#partition design for hall

[vmsplusblog]

Living Room Partition Design Ideas| VMS Plus

Glass partitions have become a prevalent interior design feature for modern homes, mainly in living areas. They can be modified to match your preferences and style and can be considered in different textures and styles, like coloured or frosted glass.

Here in this article, you will find information about the best glass partitions for the living room and how to use them:

Designs of Best Glass Partition for Living Room:

Whether you are searching for Living Room Partition Design Ideas in India or a modern design of glass partitions for the living area and dining hall, some options match your preferences and style.

Wooden Frame Frosted Glass Partition

Wooden frame frosted glass Partition Design Ideas For Your Home are an excellent choice for creating confidentiality while permitting natural light to move through. This type of design can fit into different interior styles, including rustic, modern, or traditional.

2. Black Aluminium Frames Sliding Glass Doors

Black aluminium frames and sliding glass doors are famous for modern living room designs. They provide a stylish, sleek look and can be personalized with different hardware options and finishes. Using this option, you can reveal the benefits of a glass partition for a living room.

3. Living Room Floor-to-Ceiling Glass Partition

Living Room Floor-to-Ceiling Glass Partition can make a theatrical impact in a living area, permitting natural light to come in and making a sense of spaciousness. These hall partition design ideas can work well in minimalist or contemporary interiors.

4. Metal Framing Glass Partition

Metal Framing Glass Partition Living Rooms can add industrial control to a living area while permitting an airy and open feel. This kind of partition can work well in loft-style homes or apartments with uncovered brick and metal touches.

5. Black Steel Frame Clear Glass Partition

Black Steel Frame Clear Glass Partition is a modern and sleek design option for a living area. This form of Glass Partition Design for Living Rooms works well in homes with neutral colour schemes, permitting the steel and glass to stand out.

6. Textured Glass Partition

It can add an artistic and unique feel to a living area. This partition can be modified with different textures and patterns, like frosted, ribbed, or etched designs.

7. Wooden Frame Glass Partition

A wooden frame glass partition can add a cosy and rustic feel to a living area. This partition works perfectly in interiors with everyday materials, like wooden beams or exposed brick.

8. Semi-Clear Glass Partition

A semi-clear glass partition can provide confidentiality while permitting natural light to move through. This kind of partition works perfectly in interiors with a modern or minimalist design style.

9. Built-In Shelves Glass Partition

Built-in shelves and glass partitions can provide storage and privacy solutions in a living area. This kind of partition design for a hall can be tailored with different shelving styles, such as built-in or floating designs.

10. Without a Frame Glass Partition

A glass partition without a frame can create a minimalist and seamless look in a living area. This partition works well in interiors with a standard colour scheme and a touch of simplicity.

11. Curved Glass Partition

This partition type can create a living space's artistic and dynamic feel. It can also be tailored with different angles and curves to make an exclusive design statement.

12. Floral Pattern Etched Glass Partition

This partition with a floral pattern can add an attractive feel to a living space. It is perfect for romantic or vintage interiors and can be modified with different designs and patterns.

VMS Plus can help you with any glass partition ideas for your living room. We use only the finest materials and ensure that the work is done in the finest way possible.

[amara69malik96]

Hall Partition Design: Creative Ideas for Stylish Home Dividers

Discover inspiring hall partition designs on Best Information Today. Elevate your home aesthetics with innovative ideas for dividers that enhance both style and functionality. Our comprehensive guide explores trendy and practical hall partition designs to transform your living space. Explore now for expert tips on creating a modern and visually appealing home environment.

[justblades]

⋆｡˚ ♰・priest! sunday x afab! reader

┈─ ・(ex)plicit, mdni. contains 2.2 spoilers, blasphemous themes, impregnation, clit stimulation, oral sex, controlling sunday, not proofread.

Even a mere mortal can sense the regret lingering in the atmosphere of the vicinity, a small space dedicated for confessions and atonement of sins committed by those who believe in the Harmony. Numerous pews stand in rows before a single one, each being occupied by two people at best, to which you draw closer to the confession box— one more person to go and it is time to purify your tainted soul.

It was just muffled murmurs of two people from the latter reverberating inside the hall's six walls, along with the sound of the ceiling fans whirring. Your mind starts to drift onto something else: although you have no idea what others hold with regards to their sins, you still could not help but think that yours is shameful.

You can see the person beside you exit the birch box with teary eyes and stuffed nose as she holds a handkerchief to her face. "Next please." a resolute voice echoes, signalling for you to step forward into the confessional. With a wobbly stature, you stand up and tread forward, proceeding to close the oak door behind you.

The golden lights from the hall seep through the confession booth's partition, gleaming upon your stature - creating a silhouette as to where only the advocate from the other side can peer through the woodworks. You attempt to clear your voice before speaking, a dry throat halting the words you intend to verbalize within.

"I humbly ask for your blessings and the forgiveness of Xipe . . ." You mutter as your eyes dart to nothing that catches your interest except for the parquetry etched on the wooden floorboards. Your head held down low, staring at its intricate designing.

"Please feel free to proceed. I have sought their presence within us." The priest answers. "I have committed a grave sin of succumbing to passing emotions. Primarily, I struggled with regulating the purity of one's mind and it was late that I realized I indulged in an extreme activity to quench the thirst for sexual pleasure." 

A reassuring hum resounds. "As a devout follower of the Harmony, I believe my actions do not align with the path I stride. Therefore, I ask for forgiveness and assistance on how I will repent for the sins I have committed." After forming the confession where in sentences you never thought have ever been uttered, it feels as though a heavy weight was lifted off your chest and the shackles on your feet disintegrated.

Glancing at the frosted, colored glass window in front of you, you noticed how the warm yellow lights in the background flicker repetitively in an instant, as well as the birch surroundings creaking. "By committing a grave sin, you've engaged in an activity with a partner you are not married with." The priest reiterates as if the faulty lights are a common occurrence.

You hum in response. "And by committing an even graver sin, you took part in an activity with an objective aside from procreation. Please correct me if I'm wrong."

"Yes, esteemed advocate. Everything you said was indeed correct." Your heart starts racing, "Do you promise yourself you'll turn your back on this lascivious history to start anew?" He queries.

"Yes, Mister Sunday."

"Even if you were to encounter challenges to test your faith for the Harmony?"

Hesitation ruptures through your composure. Your resolution suddenly cracks, as if it was merely a façade with a longing for forgiveness to move on.

"Be honest." Like the advocate could read your mind as of the moment, you believe in the capabilities of Harmony, so there was no use in feigning cleanliness when you know it in yourself, you still struggle. "I wish to seek assistance from those with wisdom."

You receive another firm hum in response, "Very well. Please see me in the reconciliation room a short time after." Your mind spirals into confusion and bewilderment, the emotions painting your features like you were an open book to the audience.

Trekking off the confessional booth, you did not dare to spare a glance back at the priest and only made your way to the distinct, separate room - the reconciliation. It was small, enclosed, and only an oak table, two pairs of engraved chairs, a single ligneous partition and a kneeler reside within the space. Your vision anchors to the sculpted wooden cross sign hung on the beige walls, illuminated by a faint golden lamp on the table.

Patiently awaiting the presence of the priest, you stood still with a heavy heart, seeming like the relief you felt previously was only a glimpse of what you could've been if you didn't commit such grave sin. If only.

The door swings open, followed by the entrance of the figure you were anticipating. Faded sky blue hues of hair tumble upon the male's shoulders, along with the golden earrings he was donning. Feathered ears diluting into white ripple from his footsteps, and his distinct, golden halo stays afloat behind his head.

Being vis-à-vis with the highly esteemed figure of the Penacony like this tugs your heartstrings in unease. It felt bizarre, as you could recall from others' experiences that when you encounter priests or advocates of the Harmony, your heart rests. As for Sunday, it was the polar opposite. Chills run kilometers up and down your spine, your throat starts to become dry.

You trail your vision downwards, setting your sight upon his graceful features. His eyes were a radiant yellow tinged with an ocean blue, framed by his particularly long lower lashes. He purses his lips tightly, curving upwards, flashing a small smile. "Please take a seat." He motions for the chair in front of your figures, your eyes noticing the cross cut out gloves he's wearing.

Sitting down with guard held up high, Sunday follows suit as he opens the drawer from the oak table, retrieving something of a color white and frilly in texture, as you make of what you could from your peripheral vision. "This will certainly be of help to put your faith to test. If you would kindly turn around."

Your hands rest on your lap and as you hear the last phrase that came out of his mouth, you subconsciously gripped a handful of the fabric you're wearing in alertness. Not until your vision was impaired as Sunday blindfolds you with the latter material, it was soft and delicate to the touch - you could not see anything but faint shadows against the lighting. Everything was ivory white in stark contrast, and you could barely peer through the lace folds to see the priest.

"I will now be tuning your mind with the Harmony to which you will face repercussions if statements untrue to yourself are said." He pauses. Unsure where this will lead to, you had no choice but to nod in continuation. "Under the light of the Harmony, all wickedness is revealed. I implore them to shed their light."

What used to be a blurry white in your vision now fringes into colored edges, the prominent colors being purple, white, red, orange, and yellow.

"This will serve as a gentle reminder that I am assisting you to a path where grave sins  are not succumbed to, and only ▅▅▅ exists alongside philosophy to instill moral duties to a functioning member of a society."

His words cut through the thick atmosphere, thawing the glacial tension growing with each passing second.

He lowers his stature to face you, gloved fingers trailing from the hem of the laced blindfold down to your cheeks, cupping your face lightly with a careful grip. "Does this send a shiver down to your spine?" Sunday inquires and you shake your head in disagreement. It seems like he has a whole plan on how this will play out, and you were merely a pawn in his chessboard to see what you would react under these circumstances he will put you in.

The touch ghosts a caress on your lower parts, specifically, the frame of your chest. His thumb twirls on the middle part with an unraveled goal of making your buds perk up underneath the confinements of your clothing - making you grit your teeth as a poor attempt to stifle the sound threatening to escape.

A question arises amidst the confusing situation, a question that will surely be received in a poor taste as it will question his authority and legitimacy. You wanted to ask, is this really necessary?

However, the aura he exudes now was far different from what he displays when he's in front of the audience of the masses. He seems more strict now, judging from the tone lacing his voice from his query earlier. "Does this feel good?" He proceeds to unbutton your top, letting the fabric come undone and fall down to your lap. A singular  gloved hand of his snakes its way to your back, and with a single fidget, your bra was unclasped.

The priest takes his precious time in all these. He carefully observes the clothing that you wear, as he had come to adore the fact that you were wearing pearly white brassiere, one that was similar to the blindfold's texture and design, it was frilly in the edges and soft to the touch.

A light chuckle slips out, "Well? What's your answer?" Desire and temptation brews within your stomach, even spiking higher as he caresses your mounds with both of his hands. His touches feel light and blissful at the same time, like your body was basking in the warmth and enjoyment the priest had to offer. You struggle to keep your body still, knees trembling even though you were only sitting.

"N-No, Mr. Sunday."

A sharp throbbing ache courses through your head, granting him a wince of both surprise and pain. "It appears that you haven't put your mind and whole heart to this yet." He says as he walks away from your stature, leaving you dumbfounded. As silence encompasses the vicinity, you hear the male seat himself on the chair across from you. "Come to me." He simply orders.

"Just take steps forward and trust me."

With blind faith, you solemnly obey - approaching his figure with an extremely bleary vision. As your feet meet with an obstacle, seemingly the chair's legs, you stop in your tracks. "Now straddle my lap." Following suit, you feel a bulging sensation under your remaining clothing. Your breath becomes even more jagged than before, especially now that your clothed folds come in contact with his throbbing dick. It was clear cut enough that it was his erection continuously growing.

A brief moment passes and Sunday continues to envelop your hard buds within his lips, teeth grinding on your nipples in an attempt to inflict pain and pleasure all at the same time. "M— Mr. Sunday . . !" You yelp but he does not halt. He proceeds to twirl his warm, slick tongue all over your glazed areolas, your boob dancing in rhythm with his mouth in somewhat harmonic tunes played by your stifled mewls.

His other free hand pulls you tighter to his chest as he adjusts his position, bucking his hips upwards to create some sort of friction. The tip of his covered cock brushes against your already wet slit, granting him another lewd sound - this time, a soft moan. "I— I— I can't—" your hands clutch on the man's broad shoulders, feeling his long, muted blue and white locks tangle along your fingers. "You can. Yes you can. Only a little bit more you would be rewarded by proving your loyalty to the ▅▅▅."

Your sense of hearing downgrades as your mind drifts into pure bliss, lower limbs becoming numb as more pleasure courses through your veins. As if it's still not enough, Sunday simply lowers your remaining clothes to your feet, revealing your folds sopping wet with arousal already.

With haste and care in Sunday's every movement, he lays your back on the table in between the chairs, forcibly revealing everything down there to him — for him to revel in. The gelid wind traces shivers upon your sweat dewed skin, especially your folds now glimmering with muddy white liquids.

He raises your legs and stands up, resting your lower limbs upon his shoulders. The position is embarrassing enough as it is, but having the priest tower over you is another experience that feels even more intense than what unfolded previously. Not to mention that the throbbing pang in your head brought by your dishonesty upon the Harmony worsens minute by minute.

The male buries his face in your inner thighs first, flicking his tongue over your soft skin while his eyes are darted on your face, in high alert to which action of his you will react the most to. "Need I remind you to be honest this time around? Or is the headache that you're feeling not sufficient for you to stay true to your words?" He asks with a demanding tone, the margins of his lips drawing closer and closer to your slit.

"I have learned my lesson, Mr. Sunda—"

Gloved fingers begin to stimulate your clit, moving in motions you cannot fathom with your current state - your lower body jerking up in response to the stimulation. A sly smile creeps up on Sunday's face, his navy blue pupils fixating on each of your actions and expressions.

All you could think of was the fact that he didn't even let you finish, he went straight to pleasure you more, the sensation becoming more overwhelming as he starts to glide the tip of his tongue on your folds. "Do you feel good?" Although his voice was muffled from the proximity from his face and your pussy, you could comprehend and immediately answer, "Yes! I-I feel good . . !"

You rack your head back once Sunday buries his face further into your inner thighs, wallowing himself in your slit as he sucked on your sweet spot, sticking his tongue into your velvet walls while still toying with your clitoris. You bite back your moans, you cannot afford to lose the remaining dignity you had in you left - if there was any.

"Don't do that."

His voice sounds stern as ever, you were left with no choice yet again but to let mewls and moans come undone at this point in time. You were noisy, along with the sucking sounds accompanied by your hums of pleasure, continually bouncing off of the reconciliation room's four walls. "Very good. As for the last part, you must continue to be truthful, to stand by the ▅▅▅, and to ▅▅▅ to what I ought to be ▅▅▅ for you. Do you understand?"

Much to your relief, your vision was once again back to normal as he unties the lacey blindfold on your eyes. This time, you could see Sunday's disheveled hair, as well as the golden earrings dangling at every movement he makes. He swiftly unzips his slacks, therefore revealing his cock he had been concealing for so long before. It stands in its full glory, hues of purple and indigo veins threatening to pop - it was evident he's at his limit.

"Use your mouth. Make me feel good." He commands and peers at you with a somber expression. You muster enough strength on your body to stand up and kneel in front of him, positioning your head in a perfect angle to receive him. Slowly parting your lips open, he shoves his dick inside you, granting you a hoarse moan of satisfaction slipping past his lips.

You bob your head up and down and as if it felt natural to wrap your digits around the remaining length of his cock, you pump him in accordance to your pace, taking him inside with no hesitation, with only one goal in mind: to make him feel good. You could feel the crown of his dick kiss your throat every time you go deeper, making your eyes water as you try to keep yourself from gagging for the priest's satisfaction.

"That's enough, stand up." Your momentum was cut off as he hooks his arms on yours, making you stand from your previously kneeling position. It seems he has indulged enough in your submission and now it is time for him to try something new, something far more amusing in his perspective.

With both of your statures still standing up, he flips you around, making your back face him. He can examine every nook and cranny of your body in this way, and with a hum of approval, he bends you over slightly, wrapping his arms around your waist and reach for your tits. Your breath deepens, more beads of sweat proceed to trickle down your naked body. "M-Mr. Sunday, are we really going to do it?" you ask as he wraps his hand around himself, brushing his tip on your entrance.

He stops in his movements. "Do you have a problem with that?" A domineering tone laces that sole sentence, one that a person cannot delve deeper furthermore.

With one more stroke, he finally pushes himself inside your velvet walls, molding themselves around the shape of Sunday's dick - wallowing in the pleasure and warmth he emanates inside you. "So . . . warm . . ." He whispers, his breath ghosting a caress on the shell of your ear.

Sunday builds up his pace from a painfully slow one to picking it up, thrusting into you with additional force, pistoning your pussy as he's balls deep. Sounds of skin slapping add onto the lewd tune you two have been playing for the past hour, a whole sixty minutes of pleasure pooling your stomach and arousals seeping out of your holes.

Your legs start to quiver once more, exhaustion gnawing at your bones. But amidst this, Sunday kept you still with his force, hitting your sweet spots with the tip of his cock. If you could beg for mercy as of the moment, you certainly would take the chance. But to who, exactly? To whoever aeon is witnessing this lascivious act unfold in front of them, committed in such a religious place?

Or perhaps to Sunday, who you've knelt to before, received him inside your body in more ways than one. Perhaps. Perhaps it is he who shall show you mercy in the heat of the moment.

"M-Mr. Sunday, please forgive me!"

Interest sparks inside his mind, revelling in the way of being viewed as someone highly, someone sought out, someone in a legitimate authority. "You shall be forgiven." He states as he bites down on the blade of your shoulder, teeth leaving a bite mark and an aching sensation alongside it. You could do nothing but wince in pain, but waves of pleasure start to crush upon your conscious self.

Surely this is too much pleasure to handle for someone asking for forgiveness as they committed a grave sin for partaking in debauchery . . . but to be done this way by a priest is a little too exhilarating.

He picks up the pace, earning himself more moans of pleasure escape your lips, "I'll ▅▅▅ ▅▅▅ inside you." Sunday says as a fair warning, but a sentence you could only form at the present time was a lighthearted "Do as you please, Mr. Sunday."

With one single thrust, strings of satisfaction sprawl inside your womb. It feels warm yet again, but now, comforting in stark contrast to the nervousness welling up in your heart earlier.

"Well done. As you've shown resolution that you're on a path to atone for the sins you've committed in the past, you shall be forgiven."

[throneofsapphics]

against the contract, chapter 5

poly!Feysandriel x f!Reader

summary: If they were genuinely bad people, it would be so much easier to kill them. Signing a special contract to work with Azriel, Feyre, and Rhysand turns out nowhere near expected. You were a bit of fun that became their solace and escape, they were supposed to be an easy assignment that turned into your living nightmare

warnings: mentions of nightmares, smut

word count: 2191

a/n: I hope you all enjoy!

prev. part | series masterlist | next chapter (coming soon)

The same nightmare, that lovely one of your mother as a demon had returned, and you found yourself sitting up straight in bed, staring at the opposing wall for a good five minutes before you decided a moment longer would be all it took to make you lose your mind. 

Wrapping a robe around you, tying it in a neat knot, foregoing shoes, you made for your front door. A walk would do you some good, calm your mind enough you could fall back asleep again. At least you kept telling yourself that, and knew that if you manifested it enough it should come true. 

On auto-pilot, you wandered down the halls, back towards the doors where you’d first entered...you couldn’t call it a house, this estate or manor or palace or whatever term truly fit in. Hand brushing over the partitions in the windows, not the glass themselves, you reached for the handle. A little night time stroll couldn’t hurt. They had plethora of security for fucks sake, and nobody needed to know. 

“Going somewhere?” A voice, cool like night, echoed in the room behind you, bouncing over tiles and winding over walls right into your soul and freezing you in place. 

“No,” you said too quickly, and turned to face Azriel, instinctively tucking your hands behind your back. Like a kid with something to hide. 

“It sure looked like it, your hand was nearly on the door handle.” 

Instead of incriminating yourself further, you decided to remain silent, only in hindsight realizing that probably had the opposite effect to what you desired. 

A chuckle, and shoes barely thudded across the tiles, as if he was walking on a mattress. 

You kept your head ducked. He could kick you out for this, end the contract, release you. How could you be so stupid? There was so much more left to do – his tight grip on your chin raised your eyes to meet his. Whatever had produced the small laugh earlier was gone, left in its wake a darkness so consuming you wanted to let it drown you. 

“I don’t like liars,” he squeezed your chin, once. “But we’re calling that a one-off, aren’t we?” 

“It won’t happen again,” you swore, and meant it. 

“Good,” he released your chin and took your hand instead, guiding you back through the halls. It took too long for you to realize he wasn’t taking you to your rooms. Had he changed his mind about your lying? The walls grew familiar before your thoughts could spiral further, and he led you through the doors of the kitchens. The private one, designed just for night time wanderings like these. 

Minutes later, he ushered you back through the halls, this time with one hand on the small of your back as both of yours gripped the warm mug of tea. Your entire body was on edge from the encounter, adrenaline pumping through your veins strong enough you doubted the usually magical sleeping elixir would work 

Azriel sat on the edge of the bed, you curled up by the head with your mug, his gaze frequently flickering back to you, making sure you were still drinking. 

‘A man who liked to see things through’ you thought, and thought perhaps if you’d met in other circumstances, things could be different. Perhaps if you’d met the three of them another way. At the end, you had to remind yourself this was just an exchange to them. And to you? It was your damning 

-

Azriel was determined to make sure you were asleep before he left. They hadn’t been kidding about wandering the grounds at night, and he wouldn’t sleep well if he thought you were in any kind of danger. He wouldn’t, couldn’t, do it but he did have half a mind to lock you in your room. He’d have other things to tend to before he would be able to fall asleep, looking at how your sheer robe kept dipping to the side, exposing the swell of your breast and that sweet skin he was aching for a taste of. 

”I know this is supposed to calm me down, but I have too much energy now,” you placed the cup of tea on your side table.

”Need someone to fuck it out of you?” He didn’t know where the words came from, but enjoyed the way your skin heated, eyes widening and mouth parting. Azriel would've thought you were used to such vulgarity by now. Rhys hadn’t forbidden this, in fact he’d encouraged it. 

”Are you offering?” You asked once you'd recovered, probably not as smoothly as you'd hoped it would be but he found it endearing.

”Would you rather I wake Rhys? He does enjoy his beauty sleep.” Like hell he’d wake him. 

“No need to wake him,” you leaned back on your arms. Good answer. “If you're saying you want to fuck me right now, my answer is please.”

The word was so, so sweet from your lips. Need for you, desperation flew through him so quickly he didn't bother taking all of his clothes off. Not as your fingers were moving, scrambling to undo the tie on your robe.

”I'll take it off,” he said, perhaps a bit gruffly.

You froze, arms dropping back down to your sides. Azriel stood, taking a few steps up the side of the bed to you, a predator watching his prey, and you were such a sweet and willing sacrifice. The way you looked at him, doe eyes so wide, made him feel invincible. It was easy to see how Feyre and Rhys were already addicted to you. Easy to see how he could become the same way, in little time. If he wasn't already. Azriel wouldn’t delude himself, this was more than a fucking contract already. Anyone else he would’ve dismissed on the spot for trying to leave the house at night against explicit instructions. 

But you...he couldn’t quite get enough of you, not yet. If he had his way, you wouldn’t be going anywhere until he got his fill, and heavens only know how long that might take. 

He stood and took the few steps up the side of the bed to where you were sitting, his fingers easily undoing the knot tying your robe together. He pushed your shoulders back, gently, letting you fall back against the pillows, the fabric gathering at your sides. Your soft skin was perfect, curves just right for him to hold. He leaned down and caught the skin above your breast between his teeth, sucking a small bruise for Rhys and Feyre to find in the morning. 

He moved to kneel between your legs. Azriel, who’d only ever knelt for Rhys and Feyre before, would for you if you just asked, but that wasn’t what either of you needed right now. He wondered if you felt the craving for it as strongly as he did, for the connection. 

Hands running up and down your sides, his rough skin such a contrast against yours, so soft and delicate, unmarred except for the tiny bruise blossoming on your chest. 

With two fingers, you reached up and touched it. Pressing lightly, your eyes rolled back. 

Azriel didn’t think it was possible for his cock to harden any further, but it did. 

He didn’t bother wiggling the fabric out from beneath you, just pushed it to the sides to expose the rest of you to him. 

-

You watched with eager eyes as Azriel unzipped himself, not bothering to take off the rest of his clothes, his shoes kicked off, clattering onto the floor. He pressed one of your thighs up, lining himself up at your entrance. 

You keened towards him, urging him further and further, closer and closer, craving this. The joining of two souls in the night. You whimpered as he stretched you. 

“Fuck,” Azriel cursed, and you felt much the same. 

“Slow, please,” you panted, realizing this was the first time Azriel had fucked you. Rhys had. Feyre had. But him? It made you want more, and you pushed yourself further onto him. 

“What happened to slow?” He teased. 

“Fuck me, please,” you emphasized the last word and before your lips had closed from saying it Azriel slammed the rest of the way into you. 

He fucked you with long, brutally slow strokes, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. 

“Bite me again, please,” you weren’t above begging at this point. He lowered his head, hair brushing against your neck, teeth nipping at your breast, just to the right of the spot from earlier. 

You cursed violently, clamping down around him as pleasure thrummed through you, taking over ever inch of your being and transforming you into a panting, limp mess. He threw your legs over his shoulders and bent forward, effectively bending you in half, his eyes hovering just above yours. 

“Look at me,” he ordered, and the sheer dominance in his voice had you obeying his command, mouth parting in awe as you did. He was a sight above you, threads of sweat gleaming at his forehead, his breath heavy. Hazel eyes brimming with lust and something else. 

A handful of grunts later, he was coming inside of you. You felt him spill against your inner walls, and gods it was hot. 

“Fuck,” he cursed, and collapsed onto you, quickly rolling you over so you laid on top of him, his cock still inside of you. 

“Can we s-” you cut yourself off halfway. The request was ridiculous, and he’d laugh at you for it. 

“Say it,” he breathed against your neck. 

“Can we stay like this?” 

Silence. You buried your own face in his neck. Heat flushed your skin again, this time unpleasant. 

“You want to fall asleep with my cock inside of you, love?” 

“Yes,” you mumbled against him. 

“Fine with me,” he said, and it sounded as if he meant it. 

His steady breathing, and the strokes of his hand along your back, was enough for you to finally lull back to sleep. 

-

Rhys met you at the end of the next day 

“We're not in scene now.” Rhys balanced one ankle on his knee, a tumbler of whiskey in his other hand. “It's been one month. How are you doing?”

So many words filtered through your head, incredible, sensual, life-altering, etc, caged in by memories of softer moments, moments where you wondered if the ink on the contract was smudging. 

No scene, just you join us for cards,” Feyre shifted back and forth on her feet in your doorway.

”Let me get dressed,” you murmured and turned, leaving the door wide open. Changing in front of her wasn't an issue to you. You threw on your most comfortable clothes, leggings and an oversize sweater. It was always freezing in this damned house. Looking at the expanse of wealth surrounding you, it felt a bit selfish to miss your messy little apartment, but you did.

Azriel in the kitchen, his back turned to you as he flicked on the electric kettle. Upper back muscles flexing as he reached up for a small box in the highest cabinet, he turned to show it to you. Chamomile. A silent nod from you, and he finished fixing the cup for you, adding just a touch of honey, like he'd known on instinct that's how you always took herbal teas.

Rhys led you back to your room after breakfast, rummaging through your closet and holding up various articles of clothing. You perched back on the edge of your bed, biting back a smile. He settled on a rather small dress, but you didn't mind. You let him strip off the rest of your clothes, tugging the fabric above you head and over your hips. He spun you to face one of the mirrors. “Look how beautiful you are, darling.” 

Then a horrible memory snuck in alongside the more pleasant ones...the night before you arrived, that phone call with Ianthe. 

”You know what they say, an eye for an eye.” Ianthe’s voice purred through the phone. 

”You're asking me to kill three people,” you hissed, “I can't do that.”

”Yes you can,” she said coldly. “Or you can go to prison,” and proceeded to explain exactly how she would send you there, all of the evidence that framed you. “You know what happens to pretty girls like you in prison, don't you? And I know enough people to make your time miserable.”

”You've made your point,” you snapped, and practically heard her vicious smile through the phone.

”Good to hear,” she purred.

“Fine,” you choked out, realizing it took you way too long to reply to Rhys, sitting before you. 

“Fine?” He raised a brow, amusement in his voice.

“Great, actually,” you blurted out, cheeks heating. One month in, and you had no idea how you were going to manage to kill them, the only thing you knew was it had to happen. That, or your life as you knew it was forfeit. Despite the recent closeness, they were still too careful. You needed to figure out how to get under their skin.

series taglist: @rowaelinsdaughter @bookishbroadwaybish @lilah-asteria @nestaismommy

@yeonalie @daycourtofficial @emidpsandia @thelov3lybookworm @justasillylittlegoofyguy

@aactuaaltraash @hannzoaks @angelbunny222 @littlest-w01f​​ @pandabiiissh

@rosecobollway @glittervame @tele86 @randomgurl2326 @bookwormysblog

@sidthedollface2 @scarsandallaz @therealmoonstone @hannzoaks @grapeflavoredwater

@fhgsvbnh @sfhsgrad-blog @julesvanslutta @daughterofthemoons-stuff

acotar taglist: @lilah-asteria @yeonalie @I-am-a-lost-girl16 

general taglist: @rowaelinsdaughter @bookishbroadwaybish @nestaismommy @erencvlt @book-obsessed124

@callsigns-haze @littlest-w01f

[ghuleh-witch]

Title: Fangs Fandom: Ghost Rating: Explict Warnings: NSFW, 18+, unprotected sex, blood drinking, p in v sex, unprotected sex, fingering Relationships: Papa Emeritus IV/Copia x Female!Reader Characters: Papa Emeritus IV/Copia, Female!Reader Additional Tags: Dracopia, Vampire!Copia, no use of y/n, no beta, pwp Word Count: 3,238 Summary: Your best friend wanted you to come to a club with her. You agreed to go even though the club scene wasn't your thing. While your friend went off to dance, you somehow found your way into the office of the club's owner. Author's Note: This fic was inspired by the couch scene in RHRN.

Ao3 || Masterlist

You didn’t know what you were doing there. Clubs weren’t your scene, especially not goth-vampire-themed ones, but yet there you were, at the bar ordering a club soda while your best friend danced with some other girl on the dance floor. You watched the two women for a moment before you moved away from the bar to an empty spot along the wall. The red lighting and fog gave the space an eerie look as “Fangs” by Dionnysuss started to play. 

“Take me through the dark. Hide me from the light. I miss your every touch—”

The music was too loud and you couldn’t hear yourself think. You sipped your club soda and looked around the club again. Your eyes wandered upward to a balcony with privacy shades pulled down over the opening. You briefly wondered what was up there before someone bumped into you and caused you to spill your drink on your dress.

“Hey watch it,” you said. A wet spot began to bloom on the black strapless dress you wore.

“Sorry,” the man dressed in a black Victorian-inspired outfit said before he disappeared into the crowd. 

You sighed and moved along the way hoping to find the bathrooms. You slipped through a curtained partition with restroom signs above the entrance. After you dried your dress with paper towels from the bathroom, you reentered the hall to find the light dimmer and the walk to get back into the main part of the club much longer.

“The fuck is going on?” You muttered to yourself as you came up to a door. You looked behind you and the restrooms were out of sight. You knew you were still in the club. You could hear the music thumping right behind the other wall, so where exactly were you and how did you get so lost so fast? You opened the door and hoped it would lead you back onto the dance floor, but instead, it opened up into an office. That’s when you realized somehow you were in the room above the dance floor.

“Can I help you, piccolina?” 

You jumped at the voice and looked to your left. A man with mismatched eyes sat on an ornate red velvet and wood-trimmed couch. His face was painted into some sort of skull design with white and black paint. His mousy hair flecked with gray at the temples told you he was some years older than you. He lounged back on the sofa in a black frilly-trimmed shirt and jeans textured with unique stitching and sewn-on bits of fabric. He held a wine glass with very dark red liquid in his black leather gloved hand.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I got lost,” you explained, already trying to back out of the room. There was something about the man that just didn’t seem right to you. It was as though you honed in on ancient instincts that warned you of a predator. At the same time, curiosity got the better of you and you wanted to stay and find out who the exquisite man sat before you was. 

“Hmmm,” he responded as he sipped his drink. “You looked bored out there.” He nodded towards the screen that was pulled down over the balcony. You could see out onto the dance floor, but you knew from the floor no one could see inside.

“You were watching me?” You asked as you took a step further into the room.

“I see everything in my club,” he said. He said up and swung his legs off the couch to plant his feed on the ground. “Copia Emeritus. You may call me Copia or Papa, and you are cara?”

“Papa?” You asked curiously.

“Just a title,” Copia said. “Now, what is your name?” 

You swallowed and said your name as heat flooded your body. Now that you could see him better in the dimly lit room, you couldn’t help but notice how attractive he was. There was something about his eyes that bore into you and hypnotized you into approaching. You were so enthralled that you didn’t even hear the door shut behind you.

“And why did you come here tonight, piccolina?” Copia asked. He took another sip of liquid from the wine glass he held. “You’re obviously not having a good time. Why are you still here?”

“My friend wanted to come,” you told him. “She’s been going on and on about this place, so I told her I’d come with her because she didn’t want to come alone.” 

“And as soon as she saw a pretty face she forgot all about you?” Copia presumed as he leaned back on the couch with a confidence that you’ve never seen before in someone. “Come sit? No reason to continue standing there.” 

You nodded and your feet led you forward on their own accord toward the couch. You sat on the opposite end and looked towards the balcony. “You said this was your club?”

“Si,” Copia answered. “If you want to get technical it belongs to the organization I’m affiliated with, but I do run the place myself.” His eyes roamed your body. It didn’t make you feel uncomfortable, but you did feel like a deer in the headlights for a moment. “Can I get you something to drink? I noticed some idiot bumped into you and spilled your drink.”

“No, no I’m okay,” you said. “I should…” You knew you should return your friend. She would look for you once she noticed you were missing, but it was like a magnet kept you rooted in place. Your body refused to move. “I should…”

“Should what, cara?” Copia asked as he leaned closer to you. You could smell his cologne—something earthy and woody that filled your nostrils and caused you to relax. It was then you noticed what was off about him. You got a glimpse of fangs when he opened his mouth to speak. You blinked as though you’d suddenly be able to understand what you saw. 

“You seem confused,” he then said. 

“I…” You trailed off. “Sorry, I think the lighting is just messing with me.”

Copia smirked. “Sure, let’s say it’s the lighting, eh?” 

You didn’t know when he moved from his spot at the end of the couch to the spot right next to you. You had blinked and he was just there like that’s where he sat the whole time. One of his gloved hands came up to your face and gently moved a stray lock behind your ear. “You smell divine,” he rumbled. It sent tingles down your spine as his fingertips traced down your neck. He leaned in close enough that you could feel his breath on your skin. “Divine and downright sinful.”

You knew you were clear-headed. You didn’t have a single drop of alcohol that evening, but nothing made sense. You didn’t understand what was happening. Yet, you still turned your head and pressed your lips to his. It satisfied the sudden urge and lust that had taken you over. 

He seemed surprised. He stilled momentarily before one hand wrapped around your waist and dragged you closer and the other cupped your cheek. “You sure you want this,” he murmured against your lips when the kiss broke for a second. “Because I’m going to do more than just kiss you if you say yes.”

“Yes,” you answered. And you did want whatever was to come. You needed to know what it would be like with him and why he was a predator and you the prey.

“Good,” he said. “Because it was going to be a shame if I couldn’t have a taste.” His lips moved down over your cheek and jawline and pressed kisses to your skin as he went. He came to your neck and brushed your hair aside. “You know what I am, si?”

“I—” You began and then things started to click together—the cup of the dark red liquid, the hint of fangs, his whole aesthetic, the theme of the damned club. “You’re a vampire,” you breathed. 

“Very good,” Copia purred in your ear. “You’re smart, piccolina .” He pressed a few kisses to your pulse point which made your breath hitch. “I’m going to have a taste now, okay?”

“Okay,” you answered. You trembled in anticipation as you felt the graze of pointed fangs on your skin. A sharp pinch and hot pain caused you to gasp, but the sensation didn’t last. You felt good; a feeling of pure bliss filled you as he drank your blood. You could feel hot rivelets of blood flow down your shoulder, back, and chest. The blood was never going to wash out of your dress, but you didn’t care. It was black and no one would notice. All you cared about was the feeling of his fangs in your neck.

Your hand rested on his chest, fingers gripped into the soft fabric of his shirt. “Fuck,” you breathed. “W-why does that feel so good?”

He chuckled against your skin before you felt his mouth pull away. He stared at you, blood on his lips and chin. “Yeah? Does it feel good, piccolina ?” He asked. A finger traced the blood that trickled down your chest and to your breasts. He smeared it against your skin. “I’m glad it does. You make it hard to control myself.” His finger began to pull down the fabric of your dress. “May I?” 

You nodded and watched as he pulled down the top of your dress enough so your breasts spilled out. His tongue was on you then, and he licked the smear of blood clean from your skin before his mouth wrapped around one of your nipples.

 “Oh fuck,” you moaned as a hand came up to card through his hair. 

“So vocal, cara, I like it,” he said. His tongue flicked over your hardened nipple as his hand palmed your other breast. “Be as loud as you want, cara , no one can hear us up here.” His hand moved from your breast and down your body. He pushed up the hem of your dress to reveal the lacey blue panties you wore underneath. His fingers brushed over your clothed center and you involuntary bucked your hips.

“Please,” you breathed. Your heart hammered against your ribs as unfeathered desire and need coursed through your veins. You felt as though you’d die if he didn’t touch you right then and there.

“Please what?” He asked. A sparkle appeared in his eyes as his lips formed a smirk. “Use your words, piccolina .” 

“Touch me, fuck me, I don’t care I just need you,” you whined. You knew how desperate and pathetic you sounded but you didn’t care. You needed to satisfy the craving for him that clawed at your insides like a rabid animal.

“How about I do both?” He proposed. He slipped down off the couch to his knees between your legs. His fingers found the elastic waistband of your panties and pulled them down your legs and around your heels. He bunched them up and stuffed them into his pocket without explanation. His hands pushed your thighs open wider. “Bellissima,” he breathed before leaning forward to capture your lips. 

You moaned into his mouth as his tongue swept through your parted lips. You could taste the faintest hints of coppery blood on his lips. Your hands rested on his chest but soon they gripped his shirt as you felt two of his fingers slip through your folds and to your clit. 

“Jesus Christ,” you swore against his lips as your hips bucked against his touch.

He hissed. “Maybe refrain from saying that name, cara. It’s blasphemous.” 

You didn’t have time to respond as he slipped a finger inside of you. You let out a moan, the leather of his gloves cool on your hot cunt. “Fuck fuck fuck,” you panted as he pumped his finger in and out of you. It curled upward just right so it hit that one spot that drove you wild. “Don’t stop,” you begged.

“I don’t plan on stopping,” Copia chuckled. He slipped a second finger into you and stretched you open with each thrust of his hand. His thumb rubbed tight circles against your clit. “You look so sweet falling apart for me,” he said as he leaned forward and licked at the bite mark on your neck. 

You choked out a whimper as the coil in your middle tightened. “Close,” you managed to say, your knuckles white against his black shirt.

“Come for me,” he said in a low rumble. “Come for me, piccolina .” 

A few more pumps of his fingers and you came hard. Your walls clenched around his digits before you went limp against the back of the sofa. You looked down at him and watched as he brought his fingers to his mouth and sucked them clean. You bit your lip at the lewd act and met his eyes. 

“You taste as decadent as your blood,” Copia purred as he repositioned you to lay back on the sofa. He got up, one knee on the couch between your legs. His erection strained against the laces of his pants, and you couldn’t help but sit up and unlace them. Your mouth found a sliver of skin between his shirt and pants. He let out a pleased hum as his hand came up to stroke your hair.

You chanced a glance up to his face to see him staring down at you. His pupils were blown wide with lust and hunger. The look made you bite back a groan as you opened the laces of his pants and pushed them down his thighs. He didn’t have on underwear under the pants, so once his pants were passed his hips, his cock sprung free. He was thick; thicker than anyone you’ve had before and you knew the stretch would be delicious. Your mouth watered at the thought as you wrapped your hand around his length and began to stroke him slowly. Your other hand fumbled to undo the buttons of his shirt.

He gently batted your hand away and began to undo the buttons himself. His head lulled back as a groan escaped his lips. “Cazzo, così buono per me (Fuck, so good for me),” he muttered as he shrugged the shirt off his shoulders. It fell forgotten to the floor.

You admired his figure—from his chest hair that tapered down his torso to his pelvis to the three sixes tattooed on his peck in a swirled pattern and to the little bit of belly he had. You pressed kisses around the soft skin of his belly button as your hand still pumped his cock slowly. 

“Keep that up, cara, and I won’t last,” he groaned before he gently pulled your hand off him. “And I want to last.” He positioned you the way he wanted on the couch so that he was between your spread legs and ready to enter you. “Do you still want this?”

“Yes,” you said as you nodded your head. “Please, I need it.” 

“And you’ll have it,” Copia said. He leaned down and kissed your lips as the tip of his cock nudged your entrance. “Breathe for me,” he said before slowly pushing into you.

You let out a hiss at the intrusion. The breath was sucked out of you. His cock stretched your walls and it caused a sting that became a pleasant burn. He took his time so you could adjust to his size, and before you knew it, he bottomed out in you with a moan.

“So fucking tight,” he gritted as he held himself above you. “Cazzo, you feel so good. Let me know when I can move.” 

“Move,” you panted desperately. “Now.”

“So demanding,” he tutted. He slowly pulled out and thrust back into you. 

He kept the pace steady—not too slow or too fast. The sound of both your breaths and moans filled the room as he leaned down to your neck.

“Need another taste,” he grunted before he bit into your neck once more. 

You cried out; the pain and the pleasure were nothing like you’d experienced. “Shit,” you moaned. “Feels so good.” 

His reply was muffled against your neck as he drank. Between him fucking into you and sucking your blood, you started to feel dizzy which only added to your pleasure. “F-fuck,” you whined as you slipped a hand between your bodies and began to touch yourself. You needed more. You needed every nerve ending in your body to be lit up like a Christmas tree.

“Sì, brava ragazza, toccati per me (Yes, good girl, touch yourself for me),” Copia groaned as his eyes went to the space between the two of you. He watched as his cock disappeared into your cunt before he buried his face in your neck and his fangs pierced your skin again.

Your head swam, but you didn’t know if it was from blood loss or bliss. As you rubbed your clit with your fingertips in time with Copia’s thrusts, you felt your core grow taut. You felt Copia release your neck and raise his head to look down at you. 

“You’re getting close,” Copia grunted as his speed picked up. He licked the blood from his lips and moaned. “I can feel it. Are you close, cara ?”

You nodded, biting your lip.

He tutted. “I want to hear you say it. Are you close for me, cara?”

“Yes,” you panted. “Fuck, I’m so close.” 

“Good girl,” he responded as he thrust hard and deep into you. “So am I. Come for me again, cara.”

His hips snapped against you and the coil snapped. Your vision whited out for a split second as your back arched off the sofa. You cried out in ecstasy. “Papa! Copia!” You whimpered as your legs shook.

“Sto per venire (I’m gonna come),” Copia grunted as his thrusts became erratic. Four hard and deep pumps later and he came inside of you. His seed flooded you and filled you. His arms shook as he lowered himself to the sofa, careful to not crush you in the process. “Cazzo, you are—you are—” He seemed to struggle to find the words.

You smiled and laughed lightly. “So are you,” you agreed.

He chuckled, fangs visible between his parted lips as he moved a lock of hair from your forehead. “Not what you expected tonight, was it?”

“No, no it wasn’t. I didn’t know what—oh shit, my friend,” you said as she sat up. “I need to go before she notices I’m missing.”

Copia backed off of you and gave you space to fix your dress and make yourself look appropriate. “I suppose I’m not getting my panties back?” She asked him.

“Hmmm not a chance,” Copia smirked. “At least not today. Maybe next time?”

“Next time? That’s awfully presumptuous of you,” you responded as your own smirk played on your lips.

“Go find your friend, cara. And when you want to see me again, all you have to do is step into this club. I’ll make sure you get to where you need to be.” 

You heard the door creak open and looked behind you. You never remembered closing it. When you looked back at Copia he was gone and the window behind a large desk was opened to the cool night air.

[cityof2morrow]

CDK: City Hall

Published: 9-25-2024 | Updated: N/A SUMMARY Cubic Dynamics by John B. Cube and Marcel Dusims forged the future with furnishings that were minimalist in design and maximalist in erudite pretension. Generations later, the company continues to produce edge-of-cutting-edge designs. Use the Cubic Dynamics Kitbash (Simmons, 2023-2024) collection to set up corporate, exposition, and office environments. Envisioned as an add-on to the Cubic Dynamics set (EA/Maxis, archived at GOS), it features minimalist and retro-futuristic objects. Find more CC on this site under the #co2cdkseries tag. Read the Backstory and ‘Dev Notes’ HERE. How’s that build-a-city-challenge going?...because those courtroom, town hall, and city hall chambers are lookin’ a little bald headed. Why not spruce it up with the CITY HALL set! Place one of the decorative assembly desks, then add chairs and portable assembly desks. Your council members, judges, lawyers, and other sims are ready to go to work!

DETAILS All EPs/SPs. §See Catalog for Pricing | See Buy/Build Mode You need the Company Expo (Mesh Pack) set (Simmons, 2024) for TXTRs to show properly in game. ALL files with “MESH” in their name are REQUIRED. You may need “move objects” and “grid on/off” cheats to place some objects to your liking. When placing partitions/floating shelves and tables/desks/counters on the same tile, place the partition/shelves first. I recommend using this set with Object Freedom 1.02 (Fway, 2023), which includes Numenor’s fix for OFB shelves (2006), for easier use overall. ITEMS Assembly Desks (Small/Large) (1858 poly) – use with portable desk Judge’s Chair (~835 poly) Counselor’s Chair (1377 poly) Counselor’s Desk (402 poly) HoloProjector (2546 poly, HIGH) – place on same tile as hologram Holograms (192 poly) Portable Assembly Desk (733 poly) DOWNLOAD (choose one) from SFS | from MEGA The hologram is functional and comes with 30+ recolors...

COMPATIBILITY AVOID DUPLICATES: The #co2cdkseries includes edited versions – replacements - for items in the following CC sets: 4ESF (office 3, other 1/artroom, other 2/build), All4Sims/MaleorderBride (miskatonic library, office, postmodern office), CycloneSue (never ending/privacy windows), derMarcel (inx office), Katy76/PC-Sims (bank/cash point, court/law school sets, sim cola machine), Marilu (immobilien office), Murano (ador office), Reflex Sims (giacondo office), Retail Sims/HChangeri (simEx, sps store), Simgedoehns/Tolli (focus kitchen, loft office, modus office), ShinySims (modern windows), Shoukeir via Sims2Play(reverie office, step boxes/shelving), Spaik (sintesi study), Stylist Sims (offices 1,2, & 3, Toronto set), Tiggy027 (wall window frames 1-10), Wall Sims (holly architecture, Ibiza). *The goal is link the objects to the recolors/new functions in the #co2cdkseries without re-inventing the wheel! Credit to the original creators. CREDITS Thanks: EarlyPleasantview/EPV, Panda, Soloriya, ChocolateCitySim, HugeLunatic, Klaartje, Ocelotekatl, Whoward69, LoganSimmingWolf, Gayars, Ch4rmsing, Ranabluu, Gummilutt, Crisps&Kerosene, LordCrumps, PineappleForest. Sources: Any Color You Like (CuriousB, 2010), Beyno (Korn via BBFonts), EA/Maxis, Offuturistic Infographic (Freepik). SEE CREDITS (ALT)

[humblemooncat]

Crystal (pt. 1)

Sit back and kick your feet up a while, we have a lot of places to go through!

So much so, this will need a reblog with a part 2!

@entropytea - Crystal, Balmung | Mist W13, P42

This house's layout was stunning! Despite it being a small, the use of lofts and partitions made the space seem so much larger!

Not to mention, it's all very beautifully furnished! It looked like I was walking into a designer home! Also, very big fan of the gazebo leading into the house. What a clever use of it!

------------

Crystal, Balmung | Goblet W9, Sultana's Breath Wing 1 Apt 39

The apartment was similarly gorgeous. The layout is beyond amazing, and really makes you feel like you're stepping into some sort of woodland hut that maybe you should not have. Cozy, but a little ominous at the same time!

@cadrenebula - Crystal, Balmung | Goblet W21, P60

He was trying to blend in with the flowers. Silly boy.

What a lovely FC hall! Very spacious, but at the same time very cozy!

I love all the facilities and how thoughtfully they cater to the company's residents. Even down to the little dressing room leading to the stage downstairs. Very cute.

I also had a toot around the rooms that were open, and I must say, there are a lot of pretty, creative rooms in there! Each one had its own distinct personality, and I loved looking through them all. <3

@alannah-corvaine - Crystal, Balmung | Mist W17, P18

All I have to say is wow

The interior of this house is so well-done, every nook and cranny is filled with decor that really brings the whole thing together! Along with the BGM, you'd think you were walking into an Ishgardian manor, not a seaside cottage!

Definitely worth a look if you're in the area! <3

@wayward-hatchling - Crystal, Coeurl | Goblet W23, P13

I was NOT expecting to be invited to an in-game pizzeria of all things! That said, it was VERY cute!!

It really does give off hometown pizzeria vibes, from the brick interior to the wrought iron-backed chairs. It's extremely charming, and I will definitely be coming back sometime.

But before I left, I had to give my husbuns a little dinner date. <3

HIGHLY recommend everyone to visit at some point! It's a very fun little place! And it even has an arcade!

Just mind the mascots. We've seen too many horror games to trust them...

@disaster-husbun - Crystal, Goblin | Empyreum W26, P42

First off, hello hello! Nice to see you as I rolled through! <3

You made such good use of the space and slots provided in a large! It's hard to do effectively without blocking off a good chunk of it, but it looks very nice! Spacious, but in a cozy way!

I loved how you decorated each space inside, though the warm, cozy study was my favorite.

My second favorite though, was the basement. The floral walls leading to the tables was very nice, and the walls would be a beautiful space to gpose if you need a patterned backdrop.

Overall, very beautiful home! I would highly recommend stopping in if you're in the area!

@cadrenebula - Crystal, Goblin | Empyreum W25, P59

Another cute FC hall!

I love the look of the cafe downstairs! It's bright and open while still feeling communal and cozy. I could see myself whiling away the time with a good book and a cup of tea down there.

Very clever with the bookshelf upstairs btw! It's a nice way to make the place cohesive while still giving everyone a little hideaway to their rooms!

Speaking of; both of the rooms are nice! The second room having only the bath is amusing, but I also totally get it. Sometimes you just need a hot bath and no thoughts. xD

I only had time to get to so many today, unfortunately, but I plan on getting the rest of Crystal and Primal done tomorrow!

Thank you all for allowing me into your beautiful homes so far! I can't wait to visit the rest!

[ashtarels-archives]

Delving into Blackfathom Deeps

An excerpt from Glory to the Queen Born of Stars:

"Of the wonders our queen brought to this world, perhaps none was so great as Lathar'Lazal. As masons constructed the temple, Azshara shaped the waters around it with the Scepter of Tides. She spoke the names of the rivers and the seas, and they moved at her command. Salt water from the roaring ocean and fresh water from the mountain streams trickled to Azshara's side. With the flick of her wrist, the queen partitioned them into great lakes that hugged Lathar'Lazal's sturdy foundation."

Architecture:

Blackfathom Deeps, as we know it today, was once called "Lathar'Lazal," or "Seat of the Sky" in Darnassian. Long ago, this was a temple to Elune built by Queen Azshara with the aid of Sharas'dal (her tide-scepter) in the ages before the Sundering. Pelagic imagery still endures in the architecture of these sunken ruins, described at one point to have contained "gem-encrusted bridges and effervescent lakes." Motifs of fish-head fountains, wave-inspired stonework, scale-like patterns, and ionic columns are repeated in the masonry and pottery of the forlorn halls. It is unclear what the seafoam-colored stone the temple is made of, though it is interesting to note that it almost bears a resemblance to a body of water's surface: like the way a pool shifts and shimmers with the light. Some kind of material borne of the sea, melded together with the queen's Sharas'dal, or a common mineral of the region? They could also simply bear cracks and signs of weathering considering the age of the temple, but watery stone would be fitting symbolically.

Azshara's Influence:

"Whenever she [Azshara] walked the bridges of Lathar'Lazal, nearby schools of exotic fish would array themselves in colorful patterns. She even kept a colossal sea giant bound to one of the lakes. She used her scepter to make him perform tricks and feats of strength, much to the delight of the watching Highborne. Curious night elves from the far corners of the empire journeyed to Lathar'Lazal to study the mythical creature and his habits."

Perhaps Lathar'Lazal was a bustling tourist attraction then in the days of the empire, both for education and entertainment. With such tourism drawn to the temple, I wonder if the nearby land/city of Zoram benefited from this economically.

The passage above seems to imply that the Highborne rather enjoyed the spectacle of the imprisoned sea giant, and this poses an interesting dichotomy to the original purpose of the temple: a house of Elune, simultaneously hosting a creature trapped against its will. Such an exhibition created by Azshara here speaks to her penchant for show and amusement, and possible disregard for the faith. If only a historical record existed of a priestess's personal journal or the like; and whether she would be disappointed with such behavior, or complacent in the suffering of other races/creatures as night elves often were during this era.

Tideweaver:

Queen Azshara, even before her naga transformation, always had a fascinating dominion over water, both with her scepter Sharas'dal and the Well of Eternity. Supposedly Xavius was the one who actually gifted the queen with this ornate weapon that later shaped the temple:

"A night elf named Lord Xavius presented the queen with a jeweled scepter, etched with delicate magical sigils. He promised Azshara that so long as she kept it close, it would bring her prosperity and great power. Azshara held the scepter aloft, and the jewels shimmered in the light of the moons like brilliant stars. The sight of the queen and her gift was so beautiful that it brought many of the attendant Highborne to tears."

An enigmatic man of terrifying skill and power, I do wonder where Xavius procured this weapon in the first place; as its design does not appear to be of Kaldorei craftsmanship. Perhaps it hails from the ancient jinyu culture, the primordial titans, or some other past world power. Examining its details, what do you think of Sharas'dal's origins?

"Queen Azshara's enchanted scepter afforded her great power. Imbued with the Well of Eternity's potent waters, it held sway over the rivers and the seas, aquatic creatures of all kinds, and the life energies that stirred within Azshara herself."

In the Tablet of Balancing Tides, it is stated that:

"The whispers of Elune and Neptulon play on the tides, their words etched in stone are a tribute to the balance of their power."

I find it interesting that Azshara utilized a form of magic half-intrinsic to the moon goddess. Did she derive some of her aquatic power from Elune, or use a different magick entirely? The descriptions of Azshara wielding the scepter use language that speaks to a command over water, rather than a unity with the elementals, spirits, and goddess.

This item's flavor text also mentions Neptulon--Elemental Lord of Waters--interestingly now a sworn enemy of Queen Azshara and her naga forces in the present day.

The Moonshrine Ruins:

This place supposedly once hosted a moonwell, with an area known as the Moonshrine. The foundations here might suggest that before the Sundering, Lathar'Lazal could have been built just upon the shores, or expanded out into the sea itself with the tides embracing the temple all around. Swimming beneath the waters of the Moonshrine, there appear to be large pillars supporting the walkways here; much like a pier.

The Inner Sanctum:

Crescent imagery is prevalent inside of the sanctum, as well as sets of 3 seats, perhaps symbolism of the triple moon (waxing, full, and waning or the maiden, mother, and crone archetypes) holding some importance in the rituals carried out here. These could also represent a large meeting space, high-ranking priestesses for ritual, a council of leadership, divisions of the temple, seating for observers, or something else entirely. They face partitioned rooms with crescent moon symbols.

If we look at the central dais of the sanctum, (Azshari statue and cultist altar notwithstanding) there is a raised platform with a pyramid-like structure carved into the ceiling. Perhaps a skylight once existed here to let in moonlight for lunar rites, or this area hosted something of great importance to be kept safe inside the sanctum.

The Moondoors:

The moondoors are an especially interesting piece, and the last apparent threshold of the Seat of the Sky. Upon passing through, there are only a handful of pillars flanking the sides of the cavern. They seem to accompany each other in pairs on each side - marking a possible entrance, exit, or some other pathway to the temple. While I am unsure of their true purpose or the mechanism to unlock them, the various square pieces are almost akin to a puzzle. This model is used in other Kaldorei architecture and I've long been intrigued by their possible uses. These moondoors are typically used as entrances to the tall, thin ivory towers of Kaldorei ruins. Perhaps Elunarian priests or arcanists weave (or wove) intricate spellwork rooted in the arcane, or the moon cycle in order to lock these types of barriers. What was intended to lie beyond them is anyone's guess: powerful artifacts, sacred relics, enshrined lore, or even concealed secrets.

"The Great Sundering shattered the glorious temple, sinking it beneath the waves of the Veiled Sea."

I hope you enjoyed these musings! There's something equally fascinating and solemn looking back at the remnants of the Kaldorei Empire - in the shadows of glory that once eclipsed the continent.

[leibal]

PCMC is a minimalist space located in Seoul, South Korea, designed by oftn studio. The layout of PCMC follows a practical rectangular shape, partitioned into group rooms, restrooms, a kitchen, and a hall. The standout feature of the space is the open-kitchen-style bar table, where guests are welcomed as if entering a friend’s home

[olet-lucernam]

A Hollow Promise [24] chapter vi, part i

{_[on AO3]_}

main tags : loki x original character, post-avengers 2012, canon divergence - post-thor: the dark world, canon-typical violence, mentions of torture

-

summary: In the aftermath of the Battle of New York, the Avengers need a few days to build a transport device for the Tesseract. With the Helicarrier damaged and surveillance offline, SHIELD sends an asset to guard Loki in the interim: a young woman who sees the truth in all things, and cannot lie.

Even long presumed dead, her memories lost to her, Loki would know her anywhere.

And this changes things.

Some things last beyond infinity. And the universe is in love with chaos.

(Loki was never looking for redemption. It came as an unexpected side-effect.)

-

chapter summary : astrid gathers her allies, and draws the attention of her enemies. loki pays a heavy price for a victory.

recommended listening : all the good girls go to hell, billie eilish

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60 weeks and 1 day out

Astrid hated the Gallery.

The climate-controlled villa was a reprieve from the dense, nocturnal marine humidity of Madripoor. The side-gate and front door had quietly unlocked for her, sweat wicking from the bridge of her nose and nape of her neck as she stepped over the threshold and into the chilled air, navigating the quiet hallways with experienced familiarity.

Even years later, something about the place still grated on her- quietly gathering under her skin and congealing into a twitch of her fingers and the urge to break something.

Astrid swallowed it down. Her greed would make room to tolerate it- devouring anything that fed it.

Once she had something to aim for, everything else was secondary.

The hardened soles of her boots tapped against the charcoal tile. Drifting with slow, rotating steps as she typed on her phone, hammering out another forum post, Astrid felt the quiet of the empty hall press in against her as she waited.

The main hall was dimly lit. Partitioned by dozens of tall glass display cases forming corridors across the floor, each box was floodlit with LED frames of clean white light, suspending their wares in the darkness.

Despite the museum-grade display- at a quick glance, Astrid estimated that she was standing in the midst of a few hundred million USD- the exhibition resembled a nightclub more than a showroom. A fully stocked bar was built out from the far wall, bottles and liquors set aglow on shelves against butterscotch-golden lights, a state-of-the-art sound system installed overhead, the glass in the cases designed to withstand the heavy bass of EDM. From her visits to the Gallery during opening hours, Astrid had the impression that most of its clientele treated it as just another venue of entertainment; like a clear-topped shark aquarium installed under a dancefloor, or blood sports hosted in basement rooms, or experimental party drugs in candy bowls, the Gallery’s gimmick was the ability to order your next drink with a side of illicitly traded artwork.

It was empty for tonight.

She sighed, stretching her neck, and hit the publish button, before tucking her phone away.

Astrid half-wished that she was in the Brass Monkey instead.

The bar was a hub, a bureau of exchange and centre of information. It was a foothold that she had chiselled herself into early on, through months of work and whoring out her services and placing the right information in the right place at the right time- eventually earning an off-menu drink at the Saloon with her namesake, doubling as a method to contact her, if ordered with the right code phrase. Astrid had become a product that would earn the Saloon money; conversely, the Saloon was a rich resource for Astrid to exploit.

But the modus operandi of this client had changed, precluding any meetings out in the open. Astrid had decided not to begrudge it- not when she intended to wring it for every advantage she could get, anyway.

A set of footsteps sounded from behind her, sharper than her own, the snap signalling a pair of classic high heels.

Astrid turned her head to greet them, her body following its turn like a fouetté.

The woman breezing towards her was tall, slender, serene as lilies and polished to an edge. While they were both dressed in monochrome black, Astrid was dressed for the streets, light enough for the heat and sturdy enough for a fight- slim-fit jeans, a cotton camisole, leather jacket, and a scuffed steel-capped boots designed for wildland firefighters, her platinum hair wrapped up and secured with a few steel pins. By direct contrast, her client’s willowy frame was draped in a pair of gauzy palazzo trousers and a sleeveless blouse, capped off with a pair of iconic, red-soled Louboutins. A triple-row of diamond studs glinted in her earlobes, sharp against her dark, cool-toned skin, fine black tresses gathered up into a sleek chignon.

The dirt from clawing her way up from the streets had long been scrubbed from beneath her French-tip fingernails, buffed out and resolved into political-socialite glamour.

Astrid did not like the Gallery, but she did like Ophelia Sarkissian- redoubtable social-climbing bitch in Prada that she was.

Although they really should have another conversation on how designer label was not synonymous with prestige or quality. Ophelia owned a few too many Birkens to be respectable.

With a mostly genuine smile, Ophelia greeted her in a cloud of subtle perfume, sliding an arm around Astrid’s waist with nonchalant familiarity.

“Come on,” she said, “I know you hate this place.”

Astrid exhaled a laugh, noiseless and appreciative, letting herself be pulled along.

Their relationship may have been transactional, but they were still friendly. Astrid enjoyed Ophelia’s shamelessness; Ophelia liked Astrid’s casual confidence.

Ophelia steered her through to the private wing of the villa, away from the exhibition room. Beyond the show floor, the rooms became high-ceilinged and clad in clean white and golden oak; separated less by solid walls and more by tall glass-paned doors, it had the neutral gloss of a pied-à-terre or hotel suite, complete with brass clothing porters and florist-arranged vases. The décor was vacuous, flavourless as high-end vodka, but it was a little less obnoxious about it. The French doors were left ajar to the darkness of the gardens and outbursts of summer storms, and the cold pretence of domesticity, smooth as nail polish, tasted truer to Ophelia than the exhibition room.

The Gallery was not a business that she had founded. It was acquired, along with her crown- with Astrid as her kingmaker.

Without breaking stride, Ophelia led them through to a familiar sunken lounge. A full Western tea service had been arranged on the coffee table; Astrid immediately recognised the porcelain- trios of cups, saucers, and dessert plates in glazed white and vivid teal, the rims painted with dainty ivy-vine gold scrolling- as the Coalport set that she had authenticated for Ophelia as a personal favour, shortly after she had consolidated control over the Gallery. The silver, however, was new. Dramatically sculpted, faceted and delicately engraved, it was comprised of a tall kettle and stand, teapot, coffee server, creamer and sugar pot, imposing and imperious, complete with an etched mirror-polished tray, matching sets of filigree-wrought tongs, and gilded fruit forks.

Magpie.

She couldn’t be too snide. She knew where Ophelia’s compulsion to collect things came from, and it was far more sympathetic than her own idle materialism.

Ophelia pulled off her heels with a sigh, letting them clatter to the hardwood floor unceremoniously, padding over to one of dive-grey corner sofas.

“Tea or coffee?”

Taking a seat across from her, Astrid pulled each row of her laces slack, stepping on the backs of her heels to loosen the boots.

“Coffee. You’re not my only appointment.”

With a soft noise of approval, Ophelia reached for the tall server. She poured a clear, dark ribbon of espresso into one of the coffee cups- the strength of the brew turning Astrid’s stomach for a moment- before adding a few cubes of sugar and dousing it in milk, in a series of clean, efficient motions.

“Busy bee,” she commented, sliding the cup across to Astrid on its saucer. “You must be glad to be back.”

Astrid slipped her fingers into the delicate handle and lifted the coffee can to her lips, taking a sip, the bittersweet cooled latte melting across her tongue.

“No rest for the wicked.” She said, slanting into her seat and gazing into the silverware. “And I’ve been sitting still for long enough.”

She rarely drank coffee. It always seemed ungracious to refuse, though, when Ophelia specifically stocked a few roasts that didn’t leave her feeling nauseous and never commented on how her tastes turned it into a drinkable dessert- despite Ophelia being an insufferable connoisseur of blends and flavour profiles and brewing techniques.

On the other hand, Astrid had once eaten instant coffee grounds with a spoon.

Her father had caught her at the island counter- wrung out from exams and compressed study and a lack of sleep, running out of matcha powder at the last minute- and confiscated the jar, shoving her to bed with a cup of chamomile tea dosed with a sleeping spell.

That had been an undignified morning.

It was going to be a similar kind of hell-week, she suspected.

“Eighteen thirty-five, by the way,” Astrid remarked from over the rim of her cup.

Ophelia paused, leaning over to the cake stand, floral-scalloped tongs in hand.

“The coffee service,” she elucidated, setting her cup in its saucer with a gentle clink. “William Bateman and Daniel Ball. The tea service is from eighteen forty-three. Joseph and George Angell. All wrought solid English silver, gilded interiors, original chasing, no significant repairs. The forks are eighteen forty-nine, silver gilt, Aaron Hadfield. Good condition, similar era.”

After a moment, Ophelia settled back in her seat, the corner of her unpainted mouth ticking up.

Astrid shrugged.

“An apology. For taking such a long hiatus on short notice.”

Nose crinkling charmingly, Ophelia swung forward, setting a plate piled high with confections- vanilla madeleines, gloss-shelled pastel macarons, shard-like cardamom biscotti- on Astrid’s side of the table.

“You came to see me first,” she said, almost warmly, “no apology needed.”

Astrid smiled mildly, editing down her smirk.

As expected of the Power Broker.

Ophelia knew the power of information better than almost anyone else in the entire city, keeping the threads wrapped around her fingertips and effecting a shift with the slightest tense and twitch. It was why she had kept Astrid on side, all these years- and why she would have been watching for her return.

“How was your sojourn, anyway?” Ophelia asked, her expression just slightly too sharp, dipping a biscotti into her espresso. “Productive?”

Astrid skimmed the gilded rim of her coffee cup with a fingertip.

“Enlightening,” she conceded, soft as muslin, tilting her head. “Actually- I have a recommendation, based on what I observed while I was there. If you’re interested.”

“And what’ll it cost me?” Ophelia asked teasingly.

“Serious consideration,” Astrid replied evenly, “no more, no less.”

She sat up slightly, sobering.

“Well, now I’m worried. You rarely give out freebies unless you’re in a very good mood.” Ophelia cocked an eyebrow, lifting her demitasse cup in a half-toast. “Or if it’s going to benefit you somewhere down the line.”

“Hmn.”

Astrid denied nothing. Taking a pistachio macaron, she sat back in her seat, lifting her eyes to Ophelia with a steady blink.

“Cut ties with the serpent. That is my advice.”

Ophelia stilled, eyes fixed into nothing.

It was like watching a predator that had caught the scent of another predator.

“That,” she said, measured and calculating, “is a very lucrative investment.”

“I don’t doubt it.” Astrid took a bite of the macaron, the light, chewy honeycomb interior disintegrating in her mouth. “But smart investors tend sell their stock before the market crash.”

That gave Ophelia pause.

“Is it going to?” She asked shrewdly.

“Yes.”

“Are you going to make it crash?”

“Most likely not.”

“But you’ll profit off it.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time.”

Exhaling sharply, Ophelia flicked her head aside, breaking into a bright smile.

“I’ve missed this,” she admitted. “You always say what you mean.”

“And you never wonder why?”

“Please, I already know you’re self-interested, Thia. It’s why I like doing business with you. You say what you say to get what you want. I know that. And anyway- all I need to do is ask if you’re trying to screw me over.”

Astrid felt herself relax, slowly easing back into her seat.

She had almost forgotten what it was like, negotiating with someone who knew and acknowledged the conditions binding her, and played the game accordingly.

“Then are you going to ask?”

Ophelia’s expression slackened, exasperated.

“Are you going to screw me over?”

“No.” Astrid said simply, taking another draught of her latte. “The opposite.”

She hitched an eyebrow.

“Does this mean I’m going to be indebted to you?”

“You mean more indebted?”

Ophelia’s beautiful features hardened slightly.

“I hadn’t forgotten,” she said coolly.

Astrid smiled placatingly, clement as sunlight streaming through stained glass.

It hadn’t been a threat, or even a reminder, just a statement of fact.

“I know,” she said gently. “And haven’t I always made it worth your while, being indebted to me?”

Astrid watched her defensiveness unspool, slowly.

“You’ve been a dream come true,” Ophelia admitted. “Considering the things you want, and the things you have no interest in. You’re so fair that I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. Or maybe a guillotine.”

Astrid laughed aloud.

“And take that useful head of yours? Why would I do that? I gain nothing by destroying you, Ophie.”

So please don’t change that. It would inconvenience us both.

With a resigned press of her jaw, masquerading as a phantom smile, Ophelia shrugged.

“And I gain nothing by making an enemy of you,” she conceded on a faintly grudging exhale. “I would just prefer to know the price I’m due to repay.”

“Ah-huh.” Astrid fixed her with a piercing look, burning. “And whatever happened to being willing to take a risk? Or are you refusing your own counsel?”

Ophelia’s cheek twitched.

It was the exact phrasing that Ophelia had used, long ago, when she had asked Astrid to back her in her coup. Astrid had pointed out that she had far more to lose, in the event of failure, than she ever stood to gain in the event of success, and Ophelia had given her killer smile as she asked if such a thing would prevent the audacious Alethia from taking a gamble.

Ophelia melted into a pout.

“Give me a clue, Thia.”

Astrid twitched her shoulder, taking a drink of coffee.

“If you are the woman that I think you are, this won’t ruin you.”

“Is that flattery?”

“I don’t lie.”

“You don’t threaten either.” Ophelia acknowledged, setting aside her empty demitasse cup. “Alright. Say I’m open to the suggestion. How much will it cost me? Cutting ties?”

“Less than it would cost if you didn’t.” Astrid met her gaze. “There will be opportunities to recoup. Especially given your career ambitions.”

The corner of her eye twitched.

“And if I don’t cut ties?”

“I wouldn’t have to do anything to make it hurt.”

For a long moment, Ophelia simply looked at her.

“Well,” she mused casually, “I suppose they are bastards.”

And that was what Astrid liked about Ophelia. She was perfectly capable of doing good, when the contrary wasn’t sufficiently profitable.

It was why she would make for an excellent politician.

“I can vouch for that,” Astrid said. “Not that you require it, I’m sure.”

“I thought your problem was with the eagle?”

“I can hate two things at the same time.”

Ophelia snorted in amusement.

“You are a multitasker,” she teased.

“Mm. Speaking of which.” Astrid leaned forward to set her dessert plate aside. “I know that you probably found another authenticator while I was on leave, but- if you held anything back in the vault, I can take a look at them now.”

Ophelia’s brows lifted. “Oh? I thought I wasn’t your last appointment?”

“The others can wait.”

She smirked, reaching for her phone.

“Why, colour me touched.”

Before Astrid could make a reply, she was tapping out a summons to her team, sending it with a flourish of her thumb.

“We do have a few obscure ones- the kind with fewer experts who can verify them, so it’s been too great a risk to send them out until we were certain. But Fliss just kept sourcing them, and I just couldn’t say no, and I decided that when you got back, I could just- ah. Actually,” Ophelia looked up, “I haven’t said it yet, have I?”

“Hm?”

She smiled, the gesture lifting the corners of her eyes.

When the words left her mouth, Astrid realised that Ophelia was mostly sincere.

“Welcome back, Thia.”

-

After leaving the Gallery, Astrid returned to the penthouse lounge. With only the cool, ambient cast of a sea of glittering light beyond uncovered windows to see by, she took out a small notebook, and made an addition to her list.

New shoes.

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[not-available-for-comment]

My students may not have real live doubles making chaos for them, but they have nonetheless grown up with an acute consciousness of having an externalized double—a digital double, an idealized identity that is partitioned from their “real” selves and that serves as a role they must perform for the benefit of others if they are to succeed. As part of this performance, they must project the unwanted and dangerous parts of themselves onto others (the unenlightened, the problematic, the deplorable, the “not me” that sharpens the borders of the “me”). At its worst, this manifests in the sort of online pile-on and shaming culture that shatters lives and makes all of our selves feel so precarious...

When the self is carved up, the external self can develop its own agenda and overtake the “real” self completely. It’s a lesson highly relevant in the age of human-impersonating chatbots, but it may also help explain why so many formerly trustworthy people seem to turn into unscrupulous attention addicts on platforms designed to partition us from ourselves. It may be that those people—the ones hawking sham cures or making surprising alliances with malevolent figures like Bannon and Carlson—are simply doing what it takes to attend to the brand version of themselves. A self that has its own needs and agendas: to be seen, to stay relevant, to be omnipresent in our cultural hall of mirrors.

"When Naomi Klein Realized People Regularly Confused Her With Naomi Wolf, She Went Down a Rabbit Hole", Naomi Klein, Vanity Fair

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[cortexreaver]

theres been stuff in every animal crossing thats only been in that particular game from the start i know this i understand this that being said theres so many little things in new leaf that i wish had also been in new horizons including prpbably not limited to this is just off the top of my head, 1. new fruits especially mangos and bananas 2. glass partitions 3. that brutalist ass fully upgraded player house exterior design 4. different designs for the town halls and train station the middle two i think about every time i play like fuuuuck i miss my little concrete compiund house fuuuuuuuuuuucccckkkkkk i miss my flat glass wife

[mttstructures]

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