#tufted leather desk chair

[fymikeness]

Traditional Home Office in Atlanta Mid-sized elegant freestanding desk carpeted and brown floor study room photo with brown walls and no fireplace

[icanseenewyorkcityfrommyhouse]

Living Room Library in New York With white walls, a standard fireplace, a brick fireplace, and no television, this living room library has a mid-sized country open concept design.

[gogogodzilla]

✧ 𝔻𝕒𝕪 𝟚𝟞: 𝐵𝑖𝑘𝑒𝑟 ✧ 

【 𝑌𝑜𝑢'𝑟𝑒 𝑎𝑛 𝐴𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑙 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝐼'𝑚 𝑌𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑀𝑎𝑛 】

╰› 〖 𝑆𝑦𝑛𝑜𝑝𝑠𝑖𝑠 〗: Your parents told you to never accept rides from strangers, but what if that stranger is hot and twice your age?

╰› 〖 𝑊𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 〗: nsfw 18+, older!Sam, fingering, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, pull-out method, there's only one bed, slight dirty talk, sam calls reader 'princess'

✧ 𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑘𝑡𝑜𝑏𝑒𝑟 𝑚.𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 ✧ 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑 𝑜𝑛 𝑎𝑜3 ✧ 𝑤𝑎𝑡𝑡𝑝𝑎𝑑 ✧

You hear him before you see him. The loud rumble of his engine vibrates the air around you, ripping you out of your thoughts. Your hand falls to your side as you watch the motorcycle roll to a stop beside you. You instinctively take a step back, eyeing the man on the bike. His rough-around-the-edges look matches the worn leather jacket and confident smirk he wore. 

“Need a ride, princess?” he calls over the hum of the engine. 

Your gaze shifts between the man in front of you and the motorcycle between his thighs. The dark clouds looming overhead appear more ominous by the second and you weigh your options.

He’s older than you with stubble littering his cheeks and neck. The tell-tale ink of a tattoo peeks out of the collar of his jacket, and you find yourself craning your neck to figure out what it is. 

“C’mon, I won’t bite,” he urges, a grin tugging at his lips, “unless that’s your thing.” 

Your eyes narrow, “That’s not very reassuring.” 

“Sam,” he introduces himself, chuckling a little as he holds out a hand for you to take. 

His palm is warm but calloused in your hand as you shake it briefly. His fingers completely envelop your hand, and you use the opportunity to take a closer look at him. His nose is crooked like it’s been broken more times than he could count, and tufts of brown hair stuck out from under his helmet. 

Something about him is magnetic, and you find yourself climbing onto the back of his bike, your fingertips slightly digging into the firm muscles of his shoulders.

Rain begins to fall as he pulls away from the spot where you stood just moments ago, and you let out a yelp as he revs his engine, rapidly picking up speed. You wrap your arms around his waist, and the taunt muscles of his abdomen jump under your fingers. 

The rain quickly shifts from a light drizzle to a downpour, and you lean against Sam, soaking up his warmth. He finally spotted a roadside motel, the neon vacancy sign barely visible through the rain. He pulls into the parking lot, killing the engine before the both of you dismount. You make a beeline for the front office, desperate to get out of the rain. 

Sam is quick to follow you, clutching a bag in one hand and his helmet in the other. He shakes out his hair as he joins you at the front desk. 

“What do you mean you only have one room?” you question the clerk incredulously, shivering in your rain-soaked clothes. 

The clerk shrugs, “It’s the busy season.” 

“We’re in the middle of nowhere,” you argue.

“We’ll take it,” Sam cuts in, giving the clerk a placating grin. 

You narrow your eyes as the clerk drops the key into your open palm. You clench your fist around the metal as you lead Sam up the creaky steps to a small room facing the rain-streaked road. 

“Well,” Sam says as he enters the room, tossing his bag onto one of the chairs and tugging off his jacket, “it’s not the Ritz but it’ll do.” 

You snort, attempting to ignore the way his shirt clings to his shoulders. You take in your sparsely decorated surroundings, eyeing the singular bed in the middle of the room. 

“Not exactly the night you had planned, huh?” he questioned, rifling through his bag. 

You raised a brow, “You’re not gonna murder me, right? I’ve seen Psycho, I know what happens to girls in hotels.” 

Sam chuckles, “That wasn’t on the itinerary for tonight, but I think I can squeeze you in.” 

You roll your eyes before heading toward the bathroom, eager to get out of your soaked clothes. You step into the shower, sighing as the hot water tumbles over your shoulders. Slowly, the chill inside you subsides, and you massage your muscles. 

“Keep making noises like that, and I’m gonna have to join you,” Sam calls, and your cheeks flush. 

“In your dreams!” you reply, although you can’t help but wonder what Sam’s hiding under that tight shirt of his. 

Steam billows out from the bathroom door as you exit, and spare water droplets roll down your legs as you throw your bag on the chair next to Sam’s. He leans against the headboard, relaxed as he flips through the channels on the TV. 

You perch on the edge of the bed opposite of him, drying your hair. You turned your head to risk a glance at him over your shoulder. He catches you and he smirks. 

“What’s someone like you doing hitchhiking?” he inquires, tossing the remote onto the bedside table. 

You turn to face him, furrowing your brows, “Someone like me?” 

“Young, for one” he supplies, shrugging. “You’re not too bad on the eyes either.” 

“You’re not so bad yourself,” you quip before you can catch yourself. 

He raises a brow as the corners of his mouth quirk up. 

A laugh escapes him, “Didn’t know you liked ‘em older, princess.” 

“You’re not that much older than I am,” you counter. “You’re only like, what, 50?” 

Sam clutches his chest and lets out a pained groan, wincing. He leans against the headboard, and you crawl next to him to lean against the headboard, fighting the laughter that threatened to spill. 

“Am I wrong?” you ask, throwing your hands out to the side.

“I’m 47 if you must know. Still got plenty of youth in me,” he answers, crossing his arms. 

“Mhmm,” you hum, your mouth curving into a smile as your eyes linger on his form. “Prove it.” 

His eyes widen for a moment as he meets your gaze, processing your words. You slowly lean forward, hesitating for only a moment before your lips meet his. The kiss quickly deepens as Sam gets his hands on you, and it’s not long before you’re under him and his hands are wandering over your form. 

The weight of his body presses you against the mattress, and his fingertips trail up your thighs, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. Your breaths mingle as he pulls away to scatter kisses across the side of your neck. His tongue grazes against your pulse point, and you gasp, tangling your fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck. Sam groans into your shoulder, the tent in his jeans brushing against your inner thigh. You slide your hands under Sam’s shirt, slowly nudging the fabric up his abdomen. His muscles twitch under your touch, and he pauses just long enough to remove the offending piece of clothing before his lips are back on yours. 

Your fingers dance across his ribs, relishing every tantalizing inch of exposed skin. He slides a hand under your sleep shorts, and his fingers brush against your clothed core. Your breath catches against his lips. A shudder runs through you as he teases you through your underwear, lightly stroking your clit. 

A soft whine escapes you as you buck your hips against his hand, desperate for his touch. His free hand reaches under your shirt and he kneads your breasts, Your nipples harden under his touch. He tugs your shirt up and over your tits, just enough for him to latch onto one of your sensitive buds. 

Sam reaches between you, tugging your sleep shorts and underwear down your legs while his tongue swirls your nipple. He runs his hands across your inner thighs before swiping a finger through your dripping folds. 

“So wet for me,” he murmurs against your chest as he collects your arousal on his fingertips. 

He circles your clit before dipping down to tease your entrance. You’re a breath away from begging him to fuck you, and he’s savoring every moment of it. 

He takes mercy upon you and sinks a finger into your core, pumping it a few times as you arch against him. A breathy whine escapes you as he adds another. You savor the way he stretches you, and your mouth practically waters as your eyes drift down to the visible tent in his jeans. 

Sam follows your gaze and grins. Heat creeps up your neck as he uses his free hand to undo the button on his jeans and tug his zipper down. He frees his cock from its confines and his breath stutters as he takes his cock in his hand. 

He languidly strokes himself as he watches your pussy swallow his fingers. He extends a thumb to rub against your clit, and the familiar heat pooled in your belly. Your walls flutter against him as he juts his fingers deeper inside you, curling a little to hit the spot that had your eyes rolling in the back of your head. Sam pants as he brings you closer and closer to the edge, filling the tiny hotel room with lewd noises. 

Your release hits you as Sam drags his thumb over your clit. Your pussy holds him in a vice grip as you arch against the bed, crying out his name. He keeps moving within you, allowing you to ride out your high on his fingers.

He situates himself between your thighs, and you let him move you wherever he wants, limbs pliant as you come down from your high. 

He rubs a soothing hand over your thigh, “Think you can give me another one?” 

You jolt against him as he slides his cock through your dripping folds. He slips the tip of his cock into your entrance, and you gasp as he stretches you. Sam reaches down to draw steady circles against your clit as he inches inside you. 

Your legs wrap around him once he’s fully seated inside you, and he grabs your wrists in his hand, pinning your arms above your head. Sam gives a tentative roll of his hips, and his breath quickens as you clench around him. Your jaw drops open to release a breathy moan as his pace increases. 

Your gaze travels down his abdomen, tracing over his pecs before trailing down and over his ribs before landing down where the two of you met. You watch as his muscles ripple with each rut of his hips, his cock hitting the deepest parts within you. 

You whine as he mercilessly pounds into you, and tears prick the corners of your eyes as you cry out his name. Your tits bounce with every drag of his cock, and you feel your thoughts growing hazy, getting lost in the feeling of him. 

Sam leans down and kisses you messily and hard, a mix of tongues and teeth clashing together. He slides his tongue across your bottom lip, and a swift thrust of his hips has you gasping against his lips. He uses the opportunity to explore your mouth with his tongue.

“Feels so good, baby. Wanna feel you cum,” he slurs against your lips. 

“I’m close,” you manage to whimper out between each rut of his cock bullying itself deeper inside you. The obscene sounds of skin slapping against skin mixed with the squelching of your sopping cunt. It’s enough to make your cheeks flush. 

Sam’s grip tightened on your hands as his pace increased. The coil within you tightens and his hips stutter against your own. Both of you nearing the edge. 

With a few more punctuated rolls of his hips, you’re coming around Sam’s cock. Your entire body spasms as your orgasm crashes into you, and you screw your eyes shut. Sam lets go of your wrists and grips your hips as he pounds into you, chasing after his high. 

He falters and quickly pulls out of you before stroking his cock once and then twice. His release coats your inner thighs as he lets out a strangled groan. You whimper and clench around nothingness at the loss of him. 

You pant, attempting to catch your breath. Sam leans back on his heels from his position between your thighs. He lets out a laugh. 

“Not so bad for an old guy, huh?”

[mothduchess]

Kitsune HRT Part 4

Do you remember school?

Do you remember how time could itch as it crawled along at its tortuous pace? Even when things sped along it felt like it was ripping you up with it. The change was so slow, so monotonous, that you wouldn't realize that an hour had passed and that things have changed until the bell rang your skull. That's exactly what HRT is like. It's not a potion. Gods, I think everyone whose ever laid their eyes on these wretched bottles of joy wished they were, but no - HRT takes time, even when the acronym stands for something different. I was worried it'd end up like estrogen where progress was minimal and slow. While I was on the trail finally, I had to make sure the hike itself didn't exhaust my will to continue. But until now, my journal was clogged with no change except a growing frustration. It was morning once again as light dripped from the growing hole in the blinds, soaking the floor in a pale gold. I rose from the bed as the sheets fell down and looked. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing there. Noth- What was that? That, that right there! I rubbed my legs together and looked down, peering at my feet. Growing like moss I witnessed black fur cropping up from my skin. It wasn't like the hair that grew on my body during my first puberty years ago. It was softer and of a different texture, dark as pitch. As my fingers explored my lower extremities, I felt something beneath the skin as different. Near imperceptibly, but it was different nonetheless; digits felt shorter, closed; the nails were ever so harder and darker; the heel even felt like it was further from the ball of the foot. I took to the floor. Instantly I recognized the shift in gait and posture as my weight felt over my toes and lifting my heels ever so slightly up into the air. Right. Left. There was a noted bounce in each stride, more so than when I had done such a gait weeks prior - it'd cause my feet to ache and groan despite all the joy it provoked. I lurched towards my mirror. My arms lashed out in desperation, narrowly anchoring me in place before my head cracked upon my art desk. "Stupid wires... gotta get used to this balance." I tore my gaze from my feet and gasped - more than they had changed. It wasn't extreme. To call it a fur coat was an insult, but to call it mine was a pleasure. FUR. More than just the black fur upon the shifting feet, I saw reds and whites play across my skin. I ran my fingers across the colorful patches; it was hard to not become enraptured by how the light danced between each tuft of fur as a snake might slither through grass. It tickled my finger tips, snuck under my nails before flicking out and shifted when I leaned closer to the cracked open finger. My grin likely was swallowing my eyes. But it couldn't last - most of the fur vanished as I put on a shirt, obscuring the subtle wonder underneath cloth. The snow of melancholy fell quietly upon my mind before quickly melting into quiet creeks. No. I couldn't let the sadness grip me. "Remember Jen. It's all baby steps." The old leather chair cried out as I fell into its embrace before my computer, sliding on up. On autopilot my fingers worked their way around pill bottles to line up the morning dose. "I wonder if humanity replacement HRT is better as shots than pills..." The thoughts dissolved as the pills that spawned them did the same beneath the tongue. With a few simple keystrokes, I was online. The chatrooms and servers coated the screen, a comfortable patchwork quilt of all the friends and family I'd met over the years. But a slowness entered my fingers, lingered upon my tongue. My gaze wilted, falling to my feet.

The internet is truly excellent. It can bring so many people together, near effortlessly. From different walks and different worlds, I had met people who supported me. Who had been there for me. Their words had always been kind, their presence welcomed. But that didn't stop the cursor from quietly trudging across the screen and opening up a playlist. "They're not *here*," I reminded myself. I looked around my room; it called forth an image of a white box with far too few holes that it should have, in its sides. "I'll see them later. Just, a bit of relaxing first." I pressed play, sending my mind into itself. My eyes fell shut, the walls began to recede, and a new world took its place.

White sand gave way beneath her paws as she marked a path along the empty shore; emerald waves crawled with the tides as violet ships calmly bobbed off on the curving horizon, a red sun hanging high and far. Her tails drifted behind her with the silent wind. A parasol politely curled and twisted within her dainty grasp. Soft music drifted in from places unknown, filling the beach with serene strings and soaring melodies. One of the boats swung by, colored blue and gold with sails made of light and great wheels of fog that pushed it along. Atop the boat, whimsically dressed creatures waved back. Their features were smooth and simple, yet soft and pleasing. A hyena and a bear, a wolf and a pigeon, an owl and a rat. It was romantic. It was peaceful. Or it would, were it not for the shipwrecks. Scattered. Marred. Half-buried by the preadolescent sands. Old ships and forgotten hulls jutted from the nearby waters, bleached browns and gnarled blacks from relationships past. The kitsune looked at them, pain pulling down her smile. She kicked a crest of sand, trying to cover up the names of the ships. There weren't many, and yet they called to her with the strength of thunder, cried like the rain! A storm begun to roll in from above the viridian sea. She stepped back. Roses sprouted from her pawprints only to wither in the presence of the long dead boats. She shook her head, no no no. She turned to leave as the storm was clawing its way across the sky, no no no. She looked to the woods NO NO NO-!

My eyes snapped open. Lips parted in a spiraling crack as a nervous laughter slipped out, first quietly, before breaking its restraints and flying free from my throat. Every now and then a note would squeak more than holler, yet it still was rather human all-together. Slowly, I felt my composition return to me. Fretful fingers dragged at my elbows. I rolled the ugly truth around my mouth for a while, before looking out the window. Finally, a sigh left me. "You need to go out more, Jen." Kitsune HRT: 1 Moth Month -FUCK FUCK FUCK -FUUUUURRRRRRRRR!!!! -(Also paws???!!!??) -My balance is all kinds of weird right now. I cannot wait till those tails come in. Oooooh shoes might be a nightmare. -Anxiety is still a bitch. I wonder if the fox chemicals will help? -Though if my luck is anything, that one shift down the line will make me spiral. -P.S. Get pet shampoo

------------------------------------------------------------------- <PREV FIRST NEXT> A side path....? (Warning: horror elements) WOO! This one, while a bit shorter, is finally done! I hope yall are enjoying the more mental aspects of all this. I promise, we'll get to the juicy species changing stuff soon. Just trying to figure out how to fill out the roster, haha.

[nancy-xx]

Nancy and Sid

The Chelsea was a rather appropriate setting for the events of last week, which culminated in the arrest of Sid Vicious on a charge of murdering his girlfriend Nancy Spungen. When Swedish writer Stina Lindberg stayed there a couple of weeks ago, she was not surprised to find Sid and Nancy as fellow guests Naturally, she sought an interview...

SID VICIOUS Ex-Sex Pistol

Nancy Spungen, his girl friend. There's no mistaking Sid's black, spiky hair and his bovverboy aura. I only see the back of Nancy's head. She looks like an old woman. Hunchbacked. Tufts of almost white hair stick out from underneath her beret. Her coat is an ancient, ankle-length article. It's a Saturday, September 31.1 spot then in the lobby of the Chelsea Hotel on West 23d Street in New York. If you find yourself living at the same hotel as Sid Vicious, if you're a journalist and you like the new wave, you're an idiot not to try to talk to him. But it feels weird. The same evening, I see Sid play with ex-members of the New York Dolls at Max's Kansas City, haven of New York punks. Sid screams, makes faces, and spits. Grabs himself between the legs, doesn't look at the audience at all. They're all awkward on stage, the volume is insupportable, and the music is lousy. The paing audience is less than warm. The only ones enjoying the show are three pale peroxide blondes with fire-engine red lipstick sitting on the stage moving with the music. They're with the guys in the band, Sid seems to want to pack it in after three numbers, and splits. Nancy runs after him and brings him back. He spits, makes another face and starts playing again. He doesn't get through to the audience, and his half-hearted spasms just look pathetic. A lone, doped-out Japanese bops away frantically, but the rest of the audience is frozen. Sid is not a great musician, nor is he a genuine stage personality. Sid is a 21-year-old Englishman enlarged to the size of a Colossus by the mass media. Poor bastard. I ring Sid's room repeatedly to try for that interview. Finally he answers and agrees to talk to me the same evening. At nine p.m. I knock on his door. Room 100, ane flight up at the Chelsea Hotel. The hotel is the first New York building to have a cultural preservation order stamped on it. Brendan Behan, Dylan Thomas, Janis Joplin, Andy Warhol and many other artists and musicians have lived here. These days, there's a motley blend of prostitutes, pop musicians, near-destitute pensioners, French film teams and tourists. The door is yanked open. Nancy all but draga me into the room. Sid leaps up from the bed. He's wearing orange overalls and a chain around his neck. He checks me out nervously, then runs about the room, digging in his clothes and bags Nancy, dressed in a black net leotard and black leather trousers, holds my arm, hard, and babbles "What are we going to do? We don't know a thing. We just got to New York and don't know the score. Is five too much?" Sid searches nervously for something. The room is both bare and disordered. There's a big bed with a TV at the foot of it. A desk, a table, a chair. Two or three gold records are propped against the wall, and there are suitcases on the floor. Sid and Nancy have just changed rooms. The mattress caught fire in the other one. Suddenly I get it. They think I'm a dealer. God. I swallow, then explain who I am. Sid explodes a groan and throws himself onto the bed "Fuck' sighs Nancy. She lets go my arm and lies down with Sid. The TV drones on at maximum volume. I sit on the edge of the bed, laughing at the absurdity of everything. Sid points out that there's nothing to laugh at. I turn on my tape recorder "What do you think of New York?" "Very democratic. Do pretty much what you want. Not that you'd probably do anything much, but that's beside the point" turns out that Sid is trying to put together a band. It "I had a group going. Johnny Thunders. But Nancy smashed up Johnny's girl, so it went down the drain "Did you?" I asked Nancy. " "Yeah. She fed a lot of stupid stuff to me. I've been friends with Johnny Thunders for years. We had a lot of fun. And she couldn't take it. She started it, so I kicked her in the face," So Sid's looking for a new group, and plays with the ex-Dolls in the meantime We talk about the show at Max's Sid blames the audience, "My name's worth quite a bit of bread over here," he said.

"Isn't that because of the Sex Pistols? "No My name's worth a lot on it's own. It's worth more than any of the rest of them." Nancy agrees, and points out that Sid has had more press than any of the others. "Why?" "Because I'm what people call a bad boy. I do things that are outrageous,' he says, with what sarcasm he can muster. "Do you think that you're outrageous?" "No, but that's what they write about me. They're square "Do you think you're a free person?" "No. I'm on house arrest" "Who put you there?" "The world. But I'm going to try to get us free. I won't be able to do it, but if people get the idea for long enough, the idea that punk started off, it'll become like that eventually." We talk about punk's anti-racist side, and about Rock Against Racism, which Sid says he supports, and about England, which Sid reckons is the most boring country in the world-after Sweden, where I come from. America is okay. Sid Vicious is okay, and is doing fine However, the Sid Vicious I see in front of me seerns anything but. He and Nancy make me think of two animals caught in a trap and trying to claw their way. Desperately. out I ring the next day, and speak to Nancy. She doesn't seem to understand me, and thinks I'm trying to put her and Sid down. I tell her she's paranoid, but ask her for an interview. She seems to break down, and suddenly sounds genuine "It's not so strange that we get suspicious. Everybody's trying to get at us, trying to get Sid's money. Every bastard we meet wants to get famous through Sid. They've made a fortune off him here in the U.S., but we don't get anything. I'm a person, you dig? Not a dog" I ask her again about an interview, but she freaks when I say I can't pay her. "You think you can speak to us free?" suddenly she's hard-boiled again and go back to Sweden and make money because you met Sid Vicious? Get fucked!" I begin to see their dilemma. They think they can go on living off their fame, while they're in the process of buming out. Sid and Nancy sense that, I felt. What they didn't know was that the Swedish papers would pay more than any of us thought at the time because someone,   maybe Sid, stuck a knife into Nancy a week after I met them Sid's under real arrest. Nancy's dead. And the pop industry and mass media hysteria are doing okay.

[papasmicstand]

Love you readers, I hope this makes your Monday better (2600 words).

Sex Surrogacy for Satan

Chapter 3: Lesson 2 - Terzo - Satisfaction

Summary:

Terzo is a cocky son-of-a-bitch sometimes (always). Can he convince you that he knows it all when it comes to satisfying a partner?

The next morning you decided to have breakfast in the cafeteria.  You yawned as you filled a plate and found a table near the window.  Only five hours of sleep, why do I do this to myself?   Your brain had decided to replay those last moments with Secondo instead of sleep, worrying that you had pushed him too far too soon.  Steam wafted up from the eggs and bacon, causing your stomach to rumble with hunger.  You took a bite and closed your eyes as you savored the flavors, it was surprisingly delicious.  I could get used to this life.  

A few Siblings came and sat with you, intrigued by the new stranger.  You told them that you were a therapist and that you would be around for a few weeks.  As part of the deal with Primo, you couldn’t disclose what type of therapy you were providing, and of course all session details were confidential.  You made small talk, but were also happy when they left so that you could write down key observations and thoughts in your notebook about last night’s exercises.  Secondo really had some walls up surrounding his emotions.  You wished he would have allowed you to stay longer to provide aftercare, since it was clear that he had a physical reaction to the lesson.

Speaking of the devil, you looked up to see Terzo and Secondo passing by with food.  Papa II startled and immediately changed course, disappearing into the morning rush.  Terzo looked confused until he saw the source of the tension, that source being you.  

He walked over with a spring in his step.  “I don’t think we’ve met yet, signorina.  I’m Papa Emeritus III, but you can call me Terzo.  Would you happen to be the 7:00 appointment on my calendar tonight?” he asked, waggling his eyebrows.

He was shorter than you had imagined, but brimming with confidence.  “That’s me,” you smiled.  “I look forward to becoming better acquainted.”  

“Indeed,” he leaned close enough that you could smell his fresh cologne and whispered in your ear, “I can’t wait for tonight, I’ll save room for dessert.”  Then winked and went on his way.

You nearly choked on your tea.  Ah, tonight will be fun.

Here we go , you knocked on the large wooden door of Terzo’s office.

He opened it with a smile, sauntering around the small space as he signaled for you to come in.

“Have a seat, signorina,” Papa offered.  You lowered into a tufted leather wingback chair and he casually leaned on the desk across from you.  “Though I’m not sure why you’re seeing me when my brothers clearly need all of the help?”  He flashed a wicked smile at you, charming for sure.

You stared up knowingly at your partner for the evening.  “I assure you, Primo gave me a full report.  It’s not about who needs help, more about each of you becoming the best partner that you can be.”

“Of course,” Papa nodded and began unbuttoning his shirt.  “Shall we get right into it?  You can give me feedback as we go.  I enjoy a vocal partner.”

“Is this how quickly you would normally initiate sex?  As an ice breaker?”  You countered, noticing a theme with the brothers.

“Are you saying I move too quickly?” Terzo asked, mischief in his tone.

You wondered what he would be like if he dropped the ‘sexy Papa’ front.  “Just an observation.  Pretend I am a new Sister, how would things normally go?”

“Well, it depends on the Sibling, some are bold and just make a move during Confession or after Mass, others are more reserved and drop hints… but as a leader of the church I’m very perceptive.”

Smooth .  “So walk me through it.”

“Like I said, every scenario is different, signorina,” he came closer until he was sitting on the arm of your chair.  “But let’s take you.  You do not seem overly shy.  I heard that you put my brother in his place.”

You were momentarily taken aback, “I assure you all sessions are confidential, I don’t know what you heard…”

He lowered his voice as if you were trading secrets, “The ghouls, well, I don’t know if you’ve met any yet.  But they discover many things and they are close with me.”  A knowing smile crossed his lips, “I hear that you like eye contact.  I’m not emotionally constipated like mio fratello.  This is no problem for me.”

He thinks he has it all figured out already.   “I can be different depending on what I’m trying to accomplish.  Don’t assume too much,” you cautioned.

“Ah, same.”  He gave you another naughty smile.  “Yes, I’m sure you are… versatile.  If you were one of the Sorellas here I would invite you to my quarters for some quality time.

“I see, ‘quality time,’”  you repeated.

“Exactly,” he said with a shrug.  “Two bodies will just know what to do if the environment is conducive to sins of the flesh.”  He flitted his fingers as if they were two moths dancing around a flame.

“Is that so?” you stilled his dancing hand with your own.

“Absolutely,” he stood, pulling you up where your hands were joined.  “Come, I’ll show you the rest.”

You allowed the devilish man to lead you to his rooms.  His words proving to be more of a promise than an invitation.  When you arrived, Terzo waved a hand and the lights went low, soft music playing from some hidden speakers.  He was relaxed, sex was not something he was insecure about.

You looked around to find dark, romantic furniture populating the living space, and vibrant plants near the windows that made it feel welcoming, but perhaps a little too staged.  It didn’t tell much of a story about the man behind the title.

“Make yourself comfortable,” he said, lighting some candles.  The jacket he’d been wearing now delicately hung over a chair.  “Would you like a drink or a snack?  You may need the energy.”

“Thanks, but I’m sure I’ll be fine,” you declined, ignoring his last comment.  “So, once a Sister like me finds her way this far into your lair ,” you teased, “what comes next?”

“Easy, I’d tell you how sexy you are,” he looked at you as if he fully meant it, “made in Lillith’s image, and then,” he leaned in, fingertips lightly tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, “once I knew you felt it-” he broke his sentence with a kiss.  

You expected a more delicate, exploratory kiss; but instead it was hungry and passionate.  All of his movements were like a well-choreographed dance.  While his lips distracted you a hand slid neatly around your back, and the other caressed the side of your face.  It was hard not to just melt into him.  You did return the kiss and place your hands at his waist.  You barely noticed that he was walking you to the bedroom, and when you arrived you found that your dress had been unzipped in the back somewhere along the way.

“Nice moves,” you admitted.

“May I continue?” he asked, poised for the kill.  

You had planned to stop here and try out some non-sexual exercises, but there really was no harm in seeing how closely his skill matched his bravado.  If anything it would give you more context to help him.  You nodded.  “Yes, I think I need the full Terzo experience.”

The smile that spread across his face was that of genuine joy.   His fingertips glided your dress down until it pooled at your feet.  A red lacey set was all that remained as he pushed you onto the bed and leapt on top.  

You giggled as he kissed down your throat and released your breasts from the lace.  Your hands undid his shirt and he shrugged it off.  You took some time exploring each other’s bodies.  You were sure to touch and kiss, looking for any hangups, but the man was an open book.  Hickeys in various stages of fading could be found on his thighs and near his clavicle. He made a cute noise when you played with his nipples, and showed no reluctance at removing the rest of his clothing.  

His dick was smaller than Secondo’s, but still impressive considering his petite frame.  He did not seem to be self-conscious about it in the least, striking a pose for you before diving back in.  This time he headed south.  You threaded your hands through his hair as he put his mouth to work.

Terzo’s POV-

Terzo’s blood was pumping.  Hell yes, I knew I could win therapy.  If Terzo had a wheelhouse, this was it.  In truth he had been the tiniest bit nervous… but he should have known it would be fine.  You were a fun partner, vibrant and responsive, and you tasted divine.  He easily read your cues, bringing you closer and closer to the edge.  When he added his fingers to the mix your legs began to shake.  

“That’s it,” he growled into your cunt, “Let go for me.”

He wasn’t sure if you would try to hold back or not, but it didn’t take long for you to convulse, thighs tightening against his head.  Papa worked you through it, until you were boneless under him.

“Hey, what happened to eye contact?” he teased, climbing up and kissing you.  His hard cock pressed to your hip.

You pinched his nipple and he yelped.  “I told you every session is different,” you wheezed.

He liked that you were playful with him.  “OK, but this one is better,” he shifted his hips so that the head of his cock was nudging your entrance.

“Condom first,” you held him from advancing.

“I swear I’m clean, I just saw the doctor last week,” he rubbed his cock along your slit.  “And I’m a pro at pulling out.”  Maybe not a pro, but it’s not like I’ve ever gotten anyone pregnant .

“Not optional,” you said firmly, and scooted away.

Damn, it was worth a try.   He couldn’t help a disappointed sigh that snuck out of him, but he was quick to retrieve the condom jar.  “Pick one,” he offered.

The jar had a wide variety- flavored, glow-in-the-dark, ribbed, even magnums- you quirked an eyebrow at the gold-wrapped XL’s as you selected a more average one.  

“Eh, those ones are for the ghouls,” he smiled.  “I’ll tell you about it later.”

You helped him with the condom, he was still rock hard and ready to go.  You were a slick mess and he rubbed your juices over the latex before sliding back on top.  

He was more turned on than usual.  He needed to get inside.  “Ready?” he asked. 

You nodded, and he entered carefully.   You moaned and clutched his biceps as he bottomed out.

“Merda,” his eyebrows knitted, from that first thrust it was magical.  Don’t think about how good it feels, you need to last.  Secondo and Copia don’t stand a chance, you have to be the best.  

And Satan almighty your pussy felt amazing, one of the best he’d experienced.  You were tight and wet and so warm.  He kissed you as he filled you again and again.  He turned his mind over to instinct and his body worked as if he were trying to breed you, deep powerful strokes rocking your hips and making the bed creak along with his exertions.

If all therapy was like this he would have started sooner.  You arched your back into him, the two of you fitting together so well.  You grabbed his ass when he reached that sweet spot inside and let out a whorish sound.  “That’s right, sing for me,” he smiled into your hair.  He knew he could do even better and pulled your right leg over his shoulder.  You hissed as it allowed him deeper access, toes curling.  He stayed on rhythm, and it had you right on edge.

As he continued he could feel himself getting closer and turned more attention to your nipples and clit.  “What’s your favorite position?” he whispered, lips leaving small kisses to the shell of your ear.

“Um,” you struggled to find words.  “I- I do like to be on top.”

He gave out a relieved huff.  Thank the dark lord you didn’t say doggy or it’d be over in about two more thrusts.  He spun you both so that he was on his back and you were now on top.  

He watched in awe as your thighs flexed, and he realized he was still in trouble.  You were a diabolically good rider, taking him in controlled movements, hips and cunt flexing in waves that had him fisting the sheets trying to hold on.  A long moan came out of him and you shot him a ‘gotcha’ look.  

You began tracing your clit with your middle finger and Papa’s eyes locked on how beautiful you were.  Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck .  Papa was running out of time.  You were breathing faster now and your head fell back in pleasure.

It was a race to the finish that Terzo was desperately trying to lose.  At last you came, and he followed you over, definitely not pulling out.  He came so hard he worried that the condom had exploded, but when he was finally able to withdraw all was well and he tossed it in the bedside bin.

After a moment, Terzo stood and made his way to the shower.  He hadn’t said anything to you, though it was clear that you both had a pleasurable romp.  It was nearly twenty minutes before he emerged and redressed.  You had also found your clothes and were sitting at the edge of the bed.  “Same time next week?” he winked.

“Just because the sex is over doesn’t mean the session is,” you crossed your legs and spun to face him.

“Well, I have to leave, I have another meeting,” he shrugged.  “I told Sister Gina that I’d meet her before confession.”

You started to talk, but disbelief delayed your words until you could manage, “Wait, how many dick appointments do you have per day on average?”

He paused, running a hand through his hair.  “Giving dick or receiving dick?” he smirked.

“Total,” your voice hinted at your annoyance.

“Probably six, but it can be more on a Mass day or if there’s something going on?”

“Six!” you repeated.  “I think I know what we need to work on first.”

Six isn’t that many?   “What?” he asked.

“And do you ever meet with Siblings, individually, without having sex?”

“Well,” he flustered.  “I mean, I can be alone with someone without having sex.  Confession doesn’t always end in sex.”

You rolled your eyes.  “Fine, you are free to go to your appointment.  BUT- no sex until the next time I see you.  Comfort the Siblings another way.”

He stopped at the doorway, in shock at your words.  Another way?!   “They won’t understand.  Plus, isn’t the whole point of this to be good in bed?”

You closed in on him, “The point of this is leaving the person you're with feeling satisfied.  There is more than one type of satisfaction.”

With that he lost his cool for the first time that evening.  “I don’t think you understand, I have a reputation!”

His huffing and puffing didn’t bother you in the least.  “Very sorry, that’s the homework,” you stood to also leave, not actually sounding remorseful.  “No giving, receiving, or self-pleasuring.  I want you focused.  And thanks for telling me about the ghouls, I’ll make sure they tell me if you cheat.”

[yacinthemorning]

Tailored to Your Liking

Chapter 1

[first] [next]

Summary: Tumble Town attracts all sorts of misfits looking for a fresh start on the frontier, but everyone still needs clothes. Be it extra limbs or high temperatures, Jimmy caters to every hyrbid's needs.

Ships: Jimmy/Tango (slow burn romantic), Grian/Mumbo/Scar (romantic)

Warnings: Implied traumatic events, no workplace safety, awkward flirting

“Stay still.”

“I’m- ow! I’m trying! Stop stabbing me!”

“I wouldn’t poke you if you remained still!”

Grian let out an awful hiss, of which Jimmy simply returned before focusing back on his work. With careful hands he pinned back the linen around the base of Grian’s bright, colourful wings. Normally it was quite difficult even with a behaved customer thanks to the down that bridged into the back’s flesh. Luckily, Jimmy was an expert at this particular issue thanks to his own avian heritage. Despite further protests accompanied by goading from Scar across the room, Jimmy acquired the right measurements needed, and began pulling the linens off. “Okay, that’s all for today.” He assured.

Grian hardly waited, hopping away to the bench his companions waited for him upon. Mumbo held out his old clothes – filled with holes and poor patchwork that had also since worn through. He glared at Jimmy. “It’s a miracle you stay in business with the way you treat your customers like glorified pin cushions!”

“Oh, it’s a particularly special treatment.” Jimmy beamed, crossing his arms. “I save my best customer service just for you, my dear brother.”

He got a sniff in reply before Grian stomped out. Mumbo stepped forward instead, rummaging through his coin purse. “Sorry about that, Jim. He’s ornery about having to replace his sweater.”

“I don’t see why he should be. It’ll end up within reach in his nest.” Jimmy shrugged as he counted out the coins. “Like every other exactly identical sweater I’ve made him.”

“It’s true! I can hardly tell what’s sweater and what’s feather in that thing anymore.” Scar pushed himself up with his cane and a chuckle.

A raised eyebrow was directed to him, but Jimmy was unsure the vexling noticed. Instead, he simply logged it away in his mind. A pparently, they were at the stage of sharing nest- and nobody bothered to tell him, of course. “Well, you know how the routine goes, come back in a week for fitting. I practically know his order by heart now and have all the supplies ready.” 

“You’re a lifesaver, Tim. Come over for tea sometime soon!” Shouted Scar as Mumbo opened his parasol and guided him out the shop door. It jingled upon their exit, and Jimmy waited until it came to a full stop before he stopped waving. With a sigh, he placed the linens down at his desk, then collapsed into his chair. His brother always felt like at least a full day’s work on his own. 

Jimmy was sorting through his fabrics to find the right shade of red when there was a strange scratching sound, followed by the jingle of door bells and a curse. His desk’s Gaslamp shuddered like a warning. Jimmy looked up in time to see a man slinking through his half-opened door like a scolded animal. He was cloaked in rough leather and quite frankly looked like he’d just been pulled out of a well. Steam simmered in the air from his head, and a limp tail dragged a bit too slowly behind, eliciting a cattish screech when the door clamped down on its tufted end.

Jimmy’s feathers raised defensively, in instinct and appalment. “Hello?” Was the only greeting he could muster. The man fell to his knees, and it was then that Jimmy noticed how much he shook. It activated some protective part of his soul, pushing him forward to aid the man to his feet. But just as quickly as he reached out the stranger pulled back, throwing a hand with blackened claws up.

“Don’t- Don’t touch me.” His scratchy voice warned. “You’ll burn.”

“Well I can’t very well help you without touching you!” Jimmy huffed.

The stranger shook his head, though. “You’re a… specialty tailor, right?” Even his voice shook.

Curiosity piqued, Jimmy crouched down to look his guest in the eye. They were a deep red, glowing like embers, and darting about nervously. At first, Jimmy thought he might have been attacked and was searching for threats. On closer inspection, however, it was his own hands and knees he kept checking, shifting, as if they were untrustworthy. Jimmy nodded. “I am. I work with avians mostly, but I can tailor for any hybrid.”

The stranger’s tail perked up at that, mouth cautiously tilting up with it. “Do you… Can you make clothing that’s fireproof?”

“I can certainly try.” He said with a raised eyebrow. He held out his hand once more, but the man flinched back once again. “You know I can’t say I’m too eager to work, however, for mysterious men who collapse on my floor and will barely look at me.”

“O-oh! Ah, yeah, ha…” Seemingly newly aware of his appearance, the man stumbled onto his feet. He still shivered, and below the drenched rags his knees wobbled like they’d never held his weight before. “Sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean to- I’m Tango.” A wide grin stretched across his face, strained almost into a grimace. Impossibly sharp teeth chattered together. 

Despite the posture he took up for a greeting, he still refused to offer his hand even in a polite handshake. That one Jimmy couldn’t say he minded. It was a greeting that was almost entirely human, for those without other appendages to utilize. He was much more familiar with a flutter and caw, or a flare of fins, or the curl of a tail. 

Jimmy tried to give as friendly a smile back as he could muster. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Tango. Call me Jimmy. Now…” With Tango on his feet the muddy puddle forming under him became evident. “Would you care to share with me why you’ve come to my shop in this… state?”

“It, well… It’s a bit of a story…” The rags were pulled tighter around him. “But, um, I need clothes, is the long-short of it.”

“I can see that, yes.” Unsure what else to do if the man would not let him touch him to help, Jimmy returned to his work desk and reached for his cabinet of manuals. “You don’t, um… Not to presume from your appearance, which I’m guessing is not some bold fashion statement or typical, but I’m assuming you aren’t looking for anything too fancy?”

A strained sound escaped him, that might have been a laugh if the poor creature in front of Jimmy wasn’t so miserable. “They don’t exactly make slops for blazeborn. Even at the mines.”

“Most hybrids around here can get away with a few personal alterations, but fireproofing is a bit of a challenge without imports from the Nether.” He pulled up some of his most basic draft designs. Undergarments, a simple shirt, trousers, maybe a jacket… No, Tango probably couldn’t afford a jacket, from the pay Fwhip told him the miners received. The feathers of his ears flexed as he tilted his head around the design in front of him. Well, there was nothing stopping Jimmy from perhaps whetting his skills by making one, that perhaps happened to fit Tango…

Tango shifted, first taking a step towards the bench that sat pushed up against the window, then froze, before he shuffled back to where he stood before. Jimmy waved his hand. “Sit, sit. This’ll take a while.”

“I- I can’t. I might…”

“It’s treated, it won’t go up in flames that easily. Besides, you’re sopping wet.”

Reluctantly, cautiously, the blazeborn made his way over. One would have thought he was about to sit down on a porcupine. Eventually, though, he managed to sit himself, and like Jimmy promised it failed to burst into flames at mere contact. Of course, he’d pulled the claim from thin air. He’d never worked with a blazeborn before and he hardly knew a thing about carpentry. It was a good guess, at least he thought so, from the fact that the floorboards were not singed.

“So, um, how long will it take?” Tango asked, finally letting himself shuffle into a more comfortable position.

Jimmy hummed as he used his talon to flip through pages. “Well, I don’t exactly have weepweave or hoglin leather lying in storage, and I can’t say I’ve seen it in the market, so I’ll have to special order it which will likely take a few weeks-”

“Wha- A few weeks ?” Tango balked.

“- But we could test some more locally available materials in the meantime, at which point it will take a few days to complete the set.”

His customer seemed wary of even that but settled down, nonetheless. “I might need, uh, at least two.”

“Two?” Jimmy frowned.

“Sets. Of clothes. This is…” He tugged on the rags. “This is all I have left.”

Jimmy stared, eyes wide and brow knotted. On closer inspection the rags maybe once were an acceptable work outfit, but they’d been ruined beyond salvaging. Torn apart and set ablaze. Jimmy guessed at least the undershirt was some type of weepweave from its slight teal colour and being the most intact piece, but the rest was cotton. 

“I see.” Said Jimmy. He walked over to his fabric stores and shuffled through his sample drawer until he found what he needed. “Gimme your arm.”

Tango hackles raised. “You’ll-”

“I’m going to have to measure and fit you later. If I can’t touch you, I can’t make clothes for you.” Jimmy tutted. “Come on, I just need to check what materials will survive.”

It took another minute of patience but eventually the blazeborn offered up his arm. Jimmy gave him a grateful chirp, a tone he hoped was calming to the non-avian. There was an odd jolt in his shoulders, but it settled as he placed the sample to his arm. 

Jimmy could feel how warm his skin really was. Too hot, but certainly not hot enough to cause fabric to burst into flames. It was more like a high fever, but he wasn’t flushed with one. Jimmy looked up to his face, which was contorted with fear, unblinkingly trained on the fabric. His hair was dampened down like he’d been caught in a rainstorm, but the strands danced on their own. Little cinders would light in them before they fizzled out into steam.

“How does this texture feel to your skin?” Asked Jimmy. To what extent he needed to specialize his work for a blazeborn was beyond his knowledge.

Tango shrugged. “It’s fine. Soft.”

“Soft?” Jimmy couldn’t help chuckle. Compared to the other wools in his collection this one was rather coarse. “Well, that’s good to know. I don’t know how hot you can become, but wool is quite resistant to fire. Burns out before it can spread. I don’t know if it’ll be too warm for you, though.”

“No! No, no, that's fine. Warm’s… good.” His tail swayed, curly up over his leg before falling back to the side. “It’s a lot colder here.”

Backing up, Jimmy offered a smile. “Then wool it is. Do you, um, I suppose you don’t have much issue with sweating?”

“No, can’t do that even if it was warm.”

“Excellent. Then, let me get measurements started.”

Tango still seemed unsure, but a polite smile formed on his lips as he nodded. “Yeah, okay.”

Measurements became awkward as they realized Tango had no clothes to wear while doing so. In the end, Jimmy offered him one of his undershirts. It was too tight around the shoulders and too long in the midsection, but it would do. Seeing the linen fail to catch fire when he wore it also did well to calm Tango from whatever situation had spooked him in the first place. In the following hours Tango offered no explanation, and so Jimmy offered no questions.

Then there was the matter of… well, rather the same matter of Tango still lacking clothing. He could not very well go out into public so indecent. They settled on Jimmy rushing his order and letting him stay overnight. “I’m probably fired and thrown out of the company barracks, anyways.” He laughed humourlessly. Jimmy was far from wealthy, but he had a bench and extra blankets. Hopefully he would have something to wear by the morning so he could retrieve his things. 

Of course, there was a good chance the man just wanders off with his new clothes to never be seen again. Tango asked Jimmy if he was worried about that very situation. What was Jimmy to do, though? Go to the police about a man who swindled him out of a few dollars of his cheapest fabric and thread? Not seeing a man run around town as bare as the day he was born was probably enough compensation. Jimmy wasn’t that stingy. 

It was probably why he wasn’t wealthy, instead stuck in a mining town whose mines were already drying up.

Jimmy wasn’t much of a cook, but he could stew up some meat and vegetables. “You might as well have some.” He didn’t give space for Tango to protest, placing a bowl in front of him.

“Is that curry?” Tango asked in awe.

“It was a gift for putting up with my brother’s... poor decorum.” A spicy scent wafted up from his spoon. Truth be told he wasn’t a fan the last time he got to try some, but there was no reason to let it go to waste.

Tango showed no hesitation after that. The curry was inhaled within minutes. “Man, I haven’t had a lick of curry since I left the Nether.” He sighed, licking his chops of the last flecks. “It’s so expensive here, like it’s a delicacy or something.”

“When you have to import the ingredients from so far, it is.”

“Mmm. Everything from the Nether is hard to get here.” Melancholy seeped into the blazeborn’s gaze. “And money’s harder to come by. You make copper on the diamond as a digger in those mines. And they take most of it just to equip you.”

Jimmy smiled sympathetically. “They don’t call it the wild west for nothing. Labour laws are merely suggestions out here.”

“You seem to be doing fine for yourself, to help out a beggar like me.” A fork pointed accusatively at the tailor. “Your brother… You mean that Grian guy, right? The profiteer.”

“He prefers the term ‘investor,’ but yes.”

“The swindler.” Tango narrowed his eyes, lower lip jutting out in a pout.

Jimmy laughed. “Indeed, that’s him.”

“He’s the reason that quack and that inventor stay in business. They sold our mine a bunch of equipment that fell apart the next day. I don’t know how they stuck around town after that. How’s a sweet apple like you fall from the same tree as that bad egg?”

“Unless you’re attempting to imply something, I think you’ve confused your metaphors.” Giggling through every word was becoming difficult to resist. Tango seemed aware of this, sharp teeth forming into a mischievous smirk.

Neither took much notice when the old grandfather clock struck eight, then nine, and then ten.

Tango twirled around in the centre of Jimmy’s studio, new clothing flaring out in all directions where it had not been properly tucked in. “How does it look?” He asked, pride shown in his stance.

With a tilt of his head, Jimmy responded, “I think I need to bring the waist a bit more.”

“More adjustments?” Immediately the netherborn deflated.

“I’m afraid that’s how it goes.”

“Clothing in the Nether is never this fitted.” He complained while Jimmy got back to work unpinning. “Neither are slops.”

Jimmy clicked his tongue, having just barely avoided stabbing his finger. If he were to keep count, Grian’s claims of harm would seem laughable beside the number of times the only one who was hurt by Jimmy’s sewing was himself. “Then asking an avian to clothe you was a grave mistake on your part.”

“Actually, I think that’s the best decision I’ve made in years. I don’t see any other handsome tailors offering to make me new clothes on his own dime.”

“Oh, stop it or I’ll take it back.” Jimmy grumbled, though his cheeks had turned red.

The doorbell chimed, forcing both men to pause and turn to the new intruder.

It was a goblin, not just any of the many from the mines - workers and children alike – but one who stood a bit taller than a goblin should. Dressed in decorated silks mixed with his rough work clothes, Fwhip was an immediately recognizable man. And it was hard not to know the man who practically owned the half-dozen mining towns in the area – or literally owned them if you were misfortunate enough to live within the neighbourhoods of barracks. In his hand was a bundle wrapped tight in a rough red weepweave cloth, and he peered around until his eyes first settled on Tango before spotting Jimmy and frowning. Jimmy couldn’t blame him, as his own mood soured significantly.

“Fwhip, what misfortune brings you back to my shop? Considering the ban and all.” He wrinkled his nose at the goblin. Perhaps it wasn’t the smartest idea to antagonize him, but intelligence rarely drove Jimmy’s choices.

Tango’s ears pinned back. “What’s up, boss?”

“So, you are here, Tango.” Fwhip ignored Jimmy and approached his – former? – employee. “I heard someone say they saw you run off here into this mediocre shop. I came to return your things- what wasn’t burnt away, at least.”

A wry smile stretched across his face as he took up the bundle. “I’m guessing my job isn’t among them?”

“You were a good employee Tango, good with the machines, but no. I can barely manage to convince folks it’s safe to still sleep in the left wing at all.”

“Is it safe?” Jimmy asked and raised an eyebrow, to which he only received a shrug. 

“I get it. Thanks for bringing my stuff.”

“If you ever need a good word put in, call me up.” Promised Fwhip. “You know, maybe this is for the best. You were always too good for the work you did.”

There was a small grunt in response. Tango had preoccupied himself with examining his belongings, which from the smell alone one could tell had not escaped whatever fiery incident had occurred. A strange sense of protectiveness – and maybe just a bit of spite – drove Jimmy to speak up on his behalf. “If that is all, we were in the middle of business, and you are still banned.”

With a pat on the back for the unemployed and an indignant snort towards the shopkeeper, Fwhip left. Good riddance, as far as Jimmy was concerned. But Tango was less joyous.

Cradled in the rough cloth were a pair of heavily burnt work boots, a half-consumed blazerod, three tins of what Jimmy assumed to be redstone from the stains, and what appeared to be…

“Are those goat horns?” Jimmy spoke incredulously. Tango chuckled.

“Durable. Good for piping redstone, and not a half-bad instrument!”

He hummed, returning to his work. “You know a bit of redstone, then? Somehow that suits you.”

“Was my job, back in the Nether. Though, even before I came here I couldn’t seem to find good work with it.”

“I heard from Mumbo and Scar that you can make light with it.”

“Yep, if you activate it then it’ll give off its own light, though usually you use it with glowstone to make lamps. It’s a bit similar to prismarine crystals or frog glass.”

“And I’m to assume the price is also similar?”

“Oh, of course.”

Tango continued his chatter about redstone and light, which evolved into machinery, the descriptions of which Jimmy found difficult to wrap his mind around. All the while he pinned and trimmed and stitched. Before either knew it, the work had been done. Jimmy had sat down, watching the blazeborn ramble on with amusement, curious to when he would notice. Once it reached a full hour, and it became clear that Tango would go on in perpetuity if not stopped by an external force, Jimmy finally spoke up.

“Tango, that’s lovely and I would very much like to hear more about clank circuits,” He softly interrupted with an outstretched hand which he gently placed on Tango’s forearm. “But if you could spare a moment, I’d very much like to know what you think of your clothes?”

“Oh? Oh!” It finally occurred to the man that there was no more work to be done, spinning on the spot to look at himself. Laughing a bit to himself, Jimmy indicated towards the large set of full-length mirrors beside him. The clothes were simple, thick for insulation and work, and dyed various dull reds and dark browns. It looked acceptable, though Jimmy was already playing with ideas for when the Nether materials came in to make something much nicer. 

For Tango’s part, he seemed pleased regardless, his tail stuttering with too much energy. “This is amazing! I watched you do it and I don’t get how you put it together.”

“Well, that’s because you don’t know what you’re looking at.” Jimmy offered. “I’m sure with your brain for machinery you could figure it out easily if you were to stick around.”

His ears perked. “Can I?” 

“Excuse me?”

“Stay, I mean.” It seemed to suddenly occur to him the oddity of his request, shrinking in on himself. “I, uh, well I don’t really have anywhere else to go, and Tumble Town has no workhouse.”

Jimmy’s wings flared in appalment. “I would never send you to one if there were! Although, I don’t exactly have comfortable long-term accommodation for you.” He hummed for a moment, thinking. “I suppose my brother has guestrooms now, if I understood correctly what I heard yesterday.” The last part he whispered to himself.

“The bamboozler?” Tango asked in disappointment.

It was all Jimmy could do to not roll his eyes. “I’d say ‘get over it’, but I grew up living with him, so I understand. Fine, you can stay here, but I’m finding you something more comfortable to sleep on at the very least.”

“I bet your bed’s comfy.” Tango grinned.

“It is, I sleep there.”

“Well, I never said you had to sleep somewhere else.”

Jimmy was already beginning to think that, perhaps, this was all one great big mistake.

[xsavannahx987]

TS3 CONVERSION-RANCH SET

All CC on this pack are base game compatible.

37 items

bed of innocence - new mesh, 3 swatches, all lods and shadow (low poly). Fully tested in game. Cost 900$

cowgirl's end table - new mesh. 3 swatches, all lods and shadow (low poly). Fully tested in game. Cost 200$

decadent incandescence - new mesh, 3 swatches, all lods and shadow (low poly). Fully tested in game. Cost 125$

desert ivy - new mesh, 3 swatches, all lods and shadow (low poly). Fully tested in game. Cost 120$

don libro's bookcase - new mesh. 3 swatches, all lods and shadow (low poly). Fully tested in game. Cost 730$

el comforto - new mesh. 3 swatches, all lods and shadow (low poly). Fully tested in game. Cost 450$

gnome 'ikin dining table - new mesh. 5 swatches, all lods and shadow (low poly). Fully tested in game. Cost 195$

goth family loveseat - new mesh. 3 swatches, all lods and shadow (low poly). Fully tested in game. Cost 1000$

hot to trot dresser - new mesh. 3 swatches, all lods and shadow (low poly). Fully tested in game. Cost 550$

le rustique lighting - new mesh, 3 swatches, all lods and shadow (low poly). Fully tested in game. Cost 60$

leather bound mirror - new mesh. 3 swatches, all lods and shadow (low poly). Fully tested in game. Cost 300$

lounge chairs - new mesh, 3 swatches, all lods and shadow (low poly). Fully tested in game. Cost 900$

miner's delightful lamp - new mesh, 3 swatches, all lods and shadow (low poly). Fully tested in game. Cost 115$

mixed media living chair - new mesh. 3 swatches, all lods and shadow (low poly). Fully tested in game. Cost 1200$

old barley's lucky barstool - new mesh, 3 swatches, all lods and shadow (low poly). Fully tested in game. Cost 400$

old timey replica lamp - new mesh, 3 swatches, all lods and shadow (low poly). Fully tested in game. Cost 80$

overly simple standup mirror - new mesh, 3 swatches, all lods and shadow (low poly). Fully tested in game. Cost 335$

perfect pedestal end table - new mesh, 3 swatches, all lods and shadow (low poly). Fully tested in game. Cost 50$

pre-fab bacon bed - new mesh, 3 swatches, all lods and shadow (low poly). Fully tested in game. Cost 2000$

rancher's bed of dreams - new mesh, 3 swatches, all lods and shadow (low poly). Fully tested in game. Cost 610$

ranchhand's bane coffee table - new mesh, 3 swatches, all lods and shadow (low poly). Fully tested in game. Cost 100$

rustically elegant dining chair - new mesh, 3 swatches, all lods and shadow (low poly). Fully tested in game. Cost 165$

rustically elegant dining table - new mesh, 3 swatches, all lods and shadow (low poly). Fully tested in game. Cost 285$

salty's flower barrel - new mesh, 3 swatches, all lods and shadow (low poly). Fully tested in game. Cost 55$

sassy classy dining chair - new mesh, 5 swatches, all lods and shadow (low poly). Fully tested in game. Cost 325$

the disciplinary lamp - new mesh, 3 swatches, all lods and shadow (low poly). Fully tested in game. Cost 30$

the i didn't do it end table - new mesh, 3 swatches, all lods and shadow (low poly). Fully tested in game. Cost 160$

the isosceles lamp - new mesh, 3 swatches, all lods and shadow (low poly). Fully tested in game. Cost 400$

the pretentious desk - new mesh, 3 swatches, all lods and shadow (low poly). Fully tested in game. Cost 300$

the puff n tufts chair - new mesh, 3 swatches, all lods and shadow (low poly). Fully tested in game. Cost 250$

the roll y poll y desk - new mesh, 3 swatches, all lods and shadow (low poly). Fully tested in game. Cost 525$

the royal baker's ceiling lamp - new mesh, 3 swatches, all lods and shadow (low poly). Fully tested in game. Cost 95$

the serenity wall lamp - new mesh, 3 swatches, all lods and shadow (low poly). Fully tested in game. Cost 160$

the sturdy gurdy bookshelf - new mesh, 3 swatches, all lods and shadow (low poly). Fully tested in game. Cost 465$

the wheel of modernity - new mesh, 3 swatches, all lods and shadow (low poly). Fully tested in game. Cost 295$

trilight - new mesh, 3 swatches, all lods and shadow (low poly). Fully tested in game. Cost 150$

wheely bench - new mesh, 5 swatches, all lods and shadow (low poly). Fully tested in game. Cost 735$

To find all objects in game, type [RANCH SET] in the search bar

DOWNLOAD (& other pics)

CCs are always free but consider to buy me a coffee<3

@moonglitchccfinds @dreamstatesimsfinds @emilyccfinds @sssvitlanz

[no-phrogs-in-hats]

Trench Coats and Lingerie !NSFW!

Pairing: Polly Gray x Reader

Warnings: SMUT, semi-public sex, brief voyeurism/exhibitionism, mommy kink

Words: 1312

A/N: This same oneshot is published on Wattpad in my book Bite the Bullet

Your hand is no longer cramping as you enter your eighth hour of filling out paperwork for Shelby Company Limited. A heavy energy sits over your office as you continue, hunched over the dark mahogany desk. As you calculate prices for future galas and sign your name at the bottom of each paper, a light rattling sounds, the door to your office opening and shutting quickly.

Having an inkling who’s visiting you at this hour of the evening, you don’t look up from the paper, a simple “Hello, Polly” sufficing. 

She doesn’t respond as she locks the door, pulling the curtain over the frosted window. You look up now, curiosity grabbing hold of you. You breath hitches in your throat as your eyes take in the sight of her. A light gray trench coat was wrapped around her as she grinned, silently walking around to stand in front of your desk. 

You peer up at her with wide eyes, your mouth dropping slightly. “Polly, what are--”

“Hush,” she mutters. Keeping eye contact, she takes the belt from the trench coat, slowly untying it and letting the coat drop from her shoulders, onto the floor. She grins as you observe her. A light bluebell lingerie encases the curves of her body. The two piece set exposes most of her torso, sheer stockings held up by lace garters. 

She takes a step forward as you stand from your chair. With a triumphant grin, she pulls you in for a kiss, bracing herself against the desk.

“Why are--”

“Because,” she whispers against your lips, “you’ve been working so hard for the past few weeks, darling. I thought you might deserve a break.”

You smile against her, your voice just barely above a whisper when you respond, “What kind of break?”

She pulls away ever so slightly so she’s barely hovering over your lips. The corners of her mouth tug as she answers your question in a seductive hiss. “Use me. Do what you please. Fuck me until I’m crying for mercy, even.”

She pulls you back into her, deepening the kiss, her tongue slipping into your mouth as you moan lightly. A smile just barely cracks on your lips as you respond, your voice barely a whisper. “Then I want to see you beg. I want you to break yourself as you become lightheaded, pleasure taking over every sense. I want to see you touch yourself as you fall apart by your own hands. Show me how you pleasure yourself when I’m not there to do it for you.”

A shaky breath escapes her lips, the corners of her mouth just barely turning into a smile. “As you wish, love.” She presses a soft kiss to your mouth before pulling away and walking to your side of the desk. 

You turn around, leaning against the desk as Polly makes her way over to the leather chair in front of you. She takes a seat slowly, draping her arms lazily over the back of the tub chair, her legs spreading as a cocky grin upturns on her face. 

Lust emits from her gaze as she takes her hand, trailing her fingers on the dark leather, slowly dragging them closer to herself as her slender fingers toy with the gold tufting buttons. Her eyes grow darker, her pupils dilating as her fingers brush over her exposed torso, sending goosebumps along the skin. Her breath hitches as her hands sink lower beyond the waistband of the underwear. 

You bite your lip, the sight alone enough to get you off there. Her head fell back, dark hair parting over her face as her mouth hung open. Broken gasps slipped from her tongue as her hand sank lower and lower.  

“Just like that,” you mutter as she picks her head up, making direct eye contact with you. 

Her eyes fell shut and her chest rose and fell, faster and faster as her hand continued beneath the fabric, fingers moving in tight circles. 

You lean forward slightly, moving away from the desk and stepping forward to Polly. A smug grin presented itself on your lips and you leaned down, taking her chin and softly connecting them with yours. She deepened it, trying her best to take a breath of air. Her breath hitched in her throat as you placed your hand over hers, stopping its movements. Pulling away from the kiss, you look into her eyes and mumble, “Get on the desk.”

Forcefully, she takes your lips again, her tongue grazing your teeth as she stands from the chair. Her hands push you back and you’re able to shove everything from the desk and onto the floor before she takes you again by the collar.

“You know,” she breathes against your lips, “I was quite open to you telling me what to do...But, now...I can’t take it anymore.”

You grin against her lips as she tears off your waistcoat, throwing it aside on the chair. “That prideful, eh, Pol?” 

She says nothing and her hand grasps the tie around your neck as she pulls you closer to her. Skilled hands untie the ribbon quickly as possible, ripping open the pristine white button-up that hid the chills on your spine. Her lips trail down to your jaw, her teeth grazing your pulse as her hands run along the smooth skin of your waist. 

Your hand goes to her hair as a breathy moan escapes your lips. “Fuck…”

A hum of amusement sounds from her as she makes her way down to your collarbone, biting at the exposed flesh. Her hand snakes down to the waistband of your pants, continuing down past your underwear. Her fingers pressed hard, drawing tight circles around your clit.

She makes her way back up your neck, stopping at the base of your earlobe and tugging softly on it with her teeth. “My my…” she tsks, “...you’ve certainly been bad haven’t you?”

“Pol, I--” You release a shaky breath, not having a clue what to say. 

“Quiet, pet,” she hushes. Her fingers move faster, eliciting gasps from your lips as her teeth nip at the skin on your neck. 

The knot in your stomach grew tighter by the second as her fingers worked and your breath became shallow as you felt the release just over the edge. Your hands grasped onto her back as you spoke as best you could. “Pol, I--Please--I’m--”

“Begging now, are we?” she asked, pulling away from your neck. “I like it, do it again.”

Your eyes squeezed shut as you tried to form words, holding back with every strength you had. “Plea--please, Mommy, let me--let me cum so you can watch--watch me lick it off your--fuck--your pretty fingers like the desperate--slut I am.”

“It’s good you know your place,” she mumbled. “Good you know you’ll do anything for me…”

“Yes,” you whined. “Please, just let me--”

“Go ahead, cum for mommy,” she responded, pulling your face to hers as she connected your lips. 

You moaned into the kiss as you felt every sense heighten and every movement slow. You caught your breath, whimpering as she removed her fingers. 

“Open,” she commanded.

As you obeyed, she pressed her fingers to your tongue. You close your mouth taking in the taste of yourself. As she pulls her fingers away, she pulls you in for another kiss. 

“Now,” she murmurs, pulling away. Her unfinished claim still standing, she moves across the room, retrieving the trenchcoat and throwing it back on. She examines her hair in a small mirror hung on the wall and goes to the door. After unlocking it, she turns to you, smirking. “I guess I should get home. Finish that work, darling, and you get another reward.”

And with a wink, she turns away, closing the door behind you, your chest still heaving as you try to relive the past hour.

[shy-nightmare]

The Toonz Twins: Toontown Sleuths

Chapter Three: Eddie Valiant

Summary: Now that they’ve been hired, the twins meet their new partner, retired Toon private investigator Eddie Valiant who is also hired to investigate the rumors at Maroon Cartoons Studio CEO R.K. Maroon’s request. The three do not hit it well with first impressions.

Credit for inspiration goes to @imaginarytoon1, author of “The Birchwood Twins: Toontown Investigators” and @its-metal-mistress, author of “Bendy and the Ink Machine: Learning How to Live”. Please check out their own wonderful content ^^!

Special Guests Tags 😊: @marinerainbow, @slashingdisneypasta, @los-angeles-toon-patrol, and @weaselnerd (BTW, I have a favor to ask. If you guys received this, can you please comment you saw my chapter? I’ve been having WiFi issues lately ☹)

Warning: Eddie being biased towards the twins 😑

The twins followed the lady down the hallway to R.K. Maroon’s office. As they walked, they marveled at the sight of various Toons and Toon celebrities walking around the streets at the studio. The walls were embellished with posters of Roger and Herman’s cartoons from Babes in Arms to Tummy Trouble and The Wet Nurse.

“They must be the stars of the studio,” Tom said to his sister, who gave a little shrug as if to say, “Guess so”.

The lady knocked on the doors polished in oak wood. “Mr. Maroon? Our guests are here.”

“Ah! Terrific!” a man’s voice responded. He clapped his hands, “Send them in, please.”

She opened the door for the twins, and they thanked her before stepping into Maroon’s office. It was a classy, organized room with walls painted in ivory decorated with golden statues of Toon celebrities and posters of Roger and Herman’s cartoons near a single green sofa chair on the right. The floor was polished in dark green and red, and only had two little stairs to the office desk. The desk itself was shaped in a curved style, decorated with more cartoon memorabilia and the chair was tufted in vintage green leather. Two velvet green curtains spread open, giving a splendid view of the Acme Factory. And sitting on the office chair and another in front of the desk were two men.

R.K. Maroon was a tall, but stout man. His skin was olive, and his hair was black peppered with streaks of gray. He wore a dark silver-grey jacket accented by a crimson handkerchief over a white dress shirt, a tie threaded in streaks of black, white, and red, and matching silver-grey trousers with polished black dress shoes.

And the other man, judging by his washed-up detective getup, had to be Eddie Valiant. He was slightly shorter, but a little stockier. He wore an old, coffee-colored jacket with a surprisingly clean white dress shirt, holding a black tie dotted in diamond shapes marked with single red x’s and dark suspenders with scuffed shoes. But unlike Maroon, he kept his short dark brown hair hidden in a classic brown fedora. He raised a brow at the twins’ appearances, giving them both a once-over look before his brown eyes darkened. Tom returned his glance with a concealed warning glare, which did manage to tell the man to keep his trap shut. At least, for now.

“Hello and welcome to Maroon Cartoons!” Maroon walked over to meet the twins, extending his hand out. “You must be Mr. Valiant’s assistants. I’m R.K. Maroon, the proud owner and CEO of the studio.”

Tom accepted his handshake, “Tom Toonz. And this is my sister, Twyla.” He motioned to his sister, who shyly held her hand out for a handshake.

“It’s very nice to meet you, too.” Maroon shook her hand before he turned to the brooding man. “OK, Eddie, you’re free to go.”

“Great,” Valiant grumbled, taking another gulp of his flask and stuffing it in his pocket before storming out of the office.

The twins sighed and shared a deadpan look. “Let’s get this over with,” he grumbled, and they followed him, not noticing Maroon’s smile turn a little…less sincere.

_____________

They followed their “partner” all the way across town, where he decided to hitch a ride on another trolley without them. Asshole. The Red Car stopped near an archway building called The Terminal Station Bar. Just as Eddie was about to take the first step, a young gruff voice spoke from behind him.

“Leavin’ us out in the open?”

“Jesus!” Eddie whirled around, but he glowered when he saw the twins with their arms crossed. “Didn’t anyone ever tell ya it ain’t smart to sneak up behind people?”

“Didn’t anyone ever tell ya it ain’t polite to ditch your coworkers?” Tom answered his question with another question, raising a brow.

“No shit, sherlock,” Eddie grumbled. “Look, I got no time to deal with you Toons—”

A hand grabbed him by the shoulder before Eddie was forced to make eye contact with the young gunslinger. Tom’s tone was even but had a firm undertone do it. “I wouldn’t finish that sentence if I were you. Where we come from, we don’t take kindly to racists and that does not exclude you, Mr. Valiant.”

Eddie’s glare faltered a little, his brown eyes slightly widening from the stoic, but intense glare in Tom’s darker eyes and his slightly tightened grip. After a long tense moment, he sighed and let go of the human’s shoulder. “Look, buddy. We get that we’re Toons, but like it or not, Maroon and the fuckin’ man-brat requested all three of us for this job. So I’ll offer you a deal, let us help out and I’ll split our cut 50-50 considering the time of the century we’re living in. And after that, we’ll be gone by sundown. Deal?”

The disgruntled man glared down at the floor, as if he were blaming it for all his troubles right now, then he sighed. “All right. Deal.” He shook Tom’s hand, then pulled back. “So Herman brought you two in for the same favor, huh?”

“Yeah. Apparently, there’s a rumor going around saying Jessica’s cheating on her husband. Then he sent us your way, but the problem is we don’t have a camera. And with what we got right now ain’t enough to give Herman the proof.” Tom glanced at Twyla, who nodded.

“I see.” Eddie sighed, “Wait here. I don’t want the guys to see me in the bar with you runts.”

He turned around and headed into the entrance. Tom flipped him off behind his back. He nearly bumped into a drunk who reeked of bad B.O. and booze that almost reminded him of the Hellhole and walked over to his sister who leaned against the wall while looking at her cell phone.

“Have you reached Adam and Echo yet?” he asked.

Twyla shook her head, “No. Apparently, there’s no signal in this time period.”

“It’s the 40’s, sis.” Her brother reminded her, taking his hat off to rub his temple. “We’ll try again later. Last thing we need is to make Echo sick with worry and Adam beat the shit out of us with his fuckin’ laptop.”

“Agreed.”

Suddenly, Eddie stormed out of the bar, clenching his fist. Tom saw some pieces of eggshells falling out of his palm and could tell some shit went down. “We’re going straight ahead. My office is in that building.” He spoke gruffly with teeth gritted in fury, jerking his head at a large suburban-styled apartment building across the bar at Hope Street. The trio entered the building and walked up a set of stairs leading to a long hallway with doors. After a few blocks down, Eddie led the twins to an office door labeled “VALIANT & VALIANT, PRIVATE INVESTIGATORS”, and in the center was a badge-designed symbol written “Veritas”. Eddie opened the door to his office.

His office…was a one-room apartment. The walls were tawny brown, hanging up portraits and photographed frames. It had a small kitchen with enough room to fit little a card-playing table and chairs, refrigerator, oven, sink, and thank God there was a bathroom. On the left side of the office stood a couple of dark oak shelves scattered with documents and more bottles of Jack Daniels while a dark brown leather chair stood a few feet away from them. And standing in front of the blinded window stood two office desks connected to each other with a single vintage chair. One was polished, though littered with picture frames, papers, booze, and debris. And the other was organized and well-put but covered in thick dust. There was only an unfinished scrapbook, a magnifying glass, an adorable Betty Boop figurine, rounded spectacles, and a pipe next to two organized pens. Everything was dusty, but untouched.

Eddie sat on the chair where the scattered desk was, obviously his office desk. He motioned for the twins to sit on the chairs around the table and they each grabbed a chair.

“Now if you’re going to work with me, I have to lay down some ground rules for you.” He began, making eye contact with them. “First, never—and I mean never—sit on this desk.” He pointed at the dust-blanketed office desk without taking his eyes off his “partners”. “Second, don’t slack off or goof around like you Toons do.” He added, and Tom held back a murderous growl while Twyla’s fur lightly bristled with equal rage though she was in more control of her composure. “And third of all, don’t do anything even remotely stupid that will embarrass me or get us killed while we’re on the job. Got it?”

Tom and Twyla both silently nodded. “Yes, sir.” The older twin spoke.

“Good. But before I tell you my plan for the evening, I want to know you two more. Who are ya and where are ya from?”

Tom, who was always one step ahead, did all the talking. “The name’s Toonz. Tom Toonz. And this is my twin sister, Twyla,” he motioned to his sister who greeted the man with a curt tilt of her head. Then, he dug down into his pocket to pull out a file containing two copies of their credentials that Twyla so kindly upgraded a while ago. Tom handed the papers over to Eddie. “We were hired by Baby Herman as covert investigators from Chatham, Chicago.”

“Chatham?” Eddie raised a brow, as if he were perturbed by the fact. He looked at the papers’ contents again for confirmation. “Uh, that’s a rough part of town, ain’t it?”

“Yeah, well, Chicago is rough.” Tom responded with a shrug. “But it’s one of the biggest joints out in the city to pull a sleuth job.” When Eddie furrowed his brows in confusion, the male halfie elaborated. “Before we came here, we’ve done some favors, too. Folks would show up on our door, asking us to find some dirt on people on their lists. Cheaters, scammers, liars, folks pilfering and selling recreational goods for their clandestine businesses, you name it.” he finished, trailing off, “Chicago ain’t as big as New York, but the streets are just as tough and crawling with creeps and sleazeballs of all kinds, and thugs itchin’ to take a crack at you.”

Eddie observed the scar on Tom’s right eye, then looked down. He nodded, “Yeah? Is that why you’re packin’ heavy heat?”

Tom followed where he was looking and saw the hostler of his gun coiled around his right hip. He softly cursed and tried to hide it better when Eddie cut him off. “Ah, don’t sweat it, kid. I get it. You’re trained to prepare, and that’s good. You need to use your eyes and ears, or else the pigs will be blowing your house down.”

“Ha-ha, hilarious. You’re a real fuckin’ Charlie Chaplin,” Tom snorted, but Eddie didn’t get irritated from hearing the swear.

Eddie turned to Twyla, “What about you?”

Twyla’s ears drooped, but Tom was kind enough to answer for her. “Um, sir.” He spoke to Eddie, softening his tone while keeping the eye contact firm but steady. “She doesn’t feel comfortable talking just yet.”

The detective rose a brow, but he didn’t get upset. “Just yet?”

“She struggles to speak when she’s out in public and she’s very shy, but once she gets to know you better, she’s only a lady of a few words.” Tom replied.

Thankfully, Eddie dropped it. “OK, I got ya. So you can say she’s more of the silent type?”

“Yeah.” Tom nodded, “But she’s learning some of the same skills as I am. While she struggles in conversation, she makes up for it with tracking skills and finding clues. Plus, she as a keen attention to detail and is an excellent master of stealth.” He grinned proudly at his twin’s adorable attempt to hide her embarrassed, blushing face while trying to shove her brother off his chair. However, she managed to punch him roughly in the shoulder. “Ow!” he rubbed his right arm gingerly, “And did I forget to mention she hits like a guy?”

Unbeknownst to them, Eddie pulled up their papers to hide an amused chuckle. He cleared his throat and lowered the papers, folding his hands together. “All right, back to business.”

“Right.” Tom fixed his jacket before facing the human. “So, what did Maroon tell you?”

“He told me that the rabbit’s got his tail all up in in knots because of his wife, Jessica.” He tossed Tom a folded newspaper, and the twins huddled together to take a closer look. Written in bold black, the headliner read, “Seen Cooing over Calamari with Not-So-New Sugar Daddy was Jessica Rabbit, wife of Maroon Cartoons Star Roger Rabbit”. Eddie continued while the twins read, “Like you said, there’s always a cheater crawling around. Maroon says Jessica’s poison, but Roger thinks she’s Betty Crocker. Maroon wants us to go to the joint she sings at, a little evening hotspot called The Ink & Paint Club and dig up some dirt on her.”

He glanced up at the twins warily. “There’s just one problem, though.”

They looked at him, tilting their heads confusedly. “What’s up?” Tom asked.

“Toons do work there, but the club is Toon-Revue. Strictly humans only,” he responded, hiding his concealed apprehension when the twins’ faces darkened. “I got some trench coats and hats you can borrow, so we’ll pull the old cloak-and-dagger trick and—”

Tom cut him off. “Oh, trust me. There’s no need for that,” he waved dismissively. And then, he pulled into a mischievous grin. “You just leave that to us.” He chuckled.

The twins shared a toothy smile that made Eddie’s blood run cold. Oh fuck, what have I gotten myself into? He thought.               

[lucysarah-c]

I'm sorry I need to share the upcoming small Erwin's pov from Holy Ground ch. 18

Because I either feel I may erase it all or fall in love with it.

If you don't read Holy Ground, its perfectly fine. The only context you need "Erwin and Yn broke up, they are in a really complicated break up.... and she's secretly dating Levi" and it takes place before the fall of wall Maria after the events of ACWNR. Erwin isn't a commander yet and Levi isn't a Captain either

When the morning came, the wax of the candle overflowed to the desk, staining it forever. The stale air of the office only accentuated the headaches he felt at waking. Regretting it immediately, as the bottom of his head hurted with the pain of a cervical cramp. The roughness on the tongue and teeth of falling asleep without completing a night routine clouded his senses.

“No no,” repeated negations as a washcloth was rushly used to prevent more warm wax falling into the surface, pointless because the damage is already done. Blue eyes admiring the marks on forever hurt wood with tired expression as he let the weight slack against his green tufted chair. Calloused fingers massaged the temples, trying to erase the waves of pain on the back of his lids and, multitasking, trying to force awakeness. Once the pressure withdrew he admired the sole of his fingertips, all of them covered in dark inconsistent tint spots.

A loud sigh came out labored. Exhausted body raising from the chair to open the window, freshly chilly air to erase the feeling of enclosement inside the place. Unbothered, his hands grabbed the stagnant water in the pitcher and threw it to the chimney that out burned itself turned on all night long, doing a walk of shame to the bathroom. Well aware of the consequences of turning off the fire like that but he couldn’t gather any of the little pieces of his soul that remained to care enough.

The shower choppy poured water as the plugging was probably frozen at some parts and filled with air at others. Not even temperate temperature yet and the little pouring that came out of it made him groan exhausted, cursing under his breath. As a wife who knows her husband's bad habits, he proceeded to open a lower tap to force the bubbles out of the system and walked away to advance at another task as the water warmed up.

Papers were picked up and put somewhere inside the attached bedroom with some laundry that he knew that he would wear before he had time to fold it properly. So.. why caring?

Tired, dry, red eyes doing the best to focus on the words he’d been writing before sleep overtook on the desk, ilegible shakable words that he dreamed to be writing. Groans filling the place as hands crumpled the paper with such hate that was almost shameful to dedicate such powerful feelings to an inanimate object.

After the battles of the outgoing war. After not surviving another attack, the perfume of the distress and not surviving those early March’s mornings that were as gray as broken. The only things remaining are freedom and the overwhelming sound of the silence when ‘you’ leave.

'My room is a disaster, my life slightly more,’

Searching for a white shirt that could pass for ironed to get once for all inside the shower. A knock at the door echoed.

“Sir, Commander Shadis would like to have a meeting asap.” A youngful male voice transpassed the thick wood door “He said that he would like to know what are your plans for the future expedition,”

A minute of silence, no reply.

“Squad section, Erwin? Are you awake sir?”

The pressure on the doorknock as it was pushed down made him reply “Yes, I’ll be there in a minute,” The forceful professional voice came out of him as his alter ego.

“Sir!” Erwin smirked, saturated as he could even hear the ruffling of the leather jacket fabric against itself as the cadet saludated behind the door.

The self depressive smirk turned into clenching teeth, he wanted to cry for everything and nothing. The situationship over flooding his capabilities to take any more demands, ‘What will I do for the next expedition? The day you grew up some guts and began to take decisions by yourself, I can’t be the commander, the strategy leader, the political management, the collector of funds, a squad section and your babysitter,’

No time was left for him to succumb to the idea of letting his heart speak freely. He’d already done that the previous night, after Mike left reassured that he was feeling better. ‘I said words I don’t believe’

Frustration hitting a peak, so much accumulation that made him break, hurt and get a headache. Headache that made him feel sleepy despite having a long night of work ahead of himself.

‘Darling, darling, please’ his mind recalled small gentle fingers playing with his stuck locks pushed back with pomade, mellow voice demanding him to put himself first, go to bed.

‘Without you, my consciousness stays frozen and cold,’ There was a sort of resignation that hurts deeply, the idea of forgiving it all, to accept all the blame, to ask prideless a return because what would it matter to lose the battle if the other person has already taken it all. Sticking to his pride is like burning it all to win a war and becoming the king of the ashes.

‘your virtues hurt deeply when your absence is palpable,’

He strolled deep down to the new declared city of the failed rendezvous, capital of the existential emptiness: the mess hall. A facade covering real intentions as familiar faces greeted him on his way down. None of them the one he desired to encounter. Thinking of those first mornings when the timing never failed to find me between the faces of my friends.

Lost childish hopes searched between the rest of the empty faces. Then carried on to his respective meeting. Words echoing like shot bullets from the trenches. My so-called freedom implied his freedom to do what he pleased, this time with no apparent consequences.

“You alright?” Shadis voice sounded at the distance as his pen overdrawn multiple circles over the sketch of a strategy. “Something happened?”

“Yes, sir, excuse my behavior. I’m still slightly sleep,”

‘You alright? No, I’m not,’

‘You’ve to understand that it is true that she’s free to do what she wants… so are you. Why don’t you go to meet with Ada? To space out,’ Mike's best intentions had arrived to deaf ears the previous night.

‘I’m free… free to do what I please… Thought, the only thing I want right now is seeing you,’

‘Something happened?’

‘Simply happens that I want to see you, is that hard for you to believe it? I just want to see you,”

[ratcatcher0325]

Hello, Alexander!

I know you’ve been practically flooded with asks recently, so take all the time you need getting back. I’m aware you just recently received some new furniture, and I’ve wondered a bit about what you’d pick out, given the opportunity. So, for the ask game:

11. What does your dream room/house look like? Would you mind showing some inspiration pictures?

Hope you have a lovely day,

The Slightly-Taller, Slightly-Less-Traumatized Alexander

A fellow Alexander? Nice to meet you. I hope you’re bringing honor to the namesake. It certainly sounds like it, although I’m not sure I appreciate being reminded of my short stature. In spite of that, I am delighted you’ve fought through life with slightly less psychological damage, that’s something to celebrate, yes? I am curious, mysterious man of my namesake, are there other traits we share in common besides our titles?

What does your dream room/house look like? My, what a lovely and considerate question! It’s nice to finally be asked what I want, for once. What a refreshing change of pace! (Are you taking notes, Natalie? She’s glaring at me and showing me all the charges I’ve racked up this month alone… whatever, my point still stands!) I’d be more than happy to extrapolate on this question as I have pondered over it for many years.

Nothing would make my heart happier than a curated library to call my own. I can picture floor to ceiling shelves with volume after volume of my personal selections, all printed and bound with exquisite detail and perfectly proportionate to me. Persian rugs would line the hardwood floors and I’d have a massive, ornate desk to work from. I’d have prints of my favorite Caravaggios in ornate frames, to scale, of course. I’d want an upholstered, tufted leather chair to lounge in. I could have a couch or cot of some sort against one wall. That detail hardly matters to me. It’s what one does with one’s waking hours that makes a man, after all. Perhaps I could have a wardrobe to carefully house my clothes. And just to top it all off, I’d love a replica made of that stately old grandfather clock I came to know so well, just as a sort of memento mori and homage to the ever passing and shifting nature of Time herself.

Thank you for the rather enjoyable ask. These are things Natalie can purchase, don’t you think?

Yours Truly,

Alexander

P.S. Please peruse my rather graphic, but still absolute favorite works of Caravaggio below the cut…

[atplblog]

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[eameschairreplica-stylofurniture]

Eames Style Lounge Chair  

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[interior-desiner-noida]

Mixing Old and New: Bringing Traditional Design Into Modern Homes

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What is Modern Traditional Interior Design?

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[mikaelsonwife4life]

The Mystery Gang: The Origin Story

Happy New Years, Everyone!!!

As a welcome to 2024, I'm starting to post chapters here before posting them on my Wattpad account, which I'll only post on once the story is completely finished.

So, enjoy my new Scooby-Doo fanfiction!

Genevieve Romero stared up at Coolsville High School, nervously twisting one of the many bracelets on her wrist. She was new. And not just to Coolsville but to the entire state of California. Before that, she’d lived in New Orleans her entire life. After finishing Grimwood’s Academy for Ghouls, Eve’s parents thought she could use a change of scenery and education was in order. Potions were swapped for Chemistry, Study of Ancient Literature became English, and Flight Class became Gym Class. Eve was terrified to step foot in a normal school. For the past six years, she’d only attended schools with other monsters and the thought of being with normal humans scared her.

“Mon chéri,” Eve’s mother cooed, “Come along, it’s just a bunch of teenagers. Like you.” Charlotte Romero was a French woman with stunning black hair and bright blue eyes, a near-carbon copy of her daughter. She’d spoken French her entire life until her University days when she’d been encouraged to learn English by Eve’s father, Louis. She was the one who insisted that Eve be fluent in French, which was fairly useful given Louisiana’s diversity.

“Not all teenagers are fluid in magic, mère,” Eve muttered back.

“Just makes you unique,” Eve’s father grinned from her other side, tightening his grip on her shoulder. Louis Romero appeared younger than he was, like all warlocks and witches. Her parents were pushing one-hundred and twenty-seven but still looked to be in their late twenties or early thirties. Louis wasn’t as refined as his wife, dressing in much more comfortable clothes than her. Not that they weren’t stylish. As the leading witch coven in America, the Romero family was extremely wealthy and wouldn’t dare be seen in anything that didn’t reflect that.

As it was, Louis was dressed in slacks and a long-sleeve white shirt and paired with a leather jacket and biker shoes from his stint as a biker in the mid-sixties. It was a look that suited him with his chocolate eyes and shoulder-length hair of the same color.

In all reality, Eve looked like a perfect blend between them. Her leather jacket gave her the same edge that her father possessed while her skinny jeans, black boots, and dark red tank gave her the elegance of her mother. But the bracelets and necklaces that overlapped were all hers.

Coolsville High School used to be a plantation and the insides greatly reflected that. From the oddly spaced rooms to the halls without lockers to the fairly low ceilings, the school didn’t look like a school. The only sign that the place even had an office was a large red and white sign stating so to the right of the entrance. Even so, Eve tentatively opened the door and half-expected to be chased out by some elderly woman with a broom.

Instead, she was greeted by a woman with bright red hair pulled into a bun, “Can I help you?”

“Um, hi,” Eve greeted as she walked in with her parents just a step behind her, “I’m Genevieve Romero. I- um, I was told to come here. To get my schedule and everything.” The woman, Miss Marshall as the plaque on the desk declared, studied Eve and her parents for a moment before nodding, pointing to a room on the left of her.

“Mr. Daniels is in that room. Go on in,” she told them before her attention returned to her computer, and for the life of her, Eve could tell what kind it was. She was a witch from Louisiana, she’d only ever needed a Crystal Ball to communicate.

Just as hesitatingly as she’d opened the Office’s door, she opened the door labeled Principle’s Office. For a second, Eve thought the room was empty until she realized Mr. Daniels was in the rolling chair facing the window by spotting a tuft of bleached-blonde hair sticking out from the top of the black leather chair.

“Mr. Daniels?” Eve called, stepping in far enough for her parents to enter and shut the door behind themselves, “I’m Genevieve Romero. I’m new.” At her voice, the principal spun around and sprung from his chair, taking quick steps to reach his desk. Mr. Daniels wasn’t very tall, five feet at best with thinning beach blonde hair standing up another couple of inches in every direction. His eyes were bright blue, flicking in every direction as if he’d drunk about a liter of coffee.

“Right!” he grinned, nodding quickly as he picked up a manilla folder, moved a large tumbler off of it, and handed it over. Eve could hear the contents slosh and the scent that reached her nose smelled like coffee, something that Eve was positive he’d had enough of already. As the envelope passed into Eve’s hands, she noticed the still-wet brown stain on it and barely managed to hide her grimace.

“This contains a map of, um of the school as well as… as your schedule. The student handbook, a, um, list of clubs. Some students that can help you get, um, get settled. Stuff, um, stuff like that,” The principal eyes flashed around the office, hardly staying on the trio, and his mouth seemed to run a mile a minute, stopping only when he was trying to figure out where he was going with the conversation.

“Thank you,” Charlotte spoke up, smiling as she stepped forward, slightly in front of her daughter rather than behind, “It was nice to meet you, Mr. Daniels.”

“Right, of course,” he nodded, fumbling with his hand as he spoke, “Genevieve can, um, can go to class now but I, uh, I need you, Mrs. and Mr. Romero, to, um, to sign a few papers. If that’s alright?”

“I’ll see you tonight, mère and père,” Eve said by way of farewell, giving each of her parents a kiss on the cheek in good-bye. She gave one last wave and disappeared out of the principal’s office and out of the main office a moment later.

Eve leaned against the white-painted wall as she flipped through the papers in the folder, searching for the aforementioned schedule and map. It took her a moment but Eve did find them and she was off to her first normal class since she was eight.

Eve really wished she didn’t have to go.