#DI Pipe Fittings

[metaconsteels]

Looking for durable and high-quality industrial components? Metacon Steels, a trusted Indian manufacturer, specializes in stainless steel, stainless steel castings, pipe fittings, DI pipe fittings, and manganese steel liners. Serving industries like fire safety, oil & gas, automotive, and agriculture equipment, we deliver precision-engineered solutions designed to meet North America’s rigorous standards.With advanced manufacturing, strict quality control, and on-time delivery, Metacon Steels is your go-to partner for reliable and cost-effective components. Contact us today to learn how we can support your business!

[sporadiccandyinternet]

The precision and reliability of our Dismantling Joints! Designed for easy maintenance and seamless performance, Truform's joints ensure your pipeline system runs smoothly.

[brionysea]

here's another example of mike breaking the pattern by being the first one to do it

bonus foreshadowing:

[shivamengitech]

Unveiling the Top Plastic Injection Moulding Manufacturer: A Comprehensive Guide

In the bustling industrial landscape of Ahmedabad, one name stands out as a beacon of excellence in plastic injection moulding: Shivam Engitech. Renowned for its commitment to quality, precision, and innovation,

Shivam Engitech has carved a niche for itself as the leading provider of UPVC pipe fitting moulds, plastic bucket moulding dies, and a range of injection molding equipment. Let’s delve into what makes Shivam Engitech the undisputed champion in the realm of plastic injection moulding.

Legacy of Excellence: Founded with a vision to revolutionize the plastic manufacturing industry, Shivam Engitech boasts a rich legacy of excellence spanning several decades. With a steadfast focus on delivering superior products and unmatched customer service, the company has earned the trust and loyalty of clients across various industries.

State-of-the-Art Infrastructure: At the heart of Shivam Engitech’s success lies its state-of-the-art infrastructure equipped with cutting-edge technology and advanced machinery. From precision CNC machining centers to high-speed injection moulding machines, every aspect of the manufacturing process is meticulously optimized to ensure unparalleled efficiency and quality.

Comprehensive Product Range: Shivam Engitech caters to diverse industry needs with its comprehensive range of products, including UPVC pipe fitting moulds, plastic bucket moulding dies, and a wide array of injection molding equipment. Whether it’s custom molds for specialized applications or standard components for mass production, the company offers solutions tailored to meet every requirement.

Innovative Solutions: In an ever-evolving industry, innovation is key to staying ahead of the curve. Shivam Engitech prides itself on its ability to innovate continuously, leveraging the latest technological advancements to develop groundbreaking solutions that enhance efficiency, precision, and sustainability in plastic manufacturing processes.

Stringent Quality Control: Quality is non-negotiable at Shivam Engitech. The company adheres to rigorous quality control measures at every stage of the manufacturing process, ensuring that each product meets the highest standards of durability, reliability, and performance. From raw material sourcing to final inspection, every aspect is meticulously monitored to uphold the company’s reputation for excellence.

Customer-Centric Approach: At Shivam Engitech, customer satisfaction is paramount. The company takes a proactive approach to understand the unique requirements of each client and strives to exceed their expectations with tailor-made solutions, prompt delivery, and responsive after-sales support. Building long-lasting partnerships based on trust and mutual success is at the core of Shivam Engitech’s ethos.

Global Presence: While rooted in Ahmedabad, Shivam Engitech has a global footprint, serving clients across the globe with its top-notch products and services. Through strategic partnerships and alliances, the company has expanded its reach to international markets, solidifying its position as a trusted name in the global plastic manufacturing industry.

Commitment to Sustainability: Recognizing the importance of environmental sustainability, Shivam Engitech is committed to minimizing its ecological footprint through responsible manufacturing practices, energy-efficient processes, and recyclable materials. By embracing sustainable solutions, the company not only reduces its environmental impact but also helps clients achieve their sustainability goals.

In conclusion,

Shivam Engitech stands tall as the epitome of excellence in the realm of plastic injection moulding. With its unwavering commitment to quality, innovation, and customer satisfaction, the company continues to set new benchmarks for the industry. Whether you’re in need of UPVC pipe fitting moulds, plastic bucket moulding dies, or injection molding equipment, Shivam Engitech is your trusted partner for all your plastic manufacturing needs.

[poguehearted77]

Between The Lines

Summary-> It's the little things that go on behind the scenes between you and Drew that makes your chemistry electric.

Belongs to my: OBX Season 5: Payback for Maybank Series

These can be read in any order!

"Park place." Maddison narrates where Drew lands his dog piece across the monopoly board. "I'll buy it." He says but your hand is in his face, "Not so fast. I'm sure you would love to buy it if I didn't already have a hotel on it. You owe me $1500. Pay up." You show him your open palm, ready for lots and lots of cash.

"He's so cooked. Look at that pathetic stack of cash Drew has. I've got piggy banks with more than that." Jonathan's comments send the four of you erupting into a fit of laughter which eventually dies down to a patient silence. "Sometime today would be great." Madison clears her throat.

"Josh is coming!" Drew points, appealing to your gullibility and you all fell for it. By the time you realized he was bluffing, the board was tossed and the pieces were all out of place. He gets up and runs off as if he already knew you'd be hot on his heels.

Your outburts left JD and Madison alone to pick up the pieces, but not without an interesting conversation. "50 bucks they're together by the time we finish the season." Madison says it so casually as she reaches underneath the couch for the pieces.

"So I'm not crazy? You see it too?" He looks almost relieved. "Trust me, I've got a knack for these things." JD seems skeptical about the timeline of the bet. "I dunno, we finish filming in four months. That might be too soon, I say by the premiere."

The both of them look up to Carlacia who seemed to have been streaming live on her istagram. She enters the room mumbling something about getting winded by you and Drew sprinting past her.

Madison scoffs, "That's like nine months from now. They could get together and break up by then, but you know what-- If that's what you wanna bet, then be my guest." She holds out her hand and JD shakes on it. "You're on."

"We're ready for you guys." One of the assistants notifys them that it was time to head to the screening room where the weekly table reads were held.

Today would be your first look at the script for the second episode, and to say you were shocked was an understatement.

Script Summary:

Eventually the pogues put their trust in Piper and she gives them a fair exchange of some arms that they can handle, while she opts for her weapon of choice, a steel pipe.

"How do you think I got the name and the scar?" She says and it puts an odd sense of comfort among the group, minus a skeptical Rafe, to know you were confident enough in your skills that you didn't need a gun.

They beleived they were in good hands, until they realized they weren't. There was movement coming from the bushes and it made the pogues stand on guard, beckoning them to come out. Soon, the figures finally revealed themsleves. More mercenaries.

"Nicely, done Piper. It seems you can still make yourself useful after all." The red-headed woman speaks up, tossing you a pouch of money that you caught with one hand effortlessly.

"Never doubt my capabilities, it's insulting." You warn, tucking the pouch into the bag strapped across your back. The british woman continues, "Y'know, Mr. Finch could use your talents again. Once we're done tying up loose ends, we're headed back to home base in Lisbon."

Rafe is livid. He knew he couldn't trust you. It couldn't be by pure coincidence that the mercenaries popped up in the middle of this oasis when you were leading. "Lisbon? You told us Finch was here-" Kiara exclaims and Rafe interrupts.

"It was all a lie, from the very beginning. Mr. Alami, the merchant from Agapenta, he was working with you, wasn't he? You knew he'd send us to you, and now you got your sad little payout from these dipshits for bringing us to them." Rafe seethes.

"I'll neither confirm nor deny that claim, love the enthusiasm though." Your attitude remains unbothered throughout the ordeal until Pope demands, "What do you want from us? We don't have the crown! Groff took it." The red head shrugs casually, sharpening her blades as she approaches the group.

"Don't you worry, Groff will get what's coming to him. For now, it's time to repay the debt that is owed. You get blood on your hands, I get blood on mine." Your eyes bulge, "Hang on, you never said you wanted to kill them." You step in and the woman pays you no mind.

"Perhaps because It's none of your concern. You've got your cut, now's a good time as ever to leave. It's about to get messy." She retracts her hand, about to plunge the blade into Pope when she's knocked out cold by a flying piece of steel.

The group looks over to you in shock, fear, and a hint of gratitude, but there's no time to gush about it when there's suddenly a brawl that breaks out between the mercenaries and the pogues.

You all hardly take them out before escaping.

"Piper, what the hell?!" John B yells and his anger is heavily agreed on in the group, you take it on the chin before offering the most sincere apology you could come up with. They're unconvinced. "I deserve that. Everything you heard back there is true. Finch's Fortress is in Lisbon. If you find him, you'll find Groff," You trail off, reaching into your bag, handing Cleo the pouch of money you'd just gotten.

"Take this. It's more than enough to get you a boat big enough to get across the atlantic and even have some leftover for food for a few days. When you arrive on the coast of Cascais, you'll need to head north in-land."

There's silence.

A long silence, nervous glances between the pogues and Rafe's eyes roll. "You guys cannot seriously be considering trusting her. She almost had us killed! Am I the only one who cares about making it back home?"

"Just shut up, Rafe!" John B silences him, and Pope speaks up. "Listen, I don't know about you guys but Piper just saved my life when she didn't have to. We've already lost someone. Going after Groff could be a suicide missison for all we know. But we all know this isn't about our safety, it's about revenge. For JJ." His speech is moving, the expressions agree.

"For JJ." They all agree.

"To Lisbon we go." Cleo chimes, and the group moves on.

End of Script*

You had just finished reading the script and you were blown away. The cast never knows what to expect whenevfer a new script is dropped in front of them.

"Wait a minute... If the pogues are going to Lisbon in the next episode then," Madison trails off and the director ties in, "So are we. Pack your bags, flights are booked for Saturday morning at 5am, please do not miss these flights, we're not opposed to writing you out!" Josh jokes and there's excited and shock all around the table.

You knew that the last season of the show had implied that the pogues would be on their way to Lisbon but it never dawned on you that it would be so soon, even though it made sense.

"You ever been to Portugal?" Drew leans in, a soft whisper in your ear tickled your skin and made the hairs on the back of your neck at attention. "Never, have you?" He thinks about it, "If a layover counts then yes, yes I have." You're not sure if the joke was funny or if it just left the mouth of an incredibly attractive man, nonetheless, it made you giggle.

Madison kicks JD from under the table, jutting her chin towards the two of you giggling in secret and he rolls his eyes. "Patience." He says it calmly, but Madison is impatient, she knows she'll reign triumphant by the end of it all.

-

It’s a Friday night—or, more accurately, the early hours of Saturday morning. The world outside your accommodations complex is still cloaked in sleep, and you should be too. But no. The responsibility of making your flight in two hours has ripped you from the warmth of your bed. Groggy but determined, you scrambled to gather your belongings, knowing you wouldn’t be back.

After a last sweep of the room, you opened the door with a flicker of confidence—only to jump at the sight of a six-foot-two figure standing in your doorway.

“Drew! Oh my god, you scared me.” Your hand flew to your chest in a theatrical gesture, your pulse thrumming in your ears.

A small smile tugged at his lips, his eyes crinkling slightly. “Sorry. Just wanted to make sure you were actually up. Everyone else already left. There’s one driver still waiting downstairs.” His voice was smooth, annoyingly easy to listen to this early in the morning. Too easy.

“You sound oddly refreshed for 3 a.m.,” you quipped, your own voice still husky from sleep as you grabbed your suitcase.

“That’s the beauty of insomnia.” He shrugged, gesturing to his temples with a finger like it was some kind of genius life hack. “You can’t wake up tired if you never really sleep.”

The elevator dinged open, and the two of you stepped inside. The silence that settled was heavy, charged with something you couldn’t quite define. It hung there until you both spoke at once:

“So where are you—” “How did you—”

You broke into quiet laughter, and Drew’s mouth twitched with amusement. “You first,” he said, giving you a slight nod.

“How did you know I hadn’t already left with the others?” you asked, tilting your head curiously. For a moment, something flickered across his face—an emotion too quick to name—before a light blush dusted his cheeks. He masked it with an easy tone.

“I did some askin' around,” he replied, the answer short and almost vague. It was just enough to spark your teasing instincts.

“Ah,” you said with a smirk, “so you missed me?”

Instant regret settled within you. The elevator seemed too small, too still as Drew turned to look at you, his gaze steady and disarming. For a heartbeat, he didn’t respond, and your cheeks grew warm under his stare.

“You could say that,” he finally said, the ghost of a smirk curling the corner of his lips. His attention shifted to the elevator doors as they slid open, leaving you to wonder if you’d imagined the whole thing.

The ride to the airport was longer than expected thanks to roadwork that forced a detour. You should've been annoyed, but at some point, your head found its way to Drew’s shoulder, and your eyes fluttered shut. The fabric of his hoodie was soft against your temple, and his warmth lulled you into a half-dream state.

Drew didn’t dare move. The weight of your head against him was almost too perfect, and he fought the sudden urge to reach for your hand resting on your lap. Instead, he focused on the ticking clock in the back of his mind and the quiet hum of the car.

When you arrived, he sprang into action. “C’mon, we don’t have time to waste,” he murmured, grabbing your suitcase and his carry-on in one hand while ushering you toward the terminal with the other.

You barely had to lift a finger. Drew handled everything—tickets, baggage check, even navigating customs—with practiced efficiency, his jaw set and his movements quick. He wasn’t just organized; he was determined.

“Do you always walk as fast as a drill sergeant?” you teased as you reached the gate, breathing a little easier now.

He shot you a look, his lips twitching. “I'm not a huge fan of being late,” was all he said. But the way his eyes lingered on yours for half a second longer than necessary told you there was more to it than that.

Finally, you made it to your seats in first class. You settled across the aisle from Madelyn, who flashed you a bright smile.

“I was starting to think you two wouldn’t make it,” she teased, leaning toward you with a glint in her eye. There was an underlying subtext to her words but you were too tired to decipher it.

“Drew made sure that didn’t happen,” you replied with a soft laugh. The words were simple, but they carried a warmth you couldn’t quite suppress.

From behind your seat, Drew caught the sound of his name on your lips--and god did he love the way it sounds. He didn’t know what you’d said, but it didn’t matter. The fact that you were talking about him stirred something in his chest.

As the flight began, you glanced back once, meeting his gaze. He held it for a fraction of a moment before looking away, his expression unreadable.

And yet, for the rest of the flight, he couldn’t stop thinking about you. Couldn’t stop replaying the memory of the weight of your head on his shoulder—or wondering what it might feel like to hold your hand in his.

Taglist: @percysley, @lilithblackkk, @rafegf-real, @eternallovers65, @drsza, @wearemadeofstardust0, @cadhlabear, @thepopcultureaddict, @citr0us, @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account, @madi44444,

[ri-afan]

*video starts and the mood is somber. There’s a black-haired guy sitting at a desk facing the camera with his hands folded together on the desk and his eyes trained in the lens*

“Hello. If this video has reached you, then that can only mean one thing: I have died.”

*there’s a tense moment of silence before someone snorts offscreen, then everyone’s laughing*

“God, Danny, what the hell??” A tired feminine voice exclaims.

A male voice pipes up offscreen. “Come on, Jazz, that was hilarious!”

“I knew we shouldn’t have let him write the script!” A purple stuffed animal flies quickly into the shot where the first guy is laughing with his head on the desk and it bounces off his head and out of the shot again.

“Aw, but that wouldn’t be fair, Sam, would it? It’s my reveal video.”

“How many puns did you fit in it?” The second voice asks, sounding distinctly gleeful.

“At least twelve, depending on how you count puns that can go both ways,” the guy on screen says as he wiggles an eyebrow to the camera lens, which sets off the second guy’s laughter again.

There’s a couple sighs heard and the first gal’s voice is heard closer as the camera moves. In the background you can hear the guy laughing on the floor about a blooper reel before complaining about steel toed boots. “Okay, we’ll try this again, little brother. Next time don’t—” the video cuts out

[the-internets-girlfriend]

Bittersweet Memories: Before the Frosting Sets

George Clarke x Reader (Series)

There was something sweet - until it all fell apart. Years later, a viral video stirs up a past neither of them ever quite let go of. In the city where they both changed, something is quietly rising again.

warnings: soft angst, emotional miscommunication, heartbreak, swearing, slow-burn

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series | masterlist | next part

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Part One: Before the Frosting Sets (1200+ words)

I still remember the way George used to eat sprinkles straight from the jar.

We weren't one of those couples who posted anniversary posts or had a shared Spotify playlist - we kept it quiet, happy living in our blissful moments. It was slower. The kind of thing that grows between late night train rides and shared Tesco snacks, where love doesn't announce itself so much as it simply stays.

George was still figuring things out when we met. He filmed little skits on TikTok - low-effort but effortlessly funny. His face was stating to show up of people's for you pages. A couple thousands likes here and there - a "wait, aren't you that guy with the sound in the garage?" in a coffee shop once or twice.

He would brush it off with a laugh, but I could see it - the hope curling at the edges of his smile. Like maybe, just maybe, this thing he loved could actually become something.

And I wanted that for him. So badly.

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We met at a bus stop in Clapham, standing under one of those flickering streetlights. I was holding a cake box for my cousins 21st birthday. He asked if it was from that bakery around the corner. I told him no - I'd made it myself.

He looked impressed, "like, properly made it?"

I nodded my head, "from scratch, as well." I proudly showed off my cake, allowing for George to look through the clear top lid.

That had made him give me an amazed "well you must be a wizard then."

"Only during the school term."

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We didn't rush into anything. It started with the exchange of phone numbers, and casual messages - like stupid memes and late-night facetimes. Then it became weekends together. Then it became toothbrushes kept at each other's place. Then it just...was.

I would bake my cakes for friends and family while he filmed. When his laptop battery dies, he would crash on my sofa. I would glance up from icing cupcakes and find him watching me - not in the intense way but it was soft...thoughtful. Like, he was learning so much about me in that very moment.

"People would love watching this," he said once, phone in hand. "You piping those little waves and rose things, or you explaining nerdy baking stuff - it's great content."

I laughed at the idea, "baking isn't content, it's a way for me to think - a calm space.

He didn't ague. Just nodded and went back to filming himself for a TikTok video.

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His follower count began to rise. Nothing wild - but just enough to start getting messages from small brands wanting free promo in exchange for a product. He made jokes about "when I hit 10k" but I saw it - the way he checked his notifications a little more often, the way his sketches got sharper, more edited, more curated.

I supported it. Of course I did. He was chasing something, and I knew what that felt like.

But somewhere along the way, our rhythms started to clash.

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He started getting invited to small creator meetups - nothing big, just a group of content creators going to a pub night together and doing group collabs. I usually stayed behind. Not because I wasn't invited - nut because I didn't know how to fit in there. I kept to my quiet kitchens and the sound of my kitchen aid humming, not ring lights and clickbait thumbnails.

"You should come next time," he said one night, grabbing his coat. "They'd love you - especially when you talk about cake stuff. And they've been dying to meet you."

I smiled faintly, "maybe."

He didn't push it.

And that was part of the problem - we stopped pushing. We both stopped asking and started assuming.

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One night, I brought up the bakery idea. Not a big place, just a small shop with pale pink tiles and a coffee machine. I'd been daydreaming it for years - but this time was different, I had actually meant it.

George was editing something on his laptop - he didn't even look up.

"I mean... that's a cute idea," he said, his focus still on the screen as he typed away. "But rent is brutal right now, yeah? You'd probably do better selling stuff online. Build a brand first. Like... be a bakery girl on TikTok or something." He said with a shrug.

It wasn't mean. He wasn't trying to crush anything. He just didn't see it the way I did.

And something about the word cute stuck like icing sugar in my throat.

It hurt.

I didn't say much after that. Just nodded and went back to folding cupcake boxes, humming a tune to myself to mask the sadness.

He didn't notice I stopped letting him taste-test new recipes. Or that I didn't ask him to film with me when I tried making a time-lapse of me baking to show my grandma.

We were still... fine. Still cuddling up in bed, still trading jokes, still doing all normal things.

But something was... cooling.

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The night we ended it - us. It wasn't dramatic. There was no raised voices. Just a quiet sense of something soft slipping through our fingers.

He was editing again - something about a collab with his new mates.

I was boxing up a batch of lemon curd cupcakes, too tired to pretend I wasn't hurting - hurting in my own home.

"You called my dream a 'cute idea'," I said finally, barely a whisper.

George blinked, looked up as if he hadn't heard right. "Wait-what?'

"My bakery. You said it was cute. Like a trend. A phase."

"I didn't mean it like that," he said quickly. "I was just being realistic."

"I know." I swallowed, "but that's the thing. You're chasing yours like it's already real...and you made mine sound like something I'd grow out of - like a child's dream."

There was a long pause. Then -

"I didn't mean to make you feel small."

"I know," I said again. "But you still did."

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We didn't say let's break up. It just happened.

He stayed the night. We held each other like people who weren't ready to let go yet, but already knew we had to.

He left the next morning with a quiet, "see you around," and the ghost of a kiss on my forehead.

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After that, life moved on.

I worked. I baked. I mourned. I stopped checking his page after a while. He kept growing - slowly, steadily. His face popped up on my feed sometimes, smiling over beers or filming chaotic videos with friends I never knew.

He looked happy.

I tried to be.

But sometimes, I'd catch myself icing a cake and wondering if he ever thought of me - of us.

Sometimes I'd see a jar of sprinkles and think about how he used to eat them, by the handful, from the jar.

And that was it.

Not a disaster. Not a betrayal.

Just a quiet goodbye between two people who wanted different things at the same time - and couldn't find the right way to say it out loud.

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hi all!

I hope you enjoyed the first part for my second series, and are excited to see what comes next!!

See you next time,

mwah x

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

taglist x

@mothersversiononly @whisperturnedecho @lovingaphroditesworld @reidyourpalms @liz140569 @swizzlemynizzle @wherethezoes-at @clarkeyzzz @swiftlyjo

[everytimewetouch-dot-mp3]

shang qinghua does not feel good about the fact that his son was thrown into the abyss. he doesn’t feel good about all the disciples who died in the invasion, or about the fact that he basically traded all their lives to spare his own. he doesn’t feel good about the fact that he could’ve killed his king years ago and chose not to, even knowing what it would mean he’d have to do.

and listen, he knows he’s not a good person. who could be, having done what he has? there’s a reason he’s lord of an ding peak, and it’s not just because the system said he had to be. shang qinghua is smart and smooth. and sure, some might call him sleazy or slimy or manipulative, but he prefers to call himself effective. he might play at being pathetic, but even that is a calculated decision. whatever needs doing, he gets it done. he is not a good person, but he is an efficient logistician, a shrewd businessman, a cunning spy.

he has rarely been dragged down by dumb shit like guilt. no, he doesn’t feel good about what he did, but the other option was feeling dead, and that’s really not on the table. it’s just—there are rumors. the widow of qing jing peak, they’ve started calling shen qingqiu. and like, that’s embarrassing as shit, yeah. he’s sure if shen qingqiu knew they were calling him that, he’d throw a fit. but also it’s—they’re not really wrong? wasting away as he is, losing himself kneeling at that sword mound, calling for his disciple like he’s haunted by the ghost of his presence. he is the picture of a widow ruined by grief.

shang qinghua doesn’t feel good about that either, especially after he learned that shen qingqiu is a fellow transmigrator. he knew, in an abstract sort of way, that people would die in the invasion and those people would have loved ones, and those loved ones would grieve them. people die all the time, and they are allegedly grieved by their loved ones. shang qinghua has never grieved a loved one. has he ever even had loved ones who he would truly grieve? did anyone grieve him when he died alone in his apartment like an idiot? did anyone even look for him before his corpse started to smell?

anyway.

he knew he’d be causing a lot of grief, is the point, but it’s different when it’s a hometown bro who’s grieving. even if that hometown bro refuses to acknowledge his grief for what it is. shen qingqiu is grieving. when he loses days at a time at that sword mound; when he flits about the world and avoids his peak for months; when he comes home and haunts the bamboo forests, a ghost of himself. all of it is grief, which shang qinghua is starting to believe he has never felt for anyone but his own sorry self.

shang qinghua is not a good person, has never let himself be dragged down by dumb shit like guilt. maybe what he feels for his hometown bro is pity. maybe that’s why, when he hears that shen qingqiu is nearing cang qiong again after months away, he decides to bring some snacks and wine and his pipe to the bamboo house. the disciples say their shizun hasn’t been eating, and shen qingqiu has been looking rather thin at the peak lord meetings he bothers to attend. so maybe it’s pity that has shang qinghua breaking into the bamboo house and cooking something light and simple, setting it out on the table along with the snacks and the wine, and curling up to read while he waits.

and then, when shen qingqiu steps into his house and calls for luo binghe, it’s pity that moves shang qinghua to greet him fast, so shen qingqiu doesn’t embarrass himself imagining that it was his disciple who cooked for him. it’s pity that has him convincing shen qingqiu to eat, that has him politely looking away when shen qingqiu quietly cries as he tastes the simple stir fry. pity keeps him from responding when shen qingqiu excuses his reaction, saying ‘it tastes just like binghe’s, is all.’ no, binghe’s cooking taste’s like airplane shooting toward the sky’s. where does shen qingqiu think luo binghe got it from, indirect though that inherited skill might be? luo binghe is still airplane’s son.

shang qinghua does not feel guilty for the invasion at the immortal alliance conference, but he does not feel good about it either. he does not feel good about the grief he’s caused, or the way it’s hollowed his hometown bro out into a ghost of himself. so whenever shen qingqiu returns to the sect, shang qinghua does his best to make sure there’s a meal waiting for him, and an afternoon of drinking and smoking and distracting him from the grief he refuses to acknowledge. shang qinghua doesn’t hover. he doesn’t imagine that he and shen qingqiu are now friends—if anything, it seems like shen qingqiu is politely humoring his presence. shang qinghua does not feel any better about himself because of these rare afternoons. he imagines, though, that he would feel worse about himself if they were to stop.

[fazedlight]

Helicopter

(Lillian witnesses the helicopter crash in 2x01 that takes Lena's life... and then the day starts over. Inspired by this post)

Lillian’s eyes narrowed as she focused on the large screen.

Her small-but-elite CADMUS team was standing around her in the dark room, watching as Kara Danvers and Clark Kent made their way down the sidewalk, several blocks away from LuthorCorp.

LCorp, Lillian thought to herself in disgust.

“Ma’am, we have a lock. Two minutes remaining.”

Lillian nodded, holding back a smirk. Downtown National City was about to have a tragic accident. Two civilians would be lost as a gas line exploded in the middle of an urban crosswalk. Bystanders probably wouldn’t notice the slight sheen of green that would pass over the sidewalk, drowned out by the bright light of the gas line burning.

The kryptonians would soon be gone.

“One minute remaining.”

Lillian couldn’t believe her luck. The plan to kill Kara Danvers had long been in motion. A small drone carrying powdered kryptonite flew below in the sewers, the old lead pipes proving useful for CADMUS’ plan. But it had been pure coincidence that her cousin would join her that day. Not that “Kara Danvers” and “Clark Kent” had any formal relationship to each other - though the DEO would soon figure out that their deaths had not been mere accident.

Still, there was no way for the double homicide to lead back to CADMUS, which didn’t formally exist at all.  

“Eight seconds for alignment. Ma’am?”

“Go,” Lillian said.

When Kara Danvers and Clark Kent went up in flames, cheers rang around the room, and Lillian almost cracked a smile.

---

Lillian had been sipping scotch in her office when the news came in. “Helicopter Crash on LuthorCorp helipad.”

She felt her heart stop in her chest as she rose from her seat, darting across CADMUS before exiting the secret facility, making her way across town in a haze as Lena didn’t pick up the phone. She can’t be dead, she can’t be dead, Lillian thought, praying that her damn philandering husband’s spawn had somehow survived the fireball pictured in the alert. Maybe Lena hadn’t been on the helicopter at all.

But luck ran out when Lillian was pushed away from the police line on the streets of the LuthorCorp building. Lillian shoved past, finding the mangled remains of her daughter, burnt beyond recognition or saving.

She hadn’t cried when Lionel died. She refused to give him that - not after the night the discovery of his philandering came out, where she screamed in fury as hot tears ran down her cheeks. Since then, her eyes remained clear.

Until that day. When Lillian tried to drown her sorrows that night, she ended up smashing her glass of scotch on the floor, sobbing over the child she hated as much as she loved, lost in a brutal accident.

---

She fell into a fitful sleep. Or, she thought she did. But then she was awake, in CADMUS, surrounded by her soldiers.

“Ma’am, we have a lock. Two minutes remaining.”

She blinked, eyes darting to the soldier, who seemed confused at her hesitance. She nodded, slowly. What the hell happened?

A dream, she thought, as she watched Kara Danvers and Clark Kent cross her screen in the dark room in a scenario that felt all too familiar. Did I doze off?

“One minute remaining.”

Lillian cleared her throat, choking back tears that wanted to be shed. It was a dream, I must’ve drifted off for a minute, Lillian thought, pondering whether she had accidentally been given decaffeinated espresso that morning - an abomination almost as bad as the aliens in front of her - and she focused ahead.

“Eight seconds for alignment. Ma’am?”

“Go,” Lillian said.

After much flames and cheering and celebration, Lillian made her way to her office, placing a call to a woman who almost certainly didn’t want to pick up. “Mother,” Lena said, the soft lilt in her voice tugging at some dark corner of Lillian’s heart, “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Lillian couldn’t say the truth, of course. “I dreamt of your death, and wanted to hear your voice” was hardly fitting to their relationship. “I want to have dinner with you tonight. To discuss LuthorCorp.”

She could almost hear Lena scoff. “I’m meeting with the Tokyo investors in Los Angeles in two hours,” Lena said, “We can discuss LCorp some other night.”

Los Angeles? “You’re flying?” Lillian asked.

“The company helicopter is landing now.”

“Lena-”

“We’ll talk later, mother.”

Lillian’s heart raced as the phone clicked shut, and she found herself running. Out of CADMUS, out onto the street, looking across the way to National City. No, no, no, she thought, her eyes landing on the new LCorp tower miles away, knowing what would happen there.

It didn’t take long at all for the aviation fuel to ignite, and she knew she had lost Lena again.

---

She woke.

She, of course, knew this whole situation was insane. Or was it? All manner of alien life had descended on this planet, she had discovered life that could alter minds and memories. Perhaps time was in some alien’s powers as well.

But that’s not what she cared about, as she woke to “Ma’am, we have a lock” again. Instead of nodding along, she handed off power to her second-in-command, rushing out of the CADMUS control room into her private office.

She was still on the LuthorCorp board, of course, and it didn’t take her long to contact the pilot who would be flying the helicopter during the upcoming accident. “I will pay you $100,000 dollars to overspeed the engine upon landing on the helipad,” Lillian said.

“Dr. Luthor,” the pilot replied over the phone, confused and bewildered, “That will damage the engines. I won’t be able to take off.”

“Exactly.”

“Are you sure-”

“I am. Understood?”

There was a pause. “Of course, Dr. Luthor.”

Lillian breathed a sigh of relief. If the helicopter oversped on landing, there would be no takeoff, and therefore no takeoff accident with Lena onboard. The oversped helicopter would be presumed to have damage - requiring a full overhaul of the engine to make sure the cylinders and push rods and magnetos were all aligned.

Lena would be grounded. Lena would be safe.

Lillian smiled as she called her driver, intending to head over to LuthorCorp. Lena wouldn’t be able to take the short flight to Los Angeles. So she’d be free for dinner after all, and Lillian needed to see her face and know she was finally safe. Sentimental nonsense, of course, but Lillian felt almost cheerful as she loaded into her car.

There’d be no helicopter accident. Lena would meet the helicopter as it landed, and the pilot would admit he couldn’t take off again due to his mistake.

Lillian’s car had just pulled up to the base of LCorp tower when the roof exploded. Not long after, she discovered Lena’s body for herself.

And that’s when she realized the explosion had been no accident.

---

“Ma’am, we have a lock. Two minutes remaining.”

Lillian’s eyes opened wide. Fuck, she thought, eyes darting around the room, someone is trying to kill Lena.

And I can’t stop them.

“Ma’am?”

Lillian barely noticed Kara Danvers and Clark Kent on the screen in front of her. Her mind was stuck, racing on her daughter’s impending death. She nodded out of habit as her second-in-command stared, but her mind was somewhere else entirely. How can I save her?, Lillian lamented.

“One minute remaining.”

That’s when Lillian dragged her eyes to the screen again, and a light went off in her head. These kryptonians… save people, she realized, heart pounding as she wondered if the answer was in front of her.

“Eight seconds for alignment. Ma’am?”

Would they save a Luthor? “Abort!” Lillian shouted.

“Ma’am?” her soldier said, looking alarmed.

“Abort,” Lillian half-shouted, rising from her seat, mind scrambling for an explanation. “We need these kryptonians alive,” she said, as every head in the room turned to her in shock, “For now. We need a new plan. To capture them alive. They have information we need.”

“Ma’am, the window-”

“This mission is over,” Lillian growled.

The soldier swallowed nervously. “Understood.”

---

Lillian’s car was parked four blocks down from LCorp, giving her easy sight of the LuthorCorp helipad.

Her heart pounded as she watched the helicopter take off.

She held her breath as she watched two figures fly up, circling the building. She could see the drones now - the devices that must’ve shot down the aircraft carrying Lena. But instead, Superman destroyed them in midair, as Supergirl flew up to catch the out-of-control helicopter.

There was no fireball this time.

The helicopter settled to the rooftop again, and Lillian could see the caped figure make her way inside. Lena’s safe, Lillian thought gratefully, my daughter is safe.

Her eyes watched as the two women - far enough away to merely be dots in her vision - seemed to converse. And Lillian couldn't help but wonder… 

Who are you to my daughter?

Her jaw tensed, and she knocked on the slatted door separating her from the driver up front. The blackened window rolled down. “Dr. Luthor?” her driver said.

“Take me home.” 

[hearts4golbach]

Can I request carrington x reader where his Lon term partner (reader) didn’t like flowers, so he makes her paper ones himself? Like those paper bouquets you see in like, booktok

Thank God for Tiktok.

pairing:

Carrington Bornstein x Fem!Reader.

a/n:

pre established relationship 👅

not proofread

warnings:

none.

word count:

1.0k

To say Carrington had been crafting for hours was an understatement. the sun had gone down a while back. He was sitting in his moonlit room surrounded by miscellaneous crafting tools and books. tomorrow was your birthday. no, he hadn't been procrastinating. he had ordered you a gift but stumbled upon the idea to make you paper flowers. you preferred not to get real flowers. You were always so upset when they inevitably died.

so, he was glued to his bed (pun intended), making you an immortal bouquet of paper flowers.

previously, he had rushed out of the house to go find some books he could cut up. clearly, he didn't own any, and he wasn't about to steal one of Johnnies' comics. he settled on going out, possibly to goodwill or target, to get a book or two for his project. he wandered to the arts and crafts section, getting a hot glue gun and sticks. he also found a pack of pipe cleaners and some ribbon. everything he had chosen was a perfect match for his vision. and with that, he was all set.

it had been about three and a half hours since then. he was about to finish the very last flower, then he'd have a set of exactly twenty. he mentally praised himself for how well they actually turned out. he even curled out the edges of the paper to imitate real flowers.

setting the last one in the pile, he admired his work. he couldn't help but smile to himself, dreaming of your reaction at dinner tomorrow night.

Carrington grabbed a handful of the dark green pipe cleaners and began attaching them to the paper flowers. thoughts of your bright smile plagued his mind.

he knew you'd be somewhat shocked at the present, considering he wasn't an arts and crafts type of person. when it came to you, he was up for anything.

he envisioned how the bouquet would look in your bedroom, grinning to himself whenever he realized it'd fit your aesthetic perfectly.

he sang to himself softly. the song that was playing reminded him of you. he was slightly relieved when gluing the stems on didn't take as long as the flowers themselves. he held the fairly large bouquet in one hand, a stupid smile plastered on his face. he tied a bow around the stems as perfectly as he could before setting it on his desk carefully.

as soon as he crashed into bed, he fell asleep almost immediately. ignoring the ache in his knuckles and the slight pounding in his head, he drifted off to sleep.

the next morning went by fast. he had a couple of 'business' things to figure out with Jake and Johnnie, which went by a lot quicker than he had figured. by lunchtime, he was anxiously waiting by his phone for you to respond. of course, he knew it'd take forever. you were at lunch with friends, and you were coming over straight after. it was a sort of nervous excitement. he couldn't wait to see your reaction to his gift.

Carrington decided against sitting there for another hour. he went to the bathroom and adjusted his hair. his curly dark brown locks hung in his face, complimenting his bright blue eyes. he tried to do something different with his hair, but there wasn't much. he knew you wouldn't care. You loved playing with his messy hair.

finally, his phone rang. your name and photo popped up on the screen. he scrambled to his phone and answered on the first ring. "Hi, baby." he greeted.

"Hey," he could hear the sudden smile in your voice, which made him grin. "im leaving now. Am I still good to come over?"

"Yeah. yeah, of course." he furrowed his eyebrows together, very expressive as he spoke even though you couldn't see his face.

you hummed and said goodbye before ending the call. you sped over there, so excited you drove over the speed limit without even realizing it.

meanwhile, Carrington prepped your present. he wrapped it in sparkly black, silver, and light blue wrapping paper. he taped the small card on top and grabbed the faux bouquet. he waited downstairs on the couch, holding the items in his lap.

whenever you arrived, you walked quickly up to the door. you knocked a couple of times before entering, which had become your usual routine.

Carrington jumped up and pulled you in for a hug. you felt contentment wash over you as his hands rested on the small of your back and his head in the crook of your neck.

he placed a kiss on your neck. "Happy birthday." he pulled away, beckoning you over to the couch. "c'mere."

you silently followed him over. he handed you the small box, which was neatly wrapped. "What's this?"

"What does it look like?" he laughed, "it's a present."

"I told you I don't need anything," you scolded, a sincere tone in your voice.

"I wanted to get you something. open it!" he urged.

you rolled your eyes, a contradicting smile on your face. in the box, there was a beautiful necklace. it had 3 charms on it, your initial, Carringtons' initials, and a small heart. you pouted your lower lip and looked up at him. "I love it."

"im really glad," he grinned, handing you two more things. "Read the card later." he was embarrassed to see your reaction to what he wrote in person.

you sighed, "Fine." he finally handed you the bouquet.

your jaw fell to the floor as you looked at the beautiful, handmade flowers. "You made this?!"

he nodded, a prideful smile on his face. "I thought you'd really like them since you're a bookworm."

you paid no mind to his joke. you were absolutely starstruck by the flowers. "they're so beautiful, Carrington." You couldn't contain the soft smile that threatened to appear. you placed a soft, slow kiss on his lips. "I love you."

he placed a kiss on your forehead. "i love you." All he could think was, 'thank god for tiktok.''

[sporadiccandyinternet]

A Ductile Iron Hydrant Tee is a crucial component used in water distribution and firefighting systems. Made from high-quality ductile iron, known for its superior strength, durability, and resistance to corrosion, this fitting ensures reliability in demanding environments. The Hydrant Tee is designed to connect fire hydrants to the main water supply line, enabling efficient water flow for fire suppression purposes.

[pnutbutter-n-j-elyy]

Where You Belong

Fem!Reader When you move into a house with 8 men for six months, one seems to be do everything he can to make you stay.

<pt2 pt3 pt4>

♡🏠︎♂♂♂♂♀♂♂♂♂🏠︎♡🏠︎♂♂♂♂♀♂♂♂♂🏠︎♡

You sat at the dining room table, feeling as if you were under some sort of interrogation. The one you had met first- Minho, if you remembered correctly- was nowhere to be found as you sat across from the seven other men.

So much for heading to bed, you thought to yourself.

Now, instead, you were riddled with a crippling kind of anxiety. With the chaos of earlier gone, the reality of your new arrangement set in.

Concerns, both imagined and realistic, swirled in your mind.

Were they regretting accepting you? Would they kick you out? This was never the intended arrangement, but would they blame you for the miscommunication?

"So... Y/N?" A man with a prominent nose and a thick accent broke the silence.

"Yes?" you responded a bit too quickly, mentally kicking yourself for sounding nervous. Your leg jittered under the table, a movement that didn’t go unnoticed by the undeniably adorable, chubby-cheeked guy sitting to your left.

"Are you anxious?" he asked softly, his warm gaze meeting yours. "We’re not going to do anything. We’re not perverts! Well, I’m not a pervert-"

A reserved-looking guy with tired puppy eyes clamped his hand over the other’s mouth, muttering something in Korean that you couldn’t entirely understand but recognized as scolding.

You laughed nervously, shaking your head. "Not exactly," you mumbled, unsure how much to reveal. Across the table, the soft-looking boy with freckles cocked his head at you, his curiosity evident.

"You don’t have to worry," the man with the thick Australian accent finally spoke, his expression kind but slightly strained. "If you’re uncomfortable with anything, you can tell us."

"I wouldn’t have come if I wasn’t okay with it," you reassured him, though your voice wavered slightly. "It’s just...a big change for you guys and I feel bad for the miscommunication."

"That's understandable, but its no one's fault. Slip ups happen," the freckled boy chimed in, his tone soothing, and his accent mimicking the other guy's. "We’ll do our best to make this easy for you."

The conversation shifted to lighter topics, and you slowly began to relax. They introduced themselves one by one, though the names blurred together in your mind. The freckled boy was Felix and the other Australian was Chris, you remembered that much. The others’ names- Hyunjin, Changbin, Seungmin, Han, Jeongin - felt like puzzle pieces you’d need time to fit together.

"Wait," Jeongin piped up suddenly, his voice playful. "Do I call you noona?"

The table burst into laughter as you blinked, caught off guard. You waved your hands quickly. "I don't know much about honorifics." you clarified, your cheeks warming.

When you pieced together your birthdays Jeongin cackled maniacally.

"I can make her call me Oppa-"

"Thats perverted!"

"What did I say about the misuse of that word-"

Chaos ensued and you could see the brotherly affection between all the guys, making you curious about their stories. Your mind trailed to Minho, and you wondered where exactly he fit in the puzzle.

I hope I didn't upset him...I haven't seen him since the boys came back...

The teasing eventually died down, and the conversation flowed naturally. You couldn’t help but notice how each of them made an effort to include you, easing your initial fears. But as the night wore on, one absence grew more noticeable- Minho still hadn’t returned.

You stirred awake in the middle of the night, the unfamiliar setting still making it difficult to stay asleep.

A faint pink glow spilled into the hallway from the bathroom, catching your attention. Rubbing your eyes, you wandered toward it, your curiosity piqued.

As you reached the door, you noticed it was slightly ajar. The glow wasn’t from the usual light bulb but a neon sign that read, "Slay! Go Piss Girl!" bolted above the toilet.

Inside, Minho stood near the switch, his hand hovering over it as he squinted at the sign in a cringeworthy pain, like he couldn’t decide if it was brilliant or a mistake.

You hesitated in the doorway, unsure if you should interrupt, but the soft creak of the floor gave you away.

Minho turned his head sharply, his eyes narrowing slightly before his expression settled into something unreadable. His lips pressed into a thin line as he stood awkwardly in the pink glow.

"Uh...sorry," you mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper. You felt the heat rise to your cheeks as Minho stepped back slightly, giving you space to pass.

"It’s fine," he muttered, his tone clipped but not unkind. He smelled clean, as if he had just showered, though his hair was dry, and he was in the clothes he had been in earlier when you had your first unexpected meeting. He glanced back at the sign, then at you, his mouth twitching like he was debating whether to say something else. Finally, he did.

"Jisung said on FaceTime that you’d like it. He thought it’d be funny."

You blinked, caught off guard by the unexpected explanation. "Oh...well, it is funny," you said, trying to ease the tension. "It’s definitely unique."

Minho’s brows furrowed slightly, and he crossed his arms self-consciously. "I wasn’t sure it was appropriate...for, you know...a lady," he added stiffly, his gaze flicking to the sign and then back to you. "But Jisung insisted. He said it was the way people joked abroad, but I think he was just being ignorant..."

The way he said "a lady" made your lips twitch, though you bit back a smile. "People back home joke like this," you assured him, your tone light. "I think it’s...charming in its own way. My boyfriend never even decorated so even if it was the worst sign ever- the fact that you guys cared enough to decorate for a stranger means a lot."

Minho froze and then nodded curtly, but the stiffness in his posture didn’t ease. The silence stretched uncomfortably between you as the pink light bathed the small space. He shifted his weight and itched his neck, and you got the sense that he was struggling to find the right words, though it seemed like a losing battle.

"I didn't mean to make it awkward bringing up my ex-"

"About earlier," he said suddenly, his voice low but deliberate. His eyes didn’t meet yours, instead focused somewhere past your shoulder. "That...thing. With the, uh...in the kitchen. I didn’t mean...yeah."

You blinked, unsure where this was going. Then it clocked.

"Oh. It’s okay," you said quickly, trying to save him from the awkwardness. "It wasn’t a big deal."

"It looked bad," he continued, ignoring your attempt to let it go. "I didn’t mean for it to- well, you probably thought it was...an odd situation."

The corners of your lips twitched, and you had to fight the urge to laugh at how stiff he sounded. "I didn’t think anything," you said, trying to sound earnest. "Really. Other than I might have made you upset but it doesn't seem like it so everything is fine. Gwenchana 's the word right?" You said in a teaaing manner.

You managed to crack a smile from him, the pink accenting the curve of his lips.

"Yes, gwenchana."

Minho finally glanced fully at you, his expression unreadable but his ears noticeably red in the neon light. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, exhaling sharply through his nose like he was frustrated with himself.

"Good then," he muttered. "We sorted things out. Because it wasn’t intentional. I want you to feel comfortable in this house. So...there's other stuff for you too." He said motioning to the living room. "We...you can sort through it tomorrow..."

You nodded, though the tension still hung in the air. "Thanks for saying that," you said softly, trying to sound genuine. "And thanks for the gifts.

You stood in another awkward silence.

"Anyway, I was just checking the sign," he said, his tone abruptly neutral again. "It works." He nodded again, the movement jerky, before stepping back toward the door.

You couldn’t help but smile faintly at his obvious retreat. "It does," you agreed. "I'll make sure to tell Jisung it’s a hit."

Minho made a noise that might have been agreement before he slipped out of the bathroom, his figure disappearing down the hall.

You stood there a moment longer, shaking your head as you wondered if all your conversations with him would be like- if he'd always seem this uncomfortable; or if it was just the pink neon light playing tricks on both of you.

♡🏠︎♂♂♂♂♀♂♂♂♂🏠︎♡🏠︎♂♂♂♂♀♂♂♂♂🏠︎♡

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[demigod-shenanigans]

Jason thinks love needs to be earned. The only love in tiny Jason’s world that ever came without strings was Thalia’s, but he was so young when they got separated that he barely remembers her. His mom abandoned him but surely she had her reasons. Maybe he just wasn’t a good enough son.

So he tries to be a good strong wolf and then a good little soldier, for Lupa’s approval and Camp Jupiter’s approval and because maybe if he earns enough points on the achievement scoreboard his dad will come see him. Maybe his dad will love him. If he hasn’t yet, it’s just because Jason hasn’t tried hard enough.

And his friendship with Reyna feeds into this mindset. It’s not anything Reyna says or does. But Reyna is guarded—understandably so, considering she’s extremely traumatized and lived the first ten years of her life knowing love mostly as a thing that could blow up in your face at any given moment. Of course she’s slow to trust and even slower to love.

It takes time for her to let herself love Jason.

And she doesn’t love him because of some achievement scoreboard, or because he’s a good soldier, but Jason doesn’t know that. Jason just sees that Reyna is his friend now, so apparently he’s gotten a good grade in being a friend through his achievements. His dad may not love him yet, but Reyna loves him, so clearly it’s possible to earn love and the world works exactly how he always assumed it did.

And then he meets Leo and Piper. Leo and Piper who love each other without terms and conditions. Who get in trouble together and make fun of each other and would die for each other in a heartbeat. There were no grand gestures or heroic achievements that caused that love to happen. It just did. They just looked at each other and knew they were meant to be friends.

And they love Jason, too. Even after they realize their memories of him aren’t real, they stick with him. Even when he keeps messing up, which in his world should get friendship points docked and make their love go away, they keep loving him anyway.

Jason sees Leo make his little pipe cleaner helicopter and immediately asks if they’re actually friends, because he may not even remember who he is, but surely he hasn’t done enough to earn the friendship of someone that cool. In MoA he talks to Piper about how he keeps being knocked out and having to be saved and how that makes him a terrible hero. He tells her he doesn’t deserve her when she tries to reassure him.

But Leo and Piper keep loving him anyway. They met the version of Jason that’s a mess before they ever met the Jason that’s capable and heroic and they still love him. Leo loves Jason so much he dies to keep him safe.

Leo loves the Jason that laughs at his stupid jokes and plays video games with him and gets stupid competitive about it. He loves the Jason that’s a nerd about Ancient Rome and the Jason who is kind and the Jason who’s unsure what the future holds and what he wants it to look like. He loves the Jason who’s a bit childish and cannot cook to save his life and has a terrible taste in movies.

When Piper is trying to comfort Jason when he almost dies, she doesn’t talk about his heroics. She talks about Jason when he was happy, with a goofy grin on his face and marshmallows stuck in his hair.

All his life Jason thought there was a certain version of himself he had to be in order to earn love. A mold he had to somehow fit himself into, no matter how uncomfortably it fit. And here Leo and Piper are, loving him even when he’s not exactly the fearless hero leader everyone’s expected him to be all his life. Even when he doesn’t know who he wants to be, or what he wants to do with his life. Even when he tells them that maybe he hates being a leader.

And Jason wonders if that’s what love is supposed to be. If he’s been doing it wrong his entire life. If maybe Reyna could have loved that version of him, too, if he’d let her see it.

But he’s so afraid of the answer to that question—so afraid that the girl he considers his platonic soulmate won’t like who he is now—that he never lets himself find out.

[homosexualgirlandbags]

Personally think that instead of Nik being the handyman, it's John.

Don't get me wrong, Nik knows his way with vehicles. He could and has highjack several cars before while on the run from enemies. He fixes his own helicopter and probably does his own modifications to them. (And seeing how the only accident was Gaz falling off, I think we'll be fine)

However, mechanic skills do not translate to being able to fix the pipe that burst in his run down apartment (that he only brought because he almost fucking dies from hypothermia in the garage). This leads to a flood and his sink rendered useless within the second week of him moving in. Nik finally gets the water out of the room, but the pipe still bursts with everything Nik does to it.

And then an angel, a saviour, John, stops by at his apartment with a toolbox. And Nik has to stand there and watch as the beautiful man bends down to inspect the pipes, slowly working his way around the problem, shirtless too. He could see the sweat dripping off of John's chest, his biceps flexing as the man grumbled on and on about the apartment's absolute shit infrastructure.

Shit, he was definitely staring.

Now, Nik is not a deviant, far from it in any case. He could control himself, and he is quite the gentleman of nothing else. His mama, as shit as she might have been to his emotional needs, made damn well sure her son didn't go around disrespecting anyone. And he most definitely is way past the age to lust over something so badly.

It was extremely hard to control himself however, when John was just laying there, shirtless, sweaty. His voice sounded gruff. It'll fit in nicely in my ears, he thinks. He could see the outline of John's bulge in his pants, and the way his thighs were toned underneath the shorts. Nik could only think that he must have done something extremely great in his past life to be blessed with such a beautiful sight for free. He could think of John in his apartment, maybe his bed, maybe the oak desk that John has. And...

Nik doesn't think he'll mind bottoming if it was John for once.

The thought didn't scare him as much as it should have. Watching the captain continue on under the sink, oblivious to Nik's growing attraction to him. John seemed to be getting hotter every second, and Nik could almost feel scarred and calloused hands on him, tracing over his own. He shifts on the couch, trying as best as he could to answer John's questions without sounding like he's fucking horny right now.

"Nyet"

"Da."

"Da, capt"

It was practically hell as he sat there, his tone clipped as he answered his questions. It was a wonder John hadn't looked up once to glance at him, nor question his sudden short responses.

Nik excuses himself back to the bathroom while John is still fixing the pipe. He doesn't notice the upturn on John's lips as he disappears.

[idliketobeatree]

Here is one of the best friends he's made in what seems like forever; she's so open and sweet, beautiful and brilliant. It was inevitable, he thinks, that Niko Sasaki would effortlessly endear herself to Charles like a lost younger sister.

(And that is another story entirely, but not one for Edwin to tell.)

He finds it contradistinctive, Niko Sasaki becoming a new source and the easiest target of Charles' spontaneous, affectionate smiles — different than watching him stumble around Crystal. It's well-nigh surprising just how secure Edwin feels, observing their budding friendship, the phantom echo of it spreading around his chest like a slow warmth from a hearth. He harbours no jealousy or hurt at the frequency with which their more private conversations take place. He does not mind the way Niko wraps her hand around Charles' arm as they walk, not one bit, when his best friend's sole attention is focused on her excited chatter. He can thoroughly relate, after all.

As a matter of fact, Edwin suspects that the only thing he'll have to worry about is stifling an inelegant snort when they're all descending a hill in the middle of a legwork-heavy case and Charles picks Niko up for an impromptu piggyback ride.

"No no no no, put me down!", her voice carries over their heads, but Niko's shrieking protest dies in her throat just as quickly as it came to life, turning into an appreciative whistle at the view. In front of them, Crystal turns on her heel and raises her eyebrows in amusement.

"You're that desperate to be the last at home?"

"Please, we'll be there faster than you lot. Right, Niko?" Charles, ever the multitasker, uses his shrug to adjust the grip on Niko's swaying legs. "Edwin?"

He dares to look in their direction, dreading... precisely double the amount of puppy eyes sent his way. His lips twitch in a helpless smile.

"I must agree. The Charles Express is quite a commendable machine. I would not underestimate it, Crystal."

Charles barks out a laugh. Whatever expression Niko must've had on her face breaks through Crystal's composure; she, too, cracks up, a spring in her step as she turns to walk forward again.

"Can barely feel her, can't I? Lighter than my backpack," Charles says, matter-of-factly.

"It's not a race."

"It could be a race."

"I'm not going to race you down the hill in these platforms, be serious—"

"That doesn't sound like a definite no," Niko pipes in.

"Take them off, then," offers Charles.

Edwin glances up at the orange sun set against the milky autumn sky, to his left; the brightest thing on the horizon. He hears her gasps of delight at Charles' cheeky step through the trunk in their way. Something inside him has been shifting and smoothing out for quite a while. Edwin doesn't know how long it will last or what the destination will be. All he knows is that the slope hits his feet once or twice at most.

One afternoon she invites them to watch Scooby Doo together. It's the first time they've gathered as a trio, and Edwin immediately understands why this hasn't happened before when Niko unlocks the door to her room. The bed they usually end up on is narrow to say the least, why hadn't he noticed that before, but it seems too late to make a flimsy excuse and eloign himself from the picture. They were long overdue.

Charles, who looks about ready to turn into an orb of post-case tension, has no qualms about using the threshold for a shimmering quick wardrobe change. He appears right at home, comfortable, downright domestic, in socks, trousers and a polo shirt, sliding his suspenders down and trailing after Niko who heads for the coat hanger.

What Edwin doesn't expect, apart from the rather tight fit for three people - or rather two ghost boys and one living girl - is Niko giving him a knowing look over Charles' head as he unceremoniously flops down on the bed. His groan, which prompts Niko to pat him sympathetically on said head, makes Edwin snap his open mouth shut, suddenly flustered.

He waits politely, pulling down his knitted vest and admiring the decorative sequins sewn onto a flowery cushion, deliberately not looking at the long line of Charles sprawled on the neatly tucked in duvet. He half-listens to Niko as she chatters on, something about needing to show them the more modern rendition of their Mystery Inc. detectives, grabbing her laptop from the desk and sitting down in the very middle, hip-checking Charles' side. Charles sluggishly lifts himself and rolls onto his back, pushing himself up, shoulders halfway up the headboard, neck supported by a plush pillow, hands folded across his chest and long, long legs crossed at the ankles. He must have done this several times now, Edwin's lungs remind him before tightening into knots. The mattress barely dips when he gingerly sits down and settles, too. His back remains straight, and he is barely brushing her arm when she announces out of the blue, "I forgot my snacks. Give me a moment," climbing off the bed and leaving them in — on Edwin's side — suddenly charged, tense silence.

It feels different, of course it does, and Edwin feels guilty that his carefully tucked away thoughts are knocking on the doors of his consciousness when they're in Niko's room, for God's sake. Edwin tries to subtly move away from the overwhelmingly horizontal line of Charles' body. Right now, sitting cross-legged, Edwin's knees are barely touching him, and he bumps his knee against Charles' arm twice before stilling. He doesn't want to hunch down; never again. He stays put.

The sensation of Charles' bony elbow is like the flash of a sharp smile. The room fills with a low hum, something musical and... campy that Niko must have shown Charles on one of those afternoons. With his eyes closed, Edwin compartmentalises the points of sharp heat.

Much, much later, Charles jogs up to the beach where Niko and Edwin are watching the starfish. "What're you doing?", he asks curiously, just when Edwin finishes talking about their lack of a centralised brain.

He hears the shift in Charles' posture more than his opening to say something mouth, and a second of hesitation before it closes again.

He wonders if Charles has noticed their colours.

Niko sends Charles a lingering smile. Her eyes crinkle with mirth. "Luckily, love requires no logic", she says cryptically. They don't notice, crouching down as they are, but his head tilts synonymously with Niko's and Edwin's.

When he dares to peek at Niko, he finds her eyes locked with Charles', with an expression that Edwin knows she must have learned recently, but is not sure when exactly. It says something like, go on. Be brave.

He swallows and clenches his fingers around the red, red sea glass in his coat pocket.

[vigilante24ish]

🌙 Moon Phases 🌙

Agatha Harkness X Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1180

Chapter 29:

Your mind transported you back to a haunting memory, a memory that you would do anything to truly forget.

You were younger back then, in terms of general age but not physical. You had, after all, stopped showing your true age on your face centuries ago; having settled to project only one age.

Back then, you were innocent... until you weren't.

You could still remember that night, all too well.

A wooden shack in the woods, now laying destroyed and barely having any part of it standing. Beneath its collapsed metal and wooden beams and pipes, bodies of men laid. All of them died before the heavy objects fell on them, and if one of them had survived, they would make sure to finish the job.

In the middle of this destruction was you, sweating and panting heavily. Your body shook from shock and exhaustion, your clothes wet, torn and sticking to your skin; blood visible on new wounds from places items had passed through the clothes.

Your hair stuck to your face, the sweat rolling slowly to the side of your temple. You did not even look up, feeling the fait light of the new moon casting its supernatural glow on you; as if you were all that mattered to it and nothing else.

Suddenly, you sensed a new presence forming; coming from your very own shadow.

By instinct alone, you turned to face them; white magic glowing in response, ready to defend you until the end.

Your bright white eyes locked in dark ones, and you found yourself facing another woman... no... another witch.

She kept her distance from you, eyeing the bodies carefully.

"Not a bad job," she said, her face visible while most of her body was covered by a dark green cloak.

You frowned, trying to understand where she fit into all of this. You had not heard her approaching nor had sensed her until the last moment. You knew she was a witch. You could sense your magic reacting; a first for you.

Back then, had you not been tortured for days on end. Had you not been sleep deprived and starved, you would have thought of those questions better and realized there was a very obvious answer to all of them.

But at the moment, you ran on adrenaline; threatening to collapse once it would all pass.

"Who are you? Where did you come from?" You demanded to know.

"I was close by," she replied, intentionally skipping to tell you her name or anything else about her. "I thought I should join the party, but I guess I was too late." she shrugged her shoulders, unfazed by the murders she had just witnessed.

"There was no party," you argued and finally let your gaze settle on the bodies around you. "They are dead... they should have stopped... but they didn't"

Your voice trailed off, and yet your emotions seemed to have been switched off. All you could feel was still your blood in your mouth and the feeling of power running through your veins.

Any remorse or empathy had disappeared, and you stared at them with darkness lurking behind your white eyes.

You had warned them, begged them to stop. You had repeated so many times you knew nothing of a coven close by; a lie.

You knew of it. You had visited it, and you were not going to give it away to those cruel sadistic men. They caught you during a full moon, and you had tried to resist, to logic with them, but they were persistent.

Either they liked to torture you or knew you were lying... but they didn't stop.

The days passed, and the moon changed phases, along with your control. Your emotions started to fade, the torture and wounds fueling you in a familiar but also fearful way.

Your pleas and words became warnings and threats. They didn't listen, and when you finally had enough, when the sea stopped being gentle; you stopped holding back.

The result lay all around you, and yet somehow, you felt unsettled at the feeling. You had never taken a human life before or any life for that matter.

Do no harm

That was your mojo, your chosen path. You had strained away from the temptiness that came when the moon shifted phases... until now, when you had no choice.

"Timor mortis morte pejor." This mysterious woman said, snapping you from your trailing thoughts. "The fear of death is worse than death"

Her words finally drew your full attention on her. Your head tilted faintly to the side, and your eyebrows frowned, small creases forming on the space between them.

You were clearly confused by her words, feeling slightly out of topic and yet not so much. But her words had also surprised you and the fact that she chose to quote something in Latin.

Honestly, it had been too long since you heard someone use the ancient language outside of a spell that was.

Your expression seemed to amuse the woman, who unbeknown to you, had been watching you for a long time; waiting for the perfect moment to interfere and approach you.

Now that she had it, she could not help but smirk. "How about we get you somewhere better? Get you all cleaned up? Maybe get something to eat?" She asked, her suggestion as tempting as free candy to an unsuspected child.

You hesitated and glanced down at the bodies. "What about them?" You asked.

To your surprise, the woman waved her hand dismissively. "They will be fine. Its not like they can go anywhere. " she chuckled with her own joke, a humour you could not relate at that moment. Then, she extended her hand towards you. "Come with me,"

You took slow steps towards her, partially hesitating. Could you so blindly and openly trust a witch that you just met? Especially in your state?

You thought of declining her offer, just walking the opposite way, but your body needed rest and food. Your magic was not enough to hold you, and sooner or later, you would collapse. You knew that with certainty.

The mysterious woman waited patiently with her hand outstretched, waiting and studying you.

In the end, you dared to place your bloody hand in hers and you gasped as you felt her magic react with yours in a sudden way that caused faint sparks of pain to be caused for both of you.

You held the need to withdraw your hand, and she didn't seem to be affected by the momentarily shot of quick acute pain. Instead, she seemed enthralled by it.

Your magic was reacting to hers, and she knew why. She had suspected such reaction, and now she wished to explore it more.

On the other hand, you did not know why this happened. Back then, she was nothing but a kind stranger who helped, nurtured, and even guided you.

Back then, you didn't know you were trusting the personification of death itself... back then, you did not know what you were getting into.

Chapter 30