NONSENSE!

that’s the COST of doing BUSINESS! now, get back to work! ( ind. SIR of asoue. ) est. jan 2017

[lordoftheinternet]

that sounds like responsibility and i want no part in it

[arcusxx]

[lumbering-blog1]

luckymill:

Sir unbuttons his shirt, pink creeps down Charles’s neck, and he tries very hard to be still, to not lean in. It is a convenient gesture (the modest undressing), as Charles is beginning to feel fairly warm! His voice squeaks (like the rubber sole of a shoe on a freshly cleaned tile floor) on his first word,           “Is all this really necessary? I don’t know if it’s worth the trouble. What’s a shirt and coat and tie or two?”

“... Well, Charles, if that’s how you feel, why did you get me involved in the first place?”

Sir’s brows rise with something akin to exasperation. He may very well be on the verge of throwing up his hands, but for the moment, if only because he’s the sort to finish what he’s started, he continues to blot at the remainder of the gum. He doesn’t appear to have noticed just how still and warm Charles has gone, or to have considered the possibility that he could simply ask him to remove his coat. Instead, he pulls down the zipper and plants a hand on his chest for leverage.

[w-i-t-c-h-e-r-y]

[hoespice-deactivated20180619]

“i expected better from you” well that was your fault lmao I got nothing to do with that

[czrenys]

A SERIES OF UNFORTUNATE EVENTS » THE MISERABLE MILL

[lumbering-blog1]

luckymill:

He drapes the gum-free tie around his neck, careful not to let it touch any of the surrounding pink spots.

Charles’s head tilts to the side, then nods, and his eyebrows arch up in thoughtful admittance.

         “Well, turns out I was wrong. It was a good idea, after all. If not a smidgen wet.”

He considers their next plan of action. His face blooms into a rosy red.

         “But what about the rest? I can’t take my shirt off like my tie I’d– I’d be– shirtless! Not to mention silly looking!”

“Of course it was! I know what I’m doing!” 

Snorting out a cloud of smoke as he takes in the sight of his partner’s flustered distress, Sir rolls his eyes but rises with the china coffee cup in hand, prepared to humor him. “Now you’re being silly, Charles. Here. Hold this.” Standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Charles, a hand beneath his in order to hold the cup up high enough, he undoes the top two buttons of his shirt, attempting to dunk the starched collar without removing it — it’s an awkward position that soon becomes nothing but elbows and irritable fumbling. Plenty of water sloshes onto their shoes and blotches the front of his cream-colored waistcoat. With Sir, though, it’s always been the ends and not the means. Undeterred, he relents only when he’s pried the piece of gum away.  “There!”

[bungalowclassic]

[nayx-deactivated20200109]

there are a lot of people who need to shut up.  not me though

[lobo-de-luna-deactivated2018082]

[lumbering-blog1]

so so good omg i'm in awe i stalk all ur threads & you are perfect

how’s my driving? ( accepting! )

♥ 

[sin-of-omission]

[seamsteriori-blog]

How am I doing with my character? Tell me in the askbox, and I'll publish it without comment.

[greelin]

it’s terrible when you jokingly say “did ya miss me?” and then the other person just PULLS you into a hug w/o warning where you’re now stuck there having to feel genuine emotion like please.. do not shove me into serious sentimentality, at this hour.. at any hour.. it’s always too early for that

[earth-scented]

[lumbering-blog1]

baaticeers:

m.’s reptiles, gone. j.’s house, gone. the mill, out of commission. no matter what she does, she’s always one step behind. so she tracks c. and s., in hopes she can get one step ahead. maybe they can point her in the right direction. maybe she can get to her children this time, before all hell breaks loose. maybe she can still save them. unsurprisingly, she looks like a ghost. much more pale and gaunt than her time labeled as ‘living’. she’s also filthy, covered in grime and soot and clothes that don’t quite fit her, snatched from burning buildings and unlocked cars. the tattoo on her ankle is just out of sight, the skirt burnt and fraying. this was the only article of clothing that was hers, unchanged from that fateful day, still smelling of charred books and burning timber. she continues forward, a half eaten peach in her hand, unthreatened by the weaponized cleaning implement. this is a woman determined.

“hello, s. i was wondering if you’ve seen my children lately.”   

Instinctively, Sir retreats as she advances, jaw just slack enough that his cigar threatens to fall out of his mouth. Gaze darting from the petite figure of Beatrice Baudelaire to the dark orchard behind her and back again, he squares his shoulders and tightens his grip on the broom. “… No. Haven’t seen ‘em. Wasn’t there when they left. Don’t know where they went.” And really, good riddance! Charles might know (He didn’t ask— the subject has been forbidden ever since they nailed the ‘CLOSED’ sign to the gates of the Lucky Smells Lumbermill), but he isn’t about to mention that. Frankly, if no Baudelaire came anywhere near his partner ever again— well, that would certainly be a turn of events he’d take comfort in. Never mind the fact that they’d saved his life! They were also the only reason it’d been threatened to begin with! Remembering that, Sir seems to recover somewhat. Exhaling a long puff of smoke, he draws himself up to his full height and narrows his eyes. “Can’t help you. So get off our property. We don’t want a thing to do with you people! Anywhere you go…  Death. Disaster. Fire. You’re always the cause! The mill— that was their doing! I won’t have it happen again. Not here. Stay away from us!”

[violet-ultra-violent]