#Grout Colourant

[havingapoemwithyou]

There Are Eight Thousand Seven Hundred And Sixty Hours In A Year by SK Grout

[spoonyglitteraunt]

I've been left unattended to place the pick-up order for Home Depot tomorrow in anticipation of the bathtub getting replaced. Things like thinset and a few other things we need to replace the tile surround, but didn't have the space to store until we actually started ripping the bathroom apart.

Anyway. I just found out that our local Home Depot sells glitter grout.

[tilecleaningtoday]

How to Remove Tile Paint from Quarry Tiles

This is the second part of the floor restoration work we completed at a property in Bayston Hill near Shrewsbury. This post concerns the restoration of a Quarry tiled floor in the dining room whereas the previous post dealt with the Victorian tiled hallway.

Unlike the hallway the hallway the tiles in the dining room where well fixed, although there were a couple of tiles missing by the door which had been replaced with cement. The only other problem was their appearance, it looked as though they had been painted with several layers of tile paint during in its long history and this was now looking very patchy.

For this floor we needed to source a few matching Quarry tiles to be fixed in the doorway and then give the whole floor a very deep clean making sure to remove what remained of the paint in the process. Finally apply a fresh seal to the Quarry tiles which would help the original and replacement tiles blend in.

Repairing a Quarry Tiled Hallway Floor

Work started by chopping out the cement in the doorway threshold so the replacement tiles could be laid. This had to be done very carefully so as not to disturb the existing tiles. Once done the resultant rubble was cleared out and the subbase brought up to the correct level.

Replacement Quarry tiles are not that difficult to find, naturally however each one needed to be cut to fit exactly which took a little time. I always buy more than I need to allow for breakages etc, tilers usually recommend buying 10% more than you need and then to keep the spares in case you need to replace some later. With the tiles nicely shaped to fit the last step was to secure them in place with fast setting adhesive and grout.

Deep Cleaning a Quarry Tiled Hallway Floor

Once the tiles has set I was able to start the deep cleaning process for which I used the same process as the hallway tiles. In summary the Quarry tiles were sprayed with a strong dilution of Remove and Go which was left to soak in for around fifteen minutes before being scrubbed in using a rotary machine fitted with a Black pad. This generates a lot of slurry as the dirt and tile coatings are lifted out of the tile and into the cleaning solution; the slurry is then rinsed away with water and extracted off the floor using a wet vacuum. Once done the floor was inspected and then retreated as needed until I was satisfied it was as clean as possible.

The next step was to give the tiles an acid rinse using Tile Doctor Grout Clean-up which is designed to remove old grout smears and salts from the tile. Salts can be a real problem on old Quarry floors with no damp proof membrane as there is nothing to stop salts being caried up through the tile from the subfloor and being left as white deposits as the moisture evaporates, a process commonly known as Efflorescence and quite common with old Quarry tiled floors.

Sealing a Quarry Tiled Hallway Floor

With both floors clean they were left to dry out for a week before I returned to apply the sealer. It’s important for tiles to be dry before sealing or the results can be patchy.

For both floor I opted to use Tile Doctor Colour Grow which is an impregnating sealer that leaves a matt finish and works by occupying the pores in the tile protecting it from within. It’s also fully breathable so won’t prevent moisture rising through the tile and it contains a colour enhancer that will help improve the colours in the tile.

Source: Quarry Tiled Floor Cleaning and Renovation Services in Shrewsbury

[luveline]

i feel like the kbd girls would be absolutely over the moon about blue toilet water, steve’s little home improvement promotes him to coolest dad ever, and sweet bethie wants to invite her friend over to show off their cool blue toilet water

(i just remember thinking that was like the coolest thing ever as a kid)

Steve doesn’t hide his smile. “Girls, it’s not gonna be as exciting as you think it is.�� 

Avery, Beth, and Dove sit in a line on the bathroom floor, watching. 

“It’s gonna be blue, dad,” Avery says. “That’s exciting.” 

“Sort of weird having you all watch me clean the toilet.” He’d bleached and scrubbed and bleached again, and now he’s wiped down the tank and removed the lid, he’s peeling open the blister pack for the blue cistern tablets. 

“Gross,” Bethie says with a wrinkled nose. 

“It is kind of gross, but that’s why I clean it so much. Okay, are you guys ready? I’m gonna drop it in.” 

They all stand at once to crowd him. Steve tosses a tablet into the cistern and grins as the water turns blue immediately. His fingers are stained with it. He replaces the lid and rinses his fingers before he forgets. 

“Okay. Ready?” 

They all agree in their ways. Avery slaps her hands together and nods, Bethie says, “Yeah!” and Dove attempts to climb his leg like a sloth up a tree trunk. 

“Wait!” Bethie says, tapping Steve’s stomach and running out of the bathroom. Her feet thud across the landing and into your room. 

She drags you into the bathroom by the hand. “Okay, now you can, dad!” 

Steve meets your eyes. “You ready? This is about to change our lives.” 

You look around the upstairs bathroom in surprise. “Woah, what happened in here? It looks like a hotel. Did you scrub the grout? Incredible.” 

“Mom!” Avery yanks you by your shirt to the toilet. Too many people in one place, you smush in next to Steve and he gives you a flirty smile on instinct. “Dad, please do it. I can’t wait anymore.” 

“It’s really gonna let you guys down.” Steve stands at full height and reaches for the flush. 

He presses it. Blue water floods the bowl and, despite the girls having seen exactly how he managed it, they all gasp. Dove giggles wildly against his leg before she reaches her hand toward the water, fingers a hairs width from the bowl when you catch her and drag her up into your arms. 

“Oh no no no,” you say sweetly, turning her to see everyone, “we can’t do that, can we? We don’t put our hands in the toilet.” 

“Wow,” Beth says. “Wow. Dad, it’s magic. Now we can have blue pee.” 

“That’s not how that works, bug.” Steve takes Beth by the shoulders for a quick squeeze, then touches Avery’s, trying to get them to move on. 

“It’s really cool, I love it. Can we have other colours?” Avery asks. Dove squeals in your arms to be put down, but you’re tickling her sides in an attempt to appease her. 

“I’ve only seen blue ones,” Steve says, reluctant to let her down. 

Avery looks exactly like him as she frowns. “Oh.” 

“Can I ask Francesca to come?” Beth asks suddenly, nudging Avery out of the way to look up at him. “Please, dad, can she come look? It’s amazing.” 

“Oh, honey, I think Francesca’s probably seen it before. But we can still ask her tomorrow if she wants to come over, okay? When the rest of the house is clean, not just the bathroom.” 

“Fat chance,” you interject quickly, snorting. 

“Excuse me?” Steve asks. 

You laugh again and dive away as he pokes your side. “Get away from me, freak. I almost dropped my baby.” 

“I can clean this whole house top to bottom in a day. I could do it in my sleep,” Steve says. 

“Sure thing, honey.” 

Avery pokes you in the stomach. “Not nice, mom.” 

“Not nice, mom,” Steve parrots, grinning. “Wow, look at that. This blue toilet water brought us all together.” 

[bits-and-babs]

𝐃𝐎𝐍'𝐓 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐁𝐎𝐃𝐘 𝐖𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔

pairing: johnny soap mactavish x medic!reader (stitch)

summary: a night of drinking with 141 pushes you to the brink of your friendship with soap.

warnings: [ 1k words ] pathetic levels of mutual pining, yearning, alcohol and drinking, (f) masturbation, reader fantasising about sex with soap.

notes: i had so much fun writing this <33

Soap leans back dangerously on the stool at the bar as he laughs, a deep rumble that rattles his ribcage. The legs of the seat teeter precariously on the edge of a broken floor tile, threatening to slip into the grout grooves and knock him from his pedestal. He’s like sunshine, glowing with the grin plastered on his face as he guffaws at something Ghost had grumbled across the bar.

Even in your drunken stupor, you manage to place your palm on his lower back, curbing gravity’s inevitable pull by easing him back into an upright position. He chuckles weakly, still struggling over Simon’s ridiculous comment as he blinks back humorous tears.

“Cheers, Bonnie,” he grins, the ocean in his eyes swimming with the whiskey The Captain had been plying you both with all evening. It knocks you seasick, the way the corners of his eyes crinkled, weathered by emotional storms. They creased for you, now, his wide grin carving out crevices that would last a lifetime simply because he offered you a smile. “Always lookin’ after us, aren’t ye?”

“Y-Yeah, don’t go expecting me to catch you in the field. My job’s to treat injuries, not prevent them,” you murmur, heart cracking against your chest as it flooded your cheeks with blood, heating the skin beneath his gaze.

“Mhm- it’d mean y’d have less work,” he pointed out with a pert raise of his brows, picking up his glass of whiskey and swirling it around so that the ice tnk’d against it. Johnny doesn’t break eye contact, basking you in the warmth of his gaze that could only be rivalled by the sunshine on the beaches his salt-water eyes reminded you of.

Did other people bathe in that everglow? Did the golden rays of his affection colour the cheeks of other girls, or was that look of adoration reserved only for you? You dread to think of the possibility that you were misreading Johnny’s tender gaze, that what you had hoped were exclusive expressions of enchantment had, in fact, been handed out as frequently as the insults that Soap consistently levelled at the members of task force 141. Or even worse, there was a single ‘lass’ back home, waiting in the cobbled streets of Glasgow to receive his embrace.

Genesis: the split on his forehead that went straight to the bone. No bullets were fired; instead, Soap’s skull connected with Ghost’s knee during a football game with the rest of 141. Inexplicably, he and Simon had been on the same team, yet Johnny still managed to end up hurt. He’d smiled at you, and the sight had wormed its way into your bones, the sound of his accented voice all hushed and husky ringing in your ears. ‘Bet yer not used to fixin’ daftys like me.’

You’d assured him he wasn’t the first and certainly wouldn’t be the last.

Swallowing thickly, your fingers trail up the ridges of his spine through the thin material of his t-shirt. His back is muscular, leaking the heat of far too many whiskeys for so early in the evening. You’re sure you can feel his vertebrae ripple beneath your touch, his eyes zeroed in on your lips like he was aiming his sniper rifle at a target.

“It’s not work if it’s you,” you whisper, feeling the rest of the bar, the team, wash away in those ocean-blue irises. Soap hums softly, the weight of his hand resting on the top of your thigh beneath the sticky countertop of the bar. He seems to calculate the distance between you; the logistics of the shot.

You can’t breathe.

Defibrillator, chest compressions, mouth to mouth.

“Yer too kind, Stitch,” he murmured softly, giving your thigh a squeeze before withdrawing his touch almost as quickly as he’d offered it. Instead, he wraps his fingers around the glass containing the rest of his amber whiskey, the condensation clinging to the sides of the glass dribbling down the length of his fingers to the knuckles.

Code blue.

☆ ☆ ☆

Breathless, your back arches from the cot’s mattress as you sink your fingers into the dripping head at the apex of your thighs. You can’t help the moan that spills over from your lips as you feel how wet Soap’s single touch had made you, the burn of his palm still simmering in the flesh of your thigh.

You’d barely made it back to the barracks. Stumbling over your own feet, you’d whimpered in frustration when tearing off your clothes, needing to rub your throbbing clit to ease the pulsing need Soap had instilled in you with his fucking smiles.

They’re a nuclear weapon, so bright it hurts your eyes.

Alcohol made it so much worse. Your mind runs away with itself, imagining Soap had tripped into your bed alongside you. He’d be rubbing at your swollen clit with his thumb, sinking his fingers deep inside you while praising you for how well you received him.

‘Steamin’ Jesus, Bonnie,’ he would groan, kissing across your sternum while searching for that mind-numbing spot inside you that had your toes cramping as they curled, ‘so fuckin’ wet for me. Can ye take another? C’mon, that’s it-‘

You wail softly, rocking your hips up to meet the thrust of your fingers as you imagine the sensation of his lips on your neck, the scratch of his stubble against your pulse point.

“‘M gonna cum, Johnny,” you wheeze aloud, urging the ghost touch to keep going. Your fingers sink deeper, the ridges of your fingerprints scraping something cataclysmic when you curl them just right.

A long, anguished whine ricochets off the walls of your dorm as you drench your fingers with your cum, eyes squeezing so tight that you can almost see the ghost of Soap’s silhouette behind your eyelids, praising you for your devastating orgasm. It’s so slow, utterly debilitating as it obliterates every inch of your drunken limbs with a white-hot ecstasy.

Your lungs rattle with the force of your inhales, bleached knuckles gripping the bedsheets in a desperate attempt to brace against the explosive orgasm. Soap’s touch still simmers beneath your thigh muscles, buried into the sinews despite the trembles that wracked them.

Did he feel the same? Had your palm burned into his vertebrae, or did he imagine the touch of a girl from home, whispering her name when he came?

You dread to think. 

join the taglist here:

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[strayheartless]

🎶Prompto headcanons!🎶:

Secret boy genius? Secret boy genius. Prompto is an incredible marksman. His mathematical ability is off the charts. He’s never actually failed a piece of homework and thus Noctis has never failed a piece of homework. Prompto does, however, have the worlds worst imposter syndrome so he downplays his ability so much that people think he’s slightly dim.

He went through a phase of aggressively straightening his hair and dowsing it in hairspray to make it sit flat. Humidity has always been his worst enemy.

He had a small crush on Ignis for a while. Noctis is the only one who knows and has ribbed him mercilessly for it. Now that crush is a hero worship fuelled by professional admiration and a general like of being fed good food.

His favorite colour is yellow and the very specific shade of blue that is Noctis’ eyes. That second one is a secret.

He is surprisingly neat. After living alone for so long he’s pretty clued in about domestic tasks like steam cleaning carpets and scrubbing grout. Living on the road, he is usually the one who straightens the tent out or does a cursory straighten up of whatever motel/ hotel room they are in.

Prompto is a formidable air guitar champion. He prides himself on his prouesse in making it look like he actually knows how to play guitar. It took a lot of staring at moogtube videos and practising in the bedroom mirror.

He loves the idea of having kids of his own but has no idea how to actually deal with kids. He does get there eventually but there’s always that awkward ten minute period where he’s wondering “is it too soon to offer to teach them blackjack?”

He has a lot of random photos of Noct on his camera and and his phone. Some stupid and blurred, some of them candid and beautiful. Some of them he’s specifically made Noctis pose for. His highschool photography project hinged on putting Noctis in the royal pond in a floaty elvish type black robe and almost giving Noct hypothermia. It was worth it for the “Ophelia of the lake” style shots he got of him.

He likes Chocobo’s better than people. And he and umbra “understand eachother in a spiritual level”. Noct says he’s full of shit. Prompto says Noct is just jealous of their connection. The fact that Carbuncle is ALSO very fond of Prompto is just the icing on the cake really

[simmillercc]

SIMS 4 - FLORAL BLUSH WALLS FLOORS AND RUGS - BASE GAME

AVAILABLE FOR EVERYONE!

The Floral Blush set is comprised of gorgeously elegant patterns and colours, all in the blush palette. In case you're wondering, blush is a muted version of red.

The walls have 3 patterns that come in full colour and reduced saturation, and all are set on 3 wall colours. There is also a plain version of each colour of wall so there's the option of mixing and matching without overwhelming your decor.

The carpet also has the patterns, scrubbed up to be almost unrecognizable so they don't overly clash with the rugs, which have a much cleaner version of the patterns. There are also plain matching colours for both.

The rugs are 5X3, and each pattern, full colour and muted colours, come in sets of 3, using the wall colours as a border. Remember, there are 3 main wall colours, so all is matchy-matchy.

The marble floors are completely seamless, so there are no grout lines to take away from the smoothness and beauty of the pattern, and as such, it compliments the subdued vision of this set.

I changed the uv map of the rugs, but not the mesh, as a recolour and therefore there is no new mesh.

WALLS

SWATCHES: 21

COST: 11 Simoleons

Sims who like the following STYLES will appreciate these walls even more: Contemporary, Farmhouse, French Country, Garden, Island, Luxe, Mission, Modern, Queen Anne, Suburban Contemporary, Vintage.

CARPET

SWATCHES: 9

COST: 10 Simoleons

Sims who like the following STYLES will appreciate this carpet even more: Basics, Boho, Contemporary, Cute, Farmhouse, French Country, Garden, Island, Luxe, Mid Century, Mission, Modern, Queen Anne, Shabby, Suburban Contemporary, Vintage.

High Water Resistance

High Fire Resistance

MARBLE

SWATCHES: 6

COST: 11 Simoleons

Sims who like the following STYLES will appreciate these marble floors even more: Art Deco, Contemporary, French Country, Luxe, Modern, Queen Anne, Suburban Contemporary, Vintage.

Environment Score Positive +2

Bills Decrease

RUGS

SWATCHES: 27

COST: 500 Simoleons

Sims who like the following STYLES will appreciate these rugs even more: Basics, Boho, Contemporary, Farmhouse, French Country, Garden, Island, Luxe, Mission, Modern, Queen Anne, Shabby, Suburban Contemporary, Vintage.

Happy +1

Enjoy!

PATREON https://www.patreon.com/posts/sims-4-floral-111096229 CURSEFORGE https://www.curseforge.com/sims4/build-buy/floral-blush-walls-floors-and-rugs

[picturesofthegoneworlds]

If you are still taking prompts: 'new mythologies', focused on the witchy trio. Curious to see what you come up with if you wind up selecting this prompt! I greatly enjoy your writing. :)

There is a woman in the moon (the second moon, that is.) she waxes, she wanes shies and flares but she always stays tethered to one spot and tired of running away. Where she paused her orbit centuries ago crystal arms and legs sprout from the grass and the tides of rivers are pulled, evaporate from heat into clouds that mass. If you do no cover her from your view you will not sleep if you look to someone with her over their shoulder you will not need to speak and if her lightning were to strike, the gemstone-limb-lands will become the petrified home you did not seek.

There is a woman in the sun (there is a second-sun, too.) feels close enough to reach, though she can’t be lassoed she doesn’t spend all of her days here steals - what is offered - takes, often disappears to a more peculiar sky where she instead anchors in time and the flora and fauna with petal trumpets and sinew harps dance and dine on top of beds of canopied candied leather leaves and filigree skeleton branches then returns, here, intermittently, with what she had taken and what was newly granted jewellery adorning flaming tendrils that smelts and pours liquid gold between the fault lines and the landfills Sometimes the sun stays late to greet the moon, others she arrives early to share the sky of the long summer days with her But the sky is still a sky they cannot often share, so once a century they shadow one another reach out for each other with hands of flame and lightning when their fingers converge they tie in knots and bows, in threads red and ribbons green and all who are bound will be unaware, gift-wrapped in what is reality and what is dream can unveil bliss or purgatory there in the in-between- - there is a woman in the sun, another in the moon. They have been there longer than I can remember… longer than my mother can and hers, too

There is a woman in the moon and she is always blushing ‘Red sky at night - shepherd’s delight Red sky at morning - shepherd’s warning’ mourning a crack, a howl, a breeze can be heard from the densest of city cobblestones and the highest of mountain peaks a lonely tune bereft of its melody searches out shadow and turns it to static energy

There is a woman in the moon -a woman in the sun, too and ruins of temples to old gods (I’m told) glass panes long dissolved from between lead canes corners of masonry rounded by rain shingles masking floor tiles carpeted in ivy, grout replaced by root and rot and if you were to build the moon an alter lightning will sunder, shatter, strike it down but the sun accepts offerings, bleaches colours to keep the hues for her own collection, peacocks them as a crown

There is a witch in a cottage in the woods in a clearing, on stilts and platforms and pontoons her garden grows, in both the light and shadow and she wears death like a lace fine-spun from her own marrow land flush with lilac, lavender and violets here it is, where the moon is moored above the glade where the sun passes often on parade and the witch knows both the sun and the moon by name strings up tapestries and dolls from between the branches so that they both can see of friends and loved ones between threads of red and ribbons of green

[ehlnofay]

Summerfest Day 7 - FALLEN

It’s quiet, in the throne room; would be a nice change of pace if it wasn’t so concerning.

But quiet is a bad tip-off. It’s not just noise-quiet – it feels empty, stagnant, with no wardens to mark it or guests to fill it up. The tiles of the floor meet at gleaming intersections; the branches of the throne do not rustle. Even the odd little rivers flowing into their drains don’t burble as much as they usually would, the grout in their base shining white and fresh-smelling. Pax’s boots, with curves of metal like horseshoes built into their thick soles, click loudly against the stone.

Something’s wrong.

Fuck.

Pax shoves her way into the room anyway, her blood-red fish leathers stinking of sweat, the dark drape of her clothes badly in need of a wash. Mud on her stockings. Plait messy. They weren’t even away from the city for long, this time – just enough time to get to Brellach, get done with it, get back, ready to report what happened even if Haskill never has anything to say and it’s 50/50 whether, at any given time, Sheogorath cares – he came out of the woods off-road and walked straight through the city, legs burning, the colours of that strange sunlight church-fire casting unearthly shadows all over, to get quickly back to the throne room. (Force of habit, he supposes; and then, shut the fuck up.) But the room is quiet; the throne, for the first time Pax has ever seen it, is empty.

There’s a figure standing in front of it, its back to her; its skin is familiarly tanned, long dark hair twisted into a neat braid down the length of its spine. Its boxy dress hangs straight down, colour swimming like the grey streaks in marble, the shape of it stiff as marble, too, as if carved by an unskilled sculptor. Haskill stands a ways away from it, watching it with beady eyes, looking grim, though in all his pressed black regalia it’s hard to say whether that’s even remotely different from normal. Pax’s steps ring out through the cavernous room; the figure doesn’t turn.

“Sheogorath,” says Pax. It’s fifteen full seconds before there’s any response.

“Camilla,” says Sheogorath, airy-voiced; the vowels are dragged out, with none of the lilt it puts on for the Gentleman, or the clipped edges it offers when wearing her face. Even still, it does not move a muscle. “I fear I’ve failed you.”

“Don’t fucking call me that.”

“I’m sorry.” But it’s not clear if that’s a response to what he said, or just a general statement, an admission of guilt or pity or something along those lines applicable to any situation. It still doesn’t move, voice drifting airy and small in the cavern of the hall. “I meant there to be more time. Artificial construct. Arbitrary system. It wasn’t supposed to close down on us like this. But we’re out of time. Where’s my staff, Haskill?”

“My lord,” Haskill says, inflectionless.

“Where’s my staff? What –” and then it moves, quick and jagged as lightning, the fabric of its dress turning all at once like a solid object, its plait sticking stiff at sharp angles until it settles again down the straight column of its spine. “What is this, Haskill? It’s dead. It’s dead. There’s nothing there.” In its harsh-knuckled hands, it holds a polished-smooth cane, like the Gentleman’s but less… curly. Its handle is filmed over.

“You’re talking nonsense,” Pax says.

“Am I?” Sheogorath asks, looking them in the face; there’s something about the eyes – “Good. Good. At least some things are right with the world.” They’re plain, Pax realises, and a shudder creeps its way unregarded down their back. The Mad God’s eyes are not any kind of colour they can pinpoint but you know them when you see them – so often, they’re the only thing in the maniacal shifting and changing that holds. They’re different, now. There’s nothing there. It says, “I was going to give you my staff. Teach you… but it’s dead. It’s dead. What does that make me?”

Even the throne doesn’t rustle; even the waters don’t chatter as they run. Sheogorath hasn’t changed once since Pax arrived here; he looks into his own face, the lines of his cheeks and his jaw just a mite too sharp, eyes wide and flat, hair perfectly neat.

“Calm down,” they tell it, even as something curls ugly in their stomach, “we’ll figure –”

“I’m calm,” says Sheogorath. “Is that not the problem?”

“We’ll figure something out,” Pax insists.

“Cute,” Sheogorath says, with the least enthusiasm they’ve ever heard it say anything. It tips its head; the braid hangs jagged and off-centre, a polished clump of something more solid than hair. “I would tell you to run, but it won’t do any good.”

The throne room feels sharper than it’s supposed to, and cleaner, something in the air pressure shifting enough to set her ears ringing. Pax takes a step closer to this strange, stationary Sheogorath. “Calm down,” she repeats, “get your shit together – or apart, I guess, since it’s you –”

“You would have been so good at it,” Sheogorath says, “holding onto it for me.” Its voice is too blank to read much of anything in. “I would have been free. We all would have been free.”

Pax shakes his head, trying his best to dislodge the ringing. “You’re talking nonsense,” he says again.

“I was so sure it would stop the echoing,” it says, distant, “but now you will die with the rest, and I –”

“Sheogorath,” says Pax. She’s not sure why.

“A mad god,” it says, “of a dead realm. Again, and again, and again.”

The cane crumbles into smoke in its hand; it tips its head down at it, ambivalent, at the same time as Haskill lunges at Pax – catches them just off-guard enough – knocks them, kicking and scratching, to the floor. Sheogorath shines like polished metal. Pax’s head feels so packed full it aches.

“You should look away,” Sheogorath says, calm as crystal, right as Haskill crams the heel of his hand against their eyes; “I’m going to die now.”

The pressure in their ears bursts.

When Haskill eventually peels his baby-soft palm from Pax’s face, there’s blood dribbling bright and coppery from their nose and every sound feels ocean-distant. There is not so much as a crack in the perfect, shining tile. Sheogorath is gone.

[thevalleyisjolly]

Some Eärendil and Elwing headcanons because I love them:

It took a long time for Eärendil to start singing again after Gondolin, and it was mostly sea shanties and Mortal tunes.  Only in private and only with Elwing (and later, his sons) would he sing in Quenya the songs of his childhood in Gondolin.

When Elwing was 12, she decided that she wanted to be a great seafaring explorer and sail all the way around Middle-earth.  Her hopes were rather harshly dashed when she stepped foot on a ship to pay Círdan a short visit on Balar and discovered that she suffered from terrible motion sickness.  Eärendil gallantly vowed to go on the adventures instead and come back to tell her all about them.

Elwing is just a little bit taller than Eärendil.  He quite likes it, even though it’s not a very great difference.

Eärendil is fantastic at sewing, and has a good eye for embroidery as well.  When he has downtime on Vingilot, he creates beautiful patterns and designs on tunics, handkerchiefs, shawls.  The crew of Vingilot was the most well-outfitted crew to ever sail the Sundering Seas, and he’d always make sure to bring back little embroidered patches with scenes from his voyages, which first Elwing and then the twins would add onto an ever-growing quilt.

Elwing learned how to make lembas from Idril, but for Eärendil’s journeys, she bakes him hardtack in the Mortal fashion.  He likes to make “pudding” out of it with sugar and water.

Elwing loves math, and is very good at it.  By the time she was ten, she could do complex calculations in her head in a matter of seconds that Elven scholars thousands of years her senior would need several minutes and a writing surface to do.  She didn’t have the time or resources to seriously study it while she was in Middle-earth, but in Aman, she does a correspondence course with one of the universities in Alqualondë and promptly has to deal with a whole hoard of mathematicians coming from all over the Blessed Realm to her tower wanting to learn from her.

In their own home, they speak a mixture of Quenya, Sindarin, and Taliska with each other.  They also have a secret written code that they came up with as children, which they leave little love notes for each other in.

Neither of them have ever learned to ride a horse.  Eärendil has fuzzy memories of being put on his grandfather’s saddle for a gentle trot when he was young and the Gondolindrim assure him that he once briefly had a pony, but there were very few steads or mounts at Sirion. Frankly, both of them find horses a little bewildering.

The twins were a surprise because they’d been aiming for triplets.  Mostly just to see if that was even possible, and also because neither of them had ever been pregnant before and didn’t truly understand what it would be like to carry and birth triplets.

Despite the harps of gold they brought to him, Eärendil does not actually play the harp very well.  He’s not fond of wearing white either because he thinks it’s too hard to keep clean.  Elwing looks very good in white, but it’s a mourning colour and she generally prefers warmer yellows and oranges.

Eärendil’s favourite colour is the soft silver of Elwing’s hair, and Elwing’s favourite colour is the warm gold of Eärendil’s hair.  Their favourite wedding present was a tapestry woven by some of Idril’s ladies depicting the intermingled light of Telperion and Laurelin in those exact shades.

Elwing is a vegetarian.  Eärendil isn’t, mostly for practical reasons onboard a ship with limited supplies, but is happy to eat vegetarian when he’s at home.  The real challenge at mealtimes came from Elros being a picky eater and Elrond having a seafood allergy.

There is an outdoor bathhouse at Elwing’s tower because Silmaril glitter is absolutely impossible to get rid of once it’s in the house.  The grout in the tiling there has become permanently shiny, despite their combined best efforts at scrubbing.

[taurusvolkov]

Summer Cleaning || Emiliana&Taurus

It was late in the evening, nearing the moon at the height of the sky and their daughter already asleep in her bedroom of the Laras home. Taurus didn't always stay once he returned Cascade but often when Emiliana seemed particularly exhausted or pallid he would, sleeping in the common space in case she required assistance. This night however he had remained because the home was a mess - by his standards anyway, the man quite particular about how things were arranged and cleaned - and he had felt compelled to remedy this. Emiliana was by no means someone who kept the house dirty, he never found anything obviously unclean, but he understood it was hard to pick up after she made herself food, or played games with Cassie and she deserved to do those things.

Still, even if nothing was unclean, Taurus own issues of control had resulted in him being presently scrubbing down the tiles on the walls, digging into the grout with his own cleaning product he had made mixed in with a bucket of warm water he had heated over the fire. He hadn't done this to her home in some time and he could see the shift in colouring as he worked his magic, sweat on his brow and dripping down his back, making his black blouse stick to him.

He only stopped when he heard footsteps, head lifting, damp rag in hand as he looked back over his shoulder. "Pup?" he called, presuming it would likely be his daughter risen for a cup of water and instead seeing her mother. "You alright, Em?" Not the nickname she preferred but one he couldn't quite stop using.

@siren--emiliana

[brushstrokes-and-builds]

Added a darker pigment to the very base of the structure, might be hard to see in the picture but the dark pigment and the light tile grout tie in well with the base colours.

Only problem was it washed out the colour of the base somewhat. I re-brushed it and now it looks good.

Might have to rethink my work order from basecoat/drybrush/weather to basecoat/weather/drybrush possibly.

Live and learn. Die and forget…unless you are an Expert System.

Hobby Streak - Day 03

[mrbexwrites]

5 Lines Tag

@talesofsorrowandofruin tagged me- thanks

Rules: find lines in your WIP that contain the following: a line with food, a line with temperature, a line with fear, a funny line and a line with colour.

I'm trying to convince myself that I really do want to sit and edit Memento Mori , so using this as an excellent excuse to go over the drafts as they stand, and work out where I go from here!! Passing the tag onto: @sarahlizziewrites, @queen-tashie @morganwriteblr @magicmoon65 @pure-solomon and leaving an open tag as always :)

A line with Food:

I ran my eyes over the menu, aware of the painful silence and gawping mouths behind me.  “I’d like some pancakes with maple syrup, no bacon, and a cup of tea, please,” I tried another smile on Barb, but she just stared at my bloodied hand.  “I’m sorry, hun. We only take cash,” she sounded as if she was in a daze. 

A line with Temperature:

My legs were dead weights as I trudged across the courtyard, following my assigned guard.  I closed my eyes, and let the sunlight bathe over me. I wrapped my arms around myself, and shivered despite the heat of the day.

A line with Fear:

I swallowed hard when it was my turn. I remembered to hyperventilate to oxygenate my blood, allowing me to stay underwater longer. I had made sure to struggle against my restraints and expand my chest then they put the jacket on me, giving me wriggle room.  But try as I might, hanging upside down, I watched the water fill the tank. I managed to get one arm over my head, half free, but my second arm was still buckled behind me. The water soaked my hair.  “You can do this,” Avery cupped their hands around their mouth to shout encouragement to me. The staff looked on, several scribbling notes, consulting read outs from the heart monitor I was wearing, and muttering amongst themselves.  I struggled harder, trying to free my arm. The water quickly covered my eyes, and I was able to take one last gulp of air before my head was submerged.  I could see the others watching pensively as I managed to twist my arm out from behind me. My ears were filled with water, and I could hear my blood pumping, feel my heart thundering in my chest. I saw Peter punch the air with delight as I got my arm out from behind my back, but I didn’t have the strength to pull myself up to unfasten the restraints that fastened my feet.  Panic set in, and all of the training went out of the window. I thrashed in the water, spots dancing before my eyes, my heart about to explode.  I screamed, but that only let the air out and the water in.

A funny line:

“Please let there be tea,” I shuffled away towards the bathroom. “Of course there’s tea! I’m not a philistine!” Avery called after me with a mock offense in their voice. “Two and coo for me, Fred!” 

A line with Colour:

I turned on the copper tap, and the rainfall showerhead blessed me with hot water almost instantly. I ran my hands over the honeycomb pattern, tracing the rose gold coloured grout that held them in place.  The water turned pink in the shower tray beneath my feet, and I rested my head against the tiles. The water helped dissipate the grave-chill, but I still felt drained.

[tea42]

Getting to know allllll about youuuuuu

thanks for the tag @sulky-valkyrie

last song: Under Pressure (Queen & David Bowie)

favourite colour: Green, so many shades

currently watching: I just started Castlevania Nocturne

sweet/savoury/spicy: savory but in a veg way. I really like a little bit of a blend of all 3 for an optimal dish

relationship status: married

current obsession: home repair projects: drywall repair/painting, minor electrical work like replacing light fixtures, re-grouting and fixing tile

last thing you googled: best heat gun

No pressure tags: @glowing-blue-feathermage @thiefbird @sandraugiga and syrupwit. Really if you are reading this i'd like to read yours too <3

[simmillercc]

SIMS 4 - FLORAL BLUSH WALLS FLOORS AND RUGS - BASE GAME

Early Access Releases to Public September 13, 2024

I am very please to bring you this project. Initially, this is Early Access for Panther members, and I am making it available to Cub members as well, as a special gift, a thank you for your patronage.

The Floral Blush set is comprised of gorgeously elegant patterns and colours, all in the blush palette. In case you're wondering, blush is a muted version of red.

The walls have 3 patterns that come in full colour and reduced saturation, and all are set on 3 wall colours. There is also a plain version of each colour of wall so there's the option of mixing and matching without overwhelming your decor.

The carpet also has the patterns, scrubbed up to be almost unrecognizable so they don't overly clash with the rugs, which have a much cleaner version of the patterns. There are also plain matching colours for both.

The rugs are 5X3, and each pattern, full colour and muted colours, come in sets of 3, using the wall colours as a border. Remember, there are 3 main wall colours, so all is matchy-matchy.

The marble floors are completely seamless, so there are no grout lines to take away from the smoothness and beauty of the pattern, and as such, it compliments the subdued vision of this set.

I changed the uv map of the rugs, but not the mesh, as a recolour and therefore there is no new mesh.

WALLS

SWATCHES: 21

COST: 11 Simoleons

Sims who like the following STYLES will appreciate these walls even more: Contemporary, Farmhouse, French Country, Garden, Island, Luxe, Mission, Modern, Queen Anne, Suburban Contemporary, Vintage.

CARPET

SWATCHES: 9

COST: 10 Simoleons

Sims who like the following STYLES will appreciate this carpet even more: Basics, Boho, Contemporary, Cute, Farmhouse, French Country, Garden, Island, Luxe, Mid Century, Mission, Modern, Queen Anne, Shabby, Suburban Contemporary, Vintage.

High Water Resistance

High Fire Resistance

MARBLE

SWATCHES: 6

COST: 11 Simoleons

Sims who like the following STYLES will appreciate these marble floors even more: Art Deco, Contemporary, French Country, Luxe, Modern, Queen Anne, Suburban Contemporary, Vintage.

Environment Score Positive +2

Bills Decrease

RUGS

SWATCHES: 27

COST: 500 Simoleons

Sims who like the following STYLES will appreciate these rugs even more: Basics, Boho, Contemporary, Farmhouse, French Country, Garden, Island, Luxe, Mission, Modern, Queen Anne, Shabby, Suburban Contemporary, Vintage.

Happy +1

Enjoy!

PATREON https://www.patreon.com/posts/111096229 CURSEFORGE (upon approval) https://legacy.curseforge.com/sims4/build-buy/floral-blush-walls-floors-and-rugs

[theteaisaddictive]

Holiday baking for Belle and Adam? Your choice for which version!

thanks!! sorry for the wait!

"So talk me through your architectural vision for this house," Belle said.

Her kitchen looked like a small bomb had exploded, leaving icing sugar dusted over almost every surface, clumps of icing already stiffening on the worktop, and a category five hundreds and thousands incident that Adam knew was going to end with them finding pieces in the grout of her tiles for weeks afterwards.

"It's a very traditional structure," he said, looking at the picture on the box again. "I'm thinking, quintessential gingerbread house. Eaves, gables, snowy roof, all the good stuff."

"I like it," Belle said, rolling up her sleeves. "Go ham on the decorations afterwards?"

"It's all about presentation," he agreed. "How's the icing?"

"Sufficiently gloopy!"

"Then let's do this. Who's better with the piping bag, do you think?"

"Whoever's got steadier hands. Learned that the hard way." Belle stuck her hand out, palm facing the floor. "Come on," she said, nudging him with her elbow until he also stuck out his hand.

Adam took the opportunity to covertly stare at her hand. Belle's hands were never still; she was always fiddling with her clothes, tinkering with her electronics, or flicking through a book. She loved to paint her nails, and he had grown used to seeing the flashes of colour as she waved her hands around. This week they were painted a deep wine red, for the season. He remembered, about a month back, when Belle had gotten curious about the size difference between them and pressed their hands together to test it. To his surprise, his hands had dwarfed hers; she was always so animated that she often appeared taller and larger than she actually was.

"Yeah, mine are definitely steadier," Belle said, startling him back to reality. "Alright, that means you're holding up the walls for me."

"I live to serve, milady," he snarked back, half-bowing.

Her cheeks turned pink. Was she blushing? Or was it just because the kitchen was hot? Probably the latter, Adam rationalised. He had long resigned himself to keeping his crush on Belle firmly to himself, no matter how much his friends had tried to encourage him otherwise. He had realised he was in love with her a few months ago, after three years of a friendship which had, admittedly, started on shaky ground. They laughed together about so many things - including each other's dating prospects, when the wine was out and they were both feeling mean. He didn't think he could ever face her laughing at him. Not about this, at least.

Adam picked up two of the walls for the gingerbread house, holding them at careful right angles. With calm precision, Belle piped the icing in the join, cementing the two together; with less precision, the trailing end of the icing caught the cuff of his woollen Christmas jumper, which he had worn 'for the festivities'.

"Oh, shit," Belle said. "Sorry!"

"It's alright," Adam laughed. Once he was sure the walls wouldn't immediately fall down, he lifted his wrist to wipe away the icing with his fingers. He popped them into his mouth, the sweetness pleasantly coating his tongue, and had to restrain himself from laughing again at the look on Belle's face as she stared at his hand. "You don't need to look at me like that, Belle -- I'm not a wild animal, I'm washing my hands before I touch the gingerbread again."

"Hmm?" Belle said. She blinked, coming back to herself with a start. "Oh, I -- I didn't -- obviously I know you'll wash your hands." Her cheeks were still pink. He looked at her, frowning slightly, but she wouldn't meet his eyes.

Adam washed his hands, rolling up his sleeves as a preventative measure once he was done. Something was up with Belle today, that much was certain. He could see her eyes linger on his forearms when he turned back around to the half-constructed gingerbread house. A half-forgotten tweet came to mind -- hadn't it said something about how women liked it when men rolled up their sleeves?

For the first time, Adam dared to hope that maybe his feelings weren't so unrequited after all.

"Halfway through," he said.

"A third, surely?" Belle said, scrunching up her face as she thought. "We'll need to do the roof as well."

"Good point. Let's do this!"

They succeeded in constructing the rest of the base without further damage to Adam's clothing. The roof was a more difficult matter; after two failed attempts, Adam ended up holding a gable in each hand to keep them over the base as Belle carefully piped up the centre. He should have been watching the gingerbread; instead, his eyes were on her face. The little furrow between her eyebrows that only came out when she was concentrating hard on something, and the dent of her teeth biting her lower lip.

He was so absorbed in her, in fact, that he had no time to react when Belle finished icing the roof and triumphantly flicked the piping bag upwards. For the second time, he was covered in dribbles of icing. He could feel it on his chin, and was thankful that he'd shaved this morning.

"Oh, my god," Belle laughed, "I'm so sorry!"

"Why do you keep coating me in icing today, Belle? Am I not sweet enough --?"

He was cut off mid-sentence by Belle grabbing his jaw and wiping off his chin with her fingers. Her fingers on his cheek were cool, her grip so loose that he could've broken it by turning his head. But Adam was rooted to the spot by the look in her eyes. She slipped her icing-covered finger between her lips, and he felt the breath shudder out of him. He had no idea what his face was doing, but he was so close that he could see her pupils dilate in response, brown drowning in black. Her eyes darted over his face, flicking down to his lips before going back up to his eyes.

"Belle?"

Her hand moved, cradling his jaw instead of gripping it. "Can I . . . ?" Her thumb brushed against the corner of his mouth.

Adam leaned over the countertop, bending his head down to meet her lips in a soft kiss. It was a gentle kiss, almost shy; when Adam dared to open his mouth and press his tongue against her lips, he could taste the lingering sweetness of the icing.

They drew apart carefully. For some reason, he was still holding the roof of the gingerbread house, and he let go carefully, so as not to ruin their hard work. "Well?" he asked.

"I'm not sure," Belle said, and for a moment his heart dropped through his stomach and all the way down to the floor. "I could still taste the icing. To properly assess whether or not you're sweet enough, I think I'd need to kiss you again." Oh, she was bright red this time - definitely blushing.

Adam stepped around the worksurface and placed his hands on her waist, unable and unwilling to stop the massive smile on his face. "I think I can accept those terms," he grinned. She wound her free hand into the collar of his jumper, pulling him down into another kiss - this one much more eager than the first.

The best part of an hour passed that way, before they finally remembered the abandoned gingerbread house that still needed decorating.