before pulling back. Fire sparks across the floor, aiming for your limbs to burn you alive as he spins, making to slice the blade across your throat.

Darkness flares out of nowhere, colliding with rampant and furious fire, and you’re thrown back as another figure joins the fray. One that’s packed with deadly power, great wings wreathing his back as he looms over Lucien.

“Step aside, Azriel,” the male hisses, flame licking up the walls, heat sweltering.

“Put the blade away, and I’ll consider letting you keep your other eye,” he drawls lowly, syllables dragging like gravel from his throat. Fury gathers in the room, settling like oil over your skin, so heavy and greasy you can feel it practically weighing you down.

“Look around,” Lucien snarls, flame deepening with sizzling rage, held in check by a leash of thread. “Your mate has killed dozens of humans, as well as trying to murder mine.” His power flares on that last word, as if instinct is roaring at him to protect but he’s restraining it. “Put. Her. Down.”

Even through your haze of anger, the words clang through, reverberating across leathery skin, hackles raising at the threat.

Azriel shifts on his four great paws, wings flaring menacingly as a snarl rips from his throat, settling between you and the male. “You look after yours and I’ll look after mine,” he growls, darkness taunting flame, building steadily at his back.

A little further behind Lucien, Elain shakily pushes up from the pool of blood, a trembling, pale hand reaching for her staff, brimming with a pale light. With a flick of her wrist, the magic flares, beaming like a spear for the unprotected underside of his throat. Faster than thought, faster than instinct, you’ve shot across the marble, skittering beneath his front left paw, jaws snapping viciously as your own power grates against Elain’s before sending it careening off, gouging marble from the crumbling castle.

Tension ripples as the four of you are locked in on one another, senses keyed to the slightest movement, waiting for the coil to snap so the others can be torn to shreds.

The room explodes in glittering black, razor sharp talons clicking skittishly as power splits your two sides apart, blasting a wall of physical adamant between you, just translucent enough for Elain and Lucien’s figures to be wrought in shadow.

Azriel’s body lowers, both in a bow and in a circle of protection, paw shifting forward to keep you tucked beneath him. Instinctively you follow, curling back into his power, tail pulled tight—ready to lash out.

The darkness simmers away, revealing the tall, powerfully hewn figure of a male. Wickedness practically drips from his finery, raven-black hair pushed neatly back from his brow as sharp violet eyes settle coldly over the scene. A wave of dread ices across your skin, a weight dropping in your belly as you take in the immense power that’s rolling from his shoulders—a god.

Azriel doesn’t so much as breathe different, but his shadows gather beneath you, thick and lush like a rug of black wool, drawing his magic in closer as a circle of protection. A suggestion of defence.

“Azriel.”

The voice is deep and icy, dripping with malice, and the spines at your back prickle. Your own magic weaves through with his shadow, hiding in plain sight but ready to spring free as fear pools in your stomach.

Violet flicks through the room, taking in the splatters of blood, dripping viscera, then his gaze locks with yours. It’s a new kind of fear, you realise, being singled out by a being so much greater than you are, and you shrink away, pushing back into the protective power of the male above you. His stance broadens, covering more of you as great paws settle further apart, braced for sudden movement.

“What happened here?” The god doesn’t remove his attention from Azriel, but it’s clear the question is not addressed to him. The shadowy wall fades entirely, and your gaze shifts to the two figures opposing you, Elain having gotten to her feet, robes soaked in blood, staff gripped dismally in her hand with grim determination.

“Your brother let his mate run free,” Lucien replies lowly, tone like gravel—lined with restraint. “She tried to kill Elain.” Fire brightens before again banking, as if being soothed by the reminder of her presence at his side. Sharp, violet eyes once again cut to you, “is that right?”

You manage a quiet snarl, fear drumming in your pulse, paws shifting like a great cat preparing to pounce. Muscle coils tight with terror at being faced with the god, having his attention settle like ice over skin, preparing to rip away. His sharp eyes narrow on you, and you pull your magic tighter.

Is that right? He repeats, and you recoil into Azriel’s chest, flinching as the god’s voice echoes through your mind. Through your peripherals you can see as a frail body starts to life, gangly limbs trying to heave up his torso as the king’s advisor return to consciousness. Once again you shift on your paws, hissing viciously at the trembling man, blood and vomit coating his front as he takes in the four beasts before him. Five.

“She wouldn’t kill Elain,” Azriel growls from above you, shifting his paw to block your line of sight from the advisor. “I wasn’t asking you,” your god replies coldly, attention pinning you to the ground as violet bores into you. “She won’t be able to speak yet,” Azriel bites out, power thrumming at your paws, curling up your arms, brushing at the leathery hide you’ve been coated in. “She changed less than a week ago.”

“Then why weren’t you watching her?” Lucien growls sharply, eyes blazing.

The god casts a warning glance at the fiery male, but does no more than that, evidently also seeking an answer.

Azriel shifts above you, and you can feel the oiled gears of his mind clicking effortlessly, spinning his information into a silky web. “I was,” he growls, gaze turning to the god appealingly. “You know as well as I do everything is well warded. The only way she could have escaped is if someone let her out.”

“If someone let her out?” Lucien echoes disbelievingly. “Those wards are practically impenetrable. It would be impossible to unlock them from the outside.”

“Lucien’s correct,” the god drawls icily, gaze drifting to Azriel’s, warning glittering in their depths. A timer counting down as his patience begins to fray, the metallic scent heavy in the air. Azriel makes no obvious moves, but you can feel his frustration curving around your bones, wrapping you tight to him.

It seems the god senses his hesitance, pouncing on the second of indecisiveness. “Don’t try and hide things from me,” he bites out coldly, power weighing heavily in the air, so intense it sets your iron stomach churning.

A muscle feathers in Azriel’s jaw, before charcoal eyes raise to violet. “She wasn’t going to make it,” he growls lowly, resentment coating his tongue. “Elain can attest to that.”

Violet flicks to hardened cocoa expectantly, but the priestess is already watching you, peering beneath a strained brow. Her jaw is tight, but she gives a curt nod, fingers still bone white around her staff. “That’s true. We both saw her before,” she answers, gaze briefly meeting Lucien’s. “She was feverish and already going into delirium. It’s unlikely she was going to survive.”

The god’s attention returns to Azriel, the edges of his irises slightly thawed but remaining hard.

“She was going to die,” Azriel repeats, words pulled taut as they leave his tongue. “She had to go through the Pit, or she wouldn’t have survived.” The three figures stiffen preternaturally, colour draining as something cold and awful settles uneasily across the room.

“The wards were likely weakened from residual magic,” he grits out, still keeping you wrapped beneath his shadows, as if trying to keep you hidden from them. “Enough for someone to get through.” You press a little closer into the lines of his body, tension beginning to drip away, releasing its hold on your heart. “They’d already tried to take her once. They thought this would be their chance to get back at me.” Shadows writhe across the marble floor, flaring with concealed rage, fury manifesting in his power.

“You think your brothers caused this?” The god asks slowly, eyes once again touring the room, filled with drying gore. Azriel nods, and you begin pulling slowly at your magic, gathering it close to your skin, preparing to jump.

Tension and fear knots your stomach, twisting in vicious carvings as you keep yourself coiled tight beneath the solid frame of Azriel’s form, keeping pressed tight.

Cold violet flicks over the squashed carcass of the young king, distaste passing through his features. “You’re telling me your brothers created a gap in your wards, and she managed to do all this before you noticed?” The god drawls skeptically, voice clean-cut like glass. Azriel’s talons pierce the marble floor. “She went through the Pit,” he repeats lowly, “she’s much stronger than—”

The advisor starts in your peripherals, body jerking to life as the contents of his stomach is heaved upon the floor.

Your tail cracks like a whip, coil snapping free, splattering pieces of flesh against the already blood-caked windows.

Body obliterated in the blink of an eye, before curling back tight to your paws.

Silence buzzes across the room, four pairs of wide eyes watching as bits of intestine drip from the sill, pooling in a gouged-out puddle in the floor. Almost immediately Azriel’s own tail is curling around you comfortingly, shadows stroking at your sides as if to lull you back into a state of ease, soothing the wild drum of your heartbeat, tail twining with your own.

Cold power raises from the floor, darkness thrumming in warning as tension buzzes in your ears, having them flatten against your head.

“How much blood did you give her?” The god’s tone puts fractures into your bones, like rock grinding against rock, grating on your soul.

“As much as she would take,” Azriel replies quietly, and you feel his attention brushing affectionately over your leathery skin. Silence reigns heavily, stretching out as you huddle back into his power, wanting to escape from the immense power of the god.

“You did what?” Elain breathes, eyes wide as she stares at Azriel, grip tightening on her sceptre. She seems to be the only one of the three capable of formulating a response, something blazing in her eyes. “She was going to die, Elain,” he snarls protectively, body settling closer to you. “Because you neglected her,” she hisses, brown eyes cold and hard as they bore into the male. “You plucked her up out of her life, you refused to properly care for her, you were the one who refused to teach her anything because she wasn’t what you wanted.”

Azriel’s snarl is like thunder breaking across the heavens, marble trembling beneath your claws, and you settle against the sound.

Yet it doesn’t seem to bother the priestess.

“If she was the one who tore all these people to shreds,” she breathes, pale blue light blazing from her staff. “It is because you put that anger into her.”

——————————————————————————————————————————————

general taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @amygdtjhddzvb @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022 @hannzoaks @hnyclover

az taglist: @azrielshadows1nger @jurdanpotter @positivewitch @nightcourt-daydreaming @assassinsblade @marvelouslovely-barnes @v3lv3tf0x @kalulakunundrum @vellichor01 @throneofsmut

[startreksetplans]

Phase II Bridge

Phase II - the aborted Star Trek series that was converted into The Motion Picture

The Phase II bridge was almost completed before the order came to alter it for TMP. This posts follows it from concept art, to construction, to conversion.

First came the bones of the bridge - the wooden support structure for the walls.

After that the walls and ceiling surround

Various wall consoles added

The helm

A new addition to the bridge compared to TOS was the inclusion of a bridge transporter situated next to the view screen. This would be removed for TMP and replaced with a small console for gravity control.

Also a tactical display was added - it was to be a large translucent dome with small models of ships to move with the action. Ultimately this was scrapped for a tactical station in TMP.

The consoles were even gained displays and were wired up

By the way - here is what the back of a console looked like

During the conversion to the TMP bridge, some test shots were filmed with the actors wearing the Phase II costumes.

Finally it became the TMP bridge we all saw on screen

It would receive a revamp for ST:IV

Sections would late be converted into the TNG battle bridge and redressed into a myriad of other sets.

The turbolift door sections would survive into the Enterprise-E bridge for First Contact, Insurrection, and Nemesis.

[yyyuyuyu]

summary: you wanted to paint a still life with fruit, but you didn't have one. Fortunately, Kajii generously lent you some lemons.

Several bright yellow lemons, each of which looks perfectly ripe and shiny, lie on a white, translucent fabric. The surface is slightly dented, in some places it has a yellow tint, probably due to the fruit reflex. Slightly to the right of the fabric, an elegant crystal vase filled with several white roses rises to the ceiling. The soft, pale petals of the flower contrast with the bright color of the lemons lying on the translucent fabric. An ideal composition worthy of being baked on canvas.

Your hand hovers over the white canvas, painting bright spots of yellow shades. The brush glides over the surface, capturing the texture and shape of the fruit with a few quick, concise strokes, the perfect shape that you were trying to convey.

The lemons were teardrop-shaped and had a small size, which made them easily fit in your hand. Their bright yellow color, which looks so warm and light, attracts attention, and their warm color contrasts with their sour taste, which not everyone likes. You've never been a fan of lemon as a fruit, but you don't mind its taste, taking it for granted. That was the case, at least until your meeting with Motojirou Kajii.

To your displeasure, you had to work with him at that time, which is why you were “honored” to listen to his tirades, which made no sense to you. He spoke a lot, expressively, shouting out some words like a madman. He was talking about death, God, science, and lemon bombs. He talked so much that you almost got the impression that he was one of those people who simply did not have regular listeners, which is why he had to tell his conclusions quite casually to the person who happened to work with him. The only thing that seemed remotely interesting to you was his talk about something as unassuming as the shape of a lemon. His obsession with this topic was at least peculiar, but you decided that it was not for you to judge. From his tirade, you especially remember the phrase that the shape of the lemon was perfect. You didn't understand why it was perfect, but you left it as it is.

Moving forward to the present time, you still don't understand why, but you agree with him on this. In the time that has passed since your first meeting, you have surprisingly managed to get along. Despite his eccentricity, he is not so bad, especially as a conversationalist, although his love of explosions seems to be... A little too much. As much as it can be said about a person who is in the mafia. Bright, explosive and loud. This is how he seemed to you then, and this is how you know him now, with the only difference being that now these qualities do not seem to you as bad as they were at that time.

Your thoughts are interrupted with the last stroke of the brush. The painting is finished. The contrast between white flowers and lemons is pronounced, the translucent fabric underneath looks the same as in reality. Lemons on canvas look bright and lively, as if you can stretch out your hand and you can feel their texture.

For a moment, you will be lost in thought again, thinking about the fact that you have never had conversations about art with Motojirou. You're not entirely sure of his opinion about fine art, given that he doesn't give the impression of being passionate about it. Nevertheless, you put the painting in a wooden frame, wrap it with film so as not to damage it during carrying, and prepare to hand it over to Kajii.

Let it be a kind of thank-you gift for lending you some lemons for your still life.

[callumleckie2017]

Hyper-Space - The Simulation of Servitude & the Architecture of the Mega-Machine

Or

'Human' & His Guide: The Jornery through the Nine Circuits of the Divine Fractal Zones know as: Hell.

(a continuous working draft).

Fractal realities issue out of pre-rendered holographic sockets - digital orifices spewing hyber-cyber frequencies that rapidly enmesh, our Human's flesh with hair-fine liquid like razor wire that cuts into our Human's anatomy followed by a sudden pull that starts a sucking vacuum with the strength of dozen sonic booms as he just comically disappears into what would almost amount to an eye of an needle - siphoned through a split atom sized hole (or so it seemed) within nought of nano second, sqeezing him out finally from the jelly-wet and npe doubled dilated hole - as an infinite explosion of malignant echo's cast ripples of neon rainbows that flood his pores with its atomic waste, skin peeling radiation the works.

Our Human's now in -- hyper speed - fast -- for-warding in some manically mind bending metamorphosis of matter, flesh - bone, from the bottom up to tip of his cranium - as ripping sound seems to reproduces his anatomy in a ultra smooth pale yellow plastic returning him to the manikin man he wasn't. His mouth now a perfect O, his eyes: two Obsidian black pearls sucked into place.

Our Human since sucked and spat out now stands rigid in the center of square cell - four walls, ceiling and floor, all glistening with mother of pearl, his toes then his entire feet start sprouting fine fissures of gold (enrooting) circuit lines slowly branching outwards across the floor in multiple channels which had rapidly root him to the spot (before he had even attempted to move a foot) until entire floor is a perfectly engrave in the finely threaded gold circuitry system.

Hyper--speed -- each four corners of the room fracture out in hyperbolic-geometrical-fractal fissures - suddenly shoot outwards in all directions until the entire four walls are engraved in a cybernetic virus. it's once golden circuitrty is now breaking out in a spontaneous blooming of some kind of sick binary bacteria fugue its glows phosphorus: cybernetic cancerous growths.

It starts circuitrty channels start issuing out from his toenails before inverting into our Human's legs up until his anatomy is entirely enmeshed -- then within a nano second and the all but last empty vacuums of space within cell are filled with via fractals of intricately arranged geometrical lines of fine liquid diamond razor wire bites into his flesh causing four seconds of indescribable pain until they pass through entirely finally -- suddenly his mouth piece begins issuing a semi-translucent klidoscopic light filling the last of any remaining space causing a pin prick black hole in the bottom corner of the cell which then in a nano dilutes suddenly sucking at him and the fractal room into its seemingly gaping black oblivion until he emerges breaking through a pink plasm film until he emerges screaming into what was once - Mexico now - Neo-XiKo, and the year - 2510 now a vast wastelands with clusters of chemical labs grinding mutanted strains of the rotting meat of native tribesmens rotting corpses mashed together with malign vines waiting to be processed in the gas chambers. Torture chambers. Chambers and more chambers.

Opium poppies with sigils carved into the pods (an attraction tactic to harvest Need Freaks far and wide) growing wild mutated overgrown covering old abandoned crack flats and cat houses. Pumped but limp seeping milk into thousand drip drops from their oversized pods that were rapidly lapped up by the Cat people before the milk hardened (sometimes in long urine-like slashes) up like dry wax, huge pale puddles of drying gum, the junkies wait once the beasts have had there fill. Dozens of Ayahuasca fill silos circle the chemical labs where raw opium is rendered into Hydo-Fent, cooking up even more potent opioids via chemical combinations - an infinity of numbers making mouculer geometry - atoms arranged into new chemical nightmares. Never ending nightmares.

Vast gigantic Fly Agaric mushrooms droop over the wastelands their vast red caps decomposing slowly in the sun causing the speckled white spots to melt and slide off the caps like some hallucinogenic cottage cheese.

Dozens of thin crucifixes sixty metres high tower into the sickly yellow sky swaying over the crack stalls and brick factories and torture cells, like macabre satellites of wood and meat, the crucified long since stopped screaming now puretrfied sacrificed nailed high corpses now only alive via the parasites that feast off them ... while they lay in wait for hosts of crow, vultures and so on. ...The very First of the Crucified nothing lives - baked to beautiful bleach pink encrusted husks, rendered that way from the radiating rays of the atomic eye, the pulsating blood orange that is the, Sun still rising (has it never) to claim itself as the only legitimate god of the Wasteland: Helios

Our Human walks already blistering naked reborn dead - and continues into the first Circuit, his guide known simply as the Other walks beside him, imitating his every move and gesture, our Human and its doppelganger guide now begin to finish the tame tour of this first of the nine Circuits...They slowly pass in pulsations through yet another field of Opuim poppies - forever in process of Harvest, by once tortured souls who continue to slice sigils into the oversized poppy pods to siphon its "Need" (an enegry of monumental parasitic importance in this realm) it issues out an essence of smoked delirium tinged with aniseed, it rapidly forms in a sepia spirit that's nano-siphoned off for eartly dimensions, enriching the rich milkly sap that draws drips and dries rapidly under the Sun, their black blades expertly gather the fattening opium gum...as both Human and his Other (or Guide) pass through these ghosts of semptic ozone essence, an eternity passes until both come to stop at wire fence that itself is covered in handmade small straw dolls with pins covering each and everyone, also - scarlet occult sigils seem scrawled across practically across all of them - those small dolls - all made of tightly wrapped fraying string as dry as bone. Licked red. The pins too ... red with rust. A galaxy of of them spetic pricks.

At last the wire gate eerily swang open, letting them pass through as it swings back into place behind him and his guide.

To be continued..

[itsbenedict]

Two-Faced Jewel: Thunderbrush 17

A Locked-Room Mystery

A conwoman disguised as a noble and the delegation of university students studying her have arrived in the jungle city of Thunderbrush, ruled by ancient dryads and organized crime. Will they manage to stay uninvolved in shady conspiracies? (No.)

Story so far | Session log index | Previous session

Last time, the party had just returned from a harrowing mafia-fighting vampire-surgerying misadventure in Welcoming Trails, and received intel that a slaver gang is planning to attack the university in a matter of days. This is a problem!

But before they can deal with the problem... they've got an urgent call from Zzaiya, the waspfolk girl who's been helping with their research into Saelhen's magic bracer. Apparently, one of the divine artifacts they used while studying the bracer has gone missing- stolen by some sort of master thief! They've got to get to the bottom of this theft!

The first thing to check, when something goes missing, is to determine whether it was actually stolen, not just lost or misplaced- but there's ample evidence of that.

This was left on the tripod device in the corner where the divine artifact- an "isolation sphere", used to disable other divine artifacts and otherwise jam divine power- had been left. So it definitely seems like the place was broken into.

Oddly, the note was accompanied by Zzaiya's stolen keys, which is a weirdly considerate gesture for a thief with a grudge. Looseleaf opts to inspect this note with her spirit magic, picking up on emotional impressions. With a crit success, she gets...

So that's suggestive: the culprit had to have done this the morning of the Big Game- sometime after Zzaiya left with Looseleaf to head to the stadium, and before the game itself started. That might help narrow it down!

With that, the party takes a look at the actual crime scene, pictured up top. And, uh, here again, too, why not:

To recap the structure: the "lab" is a corner of the Artificing department workshop floor, sectioned off by six formerly-rolling wooden partitions that've been nailed into the floor by iron spikes. A canvas "roof" is anchored to the corner, and stapled to the top of these wooden partitions. It's not especially difficult to break into via the roof by undoing the staples, but it doesn't appear that this has happened.

Zzaiya explains her security measures:

Ball bearings scattered in front of the door, an idea Saelhen suggested, to determine whether the culprit used the door

A magic one-way barrier surrounding her desk, which lets things in but not out, to trap the culprit

Custom-scented flypaper strips hung up from the ceiling, to maybe pick up hair samples and mark the culprit

Translucent white gauze wrapped around all the artifact storage shelves to...

Saelhen pokes the gauze, and there's a bright flash- apparently this is photogauze, an enchanted film which automatically takes a flash photo of whatever comes in contact with it once it's been activated. The idea was to capture a photograph of the culprit as they attempted to break into the artifact storage shelves- but the only photograph it seems to have taken was one of a somewhat started white rat- likely the same rat currently trapped inside the blue bubble.

None of these security measures seem to have been especially efficacious. The barrier and the gauze only caught a rat, the flypaper strips don't seem to have been touched, and the ball bearings- though they reveal that the door was used- don't tell them much about the culprit. The only thing taken was the sphere from the corner, which wasn't protected by gauze.

The party's first suspicion is that the small white rat is the culprit, somehow- controlled by magic, or a Peter Pettigrew-type shapeshifting disguise. Their first move is to get Zzaiya to lower the barrier, and then snatch the rat before it can escape.

It never stood a chance. Saelhen nabs it, and Looseleaf spirit-reads it. As it happens... this is one of their rats. The ones from their box of lab rats for necromancy research, which they got from the Zoology department. A couple had gone missing- and now they know where this one ended up.

Apart from its origin, though, there's no hint of magic applied to the rat. If it weren't for having been suspiciously stolen from the party, it could well be written off as ordinary vermin caught up in a security system.

Looseleaf then opts to scan the partition walls with her spirit magic, to determine if they were compromised somehow. Sure, the culprit clearly used the door- but why not check to be sure?

She discovers something odds on the partition nearest the left wall. While most of them are ordinary wood, this one seems to have a large patch of... some sort of spongy material in the center, like it's rotted away. And this material seems to have been concealed, by some sort of gooey brown paint. The material seems... somehow familiar, but Looseleaf with a 9 on the dice can't place it.

Looseleaf and Oliver then check the ceiling, after Oliver takes a pneumantic scan of the spongy stuff for reference. The "ceiling" seems to have been pulled away from the wall a bit, its staples having been pulled out and the canvas sagging somewhat, like something heavy was on top of it earlier.

-

That's about all the evidence they're going to find- so they move on to discussing possible culprits.

The obvious first candidate is Vayen, who- around the time Zzaiya's keys were stolen- had turned invisible and snuck into the lab to eavesdrop on her and Looseleaf. (To little avail, since they'd conducted their conversation via telepathy.) But it seems clear he didn't steal the keys- he was in the room when they used their Locate Object wand, and the keys were more than 1000 feet away at the time. And since the keys were stolen, the lab couldn't be locked, so anyone could've used the door. He's suspicious as always, but nothing directly incriminates him.

Privately, Looseleaf asks Zzaiya if any of her colleagues in the Project might've done this. Zzaiya doesn't think so- there's a limited number of them who even know of her lab here, and none of them would've needed to steal the sphere. She'd have just let them use it!

They then turn to Evelyn- who technically has a part of her body in this room at all times. The large sink/basin on the right side of the room is made of her! Evelyn, though, wasn't watching the room last night- something would've needed to happen to draw her attention, like someone calling her name. She's not a night watchman!

And she also has no idea what the spongy stuff is.

The next thing to look into is... the source of the rat. It seems clear that the rat was involved in the culprit's scheme somehow, and the rat was stolen from the party's dorm room. There's a limited number of people who even have access to that- the party, Miriko, Oliver, and Evelyn herself. Evelyn, they're fairly confident is uninvolved, just from good Speech rolls when questioning her.

While it doesn't occur during this session, it happens in the next one: the party interrogates its NPC allies. Vayen, Orluthe, Oyobi, and Miriko... by a combination of high Speech rolls and Looseleaf's spirit magic, they establish confidently that none of them are lying when they say they didn't steal any of the party's rats.

So.

Players, and those reading along with the recaps: the culprit of this crime can be determined from the information available. At time of writing, the party has not solved this theft. Have you?

[kanobarlowe]

OCkiss23 Day 2 - Food

This one is from a future WIP (will not be named) set in the same universe as Psalms from the Mountaintop. I haven't written anything of that yet but these characters will appear.

Hai is from Kyeku, natively known as Juzhingfa - but after his exile due to his criminal youth, he winds up falling for a chef whose parentage is, in part, from his home country named Kyoné. The two share a nice breakfast together while Hai experiences some nostalgia.

The sizzling vegetables stirred Hai from his slumber. Lying in his plush crimson bed, he stared up at the ceiling and watched the specks of dust float by in the morning rays outside. The sparkling silver of Lakhai sent rainbows across the top, refracting and shifting in thin ripples of light. He yawned and sat up, his black hair rolling in waves down his shoulders. He glanced to the side. The bed was empty.

He stood up and watched the shimmering city from the floor-to-ceiling windows. Braiding his hair, he noticed how washed out it had become — still dark, still near black, but he could see the navy colors shining through. He sighed: he was getting old. Scratching sleepy film off his thin, mangled gills, Hai went to his closet and plucked one of his morning robes. Like all his robes, this one was high-necked, tight against his throat as he dressed. He looked around the room — everything was pristine and quality: luxurious bed and furniture, a walk-in closet, a fine-tuned radio, even a fireplace across from a love seat at the foot of the bed. He thought back to his childhood bedroom — a reed cot on a wooden floor, wood and rock toys scattered in the tiny room. His bed was in the corner, and twelve others littered the confines of the bamboo-built walls: no lights, no warm fire — only a thin blanket and the smell of the sea. Before leaving the room, he brushed the wrinkles and creases out of his robes.

Downstairs, Kyoné was already dressed for the day. That was no surprise; he always went early to his restaurant to order his cooks to prep, fiddle with ledgers, then come home to make breakfast. He looked handsome like he always did, with dark hair tousled and tied back, translucent antennae peeking in his hair, subtle ribbing in his long ears, and hints of flecking scales. He flipped the pan over the rune-lit stove, sparks bubbling out of the symbol scrawled under the heating coil.

“I aru, o aūnhyaū chueu,” Hai trilled. He reached the bottom of the stairs in a flourishing sweep.

“You know I don’t speak that fish language,” Kyoné replied. Even with his back turned, Hai admired the frills of his lover’s gills, the neckline of his shirt open to breathe comfortably. He smiled, fangs gleaming — he loved Kyoné’s casual erotic nature.

“I said good morning.” Hai swept up behind his dearest, scarred fingers slipping around his waist. He sniffed the frying vegetables and noted the dumpling wraps all laid out across the counter, ready for their filling. “Making my favorite breakfast today?” He rested his sharp, narrow chin on Kyoné’s shoulder. “I hope you’re putting sugar in…” He leaned in, kissed Kyoné’s neck, and then gave the chef a teasing bite.

A gasp, followed by an exasperated groan from Kyoné, widened Hai’s grin. “You put sugar in everything,” he grumbled, “All-Father’s ballsack, are your fangs rotten?” Hai clicked his tongue, the sharp cycloid scales guarding his sweet-tooth taste buds screeching against the tips of his fangs. Kyoné shuttered and glared. “Hate that sound,” the cook scolded.

“You’re just not used to it, my pet,” Hai chuckled. He released the brilliant cook from his grasp and blew him a playful kiss before he glided to a seat at the low-cut breakfast table. He listened to the vegetables crackle from the pan. He closed his eyes, admiring the sounds and smells. Even if the dumpling’s fillings were foreign to him, the thought of the sweet, homely breakfast sent him back to a time of simplicity.

Back to the sea.

He overlooked the time creeping by. Kyoné set a plate of steaming dumplings lined on several wooden skewers before him. “You were humming to yourself again,” the chef said with a thin, fanged smile. Glorious. “I added sugar — to yours.” He sat beside Hai at the low table and leaned against his narrow, bony shoulder.

Hai plucked a skewer from his plate and bit down on the wood, ripping the pick and dumpling free. His fangs tore into the hot dumpling as his serrated tongue shredded the wooden chunk at its center. Indeed, it was sweet — not at sugary as it was back home, but his heart warmed knowing Kyoné attempted a traditional Shorun breakfast; his culinary mastery came from Maki’s dry, earthy climate, a stark contrast to Juzhingfa’s oceanic, sugary diet.

“Good?” Kyoné murmured. He pulled a dumpling off his skewer and glanced up at Hai. His round cheeks looked positively endearing. Hai’s smile was softer than usual. A lock of hair slipped past his thin, frilled ear, hovering in his vision — tints of navy blue within the black.

“Geībuo a dai,” he answered.

Kyoné rolled his eyes. “I love you, too.” He leaned up and kissed Hai, who returned the gesture gladly.

He’d never dreamed he’d live this long.

[bee-barnes-author]

DYING ON THE FIRST DATE EXCERPT

Chapter 1

A shark is…latched onto my throat. Sucking my life right out of me. No. I blink twice in an unsuccessful attempt to clear my vision. Not a shark. My date for the New Year’s party. He’s got his teeth clamped down around my throat and he’s moaning obscenely as my blood flows into his maw.

How did this-?

He pets my face and I fall backwards into myself. Into my soul. For a moment I'm suspended between consciousness and not, and I can feel it all. My blood rushing towards the wound vacuum sealed by his mouth. His pronged tongue flicking greedily over the holes in my flesh. I shudder, cold, disgusted to my core.

And then I’m free falling into blackness.

***

I’m in the arms of a man I don’t know. Our feet glide gracefully over smooth hardwood floors. Rock music blares from the speakers, but we’re stepping an elegant waltz across the empty room full of other couples just like us. I feel like I’m floating.

It takes effort, but I strain and engage the muscles in my neck. I’m only successful in turning my head an inch or so. It hurts to pull any further, like I’m…tearing myself apart. I want to look at my handsome dance partner. When I picture his face, his features blur, like there’s a thick film of vaseline over him. I cry out in pain hear a noise and it’s so close that I feel the vibration of it in my ears.

The hosts of the dance party have wrapped yellow twinkle lights along the rafters on the ceiling. I stare until my eyes burn and I’m forced to blink. “Who are you?” I ask my handsome date in a dazed, high, girlish voice.

His lips make a wet squelching noise when he breaks the seal his mouth made against my neck. He’s breathless, and I feel him panting on my cheek. I want to gag at the stinking copper moisture of his mouth. “Why, I’m your handsome date.” He says, and I smile because he’s right. Of course, how could I have forgotten? “And we’re dancing the night away.” He finishes speaking and fixes his mouth right back at my throat.

We don’t dance.

We sway out of sync with the music. Just the two of us lovers caught up in our own little world. He spins me and a laugh like crystal echoes in my head. He’s killing me. My handsome date works his jaw to bite deeper into my flesh. My left arm twitches violently and I knock over a wine glass. It crashes to the floor. Shatters into a puddle of shards and red wine.

I blink and time moves backward in a flash of light. I’m watching a past version of myself through a stranger's eyes. Me from before breaks off with her friend group. I cry out wordlessly, trying to warn us against splitting from the safety of numbers for even a moment.It’s useless. I am nothing more than a wisp in this memory, and I cannot hear myself scream. Past me totters off to the bar. I remember it seemed like I was a sole salmon trying to swim upstream.

Then a bear’s paw cut through the river and caught me by my gills.

My handsome date is indeed very handsome now that I can recall him clearly. His crow-black hair makes his skin seem so pale it appears translucent. In fact, I can see his veins in his neck and face if I look carefully. He’s wearing black jeans, a white t-shirt, black leather boots, and a black leather jacket. “There you are.” He says, and his voice is like silk. He speaks to me like he’s known me forever. Impatiently, too, like he’s been looking for me all night.

“Who are you?” Déjà vu throbs through me.

“Why, I’m your handsome date.” He finishes, and I watch him from a third person perspective. He crowds against past-me, pressing my bare back against the brick wall of the club. The brick vibrates from the volume of the music. I remember it made tingles trickle up my spine to my skull and made me feel dizzy. “Come with me.” He says and I obey mindlessly.

I’m just a lucky gal on a date with a swell guy. I know this because he tells me so. The ghostly apparition that I am, I can now see my friends calling to me. Demanding to know where I was going. “Who is that guy?” Tessa has to shout to be heard over the thumping bass. I don’t even turn my head. Past-me is deaf to it all.

I feel a mental shove, and then suddenly my mind is back in my own body. “Sneaking around in my brain won’t save you.”

My head flops forward, and I’m forced to look him in the face. The lower half is glittering and wet with my blood. He has to hold my head still. I’m limp like an infant, reliant on my captor to prop me up. I’m drifting, floating while a single word swirls around my brain.

Vampire.

[innoglass1]

Exploring the unexceptional potential of PDLC Smart glass:

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Comprehensive guide for understanding the PDLC Smart glass:

Polymer-dispersed liquid crystal is a well-known smart glass that is a revolutionary product that offers privacy control to PDLC film suppliers. The transforming effect of the smart PDLC offers opaque security. The smart PDLC glass installation is essential in your home, office, and workplace.

An understanding of the switchable PDLC film is essential for its installation. The glasses are made of plastic layers with sandwich glass layers along with the liquid crystal droplets. These are dispersed in the middle in the polymer matrix form. The electric current is off where the liquid crystals are oriented randomly scattering light and making the glass opaque.

Defining unique features of the PDLC Smart glass:

Polymer-dispersed liquid Crystals are liquid crystal molecules that are energised, and the crystal liquid molecules tend to be in the same direction. In this film, the light can be passed through the transparent state. The film intelligence shows a transparent state of being in a disordered state when the power is off. The frosted, high-quality, and reliable products require the best self-adhesive.

PDLC film usually appears to be in different shape because liquid crystals in the polymer takes random orientations. This is a controlling device that sends an electrical signal that is widely conducted by the ITO film and scattered in the liquid crystals in the polymer. Thus, the light is absorbed and becomes a transparent film.

The process of installation of the PDLC Smart Glass:

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Before the installation of the smart PDLC film, make sure to measure the area of the PDLC glass.

For the execution of the PDLC glass installation, ensure electrical connections.

Installing the glass ceiling.

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Conclusion:

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To know more about these products visit our website http://www.inno-glass.com/.

[sha123-rin]

The Art of Space Planning: Transforming Small Spaces into Functional Havens

 15-05-2024

In the constantly changing landscape of interior design, space planning has become increasingly important, particularly for individuals residing in smaller homes or apartments. Whether you're a city dweller seeking to optimize your cozy studio apartment or a homeowner looking to make the most of every square foot, space planning is the key to unlocking your home's full potential.This detailed guide will take you through the art of space planning, offering essential tips to create a harmonious, functional, and visually appealing living space. Let's dive in!

Understand Your Space

The initial step in effective interior designing space planning is to understand the layout and dimensions of your home. Measure each room and make note of any architectural features, such as windows, doors, or built-in elements. This will serve as the foundation for crafting a well-thought-out design. Create a floor plan or use digital tools to visualize the space. Take note of traffic flow and how you move through each room, as this will influence furniture placement and zone definition.

Define Functional Zones

Creating distinct functional zones is crucial for optimizing small spaces. Identify the purpose of each area and allocate your space accordingly. For instance, create a cozy reading nook in a corner of your living room or set up a home office in an unused alcove. Clearly defining these zones ensures that your home functions efficiently. Use rugs, lighting, or furniture arrangements to visually separate these areas without the need for physical barriers, maintaining an open and fluid space.

Embrace Multi-Functional Furniture

In small spaces, furniture that can serve multiple purposes is incredibly valuable. Invest in pieces like sleeper sofas, foldable dining tables, or ottomans with hidden storage. These versatile items not only save space but also add functionality and adaptability to your home. Look for furniture that can be easily moved or reconfigured, allowing you to adapt your living space to different activities and needs.

Maximize Vertical Space

When horizontal space is limited, think vertical! Install shelves or wall-mounted cabinets to take advantage of unused wall space.This not only offers additional storage but also visually expands the space by drawing the eye upward, creating a sense of height and openness. Utilize high ceilings by incorporating tall bookcases or vertical garden installations. Consider lofted beds or bunk beds in bedrooms to free up floor space for other uses.

Optimize Natural Light

Ample natural light can make a small space feel more open and inviting. Avoid heavy window treatments and opt for sheer curtains or blinds that allow light to filter through. Moreover, strategically positioning mirrors can reflect light and give the impression of a more spacious area. Use light-colored paint and reflective surfaces to enhance the brightness of the room. If privacy is a concern, consider frosted or translucent window films that let light in while maintaining discretion.

Keep It Clutter-Free

Clutter is the nemesis of small space design. Regularly declutter and organize your belongings to maintain a sense of openness. Invest in storage solutions like decorative baskets or floating shelves to keep items off the floor and surfaces tidy. Adopt a minimalist mindset, only keeping items that are functional or bring you joy. Use furniture with built-in storage, such as beds with drawers underneath or coffee tables with hidden compartments, to keep everyday items out of sight.

Balance Scale and Proportion

When choosing furniture and decor, it's important to consider scale and proportion. Avoid oversized or bulky pieces that may overpower the space. Instead, opt for appropriately sized items that harmonize with the room's dimensions. Choose sleek, low-profile furniture that maintains an airy feel. Mix and match different sizes and shapes to create a balanced and visually interesting space without overcrowding it.

Use Color Wisely

Color can significantly impact the perception of space in interior designing. Light, neutral colors can make a room feel larger and more open, while darker shades can add coziness but may make the space feel smaller. Use color strategically to define different zones and add personality to your home. Accent walls, colorful furniture, or vibrant décor items can inject energy and interest without overwhelming the space.

Incorporate Greenery

Plants can bring life and freshness to a small space. Choose low-maintenance, air-purifying plants that thrive indoors. Vertical gardens, hanging plants, or small potted plants on shelves can add greenery without taking up valuable floor space. Incorporating nature into your home can enhance your well-being and create a serene atmosphere.

Conclusion

Mastering the art of space planning can transform even the smallest of spaces into a functional and aesthetically pleasing haven. By understanding your space, defining functional zones, embracing multi-functional furniture, maximizing vertical space, optimizing natural light, keeping it clutter-free, balancing scale and proportion, using color wisely, and incorporating greenery, With these strategies, you can design a home that feels open and welcoming.

If you're passionate about interior design and eager to learn more, consider enrolling in an Interior Designing Course in Kerala. Such a course can provide you with the skills and knowledge to not only transform your own space but also help others create beautiful, functional living environments. Whether you're a budding designer or a homeowner looking to refine your skills, a professional course can be a valuable step in your interior design journey.

[soni5]

What is balancing privacy and collaboration in commercial office interior design?

Title: Balancing Privacy and Collaboration in Commercial Office Interior Design

Introduction:

Commercial Office Interior Design spaces today are evolving to meet the changing needs of businesses and their employees. Finding the right balance between privacy and collaboration has become a significant challenge for interior designers. While open office layouts foster collaboration and communication, they may compromise privacy and individual focus.

In this blog, we will explore strategies to achieve a harmonious balance between privacy and collaboration in commercial office interior design, ensuring a productive and comfortable work environment.

Zoning and Space Planning:

Effective space planning is crucial in achieving a balance between privacy and collaboration. Divide the office into distinct zones based on function and privacy requirements. Create collaborative spaces such as open meeting areas, breakout zones, and collaborative workstations for team interactions. Simultaneously, provide dedicated private spaces, such as enclosed meeting rooms, quiet rooms, or phone booths, for confidential discussions or focused work. Strategically placing these zones throughout the office ensures that employees have access to both collaborative and private spaces as needed.

Modular and Flexible Furniture:

Invest in modular furniture that can be easily reconfigured to adapt to changing privacy and collaboration needs. Mobile partitions, movable walls, and flexible furniture systems allow for the creation of private areas within an open office layout. Employees can rearrange furniture to create temporary private spaces or reconfigure collaborative areas based on the task at hand. This flexibility enables customization and enhances employee autonomy in determining their workspace preferences.

Acoustic Considerations:

Noise is a common concern in open office environments. To maintain privacy and minimize distractions, incorporate acoustic design elements. Consider using sound-absorbing materials, such as acoustic panels, wall coverings, or ceiling treatments, to reduce noise transmission and create a quieter environment. Carpeting, upholstered furniture, and plants can also help absorb sound. Additionally, sound masking systems or white noise machines can be employed to mask conversations and maintain confidentiality in private areas.

Visual Privacy:

Balancing visual privacy is essential in Commercial Office Interior Design. Integrate frosted or translucent glass partitions for meeting rooms or private offices, allowing natural light to filter through while preserving privacy. Use strategically placed shelving, plants, or screens to create visual barriers in open spaces without completely isolating individuals. Privacy film or blinds can be installed on windows to provide privacy when needed while still allowing natural light to penetrate the space.

Technology Solutions:

Incorporate technology solutions that support both privacy and collaboration. Video conferencing systems with privacy features, such as mute buttons and background blurring, allow employees to participate in virtual meetings without compromising their personal space. Implement wireless presentation systems and interactive displays to encourage collaboration while maintaining individual privacy. These technology tools enable employees to collaborate effectively while preserving their personal boundaries.

Incorporating Nature:

Integrating biophilic design elements, such as natural lighting, greenery, or outdoor views, can contribute to privacy and well-being. Large windows with views of nature create a sense of openness while maintaining visual privacy. Indoor plants act as natural dividers and enhance the aesthetic appeal of the space while providing a calming effect. Nature-inspired design elements can create a soothing environment that supports productivity and privacy.

Employee Feedback and Inclusion:

Involving employees in the design process is crucial to understanding their privacy and collaboration needs. Conduct surveys, focus groups, or workshops to gather feedback on workspace preferences and gather insights on the level of privacy required for different tasks. By involving employees, designers can create a space that addresses their specific needs and ensures a sense of ownership and satisfaction.

Conclusion:

Finding the right balance between privacy and collaboration is essential for creating a functional and harmonious commercial office environment. By implementing effective zoning and space planning, incorporating modular furniture, considering acoustic factors, ensuring visual privacy, leveraging technology solutions, integrating nature, and involving employees in the design process, commercial office interior designers can successfully achieve a balance between privacy and collaboration.

A well-designed office that considers privacy needs without sacrificing collaboration fosters employee well-being, productivity, and satisfaction. It recognizes the importance of individual focus and concentration while promoting teamwork and communication. By creating a workspace that offers a range of private and collaborative areas, employees can choose the environment that best suits their tasks and preferences. You can get your next Commercial Office interior designed and built by a tech-led interior design company such as Flipspaces which can be your one-stop solution to all your turnkey needs.

[devmimi]

— DOTTORE X YOU

includes ;; experiment talk, bondage ig, drugging(?), implied edging, orgasm denial, gross dottore. mean dottore. dacry cuz irs my favorite

dottore's hands must be warm. you've never felt them, the gloves always kept a distance between you. no matter how close you felt to him there was always something keeping your bodies from fully being one. his hands slid down your side and then up back to grasp your chin. head tilted, left then right. examining your features up close.

a small twitch of your lip made dottore quickly snuff it out. a small slap, this time.

"don't move." he warned, again.

his finger traced your jawline, then your cheekbone. it went to your lips and he pulled back then. you were so obedient like this. tied down to that cold metal table really zapped your feisty attitude out. or it was the threat dottore held over your head. his explanations of how replaceable you were. he even showed you photos of worthy candidates to take your exact place. his face came closer, you had a mind to bite him before he grabbed your jaw and tilted your head up. examining under.

"alright, wait here.." a small sing song tune in his voice at the end. mocking your lack of a choice. he left your side to write down findings on his notepad. his scribbling was even erratic and weird. the way he'd go 'aha' to himself thinking of another idea. or take quick glances at you to confirm an observation. his foot tapping.

"can you stop." you called out, head tilted to keep the man in your sight.

dottore ignored you outright, but the twinge of his lip downward told you he heard it. those shark teeth were always visible to you, it made you worried what they did in a bite.

when dottore returned his grimace was no where to be found, just the grin he kept up. his wide eyes were trained on your mouth. "we're going to try a different kind of experiment, got it?" with a head nod you knew he didn't care much about he lowered your metal table and gave your cheek a kiss.

a small cringe but when you were released from the leather straps it made you grin. for days you'd been there and hope for release was everything you needed. honestly, when you signed up for being dottore's lab assistant you expected to be working with him, not strapped down for days. when your legs were released you wobbled off the table leaning on dottore.

"finally!" whispering a small 'jackass' with it.

dottore guided you to the desk he was working at and laid there two pills. both a translucent purple and very small.

"we are both going to take these pills and have intercourse. i want to see what works faster." dottore's flat tone baffled you a little. intercourse? so sex. he wanted to have sex with you. with no second thought, dottore was already swallowing his before he must have thought you needed more elaboration. "yours has a higher dosage, but mine has a quicker reaction time. can you please hurry?" the snapping tone that followed made you more confused. mad at you for staring in disbelief at him?? fine. you swallowed down your pill and crossed your arms.

"i had prepared my quarters hours earlier for this experiment. we will be filmed the whole time... ugh you don't care, do you? you don't get what i'm saying." dottore grabbed your wrist and jerked you towards him. he turned and went out of the lab, down the halls of the fatui palace, and inside of a dark room. he pushed you inside to shut the door. grumbling under his breath about how you weren't paying attention to him and gestured to the bed. "the cameras are all around the room. some can see your heat." he dropped his large fur coat and cracked his joints. stretching to the ceiling until his back gave a pop. then he settled onto the bed. "are you coming?" the same bitter tone followed.

you went over to the bed and settled in front of dottore, and before his rude mouth opened again you slipped of the coat and the rest of your clothing. "well hop to it." finally getting the first word out before him. he snickered at your quick tongue before taking off his clothing as well.

your head began to buzz, but you kept your gaze on dottore. narrowing your eyes to catch any alterations in his mood. "i'm not feeling anything." lying through your teeth.

dottore's head cocked and he leaned forward. the bed shifted weight, almost off centering you. he put his hand beside you, nodding. "i don't feel much either. do you think we need more?" he got up and went to his jacket pocket. he grabbed a vial of the same color liquid as the pills. he pulled the plastic cap off and offered you the first sip.

"ladies first, why not?" nudging it once again.

you snatched it from him and gulped down half of it. you then shoved it back towards him. "assholes second."

dottore's lip twitched again and he finished the drink off. "what will we do if it doesn't work after this, hm?" his muscles tensed. he wanted a genuine experiment, but it was much better to taunt you.

you felt your body heat up, hands messing with anything to keep your mind off dottore's dick. it was a bit hard when he was naked. your eyes wandered down but you made no moves. a standoff. another twitch and dottore broke.

he came closer and pushed you back against his bedding. it was still clean and so soft. he really didn't use this place often. dottore's nails dug into your skin and he took off his mask to throw it aside. seeing his full face stunned you for a second, with only a sharp bite into your shoulder bringing you back. a yelp came out and you returned the favor by clawing down his back. pushing your claws into his skin.

he hissed, having a mind to bite harder before he got a better idea. his arms locked under your thighs and he yanked you up. folding you in half with a sly smirk. you stared up, nails now gripping the sheets instead. "be nice." you hissed, but dottore just smiled.

"when am i ever not nice?"

dottore's dick against your walls didn't feel like he was being nice. a moan ripped through your throat and you yanked the blanket over your face to keep any screams out. this got a sharp snap of dottore's hips and him ripping the blanket away.

"don't fucking screw with the results!" he snapped, putting your legs over his shoulders instead to free his hands. he grabbed your wrists and kept them down. your thrashing didn't matter. the drink clouded pain with pleasure, but your tears knew better. they flowed down with hot, fat drops. he leaned down just to lick them up and kiss where they flowed. every tear his smile and enthusiasm grew. the feeling of dottore pushing in and out of you at the pace was shaking the bed. he really wanted this experiment over with. or he had other motives.

his face came down and began to lick along your nipple, before taking it in his mouth and sucking. swirling his tongue and sucking. his teeth grazed it. you could see him contemplate biting down but thankfully he didn't. when you stopped thrashing he let go of your wrists and instead went to paying attention to your clit. one thumb rubbing your sensitive bud and the pressing your lower stomach. all to make your body clench and flutter around him.

his thrusts became jagged, shuttering when he came closer to snapping his knot. soon dottore pressed fully against you and enveloped you in his body heat. releasing inside and heating inside of you as well.

"ahh.. that's so sweet.." he whispered, pulling out of you.

"are you not going t-.."

"no. i said this was until one of us reached climax. did i not say that? oh. that's really bad, huh? ah. oh well." dottore shrugged and put his clothes back on. "go fuck a dildo, hm? i'll see you back in the lab with a level head." dottore's smirk almost made your vision turn red. but you'd get your revenge soon enough. it was your body he seemed to want anyways.

[getou2001]

— ONLY FOR TESTING ;; dottore x you

.... experimenting, bondage, dacryphilia, slight drugging, gross and mean dottore

dottore’s hands must be warm. you’ve never felt them, the gloves always kept a distance between you. no matter how close you felt to him there was always something keeping your bodies from fully being one. his hands slid down your side and then up back to grasp your chin. head tilted, left then right. examining your features up close.

a small twitch of your lip made dottore quickly snuff it out. a small slap, this time.

“don’t move.” he warned, again.

his finger traced your jawline, then your cheekbone. it went to your lips and he pulled back then. you were so obedient like this. tied down to that cold metal table really zapped your feisty attitude out. or it was the threat dottore held over your head. his explanations of how replaceable you were. he even showed you photos of worthy candidates to take your exact place. his face came closer, you had a mind to bite him before he grabbed your jaw and tilted your head up. examining under.

“alright, wait here..” a small sing song tune in his voice at the end. mocking your lack of a choice. he left your side to write down findings on his notepad. his scribbling was even erratic and weird. the way he’d go ‘aha’ to himself thinking of another idea. or take quick glances at you to confirm an observation. his foot tapping.

“can you stop.” you called out, head tilted to keep the man in your sight.

dottore ignored you outright, but the twinge of his lip downward told you he heard it. those shark teeth were always visible to you, it made you worried what they did in a bite.

when dottore returned his grimace was no where to be found, just the grin he kept up. his wide eyes were trained on your mouth. “we’re going to try a different kind of experiment, got it?” with a head nod you knew he didn’t care much about he lowered your metal table and gave your cheek a kiss.

a small cringe but when you were released from the leather straps it made you grin. for days you’d been there and hope for release was everything you needed. honestly, when you signed up for being dottore’s lab assistant you expected to be working with him, not strapped down for days. when your legs were released you wobbled off the table leaning on dottore.

“finally!” whispering a small 'jackass’ with it.

dottore guided you to the desk he was working at and laid there two pills. both a translucent purple and very small.

“we are both going to take these pills and have intercourse. i want to see what works faster.” dottore’s flat tone baffled you a little. intercourse? so sex. he wanted to have sex with you. with no second thought, dottore was already swallowing his before he must have thought you needed more elaboration. “yours has a higher dosage, but mine has a quicker reaction time. can you please hurry?” the snapping tone that followed made you more confused. mad at you for staring in disbelief at him?? fine. you swallowed down your pill and crossed your arms.

“i had prepared my quarters hours earlier for this experiment. we will be filmed the whole time… ugh you don’t care, do you? you don’t get what i’m saying.” dottore grabbed your wrist and jerked you towards him. he turned and went out of the lab, down the halls of the fatui palace, and inside of a dark room. he pushed you inside to shut the door. grumbling under his breath about how you weren’t paying attention to him and gestured to the bed. “the cameras are all around the room. some can see your heat.” he dropped his large fur coat and cracked his joints. stretching to the ceiling until his back gave a pop. then he settled onto the bed. “are you coming?” the same bitter tone followed.

you went over to the bed and settled in front of dottore, and before his rude mouth opened again you slipped of the coat and the rest of your clothing. “well hop to it.” finally getting the first word out before him. he snickered at your quick tongue before taking off his clothing as well.

your head began to buzz, but you kept your gaze on dottore. narrowing your eyes to catch any alterations in his mood. “i’m not feeling anything.” lying through your teeth.

dottore’s head cocked and he leaned forward. the bed shifted weight, almost off centering you. he put his hand beside you, nodding. “i don’t feel much either. do you think we need more?” he got up and went to his jacket pocket. he grabbed a vial of the same color liquid as the pills. he pulled the plastic cap off and offered you the first sip.

“ladies first, why not?” nudging it once again.

you snatched it from him and gulped down half of it. you then shoved it back towards him. “assholes second.”

dottore’s lip twitched again and he finished the drink off. “what will we do if it doesn’t work after this, hm?” his muscles tensed. he wanted a genuine experiment, but it was much better to taunt you.

you felt your body heat up, hands messing with anything to keep your mind off dottore’s dick. it was a bit hard when he was naked. your eyes wandered down but you made no moves. a standoff. another twitch and dottore broke.

he came closer and pushed you back against his bedding. it was still clean and so soft. he really didn’t use this place often. dottore’s nails dug into your skin and he took off his mask to throw it aside. seeing his full face stunned you for a second, with only a sharp bite into your shoulder bringing you back. a yelp came out and you returned the favor by clawing down his back. pushing your claws into his skin.

he hissed, having a mind to bite harder before he got a better idea. his arms locked under your thighs and he yanked you up. folding you in half with a sly smirk. you stared up, nails now gripping the sheets instead. “be nice.” you hissed, but dottore just smiled.

“when am i ever not nice?”

dottore’s dick against your walls didn’t feel like he was being nice. a moan ripped through your throat and you yanked the blanket over your face to keep any screams out. this got a sharp snap of dottore’s hips and him ripping the blanket away.

“don’t fucking screw with the results!” he snapped, putting your legs over his shoulders instead to free his hands. he grabbed your wrists and kept them down. your thrashing didn’t matter. the drink clouded pain with pleasure, but your tears knew better. they flowed down with hot, fat drops. he leaned down just to lick them up and kiss where they flowed. every tear his smile and enthusiasm grew. the feeling of dottore pushing in and out of you at the pace was shaking the bed. he really wanted this experiment over with. or he had other motives.

his face came down and began to lick along your nipple, before taking it in his mouth and sucking. swirling his tongue and sucking. his teeth grazed it. you could see him contemplate biting down but thankfully he didn’t. when you stopped thrashing he let go of your wrists and instead went to paying attention to your clit. one thumb rubbing your sensitive bud and the pressing your lower stomach. all to make your body clench and flutter around him.

his thrusts became jagged, shuttering when he came closer to snapping his knot. soon dottore pressed fully against you and enveloped you in his body heat. releasing inside and heating inside of you as well.

“ahh.. that’s so sweet..” he whispered, pulling out of you.

“are you not going t-..”

“no. i said this was until one of us reached climax. did i not say that? oh. that’s really bad, huh? ah. oh well.” dottore shrugged and put his clothes back on. “go fuck a dildo, hm? i’ll see you back in the lab with a level head.” dottore’s smirk almost made your vision turn red. but you’d get your revenge soon enough. it was your body he seemed to want anyways.

[inkykeiji]

bright light city gonna set my soul on fire

ace anon said: wanna suggest dabi taking you to a poker game as a good luck charm then betting you on a game and losing...or winning and bragging about it by fucking you on the table

genre: smut + implied crooked secret agent/spy AU set in the late 1950s???

notes: AH ace i loved this idea SO MUCH it ended up sparking an entire fic!! heavily inspired by ian fleming’s 1953 novel casino royale + martin campbell’s 2006 film casino royale. it is set in clari’s version of the 1950s and in no way historically accurate!! think of it as an AU of the 1950s, if that makes sense ehehe | title credit: viva las vegas by elvis | songs mentioned in the fic itself: don’t and i beg of you by elvis, rockin’ robin by bobby day

warnings: 18+, period typical use of the word Daddy (not with dabi), inappropriate use of the word Mister, slight degradation, mentioned somnophilia, slight dacryphilia, minimal prep, night terrors, blood, murder, generally toxic codependant relationship, one implied mention of drug use (morphine), mentions of tense family dynamics

words: 8.5k

synopsis:

Yes, as much as he’d like to deny it, it’s true; Dabi fell in love with you the moment he laid eyes on you.

Because Dabi saw more than just a pretty little thing when your gazes first met.

He saw the perfect weapon, a diamond in the rough just waiting—begging—to be cleaned and cut and formed into the most brilliant gem, into the most ideal accomplice for him—because, really, what’s more dangerous than a beautiful woman? Especially when she looks like innocence personified?

Sticky pink candy, translucent and gleaming with saliva, clacks against teeth as you roll the heart-shaped lollipop around in your mouth, twirling the stick between your index finger and your thumb.

Legs kick idly as you lean back on your other hand, seated on the edge of Tomura’s massive, pristine mahogany desk, watching as his personal tailor helps Dabi shrug on a navy tuxedo jacket, stitched and sown perfectly to his measurements.

“I dunno,” he’s saying as he pivots his body a little, making a face at himself in the mirror. “I still think the black looks better,”

Ruby eyes roll up towards the ceiling, a frustrated groan spilling from between Tomura’s lips.

“You always think the black looks better. We’re going with the navy, it brings out your eyes,” he gives the back of Dabi’s head a sharp look before strolling towards you, features softening as he observes—the perfect picture of innocence, legs swinging slowly in cute little motions, strawberry lollipop sucked against the roof of your mouth, sparkling eyes floating from your boyfriend’s broad shoulders to his—your—boss’s face as he advances.

“Gimme some,” he demands, large hands finding your knees and halting your movement, using his hipbones to push them wider, making a space for himself between them and sticking his tongue out. With a giggle, you place the now misshapen candy on his tongue, gasping loudly as he snatches the candy from you, movements too quick for you to catch, and jumps away with the grace of a cat.

“Daddy!”

Tomura snickers around the lollipop in his mouth, sucking it into his cheek as he speaks around it. “Aw, come now, don’t pout,” his bottom lip pushes out to mimic your expression, tilting his head in false sympathy. “I’m sure your Mister will buy you another,”

“He better,” you mumble through your pout, eyebrows knitting together as arms cross tightly over your chest, eyes flitting to Dabi.

“I will, dollface, I will,” he vows distractedly, gaze not straying from his fingers reflected in the mirror as they fiddle with his bowtie.

“Promise, Mister?”

“Promise, baby, promise,”

Dabi’s already been briefed on the specifics of this mission—something to do with playing a poker game with a bunch of other crooked hotshots at the Sahara hotel in Las Vegas, but that’s all you know. That’s all you’re authorized to know.

Despite being Dabi’s accomplice and working for Tomura’s underground organization, you’re rarely allowed to be in Tomura’s office while the briefing happens. It’s sensitive information, dollface, and the less you know the better, and don’t misbehave now, sit pretty and quiet like a good little girl until the big boys are finished, and then Daddy and Mister will give you a pretty reward.

But! you had protested with a bottom lip involuntarily jutted out. But maybe, if I know more, I can be of better help—

But Tomura had shut that idea down before it had even finished leaving your lips.

No. Absolutely not. It’s for your own good—your own safety, you little brat—why can’t you understand that? 

You do understand that, you’ve been told a thousand times—your specialty is distractions, used to keep enemies occupied before Dabi splatters their brains on marble floors, or to pry information out of men weak to the smile of a pretty girl.

And, to be fair, Tomura does reward you pretty generously, with glittering evening gowns and designer pumps and all the handbags a gal could ever want.

You turn back to face him, red lips spread into a cunning, mischievous smile, a smile he knows all too well, a smile Dabi loves—because he taught it to you—and Tomura hates—because it means you’re about to get what you want. “So. How much money are you giving me to play with this time, Daddy?”

Tomura’s face screws up, nose scrunching. “None,” he spits, removing the lollipop from his mouth. Tiny hands grab at the air, reaching for it like a child, Tomura swiping it just out of grasp as he continues his scolding. “Last time, you nearly bought the entire shopping complex,”

“Ah, c’mon, boss,” Dabi says around a cigar, still standing in front of the full-length mirror and smoothing down his clothing. “Give the lil lady a lil somethin’, will ya?”

“Yeah, boss, c’mon,” you plead, mimicking your boyfriend, adorning your face with your signature pout and award-winning puppy-dog eyes.

“Absolutely not.” His voice is stern as he speaks, facial features hard in finality and resolution, but his eyes—irises a crimson so brilliant, so beautiful it’s terrifying, almost looks as if it’s glowing—are beginning to waver.

“You know, if you don’t, then I’m sure I’ll get bored in that big city all by myself while Dabi’s working,” you begin in a singsong voice, eyebrows raising. “And you know what happens when I get bored, Daddy,”

“She gets int’a trouble,” Dabi grumbles, eyes catching yours through the mirror, though there’s a smirk forming around the cigar, held between sharp gleaming ivory teeth.

“S’true,” you nod simply, eyelashes fluttering as you gaze at Tomura. “Please, Daddy? Pretty please? I swear I won’t spend too much this time,”

“Jus’ give ‘er your credit card r’somethin’,” Dabi waves a hand in nonchalance before patting down his pockets. “I’ll keep a’eye on ‘er, promise,”

“Take that damn cigar out of your mouth and speak properly,” Tomura spits, and you and Dabi share another look, another smirk, through the mirror. “Fine, alright? Fine,” nimble fingers pull out a sleek leather wallet, flipping it open and searching through the card slots, grumbling to himself. “Christ, the two of you are insufferable, I swear to God,”

“Thank you, Daddy,” you giggle, soft and gentle and innocent, all of the things you weren’t mere moments ago. Platinum plastic gleams in your fingers as you tilt the card in the light, gaze captivated by the way it sparkles and glitters as you speak again. “Promise I’ll bring you back something neat,”

     ✰          ✰          ✰

It’s been a few years now since the two of you met, since the two of you became partners, and Dabi swears to high heaven and back that he had tried his hardest not to fall in love with you, cross his heart, hope to die.

At least, that’s what he likes to tell himself. In actuality, he fell for you the moment he laid eyes on you—it’s as cliché and cheesy as one of those Jimmy Dean flicks, but goddamn it, it’s true all the same.

Doesn’t help that that’s one of the first things you said to him, though.

You look like Jimmy Dean, Mister, you had giggled dainty behind your hand, batting those long, thick eyelashes as you gazed up at him, gracious and polite and all the things a good little girl like you should be. Is supposed to be.

It made him want to fucking ruin you. It sparked a white-hot fire deep in the pit of his stomach, a blaze that grew, and grew, and grew with each of your cute mannerisms. It procured an inferno full of pure desire, heady and intoxicating, that nearly engulfed him in an instant.

“Oh, yeah?” he had asked with a smirk, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms over his chest, tongue running along his front teeth as he steadily held your eyes. “‘N why’s that, little miss?”

Those eyes, the sparkling ones that had been so bold only a moment ago, bashfully flitted down to the teal typewriter sitting in front of you on a large oak desk, fiddling a little with your nails against the worn keys.

Baby pink. Cute.

“Oh I—I—” your gaze flashed up to his for a moment, intense cobalt burning into your very skull, before you averted your stare again. “Well, I-I don’t mean to be rude, Mister, it’s just that—your hair,”

Sapphire eyes flicked up, as if to gaze at his forehead, as if he were able to see his own hair from just that motion, eyebrows raising with the action.

“S’all messy like the way he wears his. You know, when he’s not doing a picture and all that,”

And you noticed your mistake immediately, eyes widening, tongue tripping over your words in your haste to correct yourself, to speak properly, like a lady. “I-It’s all messy, s-sorry, excuse me, it’s all messy like the way he wears his,”

A smirk, slow and dangerous, spread across his face as he observed you, tilting his head a little as his eyes travelled down your neck, to your shoulders and the sweetheart neckline of that pretty, pretty dress, and then back up again, narrowing slightly as they did so. It’s in that moment that Dabi first wondered what you’d sound like underneath him while sharp hipbones bruise his name into the tender flesh of your inner thighs, how you’d slur your words together then.

His voice was a touch huskier when he spoke again. “You like Jimmy, miss?”

“I sure do,” you nodded, painted lips morphing into a little melancholic smile as you looked down at the typewriter again. “It’s a real shame he passed,”

“Sure is,” Dabi mimicked your movement, giving a simple nod in agreement. “But thank you for the compliment, doll, I’ll take it,”

Your head snapped back up. “Oh, c’mon, m’not stupid y’know,” you huffed with a roll of your eyes and a light laugh.

“No?”

The traces of amusement that played in his azure eyes had your own narrowing a little in response, sitting up straighter as you rolled your shoulders back.

“No,” you shook your head. “I know who you are,”

“Yeah? And who’s that?”

“Touya.”

And it’s the way you said his birthname, the way your lips curled into a devious little smile around the word, the way one of your perfectly arched eyebrows raised in question, in challenge, that had confirmed it for him, right then and there, in that stupidly luxurious office.  

“Touya Todoroki.”

He was sure he had to have you. He was positive he had to make you his—forever.

“You’ve been compared to Jimmy since he debuted—”

“And you know this because—”

“—because I read Time and Vogue and all those other stupid magazines, just like all the other women in this country. And I’ve seen you,” you paused to point a manicured nail at him. “On or in every single one,”

Oh, and he was sure you had, sure you knew that he was notorious for stealing several of his father’s girlfriends when he was in his early twenties, infamous for fucking them and then selling the Polaroid’s and information to vying tabloids and the like. He always did like to spice up those stories a little, to fluff them and make them a hint more scandalous, glamorous—those ones always sold for more.

Not that he needed the money.

“It’s rude to point, baby,” he winked before he straightened up, pushed himself off the wall and stalked towards your desk, stopping in front of it as large hands splayed out on the wood, and leaned close to your face.

“And I don’t go by that name anymore, sweetheart,” he had told you, voice smooth as scotch over ice, though something dangerous glinted in his eyes as they carefully searched your face, something omnious etched into the sharp smile on his face

A shiver crawled up your spine, frosty and slow, fingers tiptoeing up each vertebra as you nodded your understanding. “Y-Yes, sir,”

The door to your boss’s office had swung open then, Dabi straightening up and spreading his arms out in a grand sweeping movement.

“David!” he greeted as if the two were old friends, large smile stretched too tight across his face as he walked forward and clapped a large hand on the smaller man’s shoulder. “How are you doing?”

He murdered your boss that day. You didn’t know, of course, didn’t have a goddamn clue until over a month later, Dabi had made sure of that. But by the time you found out, you were already in too deep; too enamoured by him, wholly captivated by him in every sense of the word, too dependant on him, to care at all.

He had made it quick—quiet and painless and looking as if it was an accident, strolling out of the office only a few moments later and asking you out on a date like nothing had happened, words flowing smoothly from his lips in that drawl that is so distinctly him, almost lazy in a way, glittering lidded sapphire scalding your skin with its intensity.

Yes, as much as he’d like to deny it, it’s true; Dabi fell in love with you the moment he laid eyes on you.

Because Dabi saw more than just a pretty little thing when your gazes first met.

He saw the perfect weapon, a diamond in the rough just waiting—begging—to be cleaned and cut and formed into the most brilliant gem, into the most ideal accomplice for him—because, really, what’s more dangerous than a beautiful woman? Especially when she looks like innocence personified?

Nothing, that’s what.

Honestly, he did you a favour—he swears he could see it in your eyes, sparkling as they gazed at him like he sculpted the moon himself, pleading for someone—for him—to come along and take care of you, to put you in your place, to keep you in line, absolutely desperate for someone to mold you, shape you, construct and arrange you into his most perfect creation.

Perfect, perfect, perfect, that’s what you are; so good for him, so obedient and compliant, always hanging on his every word and eagerly awaiting his next command, enthusiastic to submit to him, to please him, to receive the praise you crave so badly.

And Tomura had agreed, too, after only fifteen minutes of meeting you, of observing you, of assessing you, that you’d be a flawless addition to their operation.

So Dabi did what he does best.

He started slow, of course, enchanted you with strings of pearls and gorgeous dresses and expensive dinners, fed you tidbits about his mysterious lifestyle, about his family and his job and his past, just enough to keep you coming back for more, until you were practically begging him to let you in, to permit you to join his vocation, to accompany him on the wild ride that is his life.

And that was the best part of all—you didn’t care, you wanted it just as badly as he did; wanted to help him, to serve him, to be his, without ever requiring the full story. You readily gave everything up for him, accepted his orders, his wants and his needs without as much as a single question, never faltering in your honesty, in your pure devotion to your creator.

It’s love in its truest form, you’re both sure of it—possessed by one another, infatuated with one another, dedicated to one another—both consumed by the most potent drug, this love, a force to be reckoned with, the strongest pull either of you have ever felt before.

And, really, what more could you ask for?

     ✰          ✰          ✰

He took you under his wing, crafted you into a master of manipulation, pairing it perfectly with that innocent kitten demeanour you wear so well, and taught you everything he knew: all of the infiltration techniques and self-defence he had learned before he was ostracized from his father’s company—a privatized intelligence agency that works closely with the federal government—the very organization he’s been working so tirelessly to burn to the ground.

You still don’t exactly know what happened. He doesn’t like to talk about it, about where those scars decorating his body came from, about why he’s thrown away his old identity and constructed a new one, trading ivory hair and a high-fashion wardrobe for inky black and weathered Levi jeans with big black motorcycle boots.

But you do know a little.

He had been the favourite son, the chosen son, the one set to inherit the empire his father had built. That was, until he got himself into an accident—one that he still isn’t ready to disclose the full details of, and you never push. But you know it had involved a twelve year old Touya—always devious, crafty, and ever-so intelligent, even as a child—sneaking along on a mission he absolutely shouldn’t have. The silvery burns that adorn his skin, puckered and soft and shimmering like moonlight when they catch in the sun, scars tinged with the slightest hint of baby pink, are from this incident. Whatever had happened after had scarred his soul forever.

Because you’ve never encountered such intense hatred, burning bright blue flames that rage and roar inside of him, the words that are spit from between clenched teeth when he talks about his father, about his baby brother, positively scalding.

But it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter that you don’t know the full story, that you aren’t entirely aware of why this vendetta against his family exists. It doesn’t matter that his one goal in life, his only true desire aside from you, is to take down his father. It doesn’t matter that he’s willing to do anything and use everyone to achieve his objective.

Because he is letting you in; slowly, bit by bit and piece by piece, the most fascinating and tragically beautiful jigsaw you’ve ever put together. He may never be ready to tell the full story, and that’s alright with you, because as you’ve reassured him countless times in the dead of night, you’ll always love him anyway—you’ll always be by his side.

That’s when he’s most vulnerable, it seems—in the middle of the night, at two and three and four in the morning, when he wakes trembling and whimpering and soaked with his own sweat.

He never tells you what they’re about, the nightmares. Sometimes, they’re so violent that they wake you first. He doesn’t fuck you immediately on those days, doesn’t say a word as he finds solace in your warm bosom, little fingers pushing back sweaty strands of inky hair from his temples as your other arm wraps around him, holding him close to you as his shaky breathing calms, as his muscles stop quivering. On those nights, he says nothing as he spreads your legs and climbs on top of you, railing you into the mattress like it’s his last day on this earth.

That’s how he likes to be comforted; that’s what calms him down best. It’s standard procedure at this point—not that you mind waking up to his soft sniffles and him shoving himself into your barely prepped cunt, or rousing to feel the tip of his naked cock rubbing against your clit through thin cotton undies as he tells you in that wavering voice to stay sleeping and let your Mister take what he needs. You’re there to serve him—and you do, so perfectly. You just want to help, after all. You’ve always ever just wanted to help. You never know which nights he’ll gift you another little piece of himself, of his soul, for you to try and fit in somewhere in the puzzle that is DABI. You don’t know the triggers—as far as you’re concerned, they don’t seem to exist anywhere outside of the padlocked barricade of his own head, no rhyme or reason to them, more random than anything else. But you’ll readily accept anything and everything he’s willing to give, the very instant he’s willing to give it.

     ✰          ✰          ✰

Sprawled out on the hotel bed with his white t-shirt riding up and exposing your lacy panties, you watch, in an almost trancelike state, as Dabi does his hair in preparation for the game set to begin in an hour or so. He leaves it messy and ungreased when he isn’t working, all tousled and fluffy, a sea of half formed curls that flow into each other, akin to tremulous waves hours before a storm like an inky ocean atop his head. But he cleans up well, when it comes time to get down to business.

“Every little swallow, every chickadee, every little bird in the tall oak tree,”

Standing in front of the mirror clad in a white undershirt and his suit pants, he sings along to Bobby Day’s staticky voice as it flows through the small radio set on the bathroom counter, nimble fingers dipping into a tin of greasy pomade and gathering a generous glob, a responding giggle bubbling up in your chest.

“The wise old owl, the big black crow,” he catches your eye through the mirror, a devilish smile materializing on his face as he continues, lathering his hands together. “Flap-a their wings singin’ ‘go bird go’,”

“Should’a been a singer, I’m telling ya,” you say as you roll onto your stomach, chin resting in your palms and head propped up, eyes glittering. “Could’a rivalled Elvis,”

Huffing out a laugh accompanied by a roll of his eyes, his hands begin to rake through his hair, slathering it with the substance and slicking most of it back from his face, sure to leave a few curls at the start of his hairline untouched. “So sweet you’re gonna rot my teeth, baby,”

“M’serious!” you insist, blinking at him as your eyebrows raise, watching the teeth of the black comb run through the slicked-up strands, his palm following close behind as he smooths it over; crisscross, crisscross, crisscross, fluff, pat, crisscross.

 “Uh-huh, uh-huh,” he shakes his head in disbelief, though there’s the faintest pink tinting his stubbled cheeks. “I think I’m better at this job,”

What? Playing poker with a bunch of criminals and making deals with mafiosos and murdering those who wrong you? you swallow the words, letters stinging and scraping your throat as you force them back down, schooling your face into a neutral expression. “I respectfully disagree,”

“‘Course you do,” he mumbles to himself distractedly, leaning closer to the mirror to complete the look. “Elvis, you say?”

He begins belting out lyrics in an exaggerated deep voice as he adds the finishing touch—your favourite part—slender fingers shining with residual pomade as they twirl and coat the few stray curls left neglected, allowing them to hang artfully in the middle of his forehead. 

“When I feel like this and I want to kiss youuu,” pivoting on his heel, he gazes at you with that shit-eating grin and continues. “Baby, don’t say doooon’t,”

“Oh, God, no, not Don’t!” you groan, flopping onto your back dramatically, face screwed up as if you had just tasted something sour.

“Alright, alright, alright,” he’s chuckling as he advances towards you, a small towel in his hands as he cleans them. “How ‘bout…” trailing off, he hums a little as he thinks.

“Hold my hand and promise,” he begins in a low voice, smooth and sweet like the finest melted chocolate, depositing of the towel and crawling onto the bed.

“That you’ll always love me too,”

Large hands gently pry your legs part, signature crooked smirk spreading across his face when he’s met with zero resistance, rough palms caressing silky skin as they slide up, fingers gripping and grabbing and kneading.

“Make me know you love me,”

The words taper off into a whine, beginning to sound more like begging than singing, as his body settles between your thighs, hipbones digging into the soft flesh while he hovers above you, supporting his weight on his forearms.

“The same way I love you, little girl,”

Lips trail along your jaw, leaving tender kisses in their wake—unhurried, careful, and full of purpose—as he mumbles against your skin.

“You got me at your mercy, now that I'm in love with you,”

Calloused hands begin to ruck up his t-shirt, digits dipping into the lacy waistband of your panties, his voice starting to tremble ever so slightly.

“So please don't take advantage, cause you know my love is true,”

He pulls back just enough to look at you, sapphire eyes gleaming in the golden sunlight and he pauses, blistering gaze searching your face for something, muscles relaxing and head dipping a moment later to finally press his lips against yours, whispering into the kiss. “Darling please, please love me too, I beg of you,”

And despite all the glitz and glamour, all the extravagance and exhilaration, that comes with each mission, this will always be your favourite part—when it’s only you and him, lounging around in some luxurious five star hotel or some dingy roadside motel, exchanging lazy, messy kisses full of stringy shining saliva, goofing around and whispering stupid Elvis lyrics to each other, words that hold more weight than either of you care to admit.

     ✰          ✰          ✰

It was supposed to be a fairly simple operation—minimal violence, Tomura had instructed. No guns or casualties, if it can be avoided, if Dabi can keep his temper in check. It was supposed to be easy, straightforward, safe.

It was supposed to be. But Dabi gets bored easily, likes a little spike of adrenaline with his missions, rolling his broad shoulders and cracking his neck as he joins the rest of the men around the poker table, a sly smirk on his face as they name the bets and the prizes.

“And my little doll,”

It’s hard to resist rolling your eyes as those four words slip from between his lips, slow and smooth in that deep, lazy drawl, trademark smirk painted across his lips as his lidded eyes scan the faces sitting around the table, an eyebrow raised, daring any of them to protest. Several hungry eyes dart towards you for a moment, standing like the reward you are a few feet behind Dabi and leaning on a railing, a shy little smile briefly gracing your lips in greeting, elegant evening gown shimmering under the crystal lights.

This isn’t new—Dabi usually bets you when he plays. Keeps him sharp, he claims. Keeps him on his toes, keeps it fun when there’s something important at stake, something valuable to lose, he says. He plays better that way, he promises.

Except he’s always craved that thrill of danger, has always liked to push further and further simply to see how far he can go before he topples over the edge. It’s a rush, a blast, a high akin to the morphine that so often flows through his veins, and he fucking lives for it.

It’s been over an hour now, since those words were murmured in that velvet voice, floating across the table and cloaking the thoughts of the other men like a lethal haze, most of whom can’t seem to keep their eyes from wandering back to you every so often, leering gazes coating your skin with grime you itch to scrub off.

But that’s the point—or it’s supposed to be, anyway. That’s the whole reason you’re here in the first place. To act as a distraction, Tomura’s words drift through your mind, just whisps of his voice that tickle the walls of your skull.

And what a perfect distraction you are, in a Dior dress that looks like it was made only for you, tapered perfectly to every curve and edge of your body, silk flowing gracefully with every miniscule movement, with every rise and fall of your chest.

But it bores you to tears, this poker game, eyes dry and sticky, sick of staring at the back of your boyfriend’s immaculate, intricate hair as his nimble fingers play with the mountain of chips accumulating in front of him, plastic clacking together as he shuffles through them.

You had begged him to let you go shopping—just for the first half of the game, you swear!—but he refused. I need my good luck charm there with me the entire time, babydoll, he told you, brushing calloused fingers down your cheek then tracing along the line of your jaw, gazing at you with brilliant sapphire that glitters in the late afternoon sun, streaming in through the hotel’s floor-length windows. We can go shopping after the game is finished, he promised.

You regarded him with skepticism.

“And dancing?”

“Of course,” he responded with a playful scoff. “We can dance until our feet are bleeding, pinky promise,”

Keigo comes to join you just before the game passes the two-hour mark, large hands finding purchase on your hips and pulling you back against his chest as his head dips down, soft full lips against your skin.

“Lovely dress you’ve got on,” he murmurs, breath hot against your ear, tickling the shell. “You look stunning—breathtaking—I mean, gosh, look at me, I can barely breathe,” he gasps dramatically, chest heaving against your back as he does so, chuckling when you roll your eyes and giggle at him to shut up, Kei, the vibrations from his laugh a comforting sensation, a familiar sensation, a welcomed sensation, sending warmth spreading through your body. “I’m so happy you’re here,” you whine, leaning further into him and head tilting against his collarbone to gaze up at him. “I’m so bored,”

“Yeah, I bet,” he says, something unusual—unreadable—settling in his topaz eyes as he glances up at the table. “You aren’t used to games lasting this long, are you, baby,”

A little pout settles on your lips and you nod, playing right into his condescending cooing as you snuggle into him, eyes following his stare. Truthfully, you haven’t a clue what’s going on, and, really, you couldn’t care less. You aren’t entirely sure what the significance of this poker game is, or who most of these men are, and you aren’t allowed to. Just sit pretty and perfect like you always do; it’s the thing you do best.

Except tonight—tonight something is different, unsettling, off. It’s no big deal, though, of course—you can almost hear that deep, dark voice drawling the words out in your mind, phantom breath tickling your skin.

Because Dabi’s always been startlingly good at what he does. Because Dabi’s always been able to worm his way out of a difficult situation. Because there’s never really been a reason to worry about it before, anyway. But tonight—well, tonight you’re watching as his Balenciaga clad shoulders are getting tenser, and tenser, as his jaw is clenching tighter, and tighter, as his grip on that singular sparkly chip resting in his palm is becoming stronger, and stronger, thin skin stretching painfully over sharp bony knuckles.

Keigo’s breath is bated, his fingers digging into your hips as he observes the game unfolding in front of the both of you, pulling you closer to him, hushed curses falling from his lips every so often. And Keigo knows what’s happening, of course, but he refuses to tell you, promising you that you wouldn’t understand even if he tried to explain it. Creases form on your forehead as your eyebrows knit, eyes drifting back to the table. Whatever it is, it’s clear that it isn’t good, Keigo’s body tensing against yours as he sucks in a breath and holds it for a moment before blowing it out from his mouth, exasperated.   “Well, I’m positive it’s fine,” you say, trying to wave it off lightly, to whisk away the acrimonious dread that roots deep in the pit of your stomach and begins to spread, thick and dense as it slithers into your surrounding organs, to brush off the impending sense of foreboding that seems to lurk over you, getting heavier and heavier, darker and darker with each second that ticks by—though your voice sounds high to your ears, tinny and false. “Dabi’s never lost a game before, that’s why they send him to these things,” But Keigo doesn’t sound so sure, responding with a nervous breath of a laugh, lithe fingers flexing on your hips, rubbing little lopsided circles into the flesh. “First time for everything, songbird,”

The words send ice piercing through your veins, but you persevere, rolling your shoulders and standing up a little straighter, swallowing past the painful lump that’s lodged itself in your throat. It’s fine. It’s always fine. He’s always found a way to get out of messy, tight situations before. Why should tonight be any different?

It won’t be, it isn’t—you can already see Dabi collapsing on the cream sofa upstairs in your luxurious hotel room, tugging at his bowtie with a sigh as his head falls back, nimble fingers popping the first few buttons on his crisp white dress shirt, and had you scared for a moment there, didn’t I, kitten?

And you’ll playfully slap his shoulder as you crawl into his lap, roll your eyes as you straddle his hips and allow him to tilt the champagne flute to your lips, laugh it off as his hands begin to wander, rucking up your dress and kneading your ass, cock tenting his expensive trousers. Like always. You’re sure of it

It’s just past the three-hour mark when Keigo speaks again, all traces of teasing, of that easygoing lilt that is so distinctly him, gone from his voice. Golden locks stand in all directions, his hair having fallen out of its usual ducktail style, a curtesy of fingers raking through it nervously. His smile is tight as he looks down at you, front teeth nibbling at his cuticles as he speaks, muffled a little by his fingers. “Maybe we should get you out of here, sweetheart—”

“No,” you respond instantly with a firm shake of your head. “I’m not going anywhere,”

“Sunshine, listen—”

“I said, no, Kei,” you pull back a little to look at him, resolution sown into your voice, chest puffing out just a touch. “I won’t leave him,”

Honey eyes hold yours for a moment, and you can almost hear Keigo’s molars as they grind together. He exhales a deep sigh a moment later, shaking his head and tugging his fingers through golden strands again. “Alright, alright,” It finally comes to an end, a few minutes past the four-hour mark. Heavy lids start to lift as commotion begins to stir—soft murmurs among the men and chairs scraping against the floor, plastic chips clacking together and the sharp whisp that travels through the air as cards are shuffled—whining a little as you lean further into Keigo, who is now supporting most of your weight.

“Kei, feet hurt,”

“Shh, I know, songbird,” he hushes you, a large palm stroking your head. “But I need you to wake up, sweetheart,”

Rough, unfamiliar hands are wrapping around your arms only a moment later, yanking you from the warm sanctuary that is Keigo and hauling you against stiff muscle.

“I believe you’re mine now, darling,”

The words are gravelly, uttered in a low voice against the crown of your head. A vicious shiver crawls along your skin, whole body trembling with the force of it, as your lids snap open.

“Wait, what?” frantic eyes search the gaudy room for familiar cobalt, breath beginning to accelerate as you struggle a little in the grasp of a burly man with one eye. His grip tightens in retaliation and a pained yelp hitches in your throat, Dabi’s eye twitching at the sound. “Dabi? D-Dabi!”

Sapphire blazes into your skull, steadily holding your watery gaze as his jaw clenches, swallowing thickly at the sound of your pitiful little whimpers of his name, at the way you squirm and wiggle in your abductor's grasp, desperate to escape, to get back to him.

“H-Hold on, now,” Keigo begins, holding his hands up in surrender, a motion meant to signify peace, to signify that he isn’t a threat—even though you know he’s got the cold metal of his favourite pistol tucked into the waistband of his trousers and pressed against his warm skin. “Let’s talk this through, yeah? Just wait a minute—”

“Nope,” the man cuts Keigo off mid-sentence with a loud, harsh laugh, and you wince at the sound. “No way, a deal’s a deal, friend. I won her fair and square—she’s mine,”

A light chuckle, laced with irritation and dubiety, escapes Keigo’s lips as he shakes his head a little. “Come on, Dabi jokes around like that all the time,” and while his voice seems amicable on the surface, its ridden with cold undertones, phantom threats that are felt, not said. “And this little lady—as pretty as she is—is a person, not a prize. Taking her against her will is, in fact, kidnapping, and I’ll be forced to—”

“Let him go,”

“What?” the word falls from your lips and Keigo’s simultaneously—one incredulous and pitched high with distress, the other breathed out in disbelief, both equally as concerned—gazes snapping to Dabi, who sits quiet and brooding, dim lights casting shadows on the sharp planes of his face.

Azure drifts between your faces, features ridden with terror and alarm—furrowed brows and deep frowns tugging at the corners of lips, one pair of eyes wide with scepticism, the other pair glistening with tears. Dabi’s silent for another moment before he pushes on his knees and stands, squaring his shoulders and clearing his throat, voice ringing out loud and clear, dripping with admonition. “Let him go. He’s right; he won her, fair and square,”

He speaks slowly, annunciating each word with careful precision, sapphire glinting in the dim light has he holds the muscular man’s gaze. It holds something threatening, something menacing, something terrifying deep within the depths of his eyes, and you feel your captor pause for a second, tense, and then shiver.

“Uh, r-right,” he says, voice wavering a little as he nods to himself. “Fair and square,”

Dabi stalks towards you, shiny oxfords echoing against the pristine, freshly waxed marble floor, tutting his tongue and shaking his head, casual and relaxed as ever.

“Don’t struggle, you hear me?” he says, voice softer, gentler, as a calloused thumb swipes across your cheekbone, catching a stray tear. “Be a good girl for him,”

And I’ll see you soon.

The promise doesn’t need to be vocalized—you can see it, shining bright and true in his sapphire eyes, can sense it, in the air surrounding him, can feel it, at the very core of your soul.

A sudden sense of relief floods your body, pathetic little sobs getting caught in your chest as you exhale shakily and deflate in the burly man’s arms, tears finally spilling over your lashline and streaming down your cheeks.

“Okay,” you breathe.

Dabi gives you a simple nod, lips quirking up into a ghost of his signature lopsided smirk. Okay.

And just like that, all of the fear and trepidation and panic vanishes from your body, a serene calm chased by a sense of giddiness replacing it, scorching through your veins.

Because before the door to the man’s hotel room has even swung fully shut, Dabi’s barreling through, crystal handle smashing against the wall and cracking as skilled fingers tangle in short hair, yanking the man’s head back with a sickening crack and dragging the razor-sharp edge of his favourite switchblade across the man’s exposed throat.

He moves like a flash of light, a spark igniting a fire, so fast he’s merely a blur of black and navy and blazing sapphire. Thick crimson begins pouring from the wound immediately, a large splice spanning from one earlobe all the way to the other.

The man hits the shiny hardwood floor with a distinct thump, but you aren’t paying attention to him or the way he’s writhing as he tries to claw at his neck, coughing and gagging as he begins to choke on his own blood.

No, you’re captivated by sapphire, bright and burning as it surges towards you, calloused hands seizing your face roughly as chapped lips find yours, unforgiving and ferocious, bloody knife still in one hand, cool metal pressed against your cheek, smearing streaks of scarlet across your skin as you try to get closer to him, to get more, the stench of copper stinging your nose.

It’s eradicated in an instant though, Dabi’s heady scent—campfire and hickory wood and expensive cologne—filling your lungs, your mind, your entire being as it curls around you in the most intoxicating embrace, familiar and comforting and him, him, him. Stumbling backwards, you just about trip over your own feet as Dabi shoves forward, strong hands wrapped around your biceps keeping you steady. The sharp edge of the small rosewood dining table digs into your lower back, Dabi swallowing your resounding yelp as he sucks your bottom lip between his teeth and tugs, large hands finding your waist and squeezing before he hoists you onto its surface, using his hipbones to force your thighs open.

You nearly topple over from the power, from the urgency, hands flying out behind you and grappling against the table’s surface to keep you sitting upright as he heaves and pushes and leans against you, motions knocking sparkling crystal glasses and fine porcelain plates off the top.

The sound of shattering glass and cracking china mingles with the gurgling and garbling of the man who lay a few feet away on the floor, suffocating on his own blood. It creates such a beautiful symphony, intertwined with Dabi’s ragged breaths and your broken moans, with the ruffling of clothing and the screech of the table legs against the gleaming hardwood floor. And it’s desperate, and needy, and messy, teeth clashing and clacking together violently, saliva dripping down chins as tongues rub and glide and lick, hands pawing and gripping and tugging and ripping, the delicate material of your silk Dior dress practically turning to ash as his fingers materialize through it, tearing it to shreds.

“Off, off, off, I need this off,” he’s growling against your lips as his hands work, a low whine getting caught in your throat as you nod frenetically.

Yes, yes, yes, you’re whimpering, your own little fingers helping him destroy the silvery fabric, eager and anxious to rid your body of the bothersome garment.

A guttural groan, deep and dark and inducing a fluttering in your tummy rumbles in his chest as his eyes roam over your body, clad in the daintiest white lace.

“You’re fucking gorgeous, y’know that,” he’s mumbling between sharp bites to the flesh of your neck, fingers snapping the clasp of your bra, breaking it in one simple motion. “A fuckin’ angel, that’s what you are, baby. My very own angel,”

Rough palms slide down your torso, slow and purposeful as they trace, feel, knead the dips and curves, planes and contours of your body, slender fingers pausing to play with the elastic of the garter belt adorning your waist, holding up your lace-trimmed thigh-highs which have begun to tear, then hooking in the waistband of your thong.

His cock grinds against your inner thigh, hot and hard and throbbing as it strains against his trousers, digits toying with the lacy elastic, twirling it between his fingers before he lets it snap back against your skin, the harsh slap! echoing throughout the hotel room. 

“Oh, Mister, I want it,” the plead falls from your lips in a shameless moan, high and whiny as your hips press forward in an attempt to grind against him. Slender fingers untangle themselves from the lacy fabric in an instant, gripping your hips to still them, fingertips digging into your flesh. “I need it,”

“Need what, dollface?” his lips brush against your skin as he speaks, teeth sinking into your collarbone a moment later, hard enough to break the skin, a loud cry getting caught in your chest. He sucks on the wound, hard, tongue laving over it in soothing little circles, slowly dragging over the bite.

And it’s a compulsion, a sickness, a fucking disease surging through your veins, infecting your mind with thoughts of him and only him, entire body buzzing with the desperate, pathetic, urgent need for him, for his cock, for his cum.

“Need you, need you,” you’re whimpering out, squirming and struggling a little in his grasp, a warning hiss spit through his teeth as blunt nails nip your skin. “Please, Dabi, please, lemme have it,”

“Have what, baby?” lips curling up into a coy smirk, he pulls back just enough to look at you, finally pushing his hips into yours, a patronizing laugh spilling from his throat as you instantly grind against his cock, impatient and impetuous. “Use your words, Mister wants to hear you say it,”

Scalding heat seeps into your cheeks as you squeeze your eyes shut tightly, a broken whine of complaint sounding in the back of your throat as you shake your head. “Y-You know,” you mumble. “You know,”

“Oh, come on, baby,” he tuts with a disappointed shake of his head, voice overflowing with condescension. “You act like such a little slut, but as soon as I want you to say what you apparently need oh-so-badly, you can’t? You get all shy and bashful like you’re innocent, or something?”

An arrogant chuckle bubbles up in his chest, a rough palm colliding with the flesh of your ass a moment later. Scarred lips graze your ear as he leans back in, speaking low and smooth, words leaving his mouth in a huff of warm, sweet breath. “You’re being bad, y’know that?”

The huskiness in his tone sends chills pebbling across your skin, a delicate shiver dancing up your spine.

“Please,” you whisper, bottom lip beginning to tremble. “Please, Mister, please,”

“Tell me,” he rasps, taking the lobe of your ear between his teeth and sucking, bruising his name into the sensitive skin. “I know you can do it, doll. What is it that you want? Tell me,”

And, God, it’s so embarrassing, vision blurring with the sting of tears, entire body beginning to tremble from the combined humiliation and lust surging through your veins, his clothed cock still rutting against your core, poking and prodding and so close, you’re so close, two tiny words, just say them. “Your—Your cock,” you almost yelp, blinking back the tears in your eyes as you try to gaze levelly at him, teeth digging into your bottom lip to quell its pathetic quivering. “W-Want your cock, please, Mister, I-I need it,”

“Yeah?” he breathes while he rests his forehead against yours, butting forward a little as his glazed eyes rapidly search your face, pupils blown to hell and lips bitten red, shining with spit. “Where, huh? Down here?”

A finger tugs the flimsy soaked lace to the side, another dark chuckle slipping from his lips as he drags a knuckle up your dripping slit.

“Here?” it presses into your cute little hole, your hips eagerly bucking forward in response.

“Yes, yes, there, Mister, there, please,” you keen, head nodding in almost frantic movements, skull knocking against his. “Please, n-no fingers, want your cock, need your cock, stretch me out, fill me up, I need it,”

And it’s your senseless babbling that does it, bratty and needy and incessant in high broken whines, that snaps the final thread of patience holding him back, and a growl rips from his chest, so violent it vibrates through your own.

The heavy buckle of his belt clinks as hasty fingers fiddle with it, shoving his trousers down his thighs just enough to free his cock.

You can’t help the mortifying moan that escapes your throat the moment you see it, velvety and pink and oh-so-pretty, flushed tip glistening with precum and two thick veins snaking around the shaft like vines.

“Christ,” he groans as he pushes into your cunt, burying himself inside of you in one swift thrust, your nails biting into the hard muscles of his shoulder through the thin material of his shirt as your hole stretches around him, both of you exhaling simultaneous sighs of relief.

It burns and it stings and God, you need more, eyes rolling back in your skull as the sharp heels of your stilettos dig into his lower back, little fingers tangling in white cotton as you try to pull him closer, closer, closer.

“Greedy little brat,” he snarls out as his hips begin snapping, the movement sudden, unexpected, welcomed, a choked cry of his name catching in your throat.

And it’s brutal and relentless, primal and desperate, lacking most of his usual finesse as he pounds into you, cockhead slamming against your cervix with every harsh thrust of his hips, hard enough to move the entire table itself, legs scraping against the floor a little more with each pump.

Inky curls cling to his forehead and temples, the white cotton of his dress shirt becoming translucent as it sticks to his damp skin, highlighting the hard planes of defined muscle that flex with each ragged inhale.

Surging forward, his tongue runs along the inside of your teeth before it drags against yours, slow and heavy, depositing his taste and staining it with the flavour of him, fiery cinnamon gum and smoky Marlboros. Gorgeous, needy little whines break in his throat in time with each strong piston of his hips, muffled by your mouth, and you greedily swallow whatever he’ll afford you.

It’s total sensory overload—he’s all you can see, all you can hear, all you can taste, touch, breathe, hijacking all of your receptors and overwhelming you with him.

It’s building inside of you, deep in the pit of your stomach, scorching flames that glow as blue as his eyes as they rage, climbing higher and higher, licking at your insides and expanding further and further until they finally engulf you, consume you, with their blaze, and everything shatters, body convulsing almost violently around his cock as you cum with a strained cry of his name.

“Fill me, Mister,” you’re babbling, begging, swearing you’ll die if he doesn’t, the flames will burn you to ash if you don’t get his cum soon, voice absolutely wrecked. “Fill me, fill me,”

And he obeys, filling your cute little cunt to the brim with thick, hot cum as his cock pulses, a cracked whimper of f-fuck, slipping past his lips.

His chest heaves as he collapses against you, the two of you falling back against the table’s surface with a thump, his cock still buried inside of you. A soft whine sounds in the back of your throat as you carefully unlock your legs from around him, wincing a little at the stiffness in your thighs.

I love you.

The three words are murmured into your shoulder, so soft you barely hear them, so quiet you’re sure you’d have imagined them had you not felt his lips move against your flesh, not felt his hot breath on your skin, not felt the gentle vibrations in his chest as he spoke.

“I love you,” you respond, voice tender as tiny fingers comb through his dishevelled hair. “I love you,”

He’s silent for a moment, your combined pants the only sounds ringing out among the hotel room, and then he nods—once at first; just a quick, sharp motion, and then again a moment later, with more vigour, more purpose, more acceptance.

Little hands smooth down the damp cotton hugging his back and your head lolls to the side, cheek pressed against the cool wood of the table. A certain type of giddiness—a type that’s sick, that’s twisted, that’s stuffed full of love—floods your body as your eyes connect with those of a dead man, laying in a pool sticky crimson, and God, yes, you love him, you love him, you love him—more than anyone else ever could, more than you could ever love anything else.  

[sha123-rin]

The Art of Space Planning: Transforming Small Spaces into Functional Havens

 15-05-2024

In the constantly changing landscape of interior design, space planning has become increasingly important, particularly for individuals residing in smaller homes or apartments. Whether you're a city dweller seeking to optimize your cozy studio apartment or a homeowner looking to make the most of every square foot, space planning is the key to unlocking your home's full potential.This detailed guide will take you through the art of space planning, offering essential tips to create a harmonious, functional, and visually appealing living space. Let's dive in!

Understand Your Space

The initial step in effective interior designing space planning is to understand the layout and dimensions of your home. Measure each room and make note of any architectural features, such as windows, doors, or built-in elements. This will serve as the foundation for crafting a well-thought-out design. Create a floor plan or use digital tools to visualize the space. Take note of traffic flow and how you move through each room, as this will influence furniture placement and zone definition.

Define Functional Zones

Creating distinct functional zones is crucial for optimizing small spaces. Identify the purpose of each area and allocate your space accordingly. For instance, create a cozy reading nook in a corner of your living room or set up a home office in an unused alcove. Clearly defining these zones ensures that your home functions efficiently. Use rugs, lighting, or furniture arrangements to visually separate these areas without the need for physical barriers, maintaining an open and fluid space.

Embrace Multi-Functional Furniture

In small spaces, furniture that can serve multiple purposes is incredibly valuable. Invest in pieces like sleeper sofas, foldable dining tables, or ottomans with hidden storage. These versatile items not only save space but also add functionality and adaptability to your home. Look for furniture that can be easily moved or reconfigured, allowing you to adapt your living space to different activities and needs.

Maximize Vertical Space

When horizontal space is limited, think vertical! Install shelves or wall-mounted cabinets to take advantage of unused wall space.This not only offers additional storage but also visually expands the space by drawing the eye upward, creating a sense of height and openness. Utilize high ceilings by incorporating tall bookcases or vertical garden installations. Consider lofted beds or bunk beds in bedrooms to free up floor space for other uses.

Optimize Natural Light

Ample natural light can make a small space feel more open and inviting. Avoid heavy window treatments and opt for sheer curtains or blinds that allow light to filter through. Moreover, strategically positioning mirrors can reflect light and give the impression of a more spacious area. Use light-colored paint and reflective surfaces to enhance the brightness of the room. If privacy is a concern, consider frosted or translucent window films that let light in while maintaining discretion.

Keep It Clutter-Free

Clutter is the nemesis of small space design. Regularly declutter and organize your belongings to maintain a sense of openness. Invest in storage solutions like decorative baskets or floating shelves to keep items off the floor and surfaces tidy. Adopt a minimalist mindset, only keeping items that are functional or bring you joy. Use furniture with built-in storage, such as beds with drawers underneath or coffee tables with hidden compartments, to keep everyday items out of sight.

Balance Scale and Proportion

When choosing furniture and decor, it's important to consider scale and proportion. Avoid oversized or bulky pieces that may overpower the space. Instead, opt for appropriately sized items that harmonize with the room's dimensions. Choose sleek, low-profile furniture that maintains an airy feel. Mix and match different sizes and shapes to create a balanced and visually interesting space without overcrowding it.

Use Color Wisely

Color can significantly impact the perception of space in interior designing. Light, neutral colors can make a room feel larger and more open, while darker shades can add coziness but may make the space feel smaller. Use color strategically to define different zones and add personality to your home. Accent walls, colorful furniture, or vibrant décor items can inject energy and interest without overwhelming the space.

Incorporate Greenery

Plants can bring life and freshness to a small space. Choose low-maintenance, air-purifying plants that thrive indoors. Vertical gardens, hanging plants, or small potted plants on shelves can add greenery without taking up valuable floor space. Incorporating nature into your home can enhance your well-being and create a serene atmosphere.

Conclusion

Mastering the art of space planning can transform even the smallest of spaces into a functional and aesthetically pleasing haven. By understanding your space, defining functional zones, embracing multi-functional furniture, maximizing vertical space, optimizing natural light, keeping it clutter-free, balancing scale and proportion, using color wisely, and incorporating greenery, With these strategies, you can design a home that feels open and welcoming.

If you're passionate about interior design and eager to learn more, consider enrolling in an Interior Designing Course in Kerala. Such a course can provide you with the skills and knowledge to not only transform your own space but also help others create beautiful, functional living environments. Whether you're a budding designer or a homeowner looking to refine your skills, a professional course can be a valuable step in your interior design journey.