#Cement Tiles Making Machine

[leighsartworks216]

Laundromat

Sylus x fem!Reader

Inspired by my late-night excursions to the expensive as hell laundromat I had to do my laundry at every week when I was in college (lowkey gonna miss it)

Warnings: fluff, domestic fluff, silly, laundry, sleep, cuddling, developing relationship

Word Count: 1,884

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Sylus frowns up at the basic sign above the door. It's not even illuminated; just a boring row of letters in red that spell ‘LAUNDROMAT’. You poke his arm, but you're grinning deviously, excitedly.

"You said you could handle living like me for a week. Don't tell me it's starting to weigh you down now."

He scoffs, shaking his head. "Sweetie, a little laundry isn't going to kill me."

You snicker, kill the ignition, and get out of the car. He follows, shutting the door behind him while you skip around to the back of the car. Your car. You take endless pleasure seeing Sylus duck down into the seat, pushed as far back as it'll go, and still having his legs be all squished up against the dash. Using one of his cars would be disingenuous to the experience. And you can't deny the wealth of joy you feel getting to treat him like a passenger princess.

You open up the trunk and lift out a basket full of dirty clothes. He frowns at the sight of some of the nice clothes he bought you being mixed into the pile. "Those should be dry cleaned," he grumbles.

"Yeah, well, I can't afford it." You shove the basket into his hands. It looks so out of place. You grab your detergent and shut the trunk. Two quick taps on the fob locks the car with a beep.

"I already gave you my card."

"Goes against the challenge." You lean up with a grin to pat his cheek. He tries to bite your fingers. "Now, c'mon, it takes, like, an hour and a half for all this."

He follows behind as you head to the door. It swings too easily on its hinges, loose from all the customers that come in here at all hours of the day, and the owner's own lack of upkeep.

The inside is bright and cramped. White overhead lights beam down on rows of machines that line the walls of the building. Two tables stand in the middle, and wire-basket carts for the clothes are scattered everywhere. Dryer sheets, dirt, the odd spillage of detergent, and a very dubious looking coin cemented to the tile make up the floor. A frazzled mother folds clothes at one of the tables; blouses and baby clothes all laid into piles. A few teens sit at the back, underneath a wall-television that plays some cooking channel. Their clothes sit in garbage bags at their feet as they wait for a taxi to drive them back to their college dwellings.

You slip past him and move with ease toward a washing machine. It's labelled ‘triple load’, but it's atrociously small and nearly $8 to operate. You pull over one of the carts for Sylus to set the basket in, and pull that up to the small porthole door, tossing in clothes to be washed.

You grin at him over your shoulder. "You wanna go get me some quarters?" You gesture over toward the back of the building, to a sign pointing the way into a back room, full of yet more machines. "Ten dollars worth should do."

He quirks a brow at you. "For one load of laundry?"

"They up-charge all the machines when school's in session."

He sighs, but slips past you. This tall, intimidating man looks so out of place, sidling past half-open washer doors, carts, and tables. His clothes are obviously way too expensive to blend in well, despite his best efforts. You should worry about someone recognizing him, but, really, who's gonna think it's actually him?

The mother's eyes follow him away for a moment. She looks back at you with a grin, eyebrows raised. You flush and turn away.

You toss your clothes in until the basket is empty. You're lucky it's not a big load, or else you'd have to use two machines. If they weren't so expensive, you'd even split the load into lights and darks, or pull out the nice expensive clothes to wash them on delicate. But you're not about to blow 15 to 20 dollars every week when you'd be better off saving it for food.

You add your detergent and shut the machine just as Sylus comes back. His large hand is full of quarters that jingle together. That distinct metallic smell of coins sticking to his palm. You quirk a brow up at him. "I said $10."

He smirks. "Think of it as me covering next week's expenses."

You roll your eyes, but you don't argue further. Not like the machine can exchange it back, anyway. You step away from the washing machine, tucking the cart under the table and out of the way, and pull him by his arm to stand in front of it. You point to the coin slot. "Thirty quarters, if you please."

It's like watching him insert tokens for an arcade machine, but the game requires no skill and the reward is always the same. Well, so long as the machine works. The owner's not good about labelling busted machines, so it's a gamble every week to know if you'll be spending longer here, moving your clothes over to another washer or dryer that also may not work.

Each quarter clinks inside, landing in a pile, the little number display counting down for each one. At some point, there is no clink and the number doesn't change. Sylus pauses, but you just reach over and press on the return. The coin slides out into the catch, and you push it harder back into the slot so the momentum carries it past where it hung up before. The coins clink and the number changes. He shakes his head, quietly showing his disdain for this entire process, and finishes putting in the required quarters.

Right away, the machine locks and the clothes inside begin to spin. He spares your pockets the added weight, dropping the last great handful of coins into his own. The display changes to show a 24 minute timer.

"And now, we wait." You smile innocently as you lead him over to the seats by the door. They're plastic and worn and extremely uncomfortable. He sighs as he adjusts. "What do you think so far?"

He shoots you a look, conveying his feelings quite clearly. "You do this every week?"

"Yup," you say, popping the p sound.

"Always at this time?" The sun has long since set outside. The parking lot is nearly empty. It's early for him, but it's late for you.

You nod. "It's less busy really early or really late. I don't like getting up early, so coming in late is better."

A car rolls up to the curb outside. It sits for a couple seconds before impatiently beeping. The teens in the back yawn as they get up from their own uncomfortable seats. One garbage bag thrown over a shoulder and the other carried awkwardly in front while they sidle past the tables and machines. The distinct scent of weed stinks the air as they pass by and into the night, shuffling into the taxi together. Sylus cringes, fighting back a sneeze. He's well used to the smell of tobacco, the smoke of cigars and cigarettes. Definitely not the skunky smell of marijuana.

He sniffs, turning his attention back to you. "What do you do to pass the time?"

You shrug, leaning against him easily, also a little sleepy. "Depends. Sometimes I run errands. Usually I just scroll through Moments."

He looks at the timer display. Only a few minutes have gone by. The fluorescent lights beat down on him, stinging his eyes in the same way the sun does. One light in the back flickers. Someone on the television leads an imaginary audience through a recipe, far too upbeat and energetic for this run down place.

He tries to imagine sitting in here every week: relegated to these awful chairs for an hour and a half, listening to the hum of electricity and chatter of TV personalities, intermingled with the noise of the washers and dryers. He doesn't know how you can stand it. Or maybe you just got used to the discomfort. That thought upsets him most of all.

He dislodges you for a moment to wrap his arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side where you'll be more comfortable. You settle your head against his chest without contest. "You can sleep if you want," he says softly. "I'll wake you when it's done."

You hum. It feels much safer in here with him. You've imagined horrible scenarios week by week. Strange people cornering you in this place, no one around to hear or help. Of course, Mephisto would alert him if anything like that happened, but actually feeling him take up space in here pushes all those fears far away. If anyone dared try anything, they'd be dealt with without him ever needing to get up. You're dozing in the security in no time.

-

You wake up to the sound of voices. You rub the sleep from your eyes as you come back to the world of consciousness.

The woman speaks to Sylus in a language you don't understand. She's very coy in her body language, smirking knowingly and gesturing. Whatever she says makes him grin, but he shakes his head as he replies in that same language. You watch on curiously. It's not every day you get to see him interact with someone normally, without threats and business and danger. Not to mention, hearing this language roll off his tongue... you want to hear him speak it some more.

The lady laughs as she gathers the last of her folded clothes into her basket. She hefts it up, supporting it against her stomach. Sylus pushes open the door from where he sits. She levels him with a half-serious look, nodding toward you as she tells him something. He nods, saying something short in return.

She heads outside into the night and he lets the door fall shut behind her. You adjust your head on his shoulder to look up at him. "What'd she say?"

His lips curl in smug satisfaction as he settles back into his chair. "She said my wife is very beautiful. I told her we weren't married, but I agreed." Your face grows warm as he looks down at you. His eyes are mellow and soft, adoring. "And then she said I should propose, before it's too late."

The air is electric. Static with anticipation. You can't help glancing at his lips. They're so plush... When you look back up, his own eyes glance unashamedly at your own lips, following them as you speak.

"What did you say?"

He meets your eyes again. Lips curl into a pretty smirk. He leans away, nodding toward the machines. "Your clothes just finished, sweetie."

"Huh?" Sure enough, when you look over, the machine has stopped spinning. A light blinks, signaling that it's finished. How had you missed the buzz?

Sylus's arm retreats from around your shoulder as he stands. He grabs one of the carts and nudges it in front of the washing machine, throwing an amused look your way. "Come on, sweetie. We need to finish so you can go to bed at a reasonable hour."

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @armycaratlover @sylusfluffymeow @cheesemachine44 @nyx2021 @angel-jupiter @thelittlebutton @pikachuzhc @pomegranatepip @cordidy @an-ever-angry-bi @thejysemongko @deusfoundry @that-lost-one @always-just-red @22carolina08 @lunaizhere @sine-nomine0 @beautifulthingsiadore @lalaluch @nothankyew @terriblesoup @jeleryyy @nezuswritingdesk @anaathxma @ssushi @mina7820 @monophobix @mentaltrouble2201 @mskaylacharite @nerrivm @ichosesparklingtorment @schnittled @animegamerfox @flamedancer13 @rebloggingislove @moonlight-inthe-sea @persepolys @satorubabee @sleepykittycx @perla-drg @17chuuya @slovesyouuu @leiakitty @lemonn015

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

He's My Man (Part 1)

Summary: The reader receives an anonymous text from a new client needing an off the books patch job. However he's annoyingly good looking and the last thing you need is some ex-special ops guy hanging around. Unfortunately for you, Russell Shaw isn't the kind of guy to walk away when he knows something's wrong...

Masterlist

Pairing: Russell Shaw x reader

Word Count: 2,000ish

Warnings: language, gun shot injury

A/N: Contains minor spoilers for Tracker 1x12. Please enjoy the start of this new series! I'm not sure how long it will go but thanks for coming on this ride with me!

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Your ears perked up on Saturday morning when your phone buzzed on the coffee table before you. Not your everyday one but your one for work. You swiped it open, pursing your lips when you saw it was from an unknown number.

Need a patch job on a quilt. Doug recommended you as a good seamstress in the area.

Alright, well at least this guy knew one of your clients. Doug wasn’t a regular but you’d seen him once or twice over the years which meant the person on the other end wasn’t a cop most likely.

I can fit you in. More complicated the patch, the more it’ll cost.

Not an issue.

You hummed and stood up, grabbing your coffee mug along the way.

129 Edwards Ave in twenty minutes. Use the red back door.

You took a long sip and went over to the kitchen, tossing the rest down the sink, leaving the mug to be cleaned later. 

You just hoped this job wasn’t as bad as the last one.

Eighteen minutes later you heard the back door open and then silence, a moment’s hesitation as your new client entered what looked like a storage area. You flipped a light switch, illuminating the small enter sign over the doorway to the room you were prepping in. A few moments later there were heavy boots against the cement ground as he entered, turning to tile, your head lifting. 

A man in his forties, a quite handsome one at that, gave the small operating room a cursory glance before settling on you, determining you were the only one there. Meanwhile your gaze shot to his injured left arm, a gunshot from the looks of it. You only spotted one bloody bullet hole and figured that was the worst of it from the way he cradled his forearm.

“You the seamstress?” he asked quietly, scanning the counter full of medical equipment and metal table in the center of the room. 

“Take a seat,” you said, patting the table. You went to a sink and washed up, making sure to keep him in view at all times. He winced and struggled to get the coat off, finally managing and revealing a quick patch job had been done. After drying your hands, you snapped on some gloves, the man’s coat and overshirt now on the table behind him.

“Russell Shaw by the way,” he said.

“Y/N,” you said, carefully taking his forearm in one hand, the top of his muscular bicep in the other. You turned his arm slightly, Russell wincing again. “Looks like a through and through. We’ll do a quick x-ray to make sure there’s no shrapnel and then we’ll get you stitched up and I’ll send you home with some supplies and instructions to care for it. This your only injury?”

“Yeah. Doug said you were good.”

“I am,” you said, offering him a brief smile, he returned. “Do you have any PTSD? Going to come at me if I I need to use a scalpel?”

“No,” he chuckled. “I’m good with all that.”

You hummed, guiding him to lay back. Three minutes later you were pushing your x-ray machine aside and taking the lead vest away, Russell sitting upright. 

“Can I ask a question?” 

“You can ask, don’t mean I’ll answer, sweetie,” you said back, hanging up the vest and going to your laptop on the counter.

“How does one get into this line of work?” he asked.

“Asks the man that’s ex-special ops and does private contract gigs, not to mention killed probably three people minimum tonight.” You glanced over to him, Russell tilting his head. “I know who Doug is and what he does. Makes sense you do it too. You have blood under your fingernails and given the splatter patterns on your jeans, you had multiple different angled shots so multiple bodies you hit.”

“...And you don’t report that sort of thing?” he asked cautiously. You determined his x-ray looked good and washed up again, putting on more new gloves. By the time you were standing before him again, he looked nervous.

“On occasion. But only the monsters. You, you don’t strike me as a monster, Russell,” you said, wiping some antiseptic over his entry and exit wounds. He flinched but only slightly at the quick burn. A moment later you were giving him something to numb the area.

“Someone took Doug. Someone bad. They would have come back if I hadn’t done what needed to be done.” You wiped sterile gauze over his wound and then flushed it, Russell watching your graceful movements with interest.

“Like I said, not a monster.” You hummed as you worked, Russell fixated on you carefully cleaning and then pulling the skin back together, tying it up neatly. You wiped away the evidence of his blood and wrapped his bicep in thick gauze, taping it down so he could still get movement without worrying about it coming off.

You chucked your gloves in the trash and nodded back to the door behind you.

“There’s a shower in there and some brushes. Turn it on low, scrub yourself clean, under your nails too. Use the blue soap. When you’re done, throw everything away in the bin, including your bloody clothes. You leave your boots, anything you want to keep out here with me. There’s men’s sweats and some shirts on the shelf. By the time you’re done, your boots and other items will have no trace of wherever you’ve been. Got it?”

“I do like a woman that takes charge.” He smirked, sliding off the table and dropping slowly to kneel to unlace his shoes, still looking up at you. “Full service deal you got going here.”

“Yes it is and here’s a friendly reminder for my new client. You come anywhere near me with your dick out, I’ll make you regret being alive. Understand, sweetie?” you said, patting his cheek. “Off you go.”

“God damn, I love you,” he muttered under his breath. You rolled your eyes but smirked when your back was to him. Ten minutes later the room was clean and Russell exited the bathroom with damp, slicked back hair wearing a plain white t-shirt, black hanes sweat pants and white socks. You nodded to where his shoes sat on the end of the counter, Russell taking a seat in the chair nearby as he slipped them on.

After he checked he had his phone, keys and wallet, he raised himself to his feet, pulling out his wallet. 

“What do I owe you?”

“A thousand.” To your surprise, he didn’t flinch at that number. But like most of your clients, he didn’t have the cash on him, at least not that much. Russell smirked as he glanced back in the bathroom.

“Smart woman. You keep the evidence as ransom until your clients pay up. You won’t destroy that until after I pay, will you.” 

“Not until we get to know each other better do I do that sort of thing without payment. Seeing as you’re new and a friend of Doug’s, I’ll give you to the end of next week to pull it together. I offer payment plan options and other alternative forms of care if shit ever really hit the fan for you.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” he said, putting down five hundred dollar bills. “I can bring the other half back here later today. Just need to run to an ATM.”

“Text me when you got the rest. I’ll send you a place to meet,” you said, nodding towards the door. He gave you a small salute and shook his head with a smile. 

Forty minutes later you were sitting at a table in the cafe three blocks over, happily sipping on your coffee while working your way through a cheese danish. You spotted Russell when he came in. He gave you a quick, adorably awkward wave and ordered himself a drink. A few minutes later he was sitting down across from you, a small cup and what appeared to be a banana muffin in hand.

“You’re a coffee snob aren’t you. This place is pricey,” he teased, his brow furrowing when he had a drink from his styrofoam cup. “Shit. That’s fucking good.”

“Beats whatever motel crap I’m sure you’re used to,” you said, his gaze hardening for a split second. “Sorry. I always tail my first time clients to make sure they aren’t…you know who. You know the Elkwood Lodge on route 8 is cleaner and cheaper than what you’re paying for now.”

“How would you know that?” he asked. You shrugged and simply grinned, taking another bite of danish. He licked his lips, pointing at the yet to be touched danish beside you. “Was that one for me?”

“God no. I fucking love danishes and these are incredible,” you said, finishing off the first and biting into the other.

“You are something else,” he said, smirking when he slid a white envelope across the table. You tucked it into your jacket pocket, Russell picking at his own muffin. “You ain’t going to check it’s all there?”

“You’re a smart man, Russell. I think you know not to screw me over.” He looked you up and down, earning a pointed response. “Keep that gutter mind to yourself.”

“If I’m in the gutter, you’re right there with me,” he said, absently rubbing his injured arm. “And uh, if it gets infected or I think it is, I should reach out?”

“Absolutely. That ain’t a normal injury you’re used to. Don’t play tough guy, tough guy.” He nodded, his body twisting ever so slightly towards a standing position. “Nope. Stay for at least five minutes, then you can go.”

“You really like telling me what to do, don’t you,” he grinned. 

“Russell.” Hss grin was wide before he took a long drag of coffee, humming as it went down. 

“What if I want to stay more than five minutes?” You paused mid-chew of your danish. “Come on, one conversation won’t kill you.”

“I don’t get involved with clients.”

“Alright. I respect that but this ain’t my end goal. I’m going to have a normal life someday. I make a pretty mean homebrew. Going to get some land, open up a brewery, have some food, make it a little family place everybody can enjoy. So that’s my goal. I sure as hell know working as a seamstress ain’t your end goal either. So again, what’s the harm in one conversation?”

You bit your bottom lip, Russell’s expression changing, ever so slightly. 

“Jesus, Y/N,” he muttered. “What-“

“Shut up,” you mumbled. “I didn’t say anything.”

“Your fucking face did. You don’t want to be a seamstress, do you? Can you not get out of your line of work?” You glanced out the window, even the wonderful flavors of the pastry doing nothing to help the unease in your gut. “I can help you.”

“I don’t need your help,” you snapped. You sighed, rubbing your temple. “Sorry. I…I’m just crabby because I didn’t have my morning coffee until just now.”

“Nice try.” You glared at him, his green eyes remarkably gentle. “I don’t leave my friends behind. Now either you tell me what’s going on or I’m going to poke around myself and I guarantee that’s going to be a lot more dangerous and you’ll just have to patch me up even more. What do you say?”

You stared at him and stared at him and stared at him for what felt like forever. Then you took out the envelope and handed it back to him, along with the five hundred in your purse. 

“Go buy me two more cheese danishes and a large caramel frappe to go. Then take me to your motel room. This is a long fucking story.”

__________

A/N: Read Part 2 here!

[kabr0ztrousers]

Fem reader who is attracted to her were-gator step dad. He's got a deep voice and a bulky body that he proudly shows off. She often rifles through his laundry to smell his musk. This time she finds cum stained boxers and brings it to her room and starts smelling and licking it. She touches herself and moans his name. Well the step dad hears this and apologizes to her for not noticing how lonely she's been. He makes it up to her by fucking her stupid.

Kabr0z Writes episode 127: Step-Gator

Find the rest of the Kabr0z Writes anthology here!

Find the AO3 series here!

CWs: Step-cest; age difference; oral sex; enthusiastic consent;

A/N: This one might be a little rough, it was a heavy night last night and I've been hanging out my arse for most of the day. Have fun 😅

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For the past few months, one man above all others has driven you wild. Tall, barrel-chested, dark grey-green scales, always smelling of cement dust even when he tried to mask it with his deep, sultry cologne. Every time you saw him, you felt a wet patch growing in your pants. You'd had to invest in some reusable liners to stop your wetness bleaching your underwear. He was kind, suave, and knew exactly how to talk to a lady. The sort of perfect man you'd only hear about in cheesy rom-coms. Hell, he even volunteered at a bird sanctuary. There were only really two problems that stopped you asking him out. Firstly, he was more than old enough to be your father. That you could work around, you're sure. The other issue is a little tougher: his wife. More specifically, his wife is your mother.

So you had to take matters into your own hands. You tried redirecting your attentions on boys your age, you even tried to find older unmarried men, but the string of online dates leading to meaningless sex didn't slake your thirst. You'd been through boyfriends almost as quick as you went through socks, nobody able to scratch the itch that's been building in you for so long. There was one trick though. One of the chores you're responsible for is the laundry.

It sounds cliche, to sit on the corner of a running washing machine, holding a used jockstrap to your face, but oh God did it work. You felt like you could get off on his musk alone, the rumbling machine underneath you just an aid to give you an excuse to be in here uninterrupted. The corner shaking against your cunt didn't do any harm either though, and the sound of the drum spinning more than drowned out your moans in an ocean of white noise.

Of course, while the sound of the washing machine meant you couldn't be heard, it meant you couldn't hear anyone else moving around the house. You didn't hear the front door opening as he came home early. You didn't hear him putting away his work clothes, or starting to change into his sports gear. You were much too preoccupied to notice the dusty hi-vis jacket falling down the laundry chute into the basket next to the washing machine. The first you were aware of your not being alone in the house was when the door to the laundry room opened and he saw you. You were halfway through a toe-curling orgasm. One hand pressed his underwear to your face, the other slick with your wetness, three fingers stuffed into you.

He froze, mouth open. You tried to cover yourself, but your knickers hanging off one ankle and the scent of your cunt in the air left nothing to the imagination, not to mention the whines escaping you as the vibrations rolled up your body, lighting your nerves on fire. You stared at each other for a moment, then he stepped forward. His hand slid under your hair, palm flat to your scalp before he closed his fist, gripping a handful of hair from the back of your head and pulling you off the washing machine. If he was trying to discipline you, he was doing a poor job. You felt yourself blush harder, yelping as your knees hit the tiled floor.

He wasn't trying to punish you, or if he was he had an odd way of going about it. Your face was being pressed up against the bulge in his underwear. The smell of warm, fresh sweat and the particular musk from his balls filled your senses. You grabbed his waistband and tugged, pulling off his boxers and getting a faceful of his balls, his cock flopping onto the side of your head. You held them to you, licking and kissing the soft scaled skin of his scrotum, listening to his grunts as he ground your face into him.

"You want some more?" His growl was like nothing you'd heard before. Rumbling, bassy, coloured with barely contained desire. You nodded, still tasting him. You whined as he pulled you away, until he pushed two fingers into your mouth, holding your jaw open as he guided you to his cock. You stuck your tongue out, eager to taste the dripping member in front of you. The musk was even stronger coming from his cock, warm and intoxicating. The tip poised against your mouth, he took his fingers out of your mouth, letting you tongue touch the tip, a drop of precum oozing onto you.

His hand landed on the back of your head before he forced himself into your throat. You felt yourself dripping as he pumped your head over his cock, one of your hands dropping between your legs to service your greedy clit, even as his length made you gag. His hips worked like a piston, driving him in and out even as he pushed you down. Your vision began to grey at the edges. You didn't want to stop, not until-

You came. Your toes clenched as your hand rubbed in circles around your clit. Juices dripped from you as your cunt clenched. You lost your balance, slipping slightly, held up onto his cock by your hair. The flash of pain as your hair tugged sent another wave through you, making you whine around the merciless face-fucking

"Damn, you're a slut aren't you? Should I cum down your throat, or make myself a grandkid?"

You could only gurgle, throat filled with cock. He pulled you off him. You gasped for breath, finally able to breathe properly. He pulled you up to your feet, turning you around to bend over the still-running washing machine. Your tiptoes brushed the tiles. He grabbed your arm and twisted it up behind your back, pinning you to the machine as his tip kissed your entrance. You bit your lip, stifling a groan. Your back arched up to him, taking the tip between your folds. He pulled on your hair, bending you backwards as he buried himself in you. His fanged jaw dipped next to your ear

"You're wetter than your mother" He thrust in hard, making you gasp "tighter too"

You grinned, squeezing him with your pussy "Maybe you're just big"

He chuckled, fucking you harder. Your clit pressed against the rumbling machine. Nectar flowed from your cunt, coating your clit. Every thrust slapped his balls into you even as the machine under you rumbled. Your eyes rolled, knees bending and toes curling as you wailed in release. One hand clutched his in your hair, the other balled into a fist behind your back. You kicked your legs as you saw stars, screaming through clenched teeth. You could feel every bump and ridge on his cock as you clenched around it. He groaned, burying himself in you, moaning your name as you felt him twitch and throb. Hot cum filled you. You tried to wrap your legs around him, but you didn't need to hold on to him. He was buried in you, still trying to thrust deeper as his pendulous balls emptied themselves into you. His cum flooded you as he tugged harder, leaning on your arm as you both settled, twitching and panting, both having fucked each other out.

You sighed as he released you, shaking the stiffness out of your arm. He pulled out, leaving you weak and leaking on top of the appliance.

"I'm going for a shower. When you've cleaned up a little we can go for ice cream, my treat." He stroked your hair and turned for the door "And don't worry, your mom already knows"

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Have a request? A suggestion? Just want to confess a kink? My asks are open!

And for the record, between starting this and finishing it I've eaten and am feeling much better 😁

[profeshyearner]

HumDrum

Chapter 5

Homelander x reader slow burn that loosely follows the events of the series. The reader is an NYC transplant working as an archivist at Vought.

Warnings for this chapter: emotional abuse

Track list:

Hello Black Dog - Matt Maltese

A Pill to Crush - Evalyn

The archives were down so many levels that none of you knew when it began. No one heard the screaming from the upper floors as employees were chased through the halls and heads were smashed against cement. No one heard the gunfire or the squeak of blood soaked shoes across tile.

You should’ve known that this would happen.

The lab, the election, the rising tensions at Vought and across the country—you should’ve known where this was headed and that your fate would likely be the same as the lab employees from Homelander’s past—but you were too focused on the image of Homelander kneeling in front of you in the shower, like you alone could have absolved him for what he did.

He looked at you like you were a fucking angel instead of something he could crush underneath his boots.

You were too focused on the boy, John, on those tapes. The idea that maybe he was in there, somewhere.

That Homelander was the way he was because of the torture and the experiments, and that maybe a bit of compassion could bring out the humanity in him.

You didn’t consider that it wasn’t there to begin with. The compassion was never taught, the love was never had, no nostalgic memories of a brighter day could make him something…gentler.

This was a man who spent his entire life being treated like a show-pony for a corrupt company that thought they could control him, profit off of him. They didn’t consider that their grip on the supes would slip; they created them. A better race, a stronger version of man-kind. Unsurprising for a company birthed from 1940s German ideology, a company that never had a sense of morality to begin with. And America was the perfect breeding ground for them, for him.

A country that worships the strong and powerful, that puts itself on a pedestal above all other nations. Of course they’d love him, slap the Star spangled banner on a strong, blond haired blue eyed machine of a man and how could they not?

It was only a matter of time before this hostile takeover became a reality and you were too distracted to get the hell out of dodge before their judgement fell upon you.

And he didn’t care about you—you knew he didn’t care about you. You weren’t stupid… but you thought that somehow you’d be spared. Maybe he would forget about you. Maybe he would forget about the department as a whole.

—

You didn’t have time to barricade the doors. You didn’t have time to hide or look for something—anything that could be used as a weapon.

You were training a newer employee—you thought his name was Keith (or something—but were too embarrassed to ask him to tell you for a fourth time) on how to use the microfiche reader when he came in.

You couldn’t tell if it was better or not, that he was alone. The other members of the seven, aside from Sage, had no reason to think of you any differently than any other employees they had killed that day. Then again, the other members of the seven weren’t watching your apartment.

Sandy came out of her office to speak to him first, but it was as if she weren’t there, his eyes glued to you and the way you leaned over Keith.

You thought you saw a muscle—a vein—something, twitch across his face, but it happened so quickly before he composed himself with that fake sharp-toothed smile, that you couldn’t be sure you saw anything at all.

He walked up to you, slowly, Sandy still trying to get his attention in the background. You couldn’t hear what she was saying over the sound of your own pulse. You knew he could hear it too.

You hadn’t seen him in weeks, but you were so aware of the lack of him. At first you thought you were paranoid, he was haunting your thoughts, your dreams. You thought you saw him everywhere you looked, when you turned the corner of the archive shelves, when you left the gym at night.

When you started misplacing things around the apartment, noticing small details that weren’t the same as you left them, you thought you had finally lost it. Until the flower, until the thin, platinum hair in your sink.

Why was he here?

What did he want?

The last couple times Homelander had visited the archives, you were sure he had done it because he knew that only one employee was working; but this was broad daylight, peak hours.

He smiled at you like nothing had happened. Like the day wasn’t soaked in blood and gunfire. Like he hadn’t just come from the upper floors where employees just like you were being hunted for sport for disagreeing with the company, for knowing too much, for having the wrong expression plastered across their faces.

“Teaching the new guy?” he asked, voice smooth, casual. His eyes barely flicked to Keith before locking on you again. “That’s sweet. Real wholesome.”

“Mr. Homelander—” Sandy stepped forward, voice steady but cautious. “We weren’t expecting—”

He didn’t look at her.

“Go on,” he said. Still looking at you. “You were leaning in so close. Don’t stop on my account.”

You opened your mouth. Nothing came out. He looked relaxed. Amused, even. But you could feel the heat rolling off him in waves, like asphalt in the sun.

He moved closer to you, clasping his hand behind his back.

Keith chuckled awkwardly, clearly assuming it was a joke, some CEO-style teasing.

You forced a breath, your voice shaky. “We’re—just going over the cataloging system.”

“Oh, yeah?” His smile widened, not an inch of it reaching his eyes. “Thought it was foreplay.”

Sandy’s voice came sharper now. “That’s enough.”

He turned toward her so fast it made your stomach flip.

“Enough?” he echoed, blinking like she’d spoken a foreign language. “I didn’t realize you were in charge, Sandy.”

She flinched.

“Sorry,” she said quickly, and his smile returned as he looked back at you.

“So.” He took a slow step forward. “You and… what’s your name again?”

“Keith,” the poor guy muttered, barely audible.

“Right. Keith.” Homelander tilted his head, mock-considering. “You two should fuck.”

You blinked. “What?”

“C’mon,” he said, with a mock-encouraging nod. “You’ve done it before, haven’t you? And he’s perfect for you, practically a stranger! Or is he not your type?”

The room was so silent you could hear the low, rhythmic churn of the server fans.

You didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Your brain scrambled to reframe the moment—some twisted joke? A test? A warning?

He turned slightly toward Keith, who had gone pale. “She’s got a thing for charity cases lately.”

“Right here,” he said. “On the desk. Or the floor, I’m not picky.”

“Why are you doing this?” you asked, hating how small your voice sounded.

His smile dropped. Not all the way, but enough to make the room feel colder. The air felt thick, like it was closing in.

“Because I want to see if you’ll listen,” he said simply, his voice now stripped of its usual layers of charm. “Because I want to see what you’ll do when you think I’m going to kill you.”

He took another step, eyes fixed on you.

“Because I’m curious,” he whispered, “what kind of girl you really are.”

Your breath faltered. The words that left your mouth were barely a whisper. “I’m not—” You stopped yourself, that crushing knot of shame clenching tight. “I’m not like that.”

He didn’t even flinch. Instead, a low chuckle escaped him, a sharp, breathless thing that scraped against your skin. You flinched like he had slapped you.

“Oh, don’t act so innocent,” he said, and his voice was like ice. “Not after everything you’ve been doing.”

A knot twisted painfully in your gut. You felt like you were going to throw up. This couldn’t be real, this couldn’t be happening.

“I’ve been watching.” His eyes narrowed, gleaming with something dark. “You’ve been lonely, haven’t you? Sloppy. Sad. You can’t hide it from me.” He stepped closer, slowly, forcing you to fight every instinct telling you to back away.

You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, focusing instead on a spot on the floor where the tile was chipping.

“Bringing home strangers. Letting them touch you. Letting them fuck you.” His voice dropped, stretching the words out. “That wasn’t you, wasn’t it? The real, pathetic, insecure you.”

You felt the heat rise to your cheeks, the burn of humiliation threatening to choke you. Every shred of control you thought you had slipped away, like sand running through your fingers. The room tilted, and you wanted to vanish—wanted to scream, but nothing came out. His words were knives, sinking deeper into you with each one.

“You’re just a toy to them, aren’t you?” he continued, voice like velvet, dragging each word across the air. “They get to use you, take what they want, and leave you empty. But it’s different now, isn’t it?” His lips curled into a smile that was all sharp edges. “I’ve been watching…everything. All of it. I know what you’ve been doing. And now, here you are, acting so innocent, when all I see is someone who’s desperate for validation. Someone who craves the attention of the wrong people.”

You swallowed hard, your throat dry, humiliated, every part of you screaming to get away, to make this stop. But there was nowhere to go.

“Can you just… let them go?” You brought your eyes to his, breathing shaky.

He laughed and looked around, grinning widely and gesturing towards the door, every bit the friendly home grown superhero, “well, I’m not holding anyone hostage! You’re all free to leave.”

Keith started towards the door.

“But… we are doing a bit of reshuffling up there. Filtering out some of you that don’t have Vought’s best interests in mind anymore.”

He tilted his head, eyes scanning the room slowly.

“But you’re right,” he said softly. “Let’s be fair about this. We should do a little vetting before we make any… decisions.”

“Let’s do this properly,” he said, voice chipper now. “I want everyone lined up. Shoulder to shoulder.”

No one moved. Then he clapped—once, loud and sharp.

“Now.”

You all scrambled into position. You stood between Sandy and Keith, your knees weak, hands trembling.

Homelander walked a slow circle around you all, hands still behind his back, humming faintly. It might’ve been the Star-Spangled Banner.

He smiled as he took you all in and you tried to think of what he had planned for the three of you.

“Great. Now… strip.”

Silence. The words didn’t register at first. You felt Sandy stiffen beside you. Keith let out a choked noise.

“Excuse me?” Sandy asked, her voice barely holding.

“You heard me,” he said simply. “Clothes. Off. Down to your underwear.”

“Why—” Keith started.

“Why?” Homelander echoed, raising his brows. “Because I said so.”

He stepped in front of Keith and leaned in slightly, smile gone.

“You don’t want me to get bored, Keith. Trust me.”

He moved away again, arms gesturing grandly now like a game show host. “It’s just a little icebreaker, guys. A team-building exercise! I want to see who’s still loyal, who’s got nothing to hide. Transparency, you know? Good old American values.”

One by one, you heard zippers, buttons, cloth rustling. No one looked at each other. You could feel tears burning in your eyes already.

When your hands reached for your own shirt, they were shaking so badly you could barely grip the fabric.

“Ah, ah—” His voice cut through the room as he walked up behind you. “Nice and slow.”

Your skin crawled.

You tugged at the fabric slowly, pulling your top up over your head, revealing your undershirt—cheap, thin, and already clinging from sweat. You heard someone shift beside you, but no one said anything.

“Keep going.”

You slid your undershirt up over your chest. Your fingers stumbled over themselves, every second dragged like molasses.

You couldn’t stop the tears now. They didn’t fall, not yet—but your vision blurred, your breath stuttered.

He was watching. You could feel it like a burn on your skin.

Goosebumps broke out across your arms, and your cheeks felt like they were on fire. The air felt colder now, even with the blood pounding in your head.

You reached for the button on your pants.

Unzipped.

Down.

You stepped out of them slowly, now standing in nothing but plain black underwear and trembling legs. The harsh fluorescent lights above you hummed loudly, suddenly unbearable.

No one spoke. No one moved.

You could feel the heat of their stares—Sandy’s horror, Keith’s shame. But all you could really feel was him.

Then came the voice, quiet and satisfied.

“There she is.”

He walked slowly around you until he stood in front of you, eyes dragging across your body, face unreadable. No lust in his expression—just power. Domination. Curiosity, like you were a specimen in a glass box..

“Tell me…” he said softly. “How long did you think you’d get away with it? Acting like you were different from the others. Like you were better.”

You looked through him, setting your jaw, anything to keep him from looking so satisfied with himself.

He tilted his head. “You wanted to be spared. Thought I’d make an exception for you. Why?”

Your lips parted, but nothing came out.

He leaned in closer, close enough that, when you dragged your eyes to him, you could see the small flicker of amusement on his face.

“Because you pitied me?”

Sandy’s voice cracked. “Leave her be.”

The sound of her stepping forward was barely louder than a whisper, but it rang like a gunshot in the silence.

Homelander didn’t turn at first. Just stared at you a second longer, the tension in his jaw tight like a wire. Then—slowly—he pivoted toward Sandy, the lazy grin returning like a mask snapping back into place.

“Oh,” he said, voice syrupy with mock surprise. “The boss speaks.”

Sandy stood rigid in her bra and underwear, arms stiff at her sides, trying not to shake. Her chin was raised—but her eyes flicked, just once, to you. You could see it—the fear she was swallowing down, the calculation in her gaze. She was trying to redirect him. To give you a second of air.

“She’s not like the others,” Sandy said. “She’s not… part of the politics upstairs. She just works.”

Homelander raised his brows. “So noble.” He walked over to her, slowly, almost admiringly. “I didn’t ask for a defense attorney, Sandra.”

“I know.” Her voice was steady, but her hands were trembling now. “I just thought… if you’re trying to figure out who’s loyal to Vought, it isn’t her you want.”

A beat. His expression didn’t change. Then:

“You’re right.” He turned away from her, started walking in a slow circle around the group again. “She’s not who I want.”

Relief bloomed on Sandy’s face for just a second—until he stopped behind her.

“I want all of you,” he said softly. “Naked. Honest. Exposed. That’s the point.”

He leaned in, voice at her ear.

“You can’t hide behind your job titles anymore. Or your moral high ground. You’re just part of the machine, like everyone else.”

“And if you interrupt me again,”

“I’m going to blow a hole through the back of your head.”

A beat.

“And if you interrupt me again…”

His voice didn’t rise—it fell, into something colder.

“I’m going to blow a hole through the back of your head.”

Sandy didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

No one did.

His eyes slid to Keith next. Keith, who still clutched to his half unzipped pants.

The poor guy looked like he wanted to disappear—shoulders drawn tight, gaze fixed to the floor, as if maybe if he just stayed still enough, he could pretend none of this was happening.

“Your turn, champ,” Homelander said cheerfully, the mockery in his tone razor-sharp. “Let’s see what kind of man Vought’s hiring these days.”

Keith didn’t move at first.

Homelander tilted his head. “drop em”

Keith swallowed hard. His hands, visibly trembling, released their hold on his slacks.

Keith’s jaw clenched.

Boxers. Pale blue. His knees were knocking together by the time he straightened up.

“Look at that,” Homelander said, circling behind him now. “A real team player. Taking one for the cause.”

He paused. “Really just the three of you down here today?”

“It’s a real shame, I was hoping for more of an audience.”

Homelander wandered to one of the server cabinets, casually tapping on the side.

“You know…” he said, almost absently, “I’ve always liked this place. Archives. Hidden away. Private. Lotta people don’t know how much history is buried down here.”

He glanced back at you, something hungry in his gaze. “Lot of things go unnoticed when you’re under Vought Tower.”

You felt a pit open in your stomach. The way he said it—the way his smile spread, too pleased with itself—made your blood run cold.

He flicked the nearest monitor on. The screen flickered to life.

And then you saw it.

Your apartment.

Your bedroom.

The camera was mounted high—somewhere near the smoke alarm. The footage was dated. A week ago. You were half-dressed, sitting on the edge of the bed, holding your head in your hands.

Another clip followed.

You were drunk. Crying. Muttering something incoherent to yourself.

Another clip.

You bringing someone home. A man. Kissing him at the door.

You couldn’t breathe. You wanted to scream, to deny it—but it was all there. You didn’t know how, or when, but he had been watching you for weeks.

The screen flicked off.

“With all of the reshuffling we’re doing it only made sense to do our due diligence on all of you,”

“You having all of these records on us and all, it’s only fair.”

Keith looked stunned. Sandy’s lips parted in horror.

“All of you, so mundane, so predictable,” he walked over to you, gripping your chin and tilting your face up so that you had to look him in the eyes.

“But you surprised me.”

“What?” You said, gritting your teeth. “Were you embarrassed I saw all of your personal little details? Now you had to manufacture some more trauma and embarrass me too?”

He let your chin go with a flick, and you stumbled back half a step. His smile didn’t fade—it only deepened, sharper now, like a knife sliding in between your ribs.

“You thought you had something on me,” he said, still facing you, but speaking loud enough for the others to hear. “Thought you could look through my past and find some sob story, some broken little boy to justify what I am now.”

He tilted his head, eyes glittering.

“But you never stopped to think what I’d find on you.”

The silence stretched.

You could feel every heartbeat in your throat.

Then he turned slowly, deliberately, his boots echoing against the concrete as he began to circle you all again. Keith flinched when he passed behind him. Sandy didn’t move, but her face was tight, frozen, jaw clenched like she was trying not to be sick.

“I’ve been very generous,” he said, voice lighter now, almost conversational. “Very patient. Letting you all squirm. Barely touching a hair on your fragile human heads.”

He stopped, letting the words settle.

Then, softly:

“Let’s make some new memories.”

xx

Taglist: @xxyaoi-nationxx @unnisumi

[steviestits]

My God Longs For Me - Part 1.2

Written for an anon prompt, which can be read in its entirety on this fic’s masterpost.

Pairing: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson Rating: T (E for later chapters) Summary: When Steve was a child, he was abducted and brought to the cult, the Hellfire Club, as he was prophesied to be the wife of the dark forest god they worshiped. Steve enjoyed his time there, especially the time he spent with the cult leader's nephew, Eddie. This wasn't meant to last however as Steve was eventually returned to his parents. Thanks to the deprogrammer that his parents hired and time, Steve has mostly forgotten the cult that raised him. That is until he goes on a camping trip and his friends start to get murdered one by one with the only connection between the killings being the ritual offerings to the cult's gods and the strange dreams Steve has before each one. Now Steve must piece together his past to discover who is murdering his friends in the present. (Inspired heavily by various horror movies and is a horror story itself.) Trigger Warning: F-Slur Usage Eventual Trigger Warning: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Ritual Sacrifices, Gore, Mpreg, Body Horror, Monster Fucking, Feminization, Brainwashing

(Link to previous part)

Which was how Steve found himself here, driving with his so-called “friends” deep into the middle of nowhere. To be honest, the last thing Steve wanted to do was be stuck anywhere with these assholes, but his dad had heard about the plans from Tommy, and insisted that Steve go. His dad said that it would be good to have one last hurrah before Steve had to settle into the company and didn’t have any time left for fun, leaving no room for argument while cementing that this trip was Steve’s last bit of freedom before his dad was looking over shoulder full-time.

They’d been on the road most of the day, and the sun was starting to set. If they had taken anyone else’s car, Steve would’ve pulled over to the side of the road to let maybe Billy or Jason drive, but no, they had insisted on taking Steve’s car since his was the better among the five of them. Steve had a rule, though. No one drove his baby except him, and given that was the only way they could get Steve to bring his car, they’d agreed. So, instead of switching drivers, Steve turned into the parking lot of a dingy looking, bricked motel, where he could rest before making the last leg of their journey then pulled into a space in front of the main office.

Everyone scrambled out of the car, all wanting to pee or raid the vending machine, leaving Steve by himself to book the motel rooms. He sighed, while running a hand over his exasperated face, frustrated with their lack of responsibility. Though, on second thought, it was for the best since the others could be real dicks when they wanted to be, which could get them kicked out and start their camping trip earlier than intended on the side of the road.

Steve walked through the glass door into the main office, causing a bell to ring overhead. The sound caught the attention of the woman at the front desk, who turned towards Steve as he approached. She looked just as rundown as the motel with her straggly blonde hair matching the yellowed tiles and wallpaper perfectly. Her faded pink dress stood out against the outline of the rusted keys that lined the walls under barely legible plates with the room numbers on them. Pale fingers curled around a black pen, preparing to book Steve into the system.

“How many rooms?” she asked in a nasally voice that grated on Steve’s ears.

“One double room,” Steve replied.

The five of them weren’t strangers to sharing a room like this as they’d all been on sports teams together since high school and knew how to bunk up during away games. For the odd man out, they’d probably draw straws to see who slept in the car. He honestly didn’t think there’d be a problem until he noticed that the woman was eyeing him suspiciously.

With a furrowed brow, he asked, “Is something wrong?”

“There’s five of you.”

“Yeah, one of us plans to sleep in the car.”

“There’s only two beds.”

“Okay...?”

“You boys aren’t faggots, are you? Because I refuse to let that type stay at my establishment. If you’re looking for a place to fuck, you can look elsewhere.”

“We’re not-” Steve gaped at her, at a loss for words. “None of us- We’re straight.”

“Then why are you only booking one room?” she asked, her voice dripping with venomously disgust. “Only faggots would book one room for five people.”

Rubbing his forehead, he replied, “Fine, we’ll take two double rooms. The fifth person will sleep in the car. Happy?”

The woman nodded and took down Steve’s information in the guest book before she retrieved the room keys from behind her. She was still staring at him with slight suspicion as Steve took them, but he ignored her. It wasn’t as if her opinion mattered since he didn’t plan on seeing her again after this as they were only staying the night.

With the keys acquired, Steve left the main office. Tommy and Billy weren’t around while Andy was messing around with the vending machine. That left only Jason waiting by the car, leaning against it as he snacked on a bag of generic brand potato chips. He looked up when Steve neared, giving him a small nod of greeting.

“Get the rooms?” Jason asked.

Steve held up the keys. “Yep.”

“Great, so who’s rooming with who?”

“You guys decide. I think I’m just going to sleep in the car.”

“You sure? It’s not like we haven’t doubled up before.”

“Yeah, it’s fine,” Steve said, while glancing over his shoulder a little. “I think I just want to make sure nothing happens to my baby in the middle of the night.”

Jason shrugged. “Suit yourself, I guess.” He then took the keys from Steve then wandered over to the vending machines to start talking to Andy, probably explaining the situation with the rooms. That only left Billy and Tommy unaccounted for, and who knew what kind of shit the two of them could get up to if they were left alone for too long. If he remembered correctly, they said they needed to take a piss, so he guessed they’d probably be in the woods since from what Steve could tell there weren’t any public bathrooms around.

At least, Steve hadn’t thought there were until he realized that there was a bar across the street. He didn’t remember it as they were pulling in as he was certain that he would’ve seen the bright, neon sign overhead declaring that the place was called “The Hideout.” Though, he chalked that up to him being more tired than he thought, making him glad that they’d found the motel when they did if his mind was that hazy.

Steve started to walk across the street towards the bar. He figured if Tommy and Billy would be anywhere then it’d be there. They’d probably pee then grab a few rounds before staggering back to the motel without even knowing their room numbers. It was like Steve was surrounded by children, and he seriously couldn’t wait for this damn camping trip to be over.

Part 1.1 ~ Masterpost ~ Part 1.3

[sephirthoughts]

4, 17 and 25 for the writer’s ask game 🙌

thank you for the ask i love doing these! 🖤

4. an excerpt of my writing with dialogue i'm proud of

this isn't really anything all that profound, but i love the dynamic between them so much (it's from a genshin impact fic i wrote over a year ago and haven't finished)

On this particular day, by some miracle of the Archons, Kaveh had finally managed to drag Alhaitham away from his stupid boring studies, to attend one of these campus parties. Wondrous! What a delightful time they shall have! But wait! No! It was Alhaitham, after all, and what did that insufferable chunk of granite do, rather than socializing, like a human being? He sat down in a corner and opened a book! A BOOK! Kaveh was so mortified, he nearly melted into the crevices between the floor tiles. “What in the Abyss are you doing!” he hissed, hurrying over to Alhaitham (after looking around to check that no one attractive saw him talking to the tower of muscle and jawline that was his roommate). Alhaitham turned a page without looking up. “I’m water-skiing.” “Ha ha, so funny. What are you doing reading at a party!” “As you gave me to understand the matter, the purpose of these functions is enjoyment. I enjoy reading. Hooray party.” “Ugh, you are so fucking embarrassing,” Kaveh groaned. “Fine. If you want to cement your position as a social pariah, you go right ahead. I’m going to go mingle, before anyone sees me talking to you and my chances of getting any action are obliterated.” “Why should you talking to me have any impact on your chances of engaging in sexual activity with others.” “Because of all…this!” Kaveh returned, gesturing to encompass Alhaitham’s entire person. “You’re offensively handsome, six-foot-four, and built like a male fitness model! No one wants to compete with that!” “Absurd,” Alhaitham snorted. “How can my looks be offensive? You’re talking a lot of nonsense, today.” “Fuck’s sake—it was a hyperbole! The point is that while you’re sitting here all stone-cold scholar, making every other guy at the party look like a before-picture, I’m actually trying to meet people! If they see me hanging around with you, they’ll think I’m taken, by the big, scary, hot guy and get frightened off!” Alhaitham looked up at him. “Well?” “Well what?” “Go away, then.” Kaveh made incoherent noises of exasperation and stalked off, in search of a much-needed drink. 

17. excerpt from an unpublished WIP

this one is tentatively called Corporate Espionage and it's Reeve/Vincent

He fired off his email to the zoning committee, explaining once again that currently inhabited dwellings were not to be considered ‘abandoned’ or ‘derelict’ simply because they thought a shopping center would look better there, and dropped his forehead onto the desk with a dull thunk. Was thirty-five too young for a heart attack? Probably. Too bad. No hope that way, then. He had a sneaking suspicion that even if he died, they’d find a way to yank him back out of the lifestream and make him review Land Use and Development reports. He very nearly had his fanciful heart attack, when suddenly something hard and cold clamped down on the back of his neck. His first thought was ‘Oh, good. They finally sent the Turks to kill me.’ After he gave his first jolt of surprise, he didn’t struggle or try to lift his head. He just stayed that way, with a metal something holding him by his neck. “Tense,” said a low, deep voice, barely loudly enough to be heard, over Reeve’s white noise machine and Zen relaxation fountain. “Uh—hngh!” he groaned, involuntarily, as the cold metal thing (which he now understood was a hand in a gauntlet) squeezed, exerting precise pressure on the neck muscles, right at the base of his skull. “Agent…Valentine. What are you—” “No talking.”  Reeve shut his mouth. The utter absurdity of the situation made him strongly suspect that he’d fallen asleep with his head on his desk, and was now dreaming. Having his neck rubbed by a nearly sixty-year-old former Turk maybe-vampire, who could swat him like a gnat (and that was when he wasn’t a monster), was definitely something his stress and fatigue-addled subconscious might invent.  Well, fuck it. He may as well enjoy it, before one of his phones rang and woke him up.

25. an excerpt from something i consider to be a favorite

this is the opening couple paragraphs from my Ryu Ga Gotoku fic. it's one of my favorite things i've written so of course it was not very popular 😂 (asexual kiryu x bisexual majima OTP of ever)

Hand-to-hand combat, like any religion, requires devotion. One must practice it every day, or wisely avoid its temple and its acolytes, as it can only be a source of pain and frustration. For those who observe it devoutly, however, the violent collision of muscle and bone is both prayer and worship. Communion and confession. A ritual to clear the mind and purge the soul. A pure, sensory meditation. Iron-hard fists raining blows like cannon shots. The teeth-cracking, bone-jarring thunderclap of impact. The intoxicating heat. The acrid tang of sweat and blood. The aromatic scent of petrichor from a freshly rained-upon city street. A hint of cigarette smoke and a man’s cologne. When he comes back to himself, he is standing over his opponent, battered but victorious. Stars dance in the corners of his vision. His knuckles are throbbing and he tastes blood. Then he sees blood. On his fists and his opponent’s face. For a split second, he’s sure he’s gone too far, this time. But the man lifts his head and looks up at him. Takes the outstretched hand to be helped back to his feet. Though he springs up with suspicious buoyancy, considering the beating he just took. “What’s with the face, Kiryu-chan?” he pants, smearing the crimson droplets across his chin with the back of his black-gloved hand. “Mad at me for jumpin’ you?” “I’m not mad at you, Majima-aniki. This is just how I look,” Kiryu answers flatly, which is one of the three tones of voice he has. “Right, right. I was meanin’ to ask, do kids run off cryin’ when they see ya in the street?” “Not…all of them.” This elicits a half-hysterical laugh from Majima’s still-bleeding mouth. “You look like you’re on your way from a funeral to another funeral. Why don’t you try smilin’ once in a while.” The furrows in Kiryu’s brow deepen. “I do smile. I just don’t do it for no reason.” “Must be why you’re so popular with the ladies. Come on, Kiryu-chan, lemme see ya smile.” “No.” “I’m not lettin’ you go till you do it.” “God damn it. Ok, fine.” Kiryu complies stiffly with the demand, stretching his mouth and turning up the corners, as if smiling is something with which he is theoretically familiar, but has never seen actually done. “Fuck, I take it back!” Majima exclaims, throwing up a black-gloved hand as if to shield his eyes. “I can’t believe you’d do that out in public. Some innocent bystander might see and be scarred for life.”

[a-nywherebut-here]

i cant make it a poll bc of the text limit but whats the most haunted kind of trailer:

-- the more modern ones in an old neighborhood that are significantly less colorful and more sterile, grey flooring & no carpet, one or both of the porches are on cement, little lawn room

-- all slick brown wood walls & flooring, carpet maybe in living room & one bedroom, likely older, likely a risk to stay at during a hurricane, the previous owners left amenities in it (washing machine dryer etc)

-- built like they were more expensive at one point but have deteriorated cheaper, floors are soft and kitchen windows have fissure cracks, short and coarse carpet with designs in the tile, various dust and plastics collected in the closets

[cretivemachinery]

How Does a Concrete Pan Mixer Work and Why Should You Use One

Let’s be honest—concrete mixing isn’t glamorous, but it’s the heart of just about every construction project. You could have the best materials and crew in the world, but if the mix isn’t right, the end result is going to suffer.

That’s why more and more builders, block manufacturers, and contractors are turning to a machine that doesn’t always get the spotlight: the Concrete Pan Mixer Machine.

It’s not huge. It’s not flashy. But it delivers a consistently solid mix—and that’s what really matters on-site.

So, What’s a Concrete Pan Mixer, Anyway? Think of it like a big steel bowl—kind of like a giant kitchen mixer, only tougher. It’s round, flat on the bottom, and fitted with rotating blades that churn everything together—cement, sand, gravel, water, additives—you name it.

The pan either stays still while the blades rotate, or in some models, both the pan and the blades rotate in opposite directions. The idea is to keep everything moving so every bit of the mix is touched, turned, and blended.

What comes out? A smooth, even concrete mix that’s ready for blocks, tiles, flooring, or whatever else you’re working on.

How Does It Work? Here’s the process in plain terms:

Load It Toss your materials in—cement, sand, aggregates, water. If you’re using fibers, colors, or chemicals, now’s the time to add them.

Fire It Up You switch on the machine and the paddles start spinning. Some mixers have fixed pans; others rotate the whole pan while the paddles turn inside. Either way, the mix gets pulled, scraped, and folded thoroughly.

Mix Until It’s Right Most batches are done in about 2 to 5 minutes. You’ll know when it’s ready—the mix looks uniform and the consistency is right for your job.

Discharge There’s usually a trap door or chute at the bottom. Open it, and your concrete flows out into a trolley, bucket, or mold.

No dead corners. No unmixed pockets. Just a clean, reliable batch.

Why Builders Like Using Pan Mixers Here’s the thing: not every job needs a concrete truck or a big drum mixer. And when you’re doing work that needs precision—like making fly ash bricks or casting colored concrete—pan mixers are the way to go.

More Control You’re in charge of the batch size and the exact mix. No guessing. No waste.

Better Mix Quality The blades scrape the sides and base of the pan, so nothing gets left out. That means a smoother, more consistent mix—especially important for decorative or structural work.

Smaller Batches, Less Waste You don’t need to mix a ton of concrete if you’re doing a small run of blocks or prepping for a flooring job. Pan mixers let you make exactly what you need.

Easy to Clean Anyone who’s cleaned a drum mixer knows the struggle. Pan mixers are easier to rinse and scrape down between batches, saving time and effort.

Different Types of Pan Mixers Out There Depending on your site and your work, you’ve got a few options:

Stationary Pan Mixers Great for block plants or small factories where the mixer stays in one place. Built for volume and consistency.

Portable Pan Mixers These come with wheels and can be moved around the site. Handy if you need to shift between work zones.

Electric vs. Diesel Electric models are quieter and good for indoor or city-based work.

Diesel models are better suited for rugged, off-grid jobs with no reliable power source.

What Should You Look for in a Pan Mixer? Buying a pan mixer? Here’s what to consider before handing over your money:

Capacity: Small batches or high-volume work? Get the right size for your needs.

Power Source: Will you have electricity where you’re working, or do you need the independence of diesel?

Build Quality: Heavy steel body, good motor, strong paddles—no compromises here.

Discharge System: Bottom discharge is ideal for quick emptying without leaving material behind.

Ease of Maintenance: Fewer moving parts = fewer breakdowns. Check how accessible the pan and paddles are for cleaning.

Manufacturers like Lino Sella and Shuanglong have been around for years, and they’ve got solid reputations in the industry. Go with a name that’s trusted.

Where Do You Actually Use One? You’ll find concrete pan mixers in all kinds of places:

Fly ash brick and solid block production

Paver and tile plants

Plaster and mortar mixing

Precast concrete units

Lab testing for concrete strength

Decorative or colored concrete mixing

Flooring and renovation work

Basically, if you’re doing work where mix quality matters, a pan mixer belongs on-site.

Wrapping It Up: Is It Worth the Investment? If you’re still mixing by hand or using an old drum mixer that leaves half the cement stuck to the walls—yes, it’s absolutely worth it.

The Concrete Pan Mixer Machine is one of those pieces of equipment that just makes sense: easy to use, reliable, and built to handle real job site conditions.

You save time, reduce waste, and get a better-quality product. Whether you're running a small production unit or working on custom construction projects, this machine will quickly become one of your go-to tools.

FAQs – No-Nonsense Answers About Pan Mixers Q1: Is a pan mixer better than a drum mixer? For smaller, precision jobs—yes. It gives you a more consistent mix and is easier to clean.

Q2: Can it be used for mortar or plaster? Definitely. In fact, many people use them specifically for mortar, plaster, and colored mixes.

Q3: How long does a batch take to mix? Usually about 3–5 minutes, depending on the machine and material.

Q4: Are they hard to clean? Nope. Most models are open and easy to rinse or scrape down.

Q5: Will it work for large-scale jobs? If you're doing massive pours all day long, you might want a bigger mixer. But for most small and medium-scale jobs, a pan mixer is ideal.

[allureconcretesolutions]

Concrete Floor Levelling: A Complete Guide for a Smooth, Durable Surface

Concrete floor levelling is a critical step in ensuring the strength, safety, and aesthetic appeal of any flooring system—residential, commercial, or industrial. Uneven floors can lead to cracked tiles, warped hardwood, and structural issues. Whether you're preparing for a new flooring installation or fixing an existing slab, understanding how to level a concrete floor can save time, money, and frustration.

In this guide, we cover everything you need to know about concrete floor levelling: methods, materials, costs, DIY vs. professional services, and expert tips to achieve flawless results.

What Is Concrete Floor Levelling?

Concrete floor levelling is the process of correcting an uneven concrete surface to ensure it is flat, smooth, and ready for further construction or flooring installation. This process may involve grinding down high spots, filling in low areas with self-levelling compounds, or resurfacing the entire floor.

Why Is Floor Levelling Important?

Here are key reasons why levelling a concrete floor is essential:

🧱 Prevents structural damage

🪵 Ensures proper flooring installation (tile, laminate, vinyl, etc.)

🚫 Minimizes trip hazards

🛠 Increases the longevity of flooring materials

🏠 Improves aesthetic appeal and property value

Signs Your Concrete Floor Needs Levelling

You may need concrete floor levelling if you notice:

Visible dips, slopes, or humps in the floor

Cracks or chips forming over time

Uneven installation of flooring materials

Doors that stick or don’t align properly

Methods of Concrete Floor Levelling

There are two primary techniques used in levelling concrete floors:

1. Self-Levelling Underlayment

This is a polymer-modified cement-based compound that flows easily and levels itself once poured. Ideal for minor dips and finishing touches.

✅ Best for: Interior floors, small to medium imperfections 🧰 Tools: Bucket, mixing paddle, trowel, level ⏱ Dry time: 24–48 hours

2. Concrete Grinding

Used to reduce high spots in the slab using specialized grinders and polishing machines.

✅ Best for: High points, resurfacing old concrete 🧰 Tools: Floor grinder, vacuum, protective gear ⏱ Dry time: Immediate, but often followed by sealing or coating

DIY Concrete Floor Levelling: Step-by-Step

If you're considering a DIY approach, here’s a simplified process using self-levelling compound:

Clean the Floor – Remove dust, grease, and debris.

Prime the Surface – Apply a bonding primer to improve adhesion.

Mix the Compound – Follow manufacturer instructions carefully.

Pour & Spread – Pour the mix and use a spreader or trowel to level.

Let It Cure – Allow 24–48 hours before installing flooring.

🛑 Tip: Always wear protective gear, and test a small section before committing.

Professional Concrete Floor Levelling: Is It Worth It?

Hiring a professional floor levelling contractor ensures:

Precision in assessing and correcting surface issues

Use of commercial-grade materials and equipment

Faster completion and longer-lasting results

✅ Recommended for: Large areas, commercial properties, complex repairs

💰 Average cost: $3–$8 per square foot, depending on floor condition and method used

Factors Affecting Floor Levelling Costs

Square footage of the area

Type of levelling method (grinding vs. underlayment)

Accessibility and labor requirements

Pre-existing damage or cracks

Choice of materials and finishes

Best Practices & Pro Tips

Always test moisture levels in the concrete before levelling

Use a laser level or spirit level for accuracy

Avoid pouring compound in extreme temperatures

Consider sealing or polishing the surface post-levelling for extra durability

Conclusion: Achieve a Flawless Finish with Proper Concrete Levelling

Concrete floor levelling is the foundation (literally) of any quality flooring project. Whether you’re a DIY enthusiast or working with a contractor, understanding the process helps you make informed decisions and avoid costly mistakes. With the right tools, materials, and techniques, you can achieve a smooth, safe, and attractive floor that stands the test of time.

Frequently Asked Questions (FAQs)

🔹 How long does floor levelling take? Typically 1–3 days depending on the method and drying time.

🔹 Can I level a concrete floor myself? Yes, with the right tools and materials, but larger projects are best left to professionals.

🔹 What is the best self-levelling compound? Top brands include Ardex, Mapei, and LevelQuik—choose based on your specific flooring type and environment.

🔹 Is floor levelling necessary before laying tile or vinyl? Absolutely. Uneven surfaces cause tile cracking and uneven vinyl wear.

[sudarshangroup22]

Why Choose High-Purity Calcite Powder? Key Benefits for Manufacturers

In the fast-paced world of manufacturing, every detail counts — especially the quality of raw materials. From durability to product aesthetics, the components you choose play a big role in your success. And when it comes to mineral fillers, few can compete with the unmatched reliability of Calcite Powder for a wide range of industrial needs. Let’s break down why more manufacturers are opting for high-purity versions of this essential mineral and how it can add serious value to your operations.

Understanding Calcite Powder

Calcite is a naturally occurring form of calcium carbonate (CaCO₃), commonly found in sedimentary rocks. Once mined, it undergoes crushing, screening, and fine grinding to produce calcite powder. This white, free-flowing powder is known for its purity, brightness, and controlled particle size.

Depending on the source and processing method, its purity can vary — and that’s exactly where the difference begins to matter.

The Role of Purity in Industrial Raw Materials

You might be thinking: does purity really make that much of a difference? The answer is a big yes. Impurities in raw materials often lead to inconsistent quality, operational inefficiencies, and higher production costs. In contrast, high-purity materials guarantee better results with fewer variables.

Low-grade calcite may be cheaper initially but often leads to machine blockages, poor product finish, and even end-user complaints. That’s why choosing high-purity calcite is a smart long-term investment.

Industries That Rely on High-Purity Calcite Powder

Many industries depend on this mineral to deliver consistent quality:

Plastics Manufacturing: Used as a filler to enhance rigidity and reduce production costs.

Paints & Coatings: Offers excellent dispersion and brightness.

Paper Industry: Helps in smooth surface finish and brightness.

Construction & Adhesives: Used in putty, cement, and tile adhesives.

Pharmaceuticals & Cosmetics: Thanks to its non-toxic, pure form, it’s ideal for health-related applications.

Key Benefits of High-Purity Calcite Powder

Enhanced Brightness and Whiteness

In industries like paint, plastic, and paper, visual appeal is more than cosmetic—it’s critical. High-purity calcite powder gives products a clean, bright look. This brightness is a mark of quality, especially in high-end applications where the finish matters.

Improved Processing Efficiency

High-purity powders don’t clog machines or cause inconsistencies. They flow better, mix more uniformly, and reduce machine wear. The result? Fewer breakdowns and faster turnaround times on the production line.

Consistent Particle Size Distribution

Uniformity in particle size means you get consistent quality every time. This is vital in applications like plastics and coatings, where the finish, strength, and appearance depend on every particle doing its job.

Better Mechanical Properties in Final Products

Whether you're making high-impact plastic parts or durable coatings, high-purity calcite powder enhances the strength and resilience of the final product. Its uniform chemical and physical properties help maintain the integrity of your formulations.

Reduction in Production Costs

It might sound counterintuitive, but investing in high-quality raw materials often reduces overall costs. Less waste, fewer production errors, and less downtime all add up to improved profitability.

Eco-Friendly and Non-Toxic Nature

Modern manufacturers are under increasing pressure to reduce their environmental footprint. High-purity calcite powder is a natural, non-toxic material that aligns perfectly with sustainability goals. It’s safe for workers, consumers, and the planet.

Why Manufacturers Prefer Sudarshan Group

Sudarshan Group has established itself as a premier name in the world of calcite processing. With decades of experience, the company offers a range of high-purity calcite powders tailored for specific industrial applications.

What makes them stand out?

Cutting-edge Processing Plants

Stringent Quality Control Systems

Technical Support and Customization Options

When you work with Sudarshan Group, you’re not just buying a product—you’re investing in peace of mind.

Choosing the Right Grade for Your Needs

Not all applications need the same grade of calcite. Factors like brightness, particle size, and moisture content will vary. Sudarshan Group offers expert consultation to help you pick the right grade, ensuring maximum ROI and product quality.

Conclusion

If you're serious about manufacturing efficiency, product quality, and long-term cost savings, high-purity calcite powder is a no-brainer. It’s more than just a filler—it’s a performance booster that touches every stage of your production process. And with a trusted supplier like Sudarshan Group, you can be confident that you’re getting the best value for your investment.

FAQs

1. What is the shelf life of calcite powder? Properly stored calcite powder can last for several years without losing quality, especially when kept in dry, sealed packaging.

2. Can high-purity calcite be used in food-grade applications? Only specific grades are approved for food use. Always check certifications before use in consumable products.

3. How is the purity of calcite powder measured? Purity is typically measured using chemical analysis, focusing on calcium carbonate content and the presence of trace impurities.

4. What packaging options are available? Sudarshan Group offers options including HDPE bags, jumbo bags, and moisture-proof liners to ensure safe transit and storage.

5. Why is Sudarshan Group a trusted name in this industry? Their advanced technology, consistent quality, and excellent client support make them a top choice for manufacturers across sectors.

[sunaleisocial]

AI stirs up the recipe for concrete in MIT study

New Post has been published on https://sunalei.org/news/ai-stirs-up-the-recipe-for-concrete-in-mit-study/

AI stirs up the recipe for concrete in MIT study

For weeks, the whiteboard in the lab was crowded with scribbles, diagrams, and chemical formulas. A research team across the Olivetti Group and the MIT Concrete Sustainability Hub (CSHub) was working intensely on a key problem: How can we reduce the amount of cement in concrete to save on costs and emissions? 

The question was certainly not new; materials like fly ash, a byproduct of coal production, and slag, a byproduct of steelmaking, have long been used to replace some of the cement in concrete mixes. However, the demand for these products is outpacing supply as industry looks to reduce its climate impacts by expanding their use, making the search for alternatives urgent. The challenge that the team discovered wasn’t a lack of candidates; the problem was that there were too many to sort through.

On May 17, the team, led by postdoc Soroush Mahjoubi, published an open-access paper in Nature’s Communications Materials outlining their solution. “We realized that AI was the key to moving forward,” notes Mahjoubi. “There is so much data out there on potential materials — hundreds of thousands of pages of scientific literature. Sorting through them would have taken many lifetimes of work, by which time more materials would have been discovered!”

With large language models, like the chatbots many of us use daily, the team built a machine-learning framework that evaluates and sorts candidate materials based on their physical and chemical properties. 

“First, there is hydraulic reactivity. The reason that concrete is strong is that cement — the ‘glue’ that holds it together — hardens when exposed to water. So, if we replace this glue, we need to make sure the substitute reacts similarly,” explains Mahjoubi. “Second, there is pozzolanicity. This is when a material reacts with calcium hydroxide, a byproduct created when cement meets water, to make the concrete harder and stronger over time.  We need to balance the hydraulic and pozzolanic materials in the mix so the concrete performs at its best.”

Analyzing scientific literature and over 1 million rock samples, the team used the framework to sort candidate materials into 19 types, ranging from biomass to mining byproducts to demolished construction materials. Mahjoubi and his team found that suitable materials were available globally — and, more impressively, many could be incorporated into concrete mixes just by grinding them. This means it’s possible to extract emissions and cost savings without much additional processing. 

“Some of the most interesting materials that could replace a portion of cement are ceramics,” notes Mahjoubi. “Old tiles, bricks, pottery — all these materials may have high reactivity. That’s something we’ve observed in ancient Roman concrete, where ceramics were added to help waterproof structures. I’ve had many interesting conversations on this with Professor Admir Masic, who leads a lot of the ancient concrete studies here at MIT.”

The potential of everyday materials like ceramics and industrial materials like mine tailings is an example of how materials like concrete can help enable a circular economy. By identifying and repurposing materials that would otherwise end up in landfills, researchers and industry can help to give these materials a second life as part of our buildings and infrastructure.

Looking ahead, the research team is planning to upgrade the framework to be capable of assessing even more materials, while experimentally validating some of the best candidates. “AI tools have gotten this research far in a short time, and we are excited to see how the latest developments in large language models enable the next steps,” says Professor Elsa Olivetti, senior author on the work and member of the MIT Department of Materials Science and Engineering. She serves as an MIT Climate Project mission director, a CSHub principal investigator, and the leader of the Olivetti Group.

“Concrete is the backbone of the built environment,” says Randolph Kirchain, co-author and CSHub director. “By applying data science and AI tools to material design, we hope to support industry efforts to build more sustainably, without compromising on strength, safety, or durability.

In addition to Mahjoubi, Olivetti, and Kirchain, co-authors on the work include MIT postdoc Vineeth Venugopal, Ipek Bensu Manav SM ’21, PhD ’24; and CSHub Deputy Director Hessam AzariJafari.

[moelawdy74]

Roof Insulation: Protecting Buildings and a Smart Investment for the Future Roofs are among the most exposed parts of buildings to environmental and climatic factors such as sun, rain, humidity, and wind, making them susceptible to damage and corrosion over time. Therefore, what is known as "roof insulation" has emerged as an effective solution aimed at protecting buildings and improving their thermal and structural efficiency.

In this article, we discuss in detail the importance of roof insulation, its types, the different methods of implementation, and the materials used in the insulation process.

First: What is roof insulation? Roof insulation is the process of covering the upper part of a building with specific layers aimed at reducing the effects of external factors such as heat, water, or both. Insulation is divided into two main types:

Thermal insulation: to reduce heat transfer from the roof to the interior of the building and vice versa.

Waterproofing: to prevent water and moisture from seeping into the building.

In some cases, double insulation, combining both types, is used for complete protection.

Second: The Importance of Roof Insulation Protecting the building's structural structure from damage resulting from water or moisture leakage.

Reducing energy consumption by improving the efficiency of air conditioning and heating.

Increasing the building's lifespan and reducing maintenance costs.

Preventing mold and bacteria from forming inside walls and ceilings.

Achieving thermal comfort for building occupants in both summer and winter.

Third: Types of Insulation

Waterproofing This aims to protect surfaces from water seepage resulting from rain or surface cleaning. It is used on concrete surfaces, tanks, or bathrooms.

Waterproofing Materials:

Bitumen (black liquid or panels)

Insulating panels (such as PVC panels)

Epoxy Insulation

Liquid polymer materials applied directly to the surface.

Thermal Insulation This is used to reduce heat transfer into the building, thus reducing reliance on air conditioning.

Thermal Insulation Materials:

Polyurethane

Foam

Rock or glass wool

Polystyrene (cork) panels

Sound Insulation (less common for roofs) This is used in some buildings, such as studios or offices, and reduces noise transmission through the roof.

Fourth: Insulation Implementation Methods

Spray Foam Insulation Insulation (usually foam) is sprayed onto the building's surface using a special machine. It completely covers all openings and gaps.

Panel Insulation Insulation panels are placed on the building's surface and secured securely, then covered with a layer of cement or ceramic.

Liquid Waterproofing Liquid materials are used in this method, which are brushed or roller-applied onto the surface and turn into a solid, waterproof layer when dry.

Fifth: Factors for Choosing the Appropriate Insulation Type Surface type (concrete, metal, wood).

Climate of the region (rainy, hot, humid).

Available budget.

Purpose of insulation (water-only, thermal-only, or dual).

Sixth: Steps for Professional Roof Insulation Clean the surface thoroughly of dust and impurities.

Repair any cracks or fissures that may exist.

Apply a primer layer (in some cases).

Apply the main insulation layer according to the selected material.

Test the insulation to ensure there are no leaks or poor performance.

Cover the insulation with a protective layer in some cases (such as tiles or ceramics).

Seventh: Roof Insulation in Arab Countries Given the nature of the climate in Arab countries, thermal insulation is extremely important for reducing indoor temperatures, especially in the Gulf. In rainy areas such as Lebanon or northern Egypt, waterproofing is especially important to avoid leakage problems.

Eighth: Roof Insulation Cost The cost of insulation varies depending on:

Type of material used

Roof area

Implementation method (manual or automatic)

Requirement for single or double waterproofing

In general, investing in insulation is considered economically viable in the long term, as it saves maintenance and energy costs.

Conclusion Roof insulation is no longer a luxury; it is a basic necessity to ensure the safety of buildings and the comfort of their occupants. With the development of insulation technologies and the proliferation of options, it has become possible to implement effective and economical solutions for any type of roof, whether residential, commercial, or industrial.

Paying attention to roof insulation means building smart, sustainable, and economical… from the ground up!

source

عزل خزانات عزل خزانات بالرياض تسربات المياه بالرياض

[naturalminerals]

Affordable and High Quality Industrial Mineral Powder Suppliers in India

India is one of the world's leading industrial mineral powder manufacturers. Industrial mineral powders have widespread applications in industries such as paint, plastic, rubber, glass, ceramics, construction, and agriculture. As there is an increasing demand for quality raw material, organizations look for those who can deliver both quality and competitive prices. Indian Industrial mineral powder suppliers in India fulfill this requirement.

Industrial mineral powders consist of chemicals like calcite, dolomite, talc, and quartz. They are finely powdered and used to improve the quality, texture, and shelf life of products. As they are used in huge quantities, the supplier must provide good quality at a competitive price. That is exactly what Indian suppliers are renowned for — assured supply, competitive price, and consistent quality.

Why India is a Leading Source for Mineral Powders

India possesses tremendous natural mineral availability and strong processing infrastructure. This provides Indian suppliers with the advantage of being in a position to deliver quality as well as price. Indian Industrial mineral powder suppliers possess considerable experience, trained personnel, and modern equipment that allow them to service multiple industries.

Some of the reasons Indian suppliers are so in demand are:

Ample mineral resources: India has vast mineral reserves like calcite and dolomite.

Trained manpower: Trained manpower provides quality at all stages of production.

Prices due to competition: Local production and mining lead to prices going down.

Efficient logistics: Indian suppliers are capable of delivering export as well as local orders effectively.

Tailor-made solutions: Indian suppliers offer powders of different sizes and qualities as per customer needs.

Role of Quality in Mineral Powders

Quality is of the utmost importance when mineral powders are used in production. An automobile manufacturer who needs brightness or a rubber factory that needs strength will find that the correct mineral powder can make a gigantic impact on product quality.

That is because Indian suppliers of Industrial mineral powder make it their business to provide products which are pure, uniform, and decontaminated. By means of sophisticated machines, quality control laboratories, and testing equipment, suppliers are able to discover a means of maintaining mineral purity to the highest levels.

Industrial Industries Dependent on Mineral Powders

There are numerous industries dependent on mineral powders. Let us consider a few examples:

Coatings and paints: Calcite is used to add brightness and texture.

Rubber and plastic: Dolomite is used to offer strength and cut costs.

Ceramics: Mineral powders are used to make tiles and add glossiness to tiles and other items.

Building construction: Minerals are used to add to cement, concrete, and plaster to harden them.

In all these industries, the correct supplier makes a difference. The powder must be of the same size, color, and chemical makeup. That is why choosing the correct Industrial mineral powder suppliers in India for any company is essential.

Natural Minerals – A Trusted Name in the Industry

Natural Minerals is among the trusted Industrial mineral powder dealers in India that provides high-grade calcite and dolomite powders. Having years of experience and a policy of customer satisfaction, Natural Minerals has been providing its services to different industries across India and the world. Natural Minerals uses advanced grinding technology and follows stringent quality checks at every production stage.

What differentiates Natural Minerals from others is its ability to provide competitive price and quality. Natural Minerals knows that the demands of different industries go through fluctuation and works closely with customers in order to find customized solutions. It provides bulk supply as well as special demand with prompt delivery and long after-sales service. 

How Indian Suppliers Support Small and Large Business Enterprises

One of the most potent strengths of using Indian Industrial mineral powder suppliers is that they are accommodating. They supply to small industries and even large factories. Whether it's truckloads or a few bags, Indian suppliers can provide whatever quantity is needed.

This diversity, combined with competitive pricing, allows companies to maintain their manufacturing expenses in order without ever compromising on quality. Consequently, even small companies are able to market in the marketplace with quality products.

A Flourishing Export Sector

Indian powder suppliers of minerals are becoming increasingly popular abroad as well. Exporters have the majority of their supplies shipped out to the Middle East, Southeast Asia, and even Europe. With secure packaging, fast transportation, and global quality standards, Indian suppliers are creating a positive impression globally.

Overseas consumers today need Indian Industrial mineral powder suppliers because of professionalism, assurance of quality, and reasonableness. All this is accelerating the growth of the Indian mineral supply market at a faster pace and reaching more markets.

Final Thoughts

In today's competitive business era, every sector needs low-cost but quality raw materials to be available. That is one of the reasons why Indian industrial mineral powder manufacturers are emerging as the first choice among industries. Why they can provide consistent performance, follow strict quality, and provide reasonable prices is why they are good partners for growth.

Companies like Natural Minerals, however, illustrate that when quality, experience, and customer priority come together, companies can have their cake and eat it too — reliability, performance, and affordability.

[tilecleaningtoday]

Welsh Tile Wizard Restores Ruined 1920's Tiled Floor in Cardiff

Tile Doctor was contacted by a client who had recently purchased a 1920’s property in Cardiff with a Encaustic Tiled floor that was in a bad state. The property was having major building works carried out to bring it back to its original condition and this included the tiled floor.

The floor in general was in a very bad condition with builders’ plaster and cement staining in many areas, and to make things worse a lot of tiles were missing and damaged. Normally replacing tiles isn’t a problem but these particular tiles were very uncommon in colour shape and size and the pattern was very reminiscent of the Art Deco designs that were fashionable when the house was built.

Having surveyed the floor I came up with a restoration plan and explained that it should be possible cut the shape out of a larger tile and try to match the colour as best as possible. Once the clients and I decided on the closest colour I was then able to plan the restoration project in detail and provide an accurate quote.

Cleaning and Repairing an Art Deco Encaustic Tiled Floor

Before we could even contemplate cleaning the floor it had to be whole so the 1st job was to prepare the damaged areas for tile replacements. This involves carefully removing the damaged tile and cleaning up the foundation beneath ready to accept a replacement.

Next step was to cut all the replacement tiles to replicate the octagonal shape and size then dry fit them to check if any adjustments were needed. Once all the replacement tiles had been cut, they were fixed in place with flexible adhesive and then grouted. The floor then needed time to set before cleaning so that was it for the first day.

On day two work stated to deep clean the encaustic tiled floor of previous sealers and paint. To do this it was covered in a strong dilution of Tile Doctor Pro-Clean combined with Tile Doctor Nanotech HBU Remover for extra power. This was left to soak into the floor for a good fifteen minutes before scrubbing it by hand with a black scrubbing pad cut to size. Working it into the floor like this is less aggressive than with a machine and ensures 100% coverage with no gaps in the cleaning. Once done the floor was rinsed and the soiling extracted with a wet vacuum.

The next stage was to clean the floor working at 1 m2 at a time, again with a coarse black pad cut from a 17″ Tile Doctor pad. This time the pad was used to work in Tile Doctor Grout Clean-up into the surface to remove the cement smears. As work progressed the floor was rinsed with fresh water and all the residues vacuumed away. Working this way allowed me to keep progressing until I was satisfied the whole floor was clear and as clean as it ever could be.

The floor was then left for two days so it would be completely dry for the next step of applying a protective sealer.

Sealing an Art Deco Encaustic Tiled Floor

The client wanted a natural matt finish to the floor, so I had recommended sealing it with Tile Doctor Colour Grow which is a colour enhancing impregnating sealer that leaves a very durable matt finish.

Colour Glow allows for vapour transmission which is essential on old floors like this one that don’t have a damp proof membrane. The sealer soaks into the pores of the cement tile protecting it from within and ensure dirt remains on the surface where it can be easily cleaned away.

The clients were delighted with the results and relieved I was able to restore the floor as an original feature. They were told by other contractors that the floor would have to be removed and replaced at a substantial cost.

For aftercare cleaning I advised the use of Tile Doctor Neutral Tile Cleaner which is a mild yet effective tile cleaner that won’t impact the sealer.

Source: Encaustic Cement Tile Restoration Service near Cardiff South Wales

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Best Quality Cement for Plastering: How to Ensure a Smooth and Crack-Free Finish

Plastering is one of the most essential finishing steps in any construction project. A well-executed plaster job not only enhances the appearance of walls and ceilings but also contributes to the longevity of the surface by protecting it from external damage. To achieve a smooth, even, and crack-free finish, it is important to begin with the right materials, starting with the best quality cement.

Choosing the correct cement for plastering is a critical factor that influences the final texture, strength, and durability of the plaster. It directly affects how well the surface binds, how resistant it is to cracking, and how easy it is to work with during application.

Why Cement Quality Matters in Plastering

Plastering is not just a decorative layer. It also acts as a protective barrier against moisture, dust, and weathering. If the cement used in the plaster mix is of inferior quality, issues like uneven surfaces, shrinkage cracks, and poor bonding can appear over time. These problems not only affect the look of the surface but also create maintenance concerns.

High-quality cement ensures better workability, smooth consistency, and strong adhesion to masonry surfaces. It also minimizes water absorption, which helps prevent flaking, damp patches, and microbial growth.

Features of the Best Quality Cement for Plastering

When selecting cement for plastering, certain properties are particularly important. These include:

Fine particle size for smooth application

Uniform consistency for a homogenous mix

Low shrinkage to reduce surface cracking

Excellent bonding strength for durability

Better coverage with minimal wastage

These characteristics help in creating a finish that is not only visually appealing but also structurally reliable. The right cement allows for an even spread across surfaces and reduces the need for rework.

A Reliable Option for a Perfect Finish

For projects where surface quality is a priority, products like Wonder Cement’s Wonder Plus have been developed to meet the specific demands of plastering. This premium cement is formulated with enhanced fineness and better coverage, making it suitable for achieving smooth, crack-free finishes on both internal and external walls.

Wonder Plus is designed to offer superior bonding and easy workability, which are essential for large surface areas. Its fine particles help produce a rich plaster mix that glides easily over surfaces, making it ideal for detailed finishing work. Construction professionals have appreciated its performance in both manual and machine-applied plaster jobs.

Using a specialized product like Wonder Plus can also help reduce common issues such as hollow patches and micro-cracks that often appear due to inconsistent application or poor material quality.

How to Choose the Right Cement for Plastering

To ensure long-term satisfaction with your plaster finish, it is important to make an informed decision about the cement you use. Here are a few tips to help guide the selection:

Look for cement with a high fineness level, which ensures smoother mixing and better surface coverage.

Ensure the cement offers low shrinkage to prevent the formation of surface cracks.

Ask your contractor or supplier for options that are specifically recommended for plastering work.

Consider using a product like Wonder Plus that is engineered for superior surface finish and application ease.

It is also important to ensure proper curing after plastering, as this affects the strength and appearance of the final finish. No matter how good the cement is, neglecting the curing process can lead to surface imperfections.

Building Better with Quality Finishing

Good plastering is not just about aesthetic appeal. It serves as the foundation for painting, tiling, and other finishing processes. A poorly plastered surface can ruin the look of the entire space and may even lead to structural issues in the long run. This is why starting with the best quality cement is the most reliable way to ensure a strong and beautiful finish.

Modern construction projects, whether residential or commercial, demand high precision and minimal rework. Using specialized cement products developed for plastering, like Wonder Plus, supports these expectations by offering greater consistency and performance.

Final Thoughts

The difference between an average wall and a perfectly finished one often comes down to the quality of materials used. When it comes to plastering, choosing the best quality cement is the first step in achieving a result that is both visually flawless and structurally sound.

Cement is not just a basic material, it defines how well the surface holds up over time. Products such as Wonder Plus from Wonder Cement are created with the needs of modern construction in mind, delivering smooth finishes and long-lasting strength. By investing in the right cement today, you ensure that your walls remain beautiful, durable, and crack-free for years to come.