#industrial wooden coffee table

[bitidragon]

Transitional Living Room - Living Room Example of a large, formal, transitional living room with a brown floor and ceramic tile walls, as well as a standard fireplace, a stone fireplace, and a hidden television.

[wiit889]

Underground Basement in Detroit Basement - mid-sized rustic underground vinyl floor and brown floor basement idea with gray walls

[versailling]

Basement - Rustic Basement Basement - medium-sized rustic underground basement idea with a brown floor and gray walls

[todayintentacles]

Basement - Rustic Basement Basement - medium-sized rustic underground basement idea with a brown floor and gray walls

[margaretoakgrove]

Volunteer soldier

Warning: the imagine contains mentions of blood, death and physical violence.

That was a late night hour, and Heisenberg still kept working underground of his factory.

This situation wasn't something special. Quite the contrary. Being fully immersed in the process of his work, the Lord rather often tended to lose track of time, completely forgetting about rest and sleep.

But that night in the factory he was not the only one who did not close his eyes. You didn't sleep either. No, insomnia was not the cause of that, just from time to time there were days when you prefered going to bed far more later than you usually did. In the kitchen you put the kettle on the stove to boil water for tea and made some sandwiches with butter and fruit jam in order for Heisenberg and you could have a little snack.

When the water in the kettle finally boiled you turned off the gas and headed towards the elevator to go down to the factory lowest floor and call the Lord to the table.

The way to the workshop where the engineer worked the most you knew as well as the back of your hand because you had repeatedly brought there for him a mug of his favorite strong coffee and something to eat, therefore once you found yourself on the lowest level, which greeted you with its eternal semi-darkness and the continuous loud sounds of various industrial machines, you unmistakably went to its direction.

Quickly having reached a familiar door, you slightly knocked a couple of times and, without waiting for a response, poked your head into the room.

"Karl? Are you still in here?"

The man, whom the question was addressed to, was standing in the center of the working space next to the chair on which in an inactive state was sitting one of his numerous undead creations, namely a mechanical soldier.

"Yes, Buttercup. I'm still in here." Heisenberg turned towards your voice.

"It's pretty late. Were you working? Did i distract you?"

"Not at all. Actually, i've finished working around a half an hour ago. Just talking to Boian*, that's all."

What? Did you not mishear? Was the Lord talking to someone? Did he have a guest in the factory or maybe he was chatting with some person on the telephone? One needs to say that these words of your beloved rather surprised you because as far as you knew that aside of the forced communication with the members of his so called family he had never interacted with anyone of the local villagers for the reason of their ardent devotion to Mother Miranda.

"Talking to whom?"

Noticing the confusion on your face, Heisenberg smiled a bit.

"To Boian. I mean this creation of mine over here." With his hand he pointed to the side of that same aforementioned soldier. "His name was Boian before he became another addition of my army."

"Did you know this man?" Slowly you came into the workshop and quietly sat on a stool.

"Yes, i did. Not personally, of course. I knew him the same way i know everyone in this shithole. From a distance, so to speak."

Having taken another stool, the Lord sat across from you. From his leather hip bag he pulled out a cuban cigar and, having flicked with a lighter, started leisurely smoking.

"During his lifetime Boian was married. He and his wife lived in a small wooden cabin and grew in their small humble garden vegetables and berries. As far as i know they never had kids, however it didn't interfere with their marital happiness. It looked like they truly loved one another because they literally were an inseparable couple. Each time when i came to the village about my business, i saw them together. I noticed them together attending masses in the chapel, roaming around the village arm in arm and working in their garden. All in all, Boian and his wife were the most ordinary people and led the most ordinary life. And just like any brainwashed sheep in Miranda's flock they firmly believed that this goddamn bitch was capable of protecting them from any sort of danger and desease. Yeah, sure. But unfortunately, this blind belief of theirs eventually played a cruel joke on them."

"What happened?" The story of the soldier's fate genuinely caught your interest.

"After some time when i again appeared in the village for the first time i didn't see Boian's wife beside him. That was quite unusual because, as i already said, they were always together, literally inseparable. And all the subsequent times when i met him, he was alone without his devoted spouse. It made me assume that she either got sick to the point she wasn't even able to get out of bed or simply died. And, as i found out later, my assumptions turned out to be true."

Before continuing to tell his story Heisenberg paused a little bit, taking several deep puffs of his cigar.

"One night i made my way to the Forbidden Woods, specifically to the Stronghold. Shit...Still catch myself thinking that it was not a mere coincidence. As if that night i had to be there. Anyway...The closer i came to the building, the clearer i heard the aggressive roaring of lycans and male screams of pain. Once i was inside my eyes fell on a cornered by a large pack of lycans man. He was sitting on the ground with his back against the wall and trying to defend himself from them with a flaming torch, swining it in front of himself. Without a second thought i crushed with my hammer the skull of a lycan just at that moment when it was going to strike its prey with a mace. All the rest immediately ran in different directions. Damn cowards. I decided to come closer to the man and to my surprise recognized Boian in him. As it turned out, he was injured. Someone of the lycans managed to stab a pickaxe in his chest. The poor fellow was sitting in a pool of his own blood and slowly dying. I couldn't help him. Still i was too curious to know what or, maybe, who brought him to one of the most dangerous areas of the village and got even more closer to him..."

"Well, well, well. Who do we have here? Oh, it seems to me that i know you. You are Boian, aren't you? Yes, that's right. It's you. I recognized you." Like a huge mountain the hammer wielding Lord was towering over the victim of the lycans' deadly attack. "What the hell are you doing here? I thought that every local from old to young remembered that one needs to steer clear of this, to say the least, unkind place. Or did your memory betray you, hm?"

"Lies...It's...It's all lies..." The bleeding man by the name Boian, heavily breathing, was hardly pronouncing the words. "Miranda...She...She's not our protector...For her...we...we are nothing but disposable lab rats for her sick experiments...She...She's fooled us all..."

Karl did not expect to hear such an answer. He was just amazed. Did someone of Miranda's obedient puppets finally somehow discover all the truth about what a hellspawn she really was and about all those brutal atrocities she actually had been doing with people in these mountains in secrecy from the outside world for many decades straight? Incredible! Realizing that he was no longer the only one whose mind wasn't enslaved by the Black God's devious prophet for the first time in a while Heisenberg felt genuine joy combined with slight disappointment due to the fact that exactly that same enlightened one right now was dying in front of him, choking on his own thick blood.

"Too bad you understood that too late."

"M-Maria...My wife...My precious beloved wife...She became seriously ill...No one and nothing could help her...Miranda...Miranda was our last hope...I...I begged her to help Maria to become...to become well again...Miranda promised to cure her and...and took her away...That...That was the last moment...the last moment when i saw my wife alive...After...After that day...she...she didn't come back home anymore, and...and i began to suspect that...that Miranda...Miranda did something terrible to her..."

A bloody cough escaped Boian's deeply pierced chest.

"Tonight i...i found...i found Miranda's hidden laboratory...I found...i found a lot of medical reports...I...I read a report about you, Lord...Lord Heisenberg...and reports about the other Lords...Also...Also i found many notes and photographs...All those horrible things Miranda does to people... She...She's just a monster in the flesh...Then...Then i found a report about my wife...She was experimented on, and...and...eventually...she...she died of those...inhuman experiments...Suddenly...Miranda emerged out of nowhere, but...i was not afraid...I swore to her that...that i would tell all the villagers the truth about...about all of her evil deeds, but...but i must say that...she possesses superhuman strength...She took me here and unleashed these...these demons for them...for them to get rid of me...I...I was trying to fight them back, but...but there were so many of them..."

The flaming torch, that the fatally injured one had been holding for all this time, now fell out of his weak hand.

"Maria...My darling...If...If i only could...If i only could take revenge on Miranda for your death...If i only could make her suffer the same way...the same way she made suffer you, but...as...as it seems...it...it, unfortunately, will never happen...Forgive me, Maria...I'm...I'm so sorry..."

The tears of utter despair slowly flowed down the cheeks of Boian, mixing with the crimson blood on his lips and chin.

"Looks like you and me crave the same thing, don't we?" The Lord crouched down before the dying one, who had reluctantly accepted his cruel fate.

"What...What do you mean..?"

"See, the fact that Miranda uses living souls as test subjects for the sake of achieving her own goal under the guise of this fucking religious cult is nothing new to me. About all of this i found out long before you. And for all that vicious shit she's done to me i will never forgive her. In secret from everyone i plan on killing that insane bitch. But i am not an idiot. I realize that alone i unlikely will be able to do that because, as you've rightly mentioned earlier, she is extremely strong and powerful. For this reason i gather an army of special soldiers that will help me to destroy her. And since a common desire unites us perhaps you would like to join me so we could wipe Miranda off the face of the earth together?"

Boian bitterly chuckled and coughed up with blood again.

"B-Believe me i...i would...i would do that with great pleasure, but...don't you see that i am almost dead..?"

"That much is obvious, but in this case your death will not be a hindrance for us. All that's required of you to join my army is to give me your corpse. No more and no less. Of the rest i will take care myself."

"What..? What are you...talking about..? How..? How my corpse will...will be able to...to help you defeat Miranda..? I don't understand...What kind...what kind of army do you gather..?"

With a smirk on his scarred face the Lord held out his hand to the baffled villager, making it clear that he's awaiting for nothing other than his agreement. Meanwhile, Boian's vision became blurry, and the voice of his interlocutor he heard somewhere in the distance. His death was too close, there was no time left to ask questions and seek for common sense, the man understood that, and therefore he fully trusted his intuition which quietly yet persistentely whispered him that to take the Lord's offer would be the most correct decision he had ever made in his entire life.

"Anything...I'll do anything to...put an end to...to Miranda's madness...I'll do...anything...for making her...pay...for Maria's...death...Take...Take my dead body...Do with it...whatever...must be done...From now on...it...is...at...your service...and...and so is...my...whole...essence..."

From the last forces half-dead Boian hardly lifted his bloodied hand and held it out to Heisenberg as a gesture of their partnership, and...and it lifelessly fell right into the Lord's palm, after which the villager remained motionless and silent. It was clear that his life line was cut short, and with his free hand Karl closed the dead man's eyes. Then the Lord stood up, adjusted his sunglasses and old leather hat, and easily threw over his shoulder the still warm body which several moments ago had been a living human being.

"Let's go to my factory, Boian! There i will put you in order and give you everything what you will need in the battle against our shared enemy!"

For a minute there was silence in the workshop.

"You've never told me about this before. When did it happen?"

"It happened before i met you. A long time ago." Heisenberg put out the smoked cigar on a metal table. "You know...Of course, this is just his damn revived corpse filled with artificial blood and scrap from top to bottom. I don't know, maybe it'll sound stupid but, to be honest, sometimes i like talking to it like to a living person."

"It doesn't sound stupid at all. Actually, i personally believe that Boian is here. I believe he is always invisibly present near his body, and i believe he can see everything you do and can hear every single word you say. Great thirst for vengeance keeps him here. Boian is patiently awaiting for that sweet moment when Miranda is once and for all annihilated after which he will finally be able to forever rest in peace together with his beloved wife Maria."

The Lord slightly smiled at your words as in his opinion they were a bit romanticized, but still he couldn't deny that in actual fact some part of himself believed that Boian's restless spirit wandered in the walls of the factory no less than you did.

"Perhaps you're right, Buttercup. Perhaps you're right..."

"The kettle is getting cold. Let's go to the kitchen. I guess we should eat a little bit before going to sleep. How do you think?"

"I think it's a good idea. Completely approve."

Having stood up from the stool, you headed for the door but immediately turned around, hearing Heisenberg calling you out.

"And Buttercup, one moment here!"

"Yes, what is it?"

He approached you and tightly yet carefully cupped your face within his rough big hands, forcing you look him in the eye.

"I want you to firmly remember that i'll never let to happen to you what Miranda did to Boian's wife. I'll do anything-do you hear me?-i'll do literally anything to protect you from her wicked tenacious hands, even if it costs me my life. Did you understand me?"

The Lord drastically changed in his behavior. The gaze of his hazel eyes expressed absolute seriousness, and the tone of his husky voice was stern. The unwavering determination of your beloved to sacrifice himself without hesitation in the name of your safety had left you speechless, and therefore all you could do in the response to his question was to quickly nod your head.

"Say out loud that you understood everything what i just said."

"I understood, Karl. I really understood everything what you just said."

"That's good." The tension in the man's body eased, and he lightly kissed your forhead. "Go to the kitchen now. I'll be there in a few minutes."

"Okay." You pronounced quietly, almost in a whisper and, deeply immersing yourself into your thoughts, came out of the room.

"Don't worry, Boian!" The metal army leader's strong hand was laid on the shoulder of his subordinate. "I'll give you a wonderful chance to convert your wish into reality. You will take revenge on Miranda for what she did to you and to your wife. Very soon this psycho bitch will pay the full price for all that hell she, showing no mercy, put not only the two of us through. This will be a spectacular show! Have no doubts about it!"

Standing in the doorway, Heisenberg one more time glanced up at the mechanical soldier. Then he turned the lights off and left the workshop.

*Boian is a romanian male name which means "warrior" or "soldier".

[kkanabel]

caffeine addiction ❃ affogato ❃ chapter 12

directory/m.list

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words: ~2.5k

The morning air was crisp and dewy, a subtle reminder that fall was just around the corner. You inhaled deeply, savoring the fleeting coolness before the sun’s sweltering afternoon heat would take over. The city still had a quiet hum to it, the kind that made you appreciate the earlier hours.

Bakugou had insisted that working at the café or shop today wasn’t safe given how the reporters and crowds were lurking. And while you weren’t thrilled about the attention, you weren’t complaining about the alternative. Today was going to be all about the two of you working on your fashion line, tucked away in his studio.

You found yourself at the door to Bakugou’s place after a short elevator ride, your hands slightly shaking from anticipation. The knock you gave was quick and confident, but when the door opened, your confidence wavered for a second. Bakugou stood there, freshly showered, his damp hair spiking in all directions– breath a tad heavier than usual. His black tank clung to him a little too well, the moisture accentuating the muscles underneath, and a pair of Kindeki sweatpants hung low on his hips, looking both casual and sinfully deliberate. Your eyes trailed down before you caught yourself, trying to play it off as casual.

He raised an eyebrow, amusement flickering across his eyes, but he didn’t mention your very obvious once-over. Instead, he greeted you in that signature gruff voice, “Mornin’.”

Stepping into his apartment, you were hit with the warm, inviting scent of caramelized sugar, coffee beans, and vanilla—like a comforting hug in the form of a smell. It was his usual scent, one that had grown increasingly familiar with all the time you spent together, but here, in his space, it felt more intimate.

You set down your sewing machine and bag, filled with your sketches and reference photos, next to the desk. The place was well-kept, unsurprisingly so. His studio was functional but had that lived-in feel—designs scattered across a large wooden desk, fabric swatches pinned to the wall, and sketches strewn about in what could only be described as organized chaos. 

The living room was an eclectic mix of industrial sharpness and cozy charm. Exposed brick walls ran along one side of the space, their rough texture highlighted by the shine of the early morning sun. Metal beams crisscrossed the ceiling, left raw and unpolished, giving the room an open, loft-like feel. However, the coolness of the steel and concrete was tempered by the plush, oversized furniture that invited you to sink into it.

A dark leather couch, worn and soft, sat against the wall, layered with knitted blankets and textured cushions in deep hues of charcoal, navy, and rust. The coffee table was made of reclaimed wood, its surface uneven and rich with character, resting on a patterned rug that added warmth to the tiled floor beneath. Potted plants dotted the room, their greenery adding a touch of life to the stark industrial palette, while soft throws draped over the armchairs brought a homely feel.

Steel-framed windows let in natural light, the large panes contrasting with the warmth of the space. Shelving units made of iron and wood lined the far wall, filled with books, framed photos, and magazine spreads of him and his family. It was the kind of space that felt lived-in yet refined, where you could sip coffee in the morning or work late into the night, all while feeling grounded by the balance between industrial edge and a cozy touch.

“Place looks good,” you remarked, trying to distract yourself from the way his presence filled the room.

“Tch, you talk like it’s some kind of miracle,” he scoffed, crossing the room to grab a binder filled with your joint designs. “I’m not a slob.”

You grinned, taking out your sketchpad and setting up your sewing machine and embroidery station. “Yeah, but you’ve got the reputation of a guy who only cleans when company’s coming over– with the way Mina always talks about you.” 

You both knew that Bakugou was a neat guy– his café is set up with precision for optimized efficiency and he cleans like a madman at any free moment.

He shot you a look, the kind that usually ended in a witty comeback, but instead, he just shrugged, lips quirking up slightly. “Maybe you’re just good company.”

You paused, caught off guard by the subtle warmth behind his words, but before you could respond, he handed you a sketch he’d been working on—a sleek, defined blazer with sharp lines and lapels inspired by Gothic architecture. “You’re overthinking the shoulders,” he commented, gesturing to your design of the same blazer. “See how this one balances out better?”

Your eyes flicked from his sketch to yours. His was undeniably cleaner, the proportions perfect. You tried to ignore the slight pang of frustration at how effortlessly he could refine what you’d been obsessing over for hours.

“Of course, it’s perfect,” you muttered, a hint of exasperation slipping into your tone. You weren't really mad, just envious of his natural skill. “You could probably design in your sleep.”

“Who says I don’t?” he teased, his smirk deepening as he nudged your arm with his elbow. “Maybe you’ll catch up one day.”

You rolled your eyes, ignoring the playful jab. “It’s infuriating how easily you get this stuff, you know?” It’s not like you couldn’t do it– the only issue is that Bakugou would be able to solve something you’d toil over. 

“Just means you’ve gotta work harder.” His voice dropped an octave, almost teasingly low, as he leaned closer. “But I like watching you try. It’s cute.”

There it was again, that casual flirtation that Bakugou slipped in so easily. The comment made your stomach flip, but you brushed it off with a scoff, pretending to focus on the embroidery sample you’d been working on. Your mind was reeling– It’s just his personality. Just his personality. Don’t take it personally. 

“You’re hilarious,” you said dryly, although the way your heart felt at the word cute wasn’t something you could ignore. You swallowed it down. “Now focus. We’ve got a lot to do.” 

“Bossy today, huh?” Bakugou muttered under his breath, but he was already moving to his desk, setting up his tablet to start working. The morning passed in a comfortable rhythm, the both of you occasionally bantering, occasionally lapsing into silence as you got lost in the design process.

You were designing another embroidery pattern inspired by the intricate framing of Gothic windows as you settled into Bakugou’s leather couch, the soft creak of the worn leather beneath you blending into the quiet hum of the room. The plush cushions sank slightly under your weight, molding to the shape of your body as you tucked your legs beneath you. Your brown flared leggings draped loosely around your legs, the fabric soft and easy against your skin. The way the material moved with you felt effortless, almost like a second skin—stretchy and smooth.

The white cardigan you wore was thin and light, slipping off one shoulder as you adjusted your position, revealing a glimpse of the delicate lace halter bralette underneath. The bralette’s intricate pattern contrasted softly against your skin, its gentle pressure keeping you comfortable, yet still adding a feminine touch. The lace peeked out in places as you leaned back, its texture subtle but eye-catching in its simplicity.

The warmth of the leather couch beneath you mingled with the cozy softness of your outfit, creating a sense of comfort and ease. Everything felt just right—your outfit, the couch, the quiet buzz of the day just beginning. It was a rare moment of calm before the work began, and you couldn’t help but sink deeper into the cushions with a relaxed sigh.

While Bakugou worked on refining the cuts of the other designs. You’d toss him a design and he’d give you a snarky critique, sometimes even fixing it right in front of you, much to your annoyance.

After a while of working on your embroidery, you leaned back on the couch with a sigh. Your fingers ached from the delicate, repetitive movements, and the sweet pull of sleep tugged at your heavy eyelids. Each blink felt longer than the last, your body begging for rest as you absentmindedly traced the soft texture of the fabric. Slowly, you began to doze off.

Bakugou stood up from his spot at the table, stretching with a hand on his hip. “Coffee?” he asked gruffly, though the slight quirk of his brow told you he already knew your answer. Without waiting for a reply, he was already making his way toward the kitchen.

You watched through half-lidded eyes as he opened the freezer, retrieving a small container before scooping its contents into a wide-rimmed glass mug. Curious, you sat up a little straighter, the enticing scent of freshly brewed espresso filling the air. Your mouth watered as he placed the mug beneath the coffee machine and the dark, rich liquid began to pour over the creamy white scoop nestled inside.

Bakugou brought the creation over, setting it down in front of you with a spoon. An affogato. Your eyes lit up with excitement at the sight. The velvety scoop of clearly homemade vanilla bean ice cream was already melting slightly around the edges, creating swirling patterns as it merged with the hot espresso. The contrast between the dark, rich coffee and the pale ice cream was mouthwatering.

You dipped your spoon in and took your first bite, the sensation immediately overwhelming your senses. The espresso was bold and slightly bitter, its warmth cutting through the cold sweetness of the ice cream, which had begun to soften into a creamy, marshmallow-like texture. The vanilla bean was fragrant and delicate, adding a floral note that lingered pleasantly on your tongue. The combination was pure bliss—the icy smoothness of the ice cream paired perfectly with the deep, roasted flavor of the coffee. Each bite was a harmony of hot and cold, sweet and bitter, airy and rich.

You let out an involuntary moan as you melted into the couch, savoring every spoonful. “Oh my God,” you breathed, barely managing to speak through your delight. The affogato was divine, like a dessert straight from heaven.

Bakugou leaned against the counter, watching you with a satisfied smirk. “Good?” he asked, though from the way you were nearly collapsing into the cushions, he didn’t need an answer. 

Suddenly, inspiration hit you like a lightning bolt. With the last spoonful of affogato melting on your tongue, a lightbulb practically flickered on in your mind. You slapped your hand over your mouth, eyes wide with disbelief at how obvious it all seemed now. “We’re both idiots!” you exclaimed, your voice muffled behind your hand.

Bakugou looked up from his own work, brow furrowing. “What the hell are you talkin’ about?” He dropped what he was doing and made his way over to you, plopping down next to you on the leather couch as you frantically pulled your laptop out of your bag.

Your fingers flew across the keys as you pulled up images of the Gothic architecture you’d been referencing for weeks—the ornate rib vaults, pointed arches, and intricate stained glass windows. “Gold and silver embroidery,” you said breathlessly, the excitement evident in your voice. You angled the screen toward Bakugou, showing him sketches of gowns and suits adorned with metallic threads. “Think about it—Gothic cathedrals were all about grandeur and detail. The way light hits stained glass, the way everything’s so meticulously crafted. Gold and silver embroidery would reflect that same kind of decadence and precision. It’s so thematic!” 

You zoomed in on an image of a Gothic altar, the golden details catching the light in a way that felt almost divine. “It’s not just about looking elegant—it’s also about mimicking the craftsmanship– goldwork was big back in the day. The way the light catches the metal threads in the same way light pours through the stained glass windows. It’s perfect for our line. Decadent, but refined.” 

Bakugou leaned in closer, red eyes narrowing as he studied the screen. For a second, he didn’t say anything, just absorbed the images and ideas you were presenting. But then, a slow, approving smirk spread across his face. “Shit,” he muttered under his breath, leaning back and crossing his arms. “That’s actually genius.”

His approval only fueled your enthusiasm as you continued, gesturing with your hands as you spoke. “We could integrate the gold and silver threads into specific areas—lapels, cuffs, around the shoulders. Think about those sharp, dramatic silhouettes we’ve been working on, accented with embroidery that looks like it's straight from a cathedral. It’ll give that structured look a rich, almost regal feel, without being too over the top.” You instantly start typing up a few suppliers you know to place sample orders.

Bakugou’s eyes flickered with interest as he imagined it. “Yeah, like addin’ the metallics to the seams of those sharp-shouldered blazers or down the length of a pencil skirt. Keep it sleek, but add that intricate detail to pull everything together.”

You nodded enthusiastically. “Exactly! We can use silver threads for cooler tones—like the deep plums and midnight blues—and gold for warmer ones—like reds and blacks. It’ll bring out the richness of the fabrics while still being subtle enough to keep it business formal.”

Bakugou’s smirk widened as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he met your eyes. “You really thought this through, huh? Can’t believe we didn’t think of this sooner.”

You grinned, feeling the rush of creativity and caffeine flood your system. “I guess we just needed an affogato-induced epiphany.”

He let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Looks like I’m gonna need to make more of those if this is the kinda shit you come up with after.”

With renewed energy, you both dove back into your work, sketching and reworking your designs to incorporate the metallic threads. The idea of stitching precious metals into the seams of your garments felt like the missing piece. It was bold, dramatic—just like the Gothic architecture that had inspired your entire collection—and yet it still fit within the world of cloth. 

“Gold embroidery on the dress shirt collars,” Bakugou suggested, pointing at one of his sketches. “Keep it simple, but let it catch the light when people move.”

You nodded, already envisioning how the threads would shimmer subtly, adding just the right amount of elegance. “And silver along the hems of the trousers. It’ll look like the light’s dancing along the fabric.”

Bakugou leaned back again, the satisfaction clear in his expression. “This is gonna be big. No one else is doin’ shit like this nowadays.”

You smiled, feeling the excitement bubble in your chest. “We’re about to turn this industry on its damn head.”

a/n: taglist is open~ please consider reposting/liking if you enjoyed my writing! stay hydrated, folks!

directory/m.list

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taglist: @itztaki

[simstorian-blog]

Granada Place

(CC List + Links)

World Map: Oasis Springs

Area: Skyward Palms

Lot Size:  30 x 20

(4 bedrooms, 4 bathrooms)

Gallery ID: Simstorian-ish

Packs Used

Expansion Packs

Cats & Dogs

City Living

Cottage Living

Discover University

For Rent

Get Famous

Get Together

Growing Together

High School Years

Horse Ranch

Seasons

Snowy Escape

Game Packs

Dream Home Decorator

Jungle Adventures

Spa Day

Kits

Desert Luxe

Build Mode

Felixandre

Chateau Pt. 1

Chateau Pt. 2

Florence Pt. 1 (Armchair, Bouquet, Fresco Mural)

Harlix

Baysic Bathroom (Floor Tiles, Modern Wipe, Trash can)

Harrie

Brownstone Pt. 2 (Traditional Arch Medium, Traditional Door Medium)

Klean Pt. 3 (Painted Wall w Wooden Skirting, Painted Plaster Walls)

Lili’s Palace

Folklore (Skanzen Big Barn Door - 1)

Sooky88

English Country Wall Set – Wallpaper with Subway Tiles

Scandinavian Wall Set – Wallpapers with Tiles

Buy Mode

CharlyPancakes

Lavish

The Lighthouse Collection

Precious Promises (Lustre Small)

Telly

Felixandre

Chateau Pt. 3

Chateau Pt. 4

Chateau Pt. 5 (All decorative items)

Chateau Pt. 7 (drawer, silk rug)

Colonial Pt. 2 (Potted Palm Tree)

Grove Pt. 1 (Potted Olive Tree)

Grove Pt. 4 (Potted Lemon Tree)

Harlix

Baysic (Double Beeding w Blanket, Packs Clothing)

Livin’ Rum (Coffee Table Tray, Phone and Keys)

Orjanic Pt. 2

Harrie

Coastal Pt. 5 (Foot Stool, Rug)

Coastal Pt. 6

Coastal Pt. 7 (Double Bedframe, Full Length Mirror, Lamp, Wool Rug)

Coastal Pt. 8 (Coffee Pouffe Table, Ottoman, Roman Blinds – 2 Tile)

Country (Ottoman)

Octave Pt. 4 (Light Switches)

Myshunosun

Lottie (Throw Blanket)

Macaron Kitchen (Bar Stool)

Gale Dining (Wine Bottle, Wine Glass)

Peacemaker

Elsie Bedroom (Upholstered Chair)

Gwendoline Sofa

Hampton Retreat (Seaside Prints)

Vara Office (Desktop PC)

Pierisim

Domaine Du Clos Pt. 2 (Armchair, Fireplace)

Domaine Du Clos Pt. 3 (Nightstand, Wall Lamp Left & Right)

MCM Pt. 3 (Narrow Rug Long)

Oak House Pt. 4 (Accent Table, Folded Towels, Moisture Cream, Shampoo, Shower Gel)

Oak House Double Bedding

Oak House Double Bedframe

Oak House Pt. 6.2 (Narrow Leather Shelf)

Vera Bathroom (Bathrobe, Mounted Hook, Mounted Towel Holder, Soap, Toilet Kit)

Woodland Ranch (Both Double Bedframes, Nightstands, Old Rug, Wardrobe Small)

Woodland Ranch Pt. 3 (Lamps, Paintings, Wooden End Table)

Pyszny

Oak & Concrete (Magazines)

Ravasheen

Clothes Minded

Motivational Speaker

Severinka

Industrial Light II – Ceiling Lamp A

Simplistic

RusticLife Rug

Sundays

Kediri Pt. 1 (Throw Pillow Solids)

Sumba Pt. 1 (Pillow Set I)

Yarra Pt. 3 (Bed Pillows)

TaurusDesign

Eliza Walk in Closet

DO NOT REUPLOAD MY LOTS.

DO NOT CLAIM THEM AS YOUR OWN.

DO NOT PLACE BEHIND A PAYWALL.

Tray Files: DOWNLOAD

[gumnut-logic]

Sweetapple Slice 4

Alexander Sweetapple series

@idontknowreallywhy asked:

What would it take for your character to get into a fight?

I could have taken this many ways. I might still. But thi is what happened this time :D

Many thanks to @onereyofstarlight for the late night read ::hugs you tight::

This is a male/male romance, so if that is not your thing, this isn't your fic.

The first 350 words of this were posted last night, here be the rest :D

I hope you enjoy :D

-o-o-o-

Virgil gripped the keep-cups a little tighter than he probably should. Especially as they were full of scalding hot coffee. But he was worried, and his flight down to Mahia may have been a little impulsive and over-reactionary.

Landing a four hundred and six tonne Thunderbird in the middle of the Tracy Industries R&D Facility at 3am was likely to get his butt toasted by a certain older brother.

As it was, several staff had come running out and he had had to wave them off.

No emergency. Everything’s fine. Sorry for waking you up.

Just need to check in on someone.

He’d probably made everything worse, come to think of it.

But they’d all wandered off back to bed. The one remaining person had been Fireman Fred and his expression had been far too knowing for Virgil’s comfort.

So he’d proven that the second eldest Tracy brother wasn’t perfect and possibly was a little far too smitten for his own good.

But it was the absence of one person that had him worried the most.

The housing apartments for employees were sufficiently upmarket to lure in talent to the business. Each employee had their own space, be it cabin or apartment.

Alex had opted for an apartment on the end of a row. It had been obvious the few times Virgil had been invited back to the engineer’s home that Alex spent little time there.

The man lived for his lab.

To the point that Virgil had initially headed towards that building only to be diverted by a nudge from Fred. “Erica kicked him out. He was makin’ a racket. Yelling at his computer like it had threatened his first born, or somethin’”

Virgil winced. Or somethin’

“Thanks, Fred.” A sigh. “Sorry for waking you up.”

The big man dropped a weary hand on his shoulder. “Yer a good one, son. Bein’ there when he needs yer. The rest, well, shi’ happens.” With that, Fred patted him once more on the shoulder, turned, and walked off into the darkness, presumably back to his quarters.

Leaving Virgil to make his own way to Alex’s home.

There was a light in the window, as he expected, but Virgil still approached the door with a little hesitation.

He didn’t ring the doorbell, only tapping on the wooden door.

Footsteps had Virgil straightening where he stood.

Alex flung the door open. “What?!” His eyes widened. “Oh! Virgil! Come in. Ohhhh, you brought coffee! I love you!”

Something in Virgil’s belly relaxed as Alex flung the screen door open and virtually dragged him inside. This was his Alex. He didn’t need to worry. It was all going to be okay.

“You on the way back from a rescue?”

Virgil handed him his coffee and couldn’t help but smile when Alex immediately scarfed half of it down. Probably not the best at 3am, but considering why Virgil was here, it was a gift of…some kind.

Virgil’s shoulders dropped just a little. He hadn’t meant for Alex to become involved and he really hoped he would be forgiven.

“No. No rescue.”

Apparently no competition for the coffee either because Alex downed the remainder of his cup in one gulp.

And Gordon thought Virgil inhaled his stim juice.

The cup was put down on a side table. “Hey, what do you think of fractal polymers?”

And there it was, the core of the issue. His heart melted as Alex finally showed how agitated he really was. He walked backwards, obviously not sure what to do with his hands, and towards the glowing face of his laptop. The familiar graphics glared across the room at Virgil.

“Uh-“

“I’m so glad you’re here, Virgil. I need your opinion on this.”

Virgil dragged his feet forward. A breath. “What’s up?”

“Do you keep up with the engineering boards online?” Virgil opened his mouth to answer, but Alex kept talking. “Of course, you do. What a stupid question. Umm, I like to keep abreast of the latest in polymers, because, well, Siliwrap, and I came across this amazing article by V.T Green. I mean the guy is a master.”

Virgil swallowed as Alex gestured emphatically with his hands.

“You have heard of him, haven’t you?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Total genius with polymer work.” Alex was really getting into the topic now. “Awhile back he had this idea for a self-healing polymer. It was amazing, Virgil. The design was beauty itself.” The expression on Alex’s face had Virgil’s heart beating so much faster. “But anyway, hero worship aside, the guy knows his stuff.”

“Sounds like it.” Virgil just wanted to kiss Alex until all his worries vanished. He could do that. His job was saving people, wasn’t it?

“Yeah.” Alex’s shoulders dropped. “There are too many assholes in this world.”

“Alex-“

“The article proposed the idea that if we could generate a finite fractal-structured polymer, it might be able to create an interlocking chain strong enough to support weight over long distances. He described fishing line that could lift an ocean liner from space. He even proposed that the chain could possibly be built on demand, constructed electronically when needed and similarly disassembled when not.” Alex grabbed both of Virgil’s upper arms. “Can you imagine the possibilities?!”

He didn’t need to. The technology now powered Thunderbird Five’s elevator.

“Alex-“

“But where there is genius, there is always idiocy.” Alex flung up his hands in frustration. “He was called ridiculous. Some claimed his theories were no more than technobabble from a science fiction show. One said he was a sellout and goodie-two-shoes who licked Tracy ass!”

Virgil opened his mouth.

“What is wrong with trying to do good?!” And yeah, there was the passion that had been shouted all over the engineering boards. ApplesWithAttitude had made his point very, very clear. Even taking on the annoying Coloncous - V.T. Green’s nemesis.

And the retaliations had been worse than nasty.

“How can people be so disappointing? Why is money and power the ultimate goal?” Alex sat back on the edge of his desk, deflated. “Why are people such assholes?”

Virgil put his coffee cup, still untouched, down beside Alex’s empty one, and took the handful of steps to get up and close to the man he was in love with.

Yes, in love at this very moment.

He dropped a knuckle beneath Alex’s chin and nudged the engineer to look up at him. “Your words were beautiful, you know.”

Alex stared at him a moment before his eyes slowly widened. “You-“

Virgil kissed him before he could say anything more, hard enough, soft enough, for the man to melt in his arms.

It was a long moment before he was forced to break off for air. Alex hung in his arms, staring up at him, possibly a little dazed.

Virgil’s lips curled into a small smile.

“You’re V.T. Green.” Quiet awe.

“Yeah.”

“You’re brilliant.”

His smile quirked to one side. “Sometimes, maybe. But then, you’re not so bad yourself. ApplesWithAttitude taught them a few things tonight.”

Alex blushed. Just a little. Enough to widen Virgil’s smile just that little bit more.

“They pissed me off.” And there was the fire again. “They had no right.”

“I must remember not to anger you myself. You’re scary.”

Alex let out a small laugh, but he reached up and brushed his fingers across Virgil’s cheek. “How are you so…”

But Virgil didn’t let him finish, touching his lips softly with his own, kissing gently. “Thank you for coming to my defence.” He whispered the words.

Alex drew in a breath, catching Virgil’s lower lip. “My pleasure.”

“Mmm-hmm.”

But Alex suddenly broke off the kiss. “Hey, that means we can talk fractal polymers!”

Virgil stared at him a solid moment before he lost it, and cracked up laughing.

-o-o-o-

AN: Sorry, forgot to add that you can find the V.T. Green story here if this makes no sense.

[hometoursandotherstuff]

I don't know what to think about this renovated 1890 Victorian in Dayton, Ohio. On one hand, I love what they did w/the decor, but on the other hand, it's no longer an historic Victorian. It has 4bds, 2.5ba, & has a sale pending for $950K.

This is the new entrance hall. So, you would have no idea, walking in here, that it's an 1890 Victorian.

The new sitting room. Okay, I do like the ceiling. It appears that the room layout was definitely reconfigured.

Here's another sitting room with an exposed brick wall painted white and a funky mural going up to the ceiling. Those look like new modern windows over by the window seat.

This house was gutted. Look at those 3 greenhouse windows. There's a new door to the patio, ultra modern walls, ceiling, and floor.

This, I hate. They put a hi-end stove in the middle of the floor w/o an exhaust hood.

Cool fridge is tightly fitted into the wall. There's no space for air to flow around it.

Eat-in kitchen places the table in front of the patio. Instead of standard cabinetry, there's a tile wall with one long "sideboard" style cabinet and a wooden countertop that looks more like living room furniture.

Outside the kitchen is a coffee bar setup.

Ultra modern guest powder room.

The TV room also has new windows.

The original architecture remained, but it was completely modernized. The original molding was replaced, too.

New walls, new molding, space reconfigured to make a sort of pantry and laundry room.

Gone are any traces of the original stairs. Note the Lucite bannister.

There's a family room up here.

Bedroom with a retro vibe.

Main bedroom. Clearly all fireplaces were removed from the home. In the bedroom, a retro style yellow model decorates a corner.

Sometimes, when you knock down walls, it appears that more, smaller ones emerge to create a maze-like effect.

Completely modernized shower room. Do you think that where the shower is, was where the original claw-foot tub once sat?

The old tub was replaced by this sunken one. It places the toilet and plant in a precarious position, especially if you're feeling a bit tipsy.

A smaller, 3rd bedroom or home office with a bold graphic.

Attractive checkerboard patio out by the pool.

The yard from above.

Looks like there's an industrial type business next door.

At night you can see the new clear glass windows.

[enigmaticexplorer]

I love coming across a book with such deliciously written prose that it challenges me to spend more time and effort practicing and improving my own writing. 

I'm only 200 pages into A Gentleman in Moscow but I'm left speechless--from both awe and laughter--by Amor Towles' descriptions and storytelling, so I have to share some of my favorite lines. (Many of these lines can't be fully appreciated as standalone. Their comedic timing relies on the buildup of the entire passage.)

Then he fluttered a hand from the table into the air in order to both mimic the flight of the swallows and suggest how a child might follow suit. (Towles, 40)

"With all due respect to poetic concision, the male of the species was endowed with a pair when a single might have sufficed." (Towles, 69)

The Count nodded gravely to acknowledge the indisputable likelihood of children in the schoolhouse... (Towles, 92)

As the willow studied the Count, he noted that the arches over her eyebrows were very much like the marcato notation in music--that accent which instructs one to play a phrase a little more loudly. (Towles, 112)

The pencil was moving so brightly it looked like an honor guard--parading across the page with its head held high then pivoting at the margin to make the quick march back. (Towles, 132)

In its color, aroma, and taste, it would certainly express the idiosyncratic geology and prevailing climate of its home terrain. (Towles, 143) [Referring to wine.]

The Count and the handyman both looked toward the roof's edge where the bees, having traveled over a hundred miles and. applied themselves in willing industry, now wheeled above their hives as pinpoints of blackness, like the inverse of stars. (Towles, 166)

But when the Count opened the small wooden drawer of the grinder, the world and all it contained were transformed by that envy of the alchemists--the aroma of freshly ground coffee. (Towles, 171)

But the good news is that unlike political parties, artistic movements, or schools of fashion--which go through such sweeping reinventions--the methodologies and intentions of the secret police never change. (Towles, 177)

[biggnansmol]

A Human Among Giants: Chapter 1

First and foremost, I'm still learning how to use Tumblr so sorry for what's about to happen. This is a GT story I thought of late last year about kind of shitty parents and finding yourself, but I didn't actually write much of that initial idea. Hopefully by posting the first chapter here I'll be inclined to follow through (no promises).

I can promise, however, that the story will be entirely SFW. There will be elements of romance and of people being absolutely terrible, but the text itself will be fine. I don't really know how this website works so feel free to give me pointers while I figure stuff out.

Chapter I - Moving

The bus rumbled along the suburban streets, rows of houses passing by Austin as he stared out the window, headphones in and playing a pop playlist quietly in his ears. He tried not to focus on how many more times he would get to see properly-sized homes instead of gigantic ones, turning his attention to his phone to find a different song to play, but all he could think about was the move at the end of the year. As the bus approached his stop, Austin thumbed the stop button and pulled out his headphones long enough to call out a thanks as he dismounted from the vehicle. He began walking, pocketing his phone and turning his eyes upward. It was a sunny day with only a few clouds in sight, providing him with a clear view of Immensus as it hung in the sky above.

Earth, where Austin and most other humans lived, was the name of the small moon that orbited the much larger planet of Immensus. Earth and Immensus were nearly identical in climate, environment, and even inhabitants. The only exception in the similarities was the scale with everything on Immensus being well over ten times the size of Earth. The giants that lived on the larger planet reached heights of 30 metres and towered over the much smaller humans. With the exception of his father, Bradley, who worked on Immensus, Austin didn’t know anyone who had even been to the giant planet before.

From the bus stop, it was a four minute walk to Austin’s home where he lived with his dad. The building was a two story house split into four units, with the front half and back half and the upstairs and downstairs all being separate. Their place was the rear upstairs unit, so Austin made his way around the side of the building and let himself in the door at the back. The entryway was small, barely enough room to stand with both arms stretched out, and contained nothing more than a shoe rack and a staircase leading up to their place. As Austin tugged off his footwear, he noticed his dad’s shoes were still absent. Ascending up the stairs, Austin entered into the quiet living room, lights still turned off. He glanced over at the kitchen sink, his dad’s usual assortment of half-empty mugs were also missing.

“Hey, dad,” Austin’s voice carried through the house, and he waited a moment for a response. “I’m home.”

The staircase lead right into the unit’s sparsely decorated living room. Directly on Austin’s right was an old, worn couch that faced a television on the opposite wall, propped up on an empty cabinet. A single picture frame hung above the couch, and an industrial style coffee table stood squarely in the centre of the room, not matching a single other piece of furniture. The far right wall was all windows, leading out onto the balcony that overlooked the roofs of the other houses in the neighbourhood. To Austin’s left was a small kitchen with a fridge, sink, and other appliances propped on wooden countertops, separated from the living room by an island counter and two mismatching barstools. The far wall contained three doors, one for his bedroom, one for his dad’s, and one for the bathroom.

Austin checked the time on his watch, dismayed to find it was nearly half past three in the afternoon. His dad was supposed to have arrived home around midday, but he was running late again. A little over two years ago, Bradley had taken on an engineering contract from a firm on Immensus and it required him to work on-site six days every fortnight. The remaining eight days he could work from Earth, but it meant that when he flew out Austin was left by himself at home. It wasn’t the loneliness that bothered Austin, he wasn’t that close with his dad anyway, more so the tardiness. With the way Bradley’s hours worked, he was always supposed to get back while Austin was at school.

Austin could count on one hand the number of times that had actually happened. Bradley would walk in the door late in the evening, sometimes even the following morning, with an excuse about needing to stay late and promise that it wouldn’t happen again, that this time was the last time.

Making his way to his bedroom and sitting down at his desk, Austin pulled out a stack of papers from today’s day at school. Even though it was only a few weeks into the school year, Austin was in his final year and all of the teachers had begun to crack down with worksheets and practice tests. The schoolwork sat untouched in front of him for several minutes before Austin decided to busy himself by getting something to eat. He flipped the kettle on to boil and grabbed a noodle cup from the pantry, dumped the contents of the sachets into the cup, and followed it with the hot water, then returned to his room where he stared at his papers for a little longer. Austin didn’t use to have any issues with studying, he got good marks consistently across the board, up until a few months ago.

One of Bradley’s coworkers had apparently offered him a place to stay on Immensus. A giant named Siobhan had told Bradley he was welcome to move in with her and her daughter who was about Austin’s age. As to not interfere with Austin’s studies, Bradley had agreed to wait until the end of the year to move, but it still slashed Austin’s motivation. There was no point studying to get a good score for his finals on Earth when he’d be moving to Immensus by the time he could use the score to apply for university.

Forcing himself to put pen to paper, Austin slowly began to fill out the work in front of him. He spent ten minutes on it, then twenty, then half an hour. It was a little after five when Austin heard his dad’s footsteps on the staircase. Austin sat back and looked at his work, realising he’d only managed to do one page in the nearly hour and a half he’d spend on it. There was a knock at Austin’s door and he glanced up at his dad standing in the doorway, Bradley’s large frame occupying most of the space. Their height was the only thing Austin and Bradley had in common. Bradley had a stocky frame with fair hair and brown eyes, while Austin was skinny and lanky and had inherited his mum’s dark hair and blue eyes.

“Hey, Austin,” his dad said, standing awkwardly in the doorway to Austin’s bedroom.

“Welcome home, dad,” Austin replied.

“Listen. There’s, uh, something I want to talk to you about.”

“Is it about Siobhan?”

“In a way,” Bradley answered as he crossed the room and sat on the edge of Austin’s bed. “It’s more about our plans to move to Immensus.”

“At the end of the year.”

“At the end of the year, right. Well I was talking to, I mean working with Sibohan the other day and she said we could move over sooner if we wanted. Austin, what do you think about by the end of next month?”

Austin was on his feet. “Next month? What? Dad, I’m still in school!”

“There are plenty of schools on Immensus. Siobhan told me that her daughter goes to one that allows human students as well. You two could attend together.”

“I don’t want to go to school on Immensus! I don’t want to move! I want to stay here on Earth.”

“I’m afraid you can’t.”

Tears stung in Austin’s eyes as he turned away. He walked to his door, coming to a stop in the doorway. “You’ve already organised the move, haven’t you?”

“Yes.”

Austin didn’t turn to face his dad, instead staring at the single picture frame that hung above the couch in the living room. It was a family portrait of a young couple with a toddler in their arms. The raven-haired lady in the photo smiled back at Austin, her bright blue eyes being the only thing Austin could remember.

[that-one-random-writer]

City Of Love Part 1 [complete]

Kind of an AU drabble multi part words: 1,037

Summary: You are a famous fashion designer, Jake is an actor. You style Jake for a photoshoot for his cover on Vogue magazine. It set you up for a night in Paris.

Warnings: 18+ for language and NSFW content, smoking a cigarette.

A/N: I am feeling writers block in my current story, Caution to the Wayward Son. I wanted to write something that might trigger some brain activity.

My Masterlist. Part 2

Your skin had the ultimate comfort of the white, down duvet. The crisp pillows held your head in a perfect mold. You lifted your head, and your feet fell flat against the smooth hardwood floor as you turned. You stood up and slipped your arms in your robe. Your body is embellished with black lacy lingerie with a mesh robe lined with fur.

You glide through the airy room. You stop in front of the glass doors to your balcony. Your assistant, Naviair, opened the door for you, and you stepped onto the balcony. Naviair handed you your morning coffee. You sat with a cigarette in your hand and lit the end, puffing smoke into open air above the streets of Paris.

Your assistant joined you on the balcony once your cigarette was out. He sat at the table beside you. He pulled out your schedule book. "Navi dear, why must our lives be so busy? Can't we just take a day?" You tossed your head back, wishing away your busy schedule.

"Darling, you know you run important roles in this industry. You are an elite designer. You can't just run willy nilly across the city." You pulled your knees up, watching the busy streets. Your mind frolicking in the city.

"Commençons" 'let's begin' he spoke in his native tongue. You nodded, and he began your schedule. "Hair and make up will be here in an hour. You have to get ready for a shoot for Vogue. You will be preparing the designs you created for the cover." His hands were thrown into the air dramatically. "Jake's Rise To The Top"

You lean back into the chair. "The one with the hot actor?" You gasp, Naviair looking you up and down. "Yes, and if you show up like that, I think he might be a little too excited to fit the pants. Now let's go, you have an outfit to style for yourself." He offered his hand to help you stand. You lifted with grace from your seat.

Naviair led you into the closet. "What shall I go for today? Maybe Versace? Louis Vuitton?"

You choose a white top with gold embroidery. It has a strong angled shoulder line that cuts into the skin on your shoulder, and your back is bare as a statement. The bottom is high waisted pants with black and gold. Your waist is cinched with a black wide belt. White and gold red bottom heels with a black pair of sunglasses.

"Good choice. So chic. Hair and make-up are here." Naviair takes your hand.

You lean into the stylist chair. The cold leather tensing your skin. Two stylists begin working.

"So we are thinking some dark, with a little gold and a bright red lip." The makeup artist prepped your skin. "Yes, please use the new color that Navi picked up a few days ago."

"For Hair, I'm thinking curls for femininity to peak through. Contrasting with the masculinity in the pants." You nodded, agreeing. "I couldn't agree more." You allow them time to work.

You emerge from the chair once they are complete with their art. Your feet clacking against the wooden floors. You grab your folder for the styles for today's shoot. Thanking the pair while leaving the room.

The car rides past the busy city and stops at the studio. Your chauffeur opens the door. Flashes blare through your dark tinted lenses. Naviair held your hand, helping you up the stairs avoiding the paparazzi.

"Bonjour, right this way." The attendant led you to the back. The attendant knocked in a pattern, the doors slid open. You move to the center of the room elegantly. "Oh, tres belle" 'very beautiful' "Please come, we have the sets you ordered right here." Your head of correspondence called to you. You lifted your glasses from your view, pulling out the articles of clothing.

You followed into the room where Jake was taking practice shots. "Jake, is it?"

Jake's eyes left the camera lens and met with a beautiful woman. "Yes, ma'am."

Jake's voice was rough in all the right way. "I'm ready for you now." Jake stepped down. Following behind you. You both step into the dressing room. You hand him the clothing. "Oh, um, thank you..." He trailed. He expected you to leave the room, but he was in france. Once you turned to the mirror glancing over your makeup, he decided you weren't leaving, kicking off his shoes, and he slowly unbuttoned his shirt. His strong shoulder peeked through the top. He slid the top off his arms, tossing the shirt over the chair. His pants unbuttoned and slipped down his toned legs. He paired the shirt and pants together over the chair. He grabbed the new outfit and turned around the pants gliding over his legs. You turned admiring his muscled back. "What are you thinking?" His gaze caught yours in the mirror in front of him.

"Nothing safe for work, I assure you." Your cheeks threatened color under your makeup. "I won't tell anyone..." His rough tone teased. He turned facing you. "Maybe another time?" His arms slid through the shirt. You stepped closer to him and slowly buttoned the shirt. Your hands wrapped into his collar, positioning the corners and creases.

His calloused hands gripped your soft touch. "Dinner tonight?" His confidence lured your eyes to his.

"I have to check my schedule, but I would love to." Your face just inches from his. He handed you a card. "My personal number is on the back. Call me when you decide." He slipped on his shoes and made it back to the shoot.

"Naviair..." You called out for your assistant. "Yes, amour?" Love. He spoke out from the hallway. "What is my schedule for tonight?" He opened the schedule book. "You have a meeting with Pierre." You spun on your heels and walked out from the dressing room. "Can you reschedule?"

He smirked. "And what should I tell him?"

You looked him up and down mimicking his smirk. "Something has come up. He will understand. Now come Navi. I have something to get ready for. My work here is done." You look back at the photoshoot, Jake is pushing his hair back with his hands holding his jacket over his shoulder.

Naviair commented, "Chef's kiss, he looks incredible. You've done it again." You both made your way out the door. "Was there ever any doubt?" Your looks of showed pride.

I do not give permission for my stories to be posted anywhere. Stealing stories makes you a c u next tuesday.

[sims4t2bb]

weekly update

Hello everyone, and happy Sunday! We hope the weather has been just how you like it (☀️ in the northern hemisphere, ❄️ in the southern hemisphere!), and that your upcoming week is filled only with the best things.

The updates for this week can be found under the cut — onwards and upwards! ✨

— Base Game

Caress Stacking Crates, The Fairest Trade Crate Display, debug April Showers Watering Can, Book: Gardening, Bug Spray, Clipper, Extract Bottle, Fertilizer Jar, Handsaw, Ingredients Sack, Spray, and Welding Torch conversions by @tvickiesims have been added.

— Expansion Packs

Cottage Living

Debug Burlap Sack, Flower Bucket, Onion Crate, Simple Living Cookbook, Soil Sack, Soil Sacks Pile and Water Spigot Planter conversions by @tvickiesims have been added.

High School Years

Armoire for the Ages conversion by @simsco has been added.

Debug Barrel Half, Metal Planter (Large), Metal Planter (Small), and Wooden Planter Box conversions by @tvickiesims have been added.

Growing Together

Dining is Groovy! v.1 by Kindermade; Dining is Groovy! v.3 by Kindermade; GreatShapes Great Nights Bed; Not Your Grandma’s Drawers, Your Table; Privacy is Groovy! by Kindermade; and Woven Whims Cane Weave Double Bed conversions by @simsco have been added.

Antique Rug (Of Mysterious Origin) conversion by @communicores has been added.

Horse Ranch

Rancher's Water Feature, debug Rounded Metal Planter (Large), Rounded Metal Planter (Small), and Rusty Garden Flower Sculpture conversions by @tvickiesims have been added.

— Game Packs

Outdoor Retreat

The Gordian Smooch and Lumber Jack’s Coffee Table conversions by @simsco have been added.

Debug Bucket, Hand Fashioned Planter Box, and Handmade Garden Pot conversions by @tvickiesims have been added.

Dream Home Decorator

Smooth Single Slumber and Swingin’ Single Bed conversions by @simsco have been added.

My Wedding Stories

Not Quite the Ghost Chair and Woven with Love Chair conversions by @simsco have been added.

Werewolves

Kristopher's Planter and debug Industrial Palette conversions by @tvickiesims has been added.

— Kits

Book Nook

The Genremax Loveseat (+ add-on), Perfectly Round End Table, Rounded Coffee Table, and The Self-Care Book Tray conversions by @simsco have been added.

[disparition]

Still Life 1

I am at a cafe that I first started coming to in the late 90’s. Over half of my life ago. Dana Street Roasting Company in Mountain View, California. It has been decades since I could call myself a regular. I don’t know who anyone here is except for Nick, the owner, and no one here knows who I am - not even Nick, though maybe he once did, a little bit. When I started coming here, when I actually was a regular, the place was called Jumpin Java. Nick still owned it then, the name change came about when he bought a roaster and started selling beans. In the old days, everyone who worked here was a punk who had moved from Austin Texas or somewhere close by, the was a group of five or six of them. The main figure among them was a guy named Aaron who managed the place. He wore tattoos from Wilson’s Illuminatus! Trilogy, constantly played loud industrial music in the cafe, and led the Texas punks. If you were sitting outside and he came out and hung with you for five minutes while taking a smoke break it felt like a great privelege, like being chosen for something. Like most people I knew in Mountain View, he has long since left, first for Arizona, and now I believe he lives in Washington. It was a lively place, for a small boring town like Mountain View, often hard to get a seat unless you knew someone who’s table you could join, and there was a little stage with live jazz and folk bands playing from Thursdays to Sundays, three tables outside for smokers, and also a whole alley where people hung out. There were two other main cafes in Mountain View in those days - Red Rocks and Cuppa Joe’s - which also had decent crowds and live music on the weekends. Also two corporate cafes further up Castro Street, a Starbucks and a Peet’s, but I’m not counting those. Also a branch of a local bagel chain, a fake French bakery, two good pho places, a ramen place, several Indian restaurants with good lunch buffet deals - one of which, Sue’s, also featured a gallery of art by the owner. Also several good dim sum places, a handful of American style Chinese food places, a couple of bars I was too young to have much interest in, a large Chinese grocery store, an excellent taqueria called Los Charros (for the food, but also there was a bartender working there with a famous mustache), a hippy ice cream shop, a small Hong Kong style bakery with great pork rolls, and a number of acupuncture and herbal medecine shops. If you were to sit at a table outside the cafe and look towards Castro street, you’d see an herb shop, an attorney’s office, a small real estate office, and then on the corner there’s Easy Food Company, a Chinese convenience store that sold a wide range of imported goods from snack foods to liqueurs to statues, where I used to buy Parliament Lights for $2.50 a pack.

This town has been through many drastic changes. The above description applies to when I was in my late teens and early twenties. When I came to the downtown area as a young child, it was different, like it came from a different era. Appliance stores that looked like they were from the 50’s, wooden boardwalks on the sidewalks, a weird fake “old west” vibe. But I didn’t spend much time here as a child so I don’t know much more about it beyond that superficial impression.

Now it is over two decades later since the time I describe in the first paragraph. The three tables are still here outside the cafe, and I’m sitting at one of them. But the inside is a jumble of upside down chairs, plastic milk crates, burlap sacks of coffee beans and burlap sacks of burlap sacks. There is nowhere to sit, no music playing, no schedule of upcoming live bands, and nowhere for any bands to play or set up anyway. But the outside part of the cafe is unchanged, and when I look towards Castro street I see the herb shop, the attorney’s office, the real estate place, and Easy Food Company, which still sells a wide range of imported Chinese goods from snack foods to liqueurs to statues and they probably still sell Parliament Lights too, though I’ve long since quit and I doubt they are $2.50 a pack.

Beyond Easy Food, Castro Street itself, is where the most drastic change has occurred. The most obvious change of course is due to the pandemic. Once busy with cars, the street has been blocked off up at California Ave all the way down to the train station, which means about five blocks of it are pedestrian only, and the restaurants and cafes have spilled out into the street. This happened back in 2020, and a number of neighborhing towns did the same. Some of those, like Palo Alto, have reversed course and opened their downtown areas back up to traffic. But in Mountain View this seems to be a more permanent situation, and personally I think it’s a drastic improvement. On evenings and weekends Castro street fills up with families eating at the many restaurants that now have tables in the middle of the street and there are musicians performing on street corners. But if you come here on a weekday morning there are few people around and the lack of cars provides a peaceful atmosphere.

The other massive change is due to the growth of the tech industry, but this is a change that has occurred in waves, again and again, over the course of my life. The phrase “Silicon Valley” is often used in the media and discourse as a shorthand term for the computer/internet/technology business regardless of location, but also Silicon Valley is a physical place, it’s the Santa Clara Valley, and Mountain View is very much in the heart of it. The growth of this industry brings influxes of people - people from all over, but mainly from other parts of the US, from China, and from India and other South Asian countries. My own family came from Massachusetts in the early 80’s. This was of course several decades before Google, Facebook, Twitter, etc. came into being. The main tech companies in those days were Sun, Hewlett-Packard, Apple still a fledgling but very quickly growing. In those days it felt more concentrated down in San Jose, Santa Clara, Sunnyvale, towns where you’d see these huge corporate “office parks”. By the time I left for college there was another “tech boom” with a different suite of companies, this time around the internet. The age of Yahoo, Hotmail, Geocities, the personal web page, the AltaVista search. I wasn’t in the Bay Area at the time, and what I heard was that it changed a lot and then changed back. It was a bubble that burst. But it was to be one of several. There was another, later growth of the industry around a new set of internet companies - the ones we are dealing with now. Google in particular probably had more of an effect on Mountain View than most, when they set up a massive campus here. Now as I write this, any random person I see on the street in this town or a neighboring town has a good chance of either being an employee of one of those massive tech companies, or of being someone who was recently laid off by one of them.

In terms of this town, and my place in it, the change is both bad and good. The inequality gap has grown wider, and personally there is no way I could afford to live here now, unless my fortunes were to drastically change. I only come to this area a few times a year, when visiting my wife’s family, who are the only people I still know in this part of the Bay. All of the wonderful types of food that I describe in the first paragraph are here, and more, if not the exact same places. Los Charros is now called La Espuala, but the menu is the same, even if the guy with the mustache no longer works there. There are many good Indian restaurants, though they no longer offer cheap lunch buffets. Red Rocks, one of the other independent cafes, is also still around and even has an open mic night once a week, and more places to sit than Dana Street - but their coffee just isn’t as good. Some of the places are the same - one of the pho places that I used to go to on lunch breaks when I was a telemarketer is still here, and still looks the same. A lot of the other places are essentially just more expensive or “prestige branded” versions of the places that were here before, and there are a lot more of them, and even if I can’t afford to live here I can at least, sometimes, afford eating here, and in fact after I finish writing here I’m going to go to the Hong Kong bakery to get a pork roll.

During the time while I was writing this, someone came and joined me at the table to do some work on a laptop. After some time they mentioned that they “used to come here a long time ago” and I thought it was so odd that I was writing about the exact same subject, and wondered if this was someone I used to know. But further conversation revealed that by “a long time ago” they meant 2012, while I was thinking of the previous century.

If you’ve read all this, for whatever reason: this isn’t a story or a polemic. There’s no point to it. Just writing for the sake of writing, background without a foreground.

[eugesounds]

A Saxophonist’s Journey

I have been a full-time musician for most of my adult life. I have not gone more than a few days without playing an instrument of some sort since the summer between my junior and senior years of high school.... and that was...gulp, about 50 years ago.

I am not famous and I am not rich, but I have a lifetime of amazing memories, many fantastic friends and colleagues in the industry, and a long history of great students that I feel very fortunate to have spent time with, and have hopefully helped along on their own musical journeys.

My earliest memories are almost all related to music. My parents had an old RCA Hi-fi in our living room. It was a magical box that would come to life with a warm glow, a comforting hum, and an enticing "electronic" smell. It emitted sounds that made the whole family smile and I was a big fan of all of it. When I was 4 years old I stood in front of that console imitating Louis Armstrong. I even kept my dad's handkerchief in my front pants pocket as a prop. Hello Dolly always brought the house down for the aunts and uncles.

Growing up Italian in NJ, it's only natural that Frank Sinatra's voice became the soundtrack of my childhood. I once asked my mom if we could "turn the volume down" as Sid Mark's radio show "Friday with Frank" blared from the living room at dinner time. She looked me dead in the eye, pointed down at the floor and said "Go eat in the basement". True story, but I digress.

My mom and dad loved to dance, so their record collection was full of great LP’s from the Big Band and swing eras. I would spend hours listening to old 78’s by Benny Goodman, Count Basie, Duke Ellington and others. And if there was someone my father admired slated to be on late-night television, he would wake me up so that we could watch them together.  I can still hear my mom saying "Arnold, just let him sleep!”. Those moments were so very special and they made a huge impact on me.

I was constantly trying to make music on anything I could get my hands on, from pots and pans to toy instruments. I'd tap out melodies on glasses full of water that were left on the table after a holiday dinner, trying to imitate something I saw on Ed Sullivan no doubt. I remember watching a half-time marching band show and then seeking out an old Maxwell House coffee can with a plastic lid to drum along.

I constantly asked my parents for any sort of toy instrument they might find and they provided me with a steady supply of plastic trumpets, small keyboards, slide whistles, and harmonicas. They made the mistake of getting me a snare drum one Christmas, but later came to their senses and allowed me to order a beautiful wooden Hohner recorder with a few leftover books of Green Stamps (look it up kids). By the way, the snare drum is long gone, but I still have the recorder.

There is one event from my childhood that looms larger than any other and accounts for why I chose saxophone as my main instrument when I had the chance. When I was 7 years old my mom sent me to get a haircut at "Uncle Lou's". Lou Cipriano was my godfather and a barber by trade. I'd walk over to his shop that was about a half mile from our house and he'd cut my hair. On this particular occasion I was walking home with a "fresh do" and happened upon what must have been a Memorial Day parade. 

As I made my way closer to the marchers, a magical sound caught my ear. I inched closer to catch a glimpse and stood mesmerized as a line of army veterans wearing period fatigues, complete with the flattish, "dough-boy" helmets, and brown boots laced up to just below the knee, approached. They were playing (what I now know as) curved soprano saxophone and I still get chills remembering that moment. It was as if the Universe was saying "Oh, you like that? Well that's just fine because you will be doing that exact thing for a very long time".

The distinct sound of those horns leapt into my ears and traveled directly to my core. I vividly remember how stunning, interesting, and beautiful I thought the saxophones were, and I knew instinctively that I could play that instrument if given the chance. I'm sure I stood in awe for many minutes until the men passed out of earshot. But that sound, on that day, has stayed with me my whole life.

A few years later my family moved from New Jersey to Massachusetts and the public school there had a robust music program. So mom, dad and I visited Robinson's Music on a Saturday morning to pick out an instrument. Mr Robinson pointed out the trumpets, clarinets, French horns and his favorite "The slide

trombone!". But there was not a chance in hell that I was leaving the store, on that day, without a saxophone.

I had wonderful teachers and mentors along the way and I enjoyed my time in concert band, marching band, and jazz band. They are some of my most cherished musical memories and I remain in touch with many buddies from those days, some of whom still make music an integral part of their lives. That's a huge testament to our teachers who encouraged us at every level.

As I mentioned up front, there was a short time between my junior and senior year of high school that I just put the horn down and was unsure if I wanted to play any more. But who was I kidding? My academics were woeful (I still don't get math) and music was one constant in my life. I distinctly remember my dad taking me aside that summer and saying "You want to quit? It's up to you. But God gave you a gift." And that really struck a chord with me as I was reminded of those soldiers marching by all those years ago.

I decided to attend the Hartt School of Music at the University of Hartford where I received a Bachelor’s degree in Music Education. I never desired to teach in a school system and instead opted to teach privately and pursue a playing career. You've probably never heard of me and that's fine. I have a wonderful studio full of students and get to play with a bunch of great musicians in and around the Dallas area where I make my home. 

With all of the distractions available today, I am happy to report that people of all ages still have the desire to learn saxophone, often after experiencing a musical moment like the one I had. I have a small YouTube channel where I post videos about once a week. I don't edit or add any special effects and almost every one was done in “one-take” so you’ll hear some goof ups now and again. I simply try to present that same, pure sound that I heard when I was 7 years old outside of Uncle Lou's barber shop, with the hope that I might encourage folks on their own musical  journey. 

[venusorbits]

WATCHING NOW...

STUDIO SESSION

[ 18:05 HOUR, MARCH 11, 2010... ]

"I wrote down some lyrics." You flipped your phone towards the camera, "I just wrote the chorus."

You scratch your cheek humming to yourself chewing on your bottom lip.

"I haven't written the verse yet but I have no idea how the melody would go." You leaned back on your chair with a shrug, "I will play around with how it will sound on the guitar since I wanted a pop rock album."

You wave your hands towards the camera before ending it.

[ 20:30 HOUR, MARCH 11, 2010... ]

It cuts to you sitting on the floor with your beloved electric guitar on your lap, strumming lightly, nodding along with the rhythm you had just created. Seemingly satisfied, you pause and adjusted to prop it up on the table instead of it being on the floor.

"Here I am, I wanted a light strum of the guitar for the intro of the song." You struggle to put your thoughts into words, "Then transition to a more... Hm... I don't know how to describe it. But, just picture pop-rock, strum of the guitar."

You stare off into dead air that last lasted for a minute. Face contorting before bursting into a sneeze.

"Anyways-" You acted as if it was nothing, brushing it off your shoulder, sniffing lightly.

Your manager Mira pipes up from the behind the camera and laughing loudly.

"What was that?"

"What?"

"You're acting so nonchalantly. It made me laugh."

You stare at her.

"Nocha... What?" Your eyebrows draws together.

"Nonchalantly."

You eyes shift from side to side.

"I don't understand Korean." Scrunching your face at the camera.

[ cut ]

[ 08:46 HOUR, MARCH 12, 2010... ]

You set the camera on top of the closed lid of the smooth black piano, ensuring that you were in frame, clearing your throat and tossing your hair over shoulder. Sitting up straight. Fingers smoothly moving smoothly across the keys.

Humming lowly and mouthing the lyrics that you have written the night before.

"Good morning." Your producer, Alex Kim, who had about 6 years of experience under his belt in the music industry and music producing, enters through the door holding a steaming cup of coffee.

"Good morning."

"Do you want some coffee?"

You whipped your head around confused.

"What?" [ DITE misheard 커피 ( coffee ) to 코피 ( nosebleeds ) which sounded similar to her. ]

"Coffee."

"Why would I want a nosebleed?"

He smiles at you and an amused chuckle escapes his lips.

"Coffee. Not nosebleeds."

"Oh."

"Tell me, what you're working with." He sips on the hot liquid before setting it down on a small table. Leaning on a wall beside the piano.

"I was thinking for this song there should be light strums of the electric guitar." You told your producer who nods along, "I played it on the piano but it sounds a little different from what I envision. Somewhat a little too sad in my opinion."

"It will go somewhat like this-"

I used to miss your calls. Now, I sit around with 30 3AM missed calls Should have said I love you when you called me yours Now you're hoping I pick up.

"Something like that." You finish off.

"That was really good." He compliments

"Really? I stayed up till midnight to figure out the melody."

"Is this the chorus?"

"Yes."

"We should use for the beginning and then moves to a verse."

"Okay, I like that idea!"

"Have thought of how it should sound instead on the electric guitar?"

"Yeah, somewhat but, it's not as polished as I'd like it to be."

He grabs the electric guitar hands it to you.

"Play it." You proceed to demonstrate the melody to him.

"Okay, I get what you mean." He sat himself on the wheel office chair gliding across the wooden floor of the recording studio, " He grabs his own guitar planting on his lap. You take the camera and filmed him as he proceeds to strum the perfect melody.

"OH! That's exactly what I was thinking."

"Now, that we have that out of the way. We need to start working on the melody for the rest of the song."

[ cut ]

[ 09:55 HOUR, MARCH 12, 2010... ]

You were in the booth.

You slip on your headphones over your ear, slightly adjusting, with one of them off your ear. Slinging the straps of your guitar over your shoulder, Alex adjusted the microphone while you fine tune the guitar to perfection.

"Okay, we're recording the strumming first." Alex stood up straight, "Are you ready?"

"No... This one-" You turn one of the keys, playing a soft tune, "Yeah, this one is great."

"Good."

He left the padded room as he sat on the other side of the glass. There was a soft tap of the metronome echoed on your ear, fingers delicately strumming the strings of the electric guitar.

[ 17:29 HOUR, MARCH 12, 2010... ]

[ transition ]

You are curled up on the sofa heavily concentrated on the pink notebook in your hand, tapping the end of your pen on your lip, black lens glasses perched on your nose framing your eyes. Your legs brought up to your chest wrapped in a fluffy blanket.

The instrumental melody playing

Your eyes lights up as you came up with another line in mind.

[ 17:09 HOUR, MARCH 20, 2010... ]

[ cut ]

"Can we pause from here please?"

He presses the key to pause the music. You were standing in the middle of the isolated and padded recording room, headphones placed over your ear and piece of paper in your hand with doodles and scribbles scattered on it.

"There's something missing here." You look at Alex through the window of the recording studio, "Can we add like..."

You imitated the sound into the microphone.

"Oh... The synthesizer?"

You look around unsure.

"Uh... I guess."

[ 19:00 HOUR, MARCH 21, 2010... ]

[ zooms ]

Your fingers move across the keys.

[ 23:40 HOUR, MARCH 23, 2010... ]

[ cut ]

Your camera zooms into the equipment in front of you before panning over to the older man beside you,

"Do you feel tired of being around me for this long?"

Alex was focused on the computer in front of him. He was busy dragging and cutting things out of the song while you wait around, he was paying no mind to you.

"Yes."

[ 20:35 HOUR, MARCH 25, 2010... ]

"We're almost done!" You celebrate, "We just add the um... Um..."

You turn to Alex.

"What's it called again?"

"Backing vocals."

"Yes, that." You nod.

"For the outro, we should add the message you get when you get blocked, after the line 'I used to miss your calls'- Then, it cuts to 'You've reach a number that has been disconnected or no longer in service'."

CHECK OUT THE FINISHED SONG HERE OR PURCHASE MY ALBUM ON MY WEBSITE THROUGH THE LINK BELOW.

author's note; The lyrics are from Max Schneider but I just changed them up and imagine them pop-rock version. Just imagine they're Korean lyrics cause... Yeah, I don't speak Korean. I just want lyrics to fit with the title I put, ya know?