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sunflowercontent · 2 days ago
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EARLY ACCESS (Public Release 12/15)
Hello everyone! At last the first part of my new collection is out!! This one took me SO MUCH TIME! I'm so sorry for taking this long but I had a lot of issued with my game. Now, it's done! I was inspired by my fellow simblrs who are now amazing friends of mine. On this first collection, I've been inspired on different ladies from each simblr which are: Cora Grimalldi @thegrimalldis, Clementine Brixton @thebrixtons, Indirah Frederick @wa-royal-tea and Amelia De Villers @thedevilliers. Next time, I'll be honoring more simblrs that I love ♥
- All dresses come with 10 swatches
-Cathegories: Formal - everyday wear
-Base game compatible
As always here are my TOU’s ! Please, don’t forget to check them out!
Enjoy!!🌻
Download (Early Access / Patreon)
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otakutrait · a day ago
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EYEBROWS N1
i'm excited to present to you my first cc item ! a pair of eyebrows, hand drawn by me ^-^ oh please let the thumbnails show up
Naturals
22 swatches
DOWNLOAD (sfs, no ads)
Un-naturals
15 swatches
DOWNLOAD (sfs, no ads)
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igorstory · a day ago
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The Wingin’ It
Sometimes your mustache looks like wings, sometimes it doesn’t. Either way, let it grow and find out! That’s the true way of Wingin’ It.
Custom mesh
Facial Hair category
24 swatches, Maxis match
Disabled for random
Download here! (SFS/No ads)
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puttingfingerstokeys · 2 days ago
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For @johix - 10000 points for me!!
Gerlion. Soft. No smut--perhaps later.
“Like Est Est,” Dandelion intoned, strumming his lute and watching the Witcher examine his latest bruise. “Like the finest vintage of—no, not quite right… Tsk.”
Evidently, whatever his latest ballad’s subject—it wasn’t wine, Geralt was sure of that; with poets, things were always like other things, rather than simply being themselves—the words to describe it—probably her—were escaping the bard with the fleet, surefootedness of a mountain goat up the crags near Kaer Morhen. Geralt watched his friend mull over line after line, word after word, smiling to himself at Dandelion’s goatee, marveling that it also resembled the beasts near the training ground of the witchers. It wasn’t often he allowed his mind to wander this way, but for once, he had a purse full of coin, the weather was fine, and he had walked away with nearly all of his blood still in his body. They weren’t under a roof, but right now, they hardly needed one.  
“And what are you smiling at, hm?” Dandelion’s blue eyes settled upon his friend’s strange, slit-pupiled gold ones and they stared at each other for several moments before both bursting into raucous laughter, one musical and melodic, the other rasping, rough, grating like the gravel of the streets just outside Novigrad proper. “Do you amuse yourself, Geralt, at my lack of muse on this otherwise immaculate day?”
They were camped in a meadow somewhere near the four-points border of Redania, Temeria, Kaedwen, and Aedirn. In the distance, Dandelion could see the mountains of Mahakam, and north, the Blue Mountains. The meadow was surrounded in a light copse of trees, through whose leaves shone pure, gentle sunshine. The birds sang at a distance and Dandelion fancied himself able to charm them closer, ever closer, if only to take a little inspiration from their song. One of the horses chuffed and stamped.
“Roach likes your song, such as it is,” Geralt pointed out once his own laughter had died down, “maybe you should sing to her.”
“Maybe I am singing to her,” retorted the poet, strumming his lute once more and turning from his place on a fallen hardwood log to face the great roan beast. She nickered in his direction and lifted her upper lip a little.
“You’ve got a willing audience, now,” the witcher observed, “so you can leave me be with your humming and strumming.” He waved his hand around to indicate how little either of those things amused, entertained, or even so much as teased at catching his fancy. Dandelion knew it was all a show, of course. The cantankerous witcher had an image to maintain. It would not do, for instance, if the next time he saw Eskel, wintering at Kaer Morhen, the man jabbed him mercilessly with the great bard’s latest ballad, about tears in the soft eyes of a white wolf. No, that would not do at all.
Dandelion ignored him and sang sweetly to the horse, who chuffed again. Her companion, who had not shifted yet, snorted and pushed his head into the side of her neck, nudging at her. She sidled away a little and pushed him back. “Even the beasts feel the freshness in this air, Geralt—let’s go to Toussaint!”
“Huh?” Geralt grunted, removing his shirt to examine a tear with the intention of assessing whether or not it could be repaired or if he would need a new one altogether. “I thought your… little weasel wanted your balls—erh, detached, that is.”
“And ‘served upon a platter of gold-embossed silver at her name day feast’,” Dandelion added, mimicking the Duchess Anna Henriette’s lilting cadence with almost uncomfortable fidelity. “Or… something like that. Yes. But—but, Geralt, her whims change like the wind and I’ll wager that by the time we reach her darling borders, not a single knight errant will be so much as interested in our presence, much less our passage and subsequent arrival at Beauclair and my sweet lady’s bedchamber.”
“I ah… suppose you won’t want my company so far as duchess’s boudoir,” rumbled Geralt, holding the fabric of his shirt up to his eyes and squinting at it, an ugly grin on his scarred face.
“Well,” said Dandelion, strumming his lute and singing the next words as a verse. “Who comes to the lady’s side would be best always to abide with the whims of the lass in the sheets else he find himself out on the streets~”
Geralt snorted, shaking his head and setting the shirt aside. It could wait. He had coin and had not enjoyed a hot bath or a warm bed in ages. The next town they hit, he would indulge in both. Southeast and Aedirn seemed a good way to go. They could thence head south through Lyria, gross the Jaruga, and if their path continued south, they would indeed find themselves wintering in Toussaint. Blessed little place that it was, Geralt did not mind its eccentricities. It was possibly the last place in teh Nordling kingdoms where he felt he could sleep soundly.
“If she asked,” Dandelion added after a moment. Geralt looked up. The bard snorted through his nose and shook his head, setting the lute aside. “No,” he continued, “not even then. I’m not sharing.”
Geralt chuckled and crossed his arms. “You think she’d be scared of me, don’t you?”
“Oh horrified. My little weasel only likes pretty things,” Dandelion informed him, raising a finger and pointing it at himself, “and refined ones.”
The finger, Geralt of Rivia noticed, was still pointing at the bard. He waved one hand around, the other finding his hip as his weight shifted. “All this talk of women—erh, woman—and you haven’t even got your hands on her. You don’t even know if she doesn’t still want you dead.”
“Since her husband shuffled off, my odds have gotten—”
“Shittier,” the witcher interrupted. “When the duke was alive, she wanted you every moment of every day, her pretty little thing. Now, she wants to kill you half the time.”
“Half,” said Dandelion, stepping closer and poking Geralt’s scarred chest, “is better than all the time.”
“Is it?”
Once more, they locked eyes until both broke into yet more laughter, mindless and pointless. It meandered as the wind did and they fed on each other’s mirth for a time until, gasping for breath, Dandelion reached out and grasped his friend’s powerful shoulder and waved his other hand around helplessly. “I beg—I beg, Witcher, have mercy!”
“No mercy for you, bard,” responded Geralt, wiping a tear from the corner of one eye. His cheeks hurt in the best way, the way the only did when he laughed, which he had less and less time to do as he aged, it seemed. Dandelion would have said he ought to make time and in that time, make mirth… or was it love? Geralt didn’t remember which, though it was probably both.
“No, no,” said Dandelion finally, running his fingers through his honey-colored curls and shaking his head, “I meant I wasn’t going to share you with her. My little weasel is a selfish thing, you know. She likes pretty things, sure enough, but I like…” He paused, biting his lower lip and nodding as if finding an internal agreement with himself, “I like beautiful ones.”
His arms wrapped themselves lightly about the witcher’s waist and Dandelion was certain that if Geralt was capable of blushing, he would be doing so. The bard counted this as a victory. He did so love taking his friend by surprise. He also thought he might love simply taking his friend, if they ever got around to it. Geralt was a stone in these ways—if he wasn’t being abused and tormented, he didn’t know what to do with himself. Open and gentle affection were so rare, used as bait, rather than the main course. It was indecent, really.
“Have you gone mad?” Geralt’s voice was a rasping growl, as always, but he did not pull away. Dandelion squeezed a little—he could have squeezed harder and the mutated man would barely have felt it—to indicate that he had not, that there was no mistake here. Gradually, then, the witcher’s arms, those corded, scarred things, found their slow way about Dandelion’s shoulders. He moved almost delicately, as if afraid to injure his friend. The bard detected this, but made no mention of it, yet. Perhaps he would save that for the ballad he would inevitably write which would detail in metaphor and simile and symbolism how it was to make love to a witcher.
“I think we’re all a little mad sometimes,” Dandelion observed, “and that is going into my book—Fifty Years of Poetry, will be the title.”
Geralt snorted, warming to his friend’s touch, leaning into him a little. When Dandelion’s head tilted and his lips pressed against Geralt’s throat, however, he stiffened once more, a natural reflex which might otherwise have prepared his body to defend itself against a striga or other such bloodsucking fiend. Dandelion did suck, a bit, but not nearly hard enough to draw anything from the witcher but a moan. Geralt tilted his chin upward, snow white hair spiling down his back as the bard’s hands slid lower, finding purchase on his ass, holding firmly, squeezing a little, even kneading.
“Never mind the taste of Est Est,” said Dandelion, speaking into Geralt’s flesh, lips brushing a scar with the light touch of a butterfly’s wings. “I’ll take a bottle of whatever this is.”
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lolitarecolors · a day ago
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Hi everybody!
Today I came to bring this chair that at first I didn't believe I would use much, but these last few days it is present in all the houses I built and played with.
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DOWNLOAD
http://www.simfileshare.net/download/2824264/
** Maxis Match object. **
I hope you like it like I did.
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tiktoksthataregood-ish · 19 hours ago
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weirdarchivist · 2 days ago
Video
sir why are you wiggling like that???
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dissiasims · 2 days ago
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Trouble Top
18 swatches
Base Game Compatibile
Custom Thumbnail
Get it from TSR: Trouble Top
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camuflajesims · 2 days ago
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CAMUFLAJE - ANINE BING Collection (Exclusive Content)
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EXCLUSIVE CONTENT
Inspired by Anine Bing fall set.
Blazer with a Turtleneck :
* New mesh
* Compatible with the base game
* HQ
* All LODs (I recommend using it on very high settings)
* Total 15 Swatches
* Normal Map (NEW NORMAL MAPS! Will make it even more realistic in the game)
* T-shirt underneath
Skirt :
* New mesh
* Compatible with the base game
* HQ
* All LODs (I recommend using it on very high settings)
* Total 15 Swatches
* Normal Map (NEW NORMAL MAPS! Will make it even more realistic in the game)
Hope you enjoy it :)
Happy December!
The whole collection can be found at my PATREON & it’s Exclusive Content (Only for my patrons)
PATREON LINK
INSTAGRAM LINK
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