#Oak Plumbing

[bigstarlet]

Los Angeles Bathroom Powder Room Powder room - small traditional green tile and ceramic tile medium tone wood floor, beige floor and brick wall powder room idea with shaker cabinets, green cabinets, a one-piece toilet, green walls, an undermount sink, solid surface countertops, white countertops and a built-in vanity

[gregssewerdrains]

Quality Plumbing Services in Sherman Oaks at Affordable Rates

At Greg's Sewer & Drains, we provide top-quality plumbing services in Sherman Oaks at affordable rates. Our experienced team is ready to tackle any plumbing issue, from leaky faucets to sewer line repairs, ensuring your home's plumbing is in top shape. Choose us for reliable, professional service every time. Visit our website today.

[swagunknownbear]

For the best-quality water heater installation services in Fair Oaks, we recommend reaching out to Heald Mechanical. With their experienced technicians and commitment to customer satisfaction, Heald Mechanical is your trusted partner for water heater repair, maintenance, and installation in Fair Oaks.

[nashmusicguide]

The Sixth Annual Daryle Singletary Keeping It Country Jam on Tuesday, February 13 at The Nashville Palace

The White Oaks Ranch Presents the Sixth Annual Daryle Singletary Keeping It Country Jam, which is brought to you by Solomon Plumbing and Fire Protection, is set to take place at The Nashville Palace on Tuesday, February 13, 2024, as the unofficial kickoff to The National Wild Turkey Federation’s Convention and Sport Show. Neal McCoy, Tyler Farr, Rhett Akins, Craig Campbell, Andy Griggs, The…

[dukegenocide]

Bathroom Master Bath Los Angeles Mid-sized trendy master gray tile and marble tile slate floor, gray floor and double-sink bathroom photo with flat-panel cabinets, medium tone wood cabinets, a one-piece toilet, white walls, an undermount sink, marble countertops, a hinged shower door, gray countertops, a niche and a floating vanity

[howardazaria]

Bathroom 3/4 Bath Austin Motivating factors for a mid-sized nation porcelain tile and white tile in 3/4 Bathroom remodel with black floor and porcelain tile, shaker cabinets, a two-piece toilet, white walls, an undermount sink, quartz countertops, and white countertops.

[poisonor]

San Francisco Pantry Kitchen A large transitional l-shaped kitchen pantry design example with a farmhouse sink, beaded inset cabinets, white cabinets, granite countertops, a gray backsplash, a mosaic tile backsplash, paneled appliances, an island, and black countertops.

[turkeynotalone]

San Francisco Modern Bathroom A mid-sized minimalist kids' bathroom design example with beige floors, white countertops, flat-panel cabinets, light wood cabinets, one-piece toilets, gray walls, undermount sinks, quartz countertops, and hinged shower doors.

[fastcardotmp3]

fluke

for @steddiemicrofic December 2023 prompt: PINE | words: 508 | rated: G | established relationship; no CW (I wrote fluff, are you proud of me?)

They come into the land by a total and complete fluke.

An empty Tennessee plot that hasn't seen use in decades, it's got a shed of a cabin built by Eddie's great grandfather, likely no modern plumbing, and it's perfect.

A perfect fucking fluke that the Munson family is fractured in enough ways that Eddie and Wayne are the only direct decedents around to inherit the land and all of its endless potential.

Or so Steve calls it.

“I mean, look! A balcony,” he jogs out a handful of yards across the snow-dusted plot of land, spreads his arms wide like he can see it, “right here-- a table and chairs-- a spot to look out at the view.”

The view is also a fluke. A gorgeous overlook of the Blue Ridge Mountains sort of fluke.

“It could even be two-story with stairs,” he gestures upward, such a skip in his step and a flush to his cheeks that Eddie can't help but think that he's a perfect sort of fluke too, Steve Harrington, “that lead right up to a second balcony right outside the bedroom. Yeah?”

He's beaming, positively glowing, and Eddie is mostly just stunned when he nods in agreement. Arms crossed tight to hold in the warmth of his coat and the hair not tucked into his knit cap whipping across his face in the wind, he nods.

Next month, Eddie will turn thirty years old even though he was supposed to die at nineteen, and Steve Harrington's face is going soft with something like understanding as he plans out the blueprints for the house they'll grow old in.

High up in the mountains. So far from the holes in the ground that once tried to drag them to hell.

“C'mere,” Steve strides back over to him, some of the broad exuberance leaving his step but none of the joy as he grapples for Eddie's hand and drags him to the other side of the plot, “okay, so from about here--” he gestures to where they stand, “to over by those trees, there's space for a guest house, don't you think?”

“A guest house?” Eddie looks at Steve questioningly.

“For Wayne. Now that he's finally retiring.”

Eddie may be the creative force when it comes to words and sound between them, but it's in moments like this that Steve proves the kind of vision he has. He can stand here on a nearly empty plot of land, a cabin so neglected the windows are boarded up and the porch rotted through, and still he sees a life.

A future. A family. Not just a fantasy but their prize, if they choose to take it.

“Hardwood floors. Pine,” Steve says, grin only growing as Eddie gapes at him in awe, takes his face between gloved palms, “oak furniture-- I'll build it myself.”

Eddie exhales, fog of breath dancing across Steve's crooked nose. “You really would, wouldn't you?”

Steve grins and kisses him soundly in the place that will become their home.

What a remarkable little fluke.

[hometoursandotherstuff]

This large 1869 Victorian in Evansville, Indiana is a bargain at $449,900. It has so many original features. 5bds,3ba.

I don't even mind that they replaced the wood floor in the entrance with tile b/c it looks so good. The original oak wood is stunning.

The reception room definitely has the original floor and look at that fireplace. The walls are papered and don't need a thing. The extra wide doorway has folding doors.

Beautiful large dining room would look great with a bigger table.

I like the kitchen remodel. This looks good- it's updated, but not over-the-top modern.

The house has a spacious floor primary bedroom and the laundry room is in the en-suite.

Disappointed with the en-suite. They used a vintage dresser to make a sink, but I thought they'd put in reproduction Victorian plumbing fixtures.

This bedroom is lovely. The main family quarters are on the 1st floor.

Smaller bath has a vintage tub.

The stairs have a spectacular view of the main hall.

Very spacious upper floor. It looks like they may have opened up and they were once bedrooms.

It appears to be a separate apt. , but isn't currently used as a residence.

There's a full kitchen.

Cute vintage bath.

These would be 2 bedrooms up here, but they're not being used as such.

The floor above is a huge finished attic. This is a lot with a lot of potential - huge house for under $500K.

Has a nice yard, driveway and garage. Love the iron fence. Look at the church right next door.

[lazybakerart]

a cute harringrove thing for you: billy being in the middle of trying to do something but he keeps shaking away bits of hair that get into his eyes and steve just comes up behind him, puts his hair into a bun, then casually goes back to where he was while billy's stunned and blushing before he returns to his task with a big grin on his face

The AC's out.

Billy's cracked the unit open with a flathead screwdriver he found under the sink and a few choice words. July hit hard. Sweat drips down his nose as he tries to fix and not kick a heavy metal box down three stories.

In the small kitchen just a few feet behind his hunched back, Steve's popping more ice out and yelling at the radio - a Dodgers game has gone to shit.

Billy swipes his sweat-stuck curls back just to have all of them tumble right back in the way again.

Summers always leave Billy regretting growing out his hair.

He hadn't meant to. A couple months without a haircut grew into a couple years where a couple of half-assed snicks with the scissors he uses for zip ties and toe nails were all he made do with. Every year he forgets how much of it there is when summer arrives to remind him.

Snapping back up, screwdriver in a vice-grip, Billy yanks his hair back with both hands and yells FUCK YOU at the stained popcorn ceiling and his own mane fried with West Hollywood humidity.

"What's wrong now? What happened?" Steve has the honest nerve to say after over an hour of this.

"I'm shaving my head."

A deep sigh and Steve's opening some cabinet that creaks and needs to be oiled - the deal when they first moved in was Billy dealt with the electric shit and Steve got everything that wouldn't have him sizzling when he got distracted.

Plumbing means rock, paper, scissors comes out and goddamnit if Billy doesn't lose every single round.

He and the plunger have built a relationship.

Billy blames dying and coming back with fried nerves and a second-rate case of stigmata making his every joint he's got stiff, his hands getting the worst of it. He'd be a lousy second coming anyways.

"That time of year again, huh?" Steve says.

He stands behind Billy, swatting away his frustrated steel-grip to comb through Billy's curls, pulling them back and away.

"There are these things - they're called hair-ties," Steve gently pulls Billy's hair through elastic, "And I know you like using rubber bands because you're a freak," Slowly he winds Billy's overgrown hair around, "But these are, like, at least twice as good. Now, we just twist," He twists, "And twist some more and - boom! Done. I'm awesome."

Steve spins Billy around by the shoulders twice, his sweaty feet squeaking on the scratched up oak floors. He holds Billy in place, sweaty hands on Billy's sweaty nape, sweaty thumbs running circles, and it doesn't seem to matter much to him that the AC is broken and they're reaching the peak 90s on the thermostat.

Steve's looking at him.

All tender.

All sweet.

A little tipsy from better beer than they chugged in high school. It's been seven years since they hit the highway and left Indiana for good. Three more months and five more days and they'll hit eight.

"Oh no." Steve croons at him. Smile turning cotton soft. Those sweaty hands move to cup Billy's face and those running thumbs rub just under Billy's eyes. "Why are we crying?"

"It's hot." Billy says.

Pinching his ears around his piercings, Steve tells him, "You're hot."

Billy sniffles. Snot drips, meets his upper lip and Steve wipes it off - eight years worth of tears and snot and blood and spunk and so much sweat.

And so much fucking good shit.

From an open window in their cramped apartment, a slice of warmed July breeze catches on the back of Billy's newly bared neck. He tosses the screwdriver somewhere.

"And," Steve pecks him on the lips, bites at his nose to make sure Billy gets heat-stroke, "You've got a great ass."

The AC can wait a little longer.

[sassenach77yle]

"Go wi' God…mo duinne."

He stepped off the ledge and made his way down the steep incline, bracing his feet against tufts of grass, catching at branches to keep his balance, not looking back. I watched him until he disappeared into the oak clump, walking slowly, like a man wounded, who knows he must keep moving, but feels his life ebbing slowly away through the fingers he has clenched over the wound.My knees were trembling. Slowly, I lowered myself to the granite shelf and sat cross-legged, watching the swallows about their business. Below, I could just see the roof of the cottage that now held my past. At my back loomed the cleft stone. And my future.

I sat without moving through the afternoon. I tried to force all emotion from my mind and use reason. Jamie certainly had logic on his side when he argued that I should go back: home, safety, Frank; even the small amenities of life that I sorely missed from time to time, like hot baths and indoor plumbing, to say nothing of larger considerations such as proper medical care and convenient travel.And yet, while I would certainly admit the inconveniences and outright dangers of this place, I would have also to admit that I had enjoyed many aspects of it. If travel was inconvenient, there were no enormous stretches of concrete blanketing the countryside, nor any noisy, stinking autos—contrivances with their own dangers, I reminded myself. Life was much simpler, and so were the people. Not less intelligent, but much more direct—with a few sterling exceptions like Colum ban Campbell MacKenzie, I thought grimly.Because of Uncle Lamb's work, I had lived in a great many places, many even cruder and more lacking in amenities than this one. I adapted quite easily to rough conditions, and did not really miss "civilization" when away from it, though I adapted just as easily to the presence of niceties like electric cookers and hot-water geysers. Ishivered in the cold wind, hugging myself as I stared at the rock.Rationality did not appear to be helping much. I turned to emotion, and began, shrinking from the task, to reconstruct the details of my married lives—first with Frank, then with Jamie. The only result of this was to leave me shattered and weeping, the tears forming icy trails on my face.Well, if not reason nor emotion, what of duty? I had given Frank a wedding vow, and had meant it with all my heart. I had given Jamie the same, meaning to betray it as soon as possible. And which of them would I betray now? I continued to sit, as the sun sank lower in the sky and the swallows disappeared to their nests.As the evening star began to glow among the black pines' branches, I concluded that in this situation reason was of little use. I would have to rely on something else; just what, I wasn't sure. I turned toward the split rock and took a step, then another, and another. Pausing, I faced around and tried it in the other direction. A step, then another, and another, and before I even knew that I had decided, I was halfway down the slope, scrabbling wildly at grass clumps, slipping and falling through the patches of granite scree.

When I reached the cottage, breathless with fear lest he had left already, I was reassured to see Donas hobbled and grazing nearby. The horse raised his head and eyed me unpleasantly. Walking softly, I pushed the door open.He was in the front room, asleep on a narrow oak settle. He slept on his back, as he usually did, hands crossed on his stomach, mouth slightly open. The last rays of daylight from the window behind me limned his face like a metal mask; the silver tracks of dried tears glinted on golden skin, and the copper stubble of his beard gleamed dully.I stood watching him for a moment, filled with an unutterable tenderness. Moving as quietly as I could, I lay down beside him on the narrow settle and nestled close. He turned to me in sleep as he so often did, gathering me spoon-fashion against his chest and resting his cheek against my hair. Half-conscious, he reached to smooth my hair away from his nose; I felt the sudden jerk as he came awake to realize that I was there, and then weoverbalanced and crashed together onto the floor, Jamie on top of me.I didn't have the slightest doubt that he was solid flesh. I pushed a knee into his abdomen, grunting."Get off! I can't breathe!"Instead, he aggravated my breathless condition by kissing me thoroughly. I ignored the lack of oxygen temporarily in order to concentrate on more important things..We held each other for a long time without speaking. At last he murmured "Why?"—his mouth muffled in my hair.I kissed his cheek, damp and salty. I could feel his heart beating against my ribs, and wanted nothing more than to stay there forever, not moving, not making love, just breathing the same air."I had to," I said. I laughed, a little shakily. "You don't know how close it was. The hot baths nearly won." And I wept then, and shook a little, because the choice was so freshly made, and because my joy for the man I held in my arms was mingled with a tearing grief for the man I would never see again.Jamie held me tightly, pressing me down with his weight, as though to protect me, to save me from being swept away by the roaring pull of the stone circle. At length my tears were spent, and I lay exhausted, head against his comforting chest.

It had grown altogether dark by this time, but still he held me, murmuring softly as though I were a child afraid of the night. We clung to each other, unwilling to let go even long enough to start a fire or light a candle.At length Jamie rose, and picking me up, carried me to the settle, where he sat with me cradled on his lap. The door of the cottage still hung open, and we could see the stars beginning to burn over the valley below.

"Do you know," I said drowsily, "that it takes thousands and thousands of years for the light of those stars to reach us? In fact, some of the stars we see may be dead by now, but we won't know it, because we still see the light.""Is that so?" he answered, stroking my back. "I didna know that."I must have fallen asleep, head on his shoulder, but roused briefly when he laid me gently on the floor, on a makeshift bed of blankets from the horse's saddleroll. He lay down beside me, and drew me close again.

"Lay your head, lass," he whispered. "In the morning, I'll take ye home."

[creative-caramel-coffee]

Inconvenient hours of overtime

Pairings: Wednesday x Weems (Platonic)

Word count: 1.7K

Summary: Wednesday finds herself in a stick situation and ends up tying weems into it.

TW: Periods? Blood, cramps, breaking and entering, Wednesday being Wednesday.

A/n I got so sunburnt at the beach … whoops.

Wednesday woke to a stabbing pain in her lower stomach. under normal circumstances she would be overjoyed. Perhaps Pugsly had finally become more adept in his knife studies. However, upon opening her eyes she let a small groan escape before snapping her jaws shut.

She was at school. Enid slumbered on over on her side of the split attic room.

Wednesday knew exactly what this feeling was. the monthly cycle, her period.

Reaching a hand down slowly to feel the sheets she almost groaned again at the sticky feeling on her fingers. Even in the low light she had seen enough blood in her teenaged existence to know she was lying in a pool of it, and being at the school that made things harder, not impossible, but harder.

Wednesday sat up and climbed out of bed. She left the sheets for now and grabbed some clothes from her dresser. Carefully, so she didn’t wake enid she snuck into the bathroom and turned on the shower. Enid slept heavily so it shouldn’t be a problem.

Usually, she would deal with this herself, so she didn’t need enid to wake and freak out over the blood.

She stepped into the steamy shower and scrubbed herself clean, glaring at the pink water that circled the drain as if it had personally offended her. Which it had … it woke her up. Her mother always said murder had a prerequisite of at least eight hours sleep.

After a quick shower to clean herself up she slipped into some black underpants lined with an overnight pad. pulling on a spare change of black Pjs she gathered up the soiled clothes and left the bathroom. Throwing the clothes on the bed she peeled off the sheets and bundled them up.

Grabbing her lock-pick from the drawer she paused remembering the student use washing machines were broken and needed to be fixed. A couple of rowdy furs had been wrestling and broke the doors off and pulled out the plumbing by accident.

Knowing that left only one choice, Wednesday debated which was the worse option. Deciding to just go for it she set out for Weems study, which was connected to her own personal quarters, which were most likely equipped with a washer she could use, maybe even a dryer. Otherwise, she had no issues sleeping on damp sheets.

Stopping outside the big double oak doors, Wednesday held the bundle of fabric under one arm whilst she picked the lock. After a few seconds of expert work which involved a lot of precise jiggling; it clicked undone.

Wednesday opened the door and crept into the study, making her way to the door at the back which led to the headmistresses' personal quarters. Wednesday shivered and opened the door.

Normally she may have just sucked it up, but the sticky texture of her own blood was raw and awful against her skin, and she didn’t want people asking her questions.

Wednesday opened a few doors before she found the laundry. Stepping inside she opted to ignore the light-switch for obvious reasons and began to put the machine on. Closing the door quietly she pressed the on button and stood back and simply watched.

She stared blankly at the machine as it threw the black sheets and clothes around and simply reflected on how tired she was. She longed for nothing more than a few more hours of sleep. She would defiantly be sneaking into jericho for a quad over ice in her first lesson tomorrow. Heaven forbid, someone found her asleep at her desk in classes.

fifteen minutes had passed when all of a sudden, the light came on. If Wednesday hadn’t been so sleep-addled, she may have been more aware of the principle no longer being peacefully resting in her room.

She squinted up at the person in the doorway who was rubbing her eyes and frowning.

Wednesday simply glared back.

“It’s three in the morning Ms Addams. What are you doing here??!” Weems asked sounding frustrated and bordering on angry.

Wednesday schooled her expression, which did not go unnoticed by the ever-observant Principal Weems.

“Blood on the sheets is only acceptable if I’m not sleeping in them.” She huffed. Weems stood a bit taller seeming more awake at the mention of her student's blood.

“Wednesday its three am, it's too early for your riddles.” She glowered down at the addams but it lacked the same ferocity as before.

“I got blood on my sheets and needed to wash them.” Wednesday shrugged growing tired of talking and her lips thinning in annoyance, she just wanted to sleep.

“At 3am? Are you injured?” Weems asked coming over and tilting Wednesday's head back with gentle fingers to assess her physical form for signs of trauma or distress.

“No more than any other women once a month.” She stated with an edge to her voice. Weems dropped the hand on her chin and took a half step back out of respect for the Addams need for space and the face she would very much like to keep all ten of her fingers.

“Oh… do you need anything?” The ever-patient headmistress asked.

“Clean sheets.” Wednesday replied curtly. Weems rolled her eyes and suppressed a smirk by lightly biting the inside of her cheek.

“Other than that, you impossible child.” She fussed massaging her temples in feigned annoyance.

“No. i enjoy the cramps.” Came the response.

“Wednesday!” The exasperated teacher scolded.

Wednesday ignored her and turned back to keep staring at the washing machine but Weems would not be deterred, no matter how odd the situation. She had come to expect the unexpected with the Addams family years ago when she still roomed with Wednesday's mother in her own years of schooling.

“Have you got… supplies?” She asked kindly.

“Ms Weems” Wednesday huffed in a very un-Wednesday manner due to her lack of sleep. “I would have to be an idiot without a single brain cell to not be prepared for what is an assured monthly event.” She sniped back not looking away from the sheets and willing them to wash faster

“Ok … alright.” Weems said smoothing her hands down her silk nightgown to reign in her thoughts.

“The student washers are broken curtesy of the furs, and I did not even begin to entertain the idea of sleeping in blood-soaked sheets and shorts.” Wednesday explained.

“Quite understandable.” Weems nodded.

“I assumed as much.” She huffed.

“Next time, knock. Wake me up please dear child. Don’t just break in. Under different circumstances I would have you in detention for a week. But for now, simply come with me. I have a spare bed that could use someone sleeping in it.” She said holding out a hand for the young Addams to take.

Wednesday stared at the extended hand, before glancing back at the machine She let out a tired sigh and relented. Her body simply was screaming for sleep as soon as possible and her limbs felt heavy.

“Alright.” She said after a moment of deliberation, she pointedly ignoring the hand that was offered to her. Weems nodded again and led her to a room with a bed in it, her hand on the child’s lower back in a motherly fashion. Wednesday was too tired to care. She wasted no time hopping in and getting comfortable.

Weems smiled from the doorway. “Wait here and don’t go to sleep just yet Miss Addams.” She said and disappeared for a minute. Wednesday huffed and tried to ignore her but her body seemed to obey as sleep evaded her.

A moment later Weems returned with a glass of water and two small white tablets in one hand with a heat pack in the other. Wednesday rolled her eyes.

“Ms Weems-“

“Wednesday,” the headmistress said sternly. “You're sleeping in my apartment with my rules, so you take the medicine and heat pack or find somewhere else to sleep.” She said.

Wednesday was too tired to fight anymore, she was exhausted, and her body was screaming for sleep. She relented. Allowing Weems to deposit the medicine directly into her mouth before taking the glass from the women and drinking some water.

Weems watched on with a fond expression and pulled the sheets down slightly to press the hot pack to the Addams’ stomach before pulling the covers up again and tucking her in. Pointedly ignoring the almost healthy colour that had seemingly come into the child’s cheeks as a result of her actions.

She walked back over to the door and turned out the light. She looked back at Wednesday, as she watched from the bed. Weems smiled and bid her sweet nightmares as she had every night for morticia during high school.

Wednesday frowned in the darkness at the stirring of emotion in her chest before she clamped down on it, hard. She would not be feeling anything. It was most likely the lack of sleep she reasoned to herself. And then, she folded her arms over her chest as the Pharos did and she was asleep.

Weems was already planning to excuse her from her first two classes, the bags under the child’s eyes not having gone unnoticed by the British blond even at three in the morning.

The child was smart enough she probably already knew the terms content for her classes and the principle had decided that the teen needed sleep more than school stress.

At that the headmistress went back to her own bed, nursing a cup of tea she made to help her sleep. She finished the last dregs in the cup and set it on her nightstands to be dealt with in the morning. Sliding under the crisp white sheets she sighed in content.

And things went back to how they should have been at three in the morning, with all parties, students and teachers alike, asleep in bed under the restful wake of dreams and soft snores.

[contremineur]

The rumour begins to obsess them – that there is a hidden chamber, and that it contains a bronze axe head, or a rare piece of Tudor silver, or a first edition by Sir Thomas Browne. They pry into the wainscotting, the plumbing conduits, the brick-lined oven. They tear the elaborate oak panelling apart and carry it down flights of stairs. They order the servants to cart the pieces to the village, where they are sold to dealers and to other agents who begin to show up in order to bid on the more impressive items. The building dwindles away and finally disappears. They set the servants to work digging trenches across the grounds. A few yellow flowers still come up each spring. These may have been dandelions or even daffodils, but they are trodden underfoot.

Jared Carter, Country house

text and image from here and here

[meks4011]

Have I read the Stolen Heir? Absolutely not but I know it must have taken Jude holding his arms and Cardan his legs to get Oak back to Elfhame.

Like I’m sorry that boy was surrounded by electricity, fast food, WiFi, modern medicine, and plumbing and you want him to go back and spend his life in a place that’s stuck in the Middle Ages.