#Heating Engineer service in London | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

gaszoneplumbingandheating · 13 days ago

Text

The Ultimate Guide to Central Heating Installation and Repairs in London

As the winter months approach, having a reliable central heating system becomes essential for every home in London. Whether you're looking to install a new system or need urgent repairs, finding the right central heating engineers in London is crucial. In this comprehensive guide, we'll explore everything you need to know about central heating installation and repairs, helping you make informed decisions for your home.

Why Central Heating is Essential for London Homes

London experiences cold winters, making central heating a necessity rather than a luxury. A well-functioning heating system ensures a comfortable indoor environment, improves air quality, and prevents issues like frozen pipes. Additionally, modern central heating systems are energy-efficient, reducing your overall energy bills while keeping your home warm and cozy.

Central Heating System Installation in London

When considering central heating installation in London, it's important to choose a system that suits your home's needs. Here are the key factors to keep in mind:

1. Choosing the Right Central Heating System

There are various types of central heating systems available, including:

Gas Central Heating: The most common and cost-effective system, using a gas boiler to heat water that is then circulated through radiators.

Electric Central Heating: Ideal for homes without access to gas, using electric radiators or underfloor heating.

Oil or LPG Central Heating: Suitable for homes in rural areas where gas supply is not available.

Renewable Energy Systems: Options like heat pumps and solar thermal systems offer eco-friendly heating solutions.

2. Hiring Expert Heating Engineers in London

Installing a central heating system is a complex process that requires professional expertise. Hiring experienced heating engineers ensures that the system is installed correctly, efficiently, and in compliance with safety regulations. Gas Safe registered engineers, such as those at Gas Zone Plumbing & Heating, provide reliable and high-quality installation services.

3. Installation Process

The installation process involves:

Conducting a site survey to assess heating needs.

Choosing the right boiler and radiators.

Installing pipework and connecting the system.

Testing and commissioning the system to ensure optimal performance.

Central Heating Repairs in London

Even the best heating systems can encounter issues over time. Prompt repairs by professional central heating engineers in London can prevent minor problems from escalating into costly breakdowns.

1. Common Central Heating Issues

Some of the most common central heating problems include:

No Heat or Hot Water: This could be due to a faulty thermostat, broken diaphragm, or airlocks.

Radiators Not Heating Properly: Caused by trapped air, sludge build-up, or faulty valves.

Strange Noises from the Boiler: Banging, whistling, or gurgling sounds often indicate trapped air or limescale buildup.

Leaking or Dripping Boiler: A sign of internal component failure or corroded pipework.

Low Boiler Pressure: Can be caused by leaks or bleeding radiators.

2. Benefits of Professional Repairs

Professional heating engineers have the expertise to diagnose and repair issues quickly and efficiently. Timely repairs ensure that your system operates safely and efficiently, extending its lifespan and improving energy efficiency.

3. Emergency Heating Repairs

During winter, a central heating breakdown can be a major inconvenience. Gas Zone Plumbing & Heating offers emergency repair services in London, ensuring that your heating system is restored promptly.

Regular Maintenance for a Reliable Central Heating System

Preventative maintenance is key to keeping your central heating system in top condition. Here are some essential maintenance tips:

Annual Boiler Servicing: A yearly service by a qualified heating engineer ensures optimal performance and safety.

Bleeding Radiators: Releasing trapped air from radiators improves heating efficiency.

Checking for Leaks: Regularly inspect pipes and radiators for any signs of leaks.

Power Flushing: Removes sludge and debris from the system, improving efficiency.

Monitoring Boiler Pressure: Keeping an eye on pressure levels helps prevent breakdowns.

Why Choose Gas Zone Plumbing & Heating?

When it comes to central heating installation and repairs in London, Gas Zone Plumbing & Heating is a trusted name. Here’s why:

Experienced and Certified Engineers: Gas Safe registered professionals ensure safe and efficient services.

Comprehensive Services: From installation and repairs to maintenance, they cover all aspects of central heating.

24/7 Emergency Support: Reliable assistance whenever you need it.

Affordable Pricing: Competitive rates without compromising on quality.

Conclusion

A reliable central heating system is essential for comfort and efficiency in London homes. Whether you're installing a new system or need expert repairs, choosing experienced heating engineers ensures a hassle-free experience. Gas Zone Plumbing & Heating offers top-tier services to keep your home warm and energy-efficient all year round.

For expert central heating installation and repairs in London, contact Gas Zone Plumbing & Heating today and enjoy a warm, comfortable home throughout the winter.

#Central Heating Installation and Repairs in London #Local Central Heating engineers in London #Expert Heating engineers in London #Central Heating System Installation in London #Central Heating Engineer Services in London #Best Central Heating System in London

0 notes

plumrltd · 2 months ago

Text

Top 5 Boiler Prep Tips for Winter | Boiler Repair in London

Winter can be tough on boilers, so preparation is key. Start with a professional boiler repair service in London to ensure your system is in top condition. Bleed radiators to improve heating efficiency and check your boiler’s pressure to avoid performance issues. Insulate outdoor pipes to prevent freezing and damage. In Croydon and across South London, heating engineers recommend running your boiler briefly before winter to catch any potential problems early. Taking these steps ensures your boiler operates smoothly, keeping your home warm and avoiding costly mid-winter breakdowns.

#boiler repair service #Croydon and across South London #heating engineers

0 notes

linesanddots123 · 3 months ago

Text

Why Annual Boiler Servicing Is Essential | Plumr UK

Ensuring your boiler runs efficiently is key, especially in homes across South London.

London plumbers and heating engineers emphasize the importance of annual servicing to keep your heating system reliable and energy-efficient. Regular maintenance not only extends your boiler’s lifespan but also reduces the risk of breakdowns during colder months. Heating engineers in South London can detect potential issues early, ensuring your home remains warm and safe. Whether it’s improving performance or addressing safety concerns like carbon monoxide leaks, expert care from local professionals makes all the difference.

#London plumbers #Heating engineers #professionals plumbing service #South London plumbers #boiler repair service

0 notes

protekheating · 4 months ago

Text

Heating systems are essential in any house, especially during the winter seasons. A properly working heating system has a major effect on your comfort levels—and utility costs. However, for London homeowners, we all understand just how important it is to select professional Residential Heating Engineer Services to enjoy a well-functioning heating system. This blog outlines the importance of the role of residential heating engineers in London.

#Residential Heating Engineer Services in London

0 notes

zhenergysolutions · 10 months ago

Text

#boiler installation #Central Heating Service #boiler service #Boiler Engineer #boiler replacement #london #england #united kingdom

1 note · View note

scotianostra · 17 days ago

Text

The award winning Scottish screenwriter Troy Kennedy Martin was born on February 15th 1932 on the Isle of Bute, his most famous film was The Italian Job with it's iconic line "You're only supposed to blow the bloody doors off!"

His father was an engineer and his mother a teacher. Moving frequently because of the second world war and his father's work, his was a talented and creative family. His younger brother, Ian, is also a scriptwriter who created The Sweeney and Juliet Bravo.

The family established themselves in north London, only to have the household income, never large, halved by the death of Troy's mother when he was 15. The Catholic church helped to keep them afloat, and Troy went to Finchley Catholic grammar school, followed by Trinity College Dublin.

After completing his National Service he wanted to move into the Foreign Office, but Troy, although having a toffee nosed name, did not speak with toffees in hi mouth and was rejected. He thought if he was a published writer this might be a route in so set about work on a short work of poetry of novel, his novel, Beat on a Damask Drum but it wasn't this that kick started his career on civvy street, but an article he wrote on boy soldiers in Cyprus the BBC picked it up and asked him to adapt it into a TV play. Based on his own experiences during national service as an officer with the Gordon Highlanders, this became the television play Incident at Echo 6, screened in 1958.

He delivered four further plays between 1959-61 before his first series, a six part anthology of original material and adaptations, Storyboard. He followed this with a gritty police drama, The Interrogator. which indirectly led to his next series Z Cars. Kennedy Martin created Z Cars as an antidote to the 'cosy-cop-on-the-corner' style TV police series, epitomised by Dixon of Dock Green Z Cars was revolutionary. For the first time the police were portrayed as real human beings, complete with flaws. Prejudiced, bad-tempered, shifty and sometimes even displaying traits (such as wife-beating) more commonly associated with criminals. The police were horrified at first, but eventually came round to regard the series with some affection.

Other selected TV work by Kennedy-Martin includes, Colditz, the brilliant Reilly, Ace of Spies, and Edge of Darkness. Apart from the Italian Job he wrote screenplays for TV Movies Bravo Two Zero, co-written with Andy McNab and Hostile Waters as well as The Sweeney 2 movie. He also wrote the original play and co-wrote the screenplay for the Arnold Schwarzenegger, Jim Belushi film Red Heat.

He died of liver cancer on 15th September 2009, aged 77

#scotland #scottish #history #author #television #films #screenwriter

11 notes · View notes

cha-melodius · 2 years ago

Text

Cold Light

(For @natendo-art, who asked for Loki & Mobius in Norway or Iceland, potentially watching the northern lights; tumblr ATE your ask, but fortunately not before I got your prompt out of it. Thank you so much!)

chamel's fandom fest info | read all the fics

(lokius, 3.6k, M; read it below or on AO3)

With a sickening crunch of grinding gears, the engine of Mobius’ rental car seizes up and leaves him coasting to a stop on the side of the road. He’s about fifty kilometers outside of the nearest town of any size, and it’s late. There hasn’t been another car on the road for a while. His phone shows not a single bar of service.

In short, he’s completely screwed.

For a few minutes he considers his options. He could conserve heat and wait until morning in the car, when hopefully there might be more traffic traveling this route. It’s not yet fully winter, so he might be ok. He could see if he can tell what’s wrong with the engine, though that seems futile. He does enough remote research to have a working knowledge of simple engines, but a late-model car with all its electrical components is probably beyond him. Walking anywhere is pretty much out of the question, though he supposes there’s a chance he might find some kind of farmhouse.

It feels fatalistic to not even look at the engine. With a sigh, he pops the hood and extracts himself from the warm cabin of the car. About five seconds after he lifts the hood, he realizes he doesn’t have a flashlight. It’s probably moot; there’s a rather sickening burnt odor emanating from the engine block.

Lovely.

He’s just turning away when he hears the tell-tale purr of an engine approaching, and a moment later twin headlights swing around the curve down the road. As the light washes over him, Mobius puts his hand up and prays for a good samaritan. The car continues to get closer seemingly without slowing, resolving into something black and sleek and expensive-looking, and Mobius is already mentally cursing the driver when it abruptly screeches to halt next to him. Even if his night vision hadn’t been blasted to hell, the windows are tinted, so he can’t see a damned thing about the car’s occupant until the driver’s side door swings open and a tall person in a long, dark coat gracefully unfolds from within.

“Thank god,” Mobius breathes, sending a cloud out in front of him. It’s colder than he thought. “Hi. Hello. Sorry, my Norwegian’s a little rusty. Do you speak English?”

Lit up from the side by the glow of the headlights, his savior resolves into someone more-or-less masculine-presenting as Mobius approaches, with shoulder-length dark hair framing a handsome, angular face. From what Mobius can see, he’s wearing a suit under his wool coat, with a luxurious green scarf looped around his neck. He looks like he belongs in New York, or London, or at the very least Oslo, and not in the middle of fucking nowhere in the farthest northern reaches of Norway.

“I do,” the man answers in an unexpectedly British accent. “I take it you’re in some trouble?”

“You could say that, yeah,” Mobius huffs, glancing back at the vehicle. “Engine’s caput.”

“Yours?”

“Rental.”

“Ah,” the man says. “Mind if I take a look?”

Huh. Unexpected, but Mobius just shrugs. “Knock yourself out. But, er. I don’t have a flashlight.”

In response, the man pulls out a phone and turns the flash on—Jesus, why didn’t he think of that?—then hands it over to Mobius to hold as he gingerly leans over the engine.

“There was a crunch,” Mobius offers. “Before it stopped.”

“That doesn’t sound good,” the man replies as he straightens up again. Whatever he was doing he seems to be done with, even though he hasn’t touched a thing. He stares up at the sky for a moment, as if lost in thought; in the silence that follows, Mobius watches ribbons of what’s shaping up to be a rather spectacular display of the aurora borealis begin winding their way across the night’s sky behind him.

“So? What do you think?”

“Hm?”

“About the engine.”

“Oh, I don’t actually know anything about engines.”

Mobius stares at him for a beat in disbelief. “Then why’d you want to see it?”

The man shrugs, a vaguely amused expression playing on his features. “Seemed like a thing one does when your vehicle breaks down.”

Mobius can’t help the bark of laughter that escapes him, and he shakes his head. Everyone’s a comedian, apparently.

“I presume you might like a ride?” the man asks.

“Is that a real offer or just something you do when you see someone stranded by the side of the road?” Mobius counters.

The smile pulling at one corner of the man’s mouth deepens. “A real one. Although I think I’m headed in the opposite direction of your travel.”

“Not picky,” Mobius says. “If you can get me somewhere with cell service and a place to stay the night, I’m good. I’ll work out the rest in the morning.”

The man inclines his head and makes an ‘after you’ gesture toward his car, so Mobius grabs his belongings from the backseat of the rental and transfers them to the other vehicle. It’s meticulous inside, all gleaming black leather without a single scuff, and Mobius feels distinctly shabby in comparison. His bag is beat to hell and filthy. He probably should have put it in the trunk.

It’s only once he’s buckling himself into the front seat that Mobius realizes that they never actually introduced themselves. “I’m Mobius, by the way,”

The man’s attention flickers over to him momentarily as he pulls back into the road. “A pleasure to meet you, Mobius,” he replies. But then, instead of offering his own name in return, he just asks, “What brings you Magerøya?”

Hm. Mobius considers pushing, but in the end he lets it go. For now. “Research,” he answers. “I study the effects of climate change in the boreal forest.”

“So you know the area well.”

“Spend three months of every year here collecting data.”

“In the middle of winter?”

Mobius smirks to himself; it’s a question he gets a lot. “Best time to detect the effects I’m looking for.”

What is surprising is how many questions the man asks; he gets Mobius going, and it’s easy to forget that he’s not shared a single thing about himself. Easy, but Mobius doesn’t, in fact, forget. Maybe he wants to be mysterious, but Mobius has brash American inquisitiveness on his side. He likes to know people.

They’re approaching the outskirts of a small village when the conversation lulls and Mobius sees his chance. “So are you gonna tell me your name, or am I just going to have to refer to you as my tall, dark, and handsome savior?”

The man glances over at him, clearly amused, though whether by the question or Mobius calling him handsome is unclear. After another beat, he answers, “It’s Loki.”

“Suits you,” Mobius says, which earns him a quirked eyebrow. “I just mean— I don’t know. But it does.”

“I’m sure my parents will be very pleased.”

“Are you from around here originally?”

Loki glances at him again, his expression unreadable. “Not exactly.”

They ride the rest of the short distance in silence, and before Mobius can figure out something else to say, they’re pulling up in front of a small tavern that’s miraculously still open. The warm lights spilling out of it shine through the window and highlight the fine lines of Loki’s nose and cheekbones, and Mobius spares a millisecond of disappointment that he’ll never get to find out what’s lurking behind those blue-green eyes. Instead, he thanks Loki for the ride and gets out of the car, ducking into the back for his things.

He’s halfway to the door of the tavern when he hears a window roll down behind him.

“You’re wrong about one thing, Mobius,” Loki calls out to him as he turns to look back.

“What’s that?”

The expression on Loki’s face is grim. “I’m nobody’s savior.”

With that, he speeds off down the road like some kind of spirit that has granted a boon and disappeared into the night, leaving you wondering if they were ever really real.

~~~~~

Loki, as it turns out, is very, very real.

Real enough to push him up against a wall outside the one bar in town, slip a thigh between his legs, and kiss him hard enough to bruise. Real enough to dig long, slender fingers into his neck and under his belt, to make him gasp as his hips grind forward, to bite down on Mobius’ lower lip until it stings.

“I’ve got a room in town,” Mobius manages at one point when they come up for air, as he stares up into the night sky. It’s cleared up after the storm earlier, and delicate green tendrils are twisting their way across the milky way.

“Perfect,” Loki purrs into his neck. “Let’s go.”

Running into Loki again had not been on Mobius’ bingo card for this field season. He’d come into town from the field station for supplies, only for the weather to turn and certainly make the dirt roads back to his site impassible. Fortunately he’d been able to grab a room at a little bed and breakfast that was only too happy to have the off-season business. When he’d ventured out to the tavern for a beer and some food, the very last person Mobius expected to see had been sitting at the bar.

At first, Mobius wondered if his company would be welcome after how they’d parted. He’d taken the stool next to him, but left the approach up to Loki. It hadn’t taken long. Loki seemed to be in a better mood than their first encounter. He’d asked how Mobius was doing (fine), inquired about life at the field station (a bit monotonous). Maybe it was the drinks. Maybe it was something else. Mobius wasn’t going to question it.

The next surprise had been the flirting. Look, it’s been a while—too busy with his work was the old excuse—but Mobius knows when he’s being hit on. They’d talked, they’d drunk, they’d laughed, they’d drunk some more, Loki had suggested they move to a booth, then hooked his foot between Mobius’ in a way that left little open to interpretation.

And now they’re here, Mobius pressed against the wall next to the light switch of his room, even though the bed is barely ten steps away, with Loki’s lips wrapped around his cock. The man is a wonder with his tongue, and it really has been a while, so Mobius is rapidly hurtling toward the precipice of his own release when Loki pulls off with an obscene pop.

“Will you fuck me?” he asks, clear evidence of his previous activities in the rough scratch of his voice.

Shit. Mobius swallows hard. “I don’t have any—”

“I do,” Loki interrupts before he can finish, which is really something. “Will you?”

For all their conversation tonight, he still knows basically nothing about this man. This is insane. But then Loki slides a hand up along his shaft, thumbing teasingly under the head, and he bites back a groan. “Jesus, yes.”

This time, at least, they make it to the bed.

~~~~~

III

Loki is gone without a trace before Mobius wakes up the next morning, and Mobius doesn’t see him again for another three weeks. That, too, is a surprise: Bea said she hired a guide with a boat to take him out to some remote fjord that’s unaccessible by any other means, a new place he hasn’t actually sampled. Mobius imagines some grizzled Norwegian fisherman with a white beard and a wool cap pulled down over his lined face. What he finds when he gets to the dock at the designated time is Loki.

Loki, looking down as he coils a rope next to a small but well-kept fishing boat with the name Frigga painted on the side, wearing a thick, oatmeal-colored cabled sweater, his black hair falling like a curtain around his face. Long fingers that pressed so cleverly to Mobius’ skin work through a knot in the line, and Mobius feels something hot flare in his gut. God dammit, this is not what he needed today.

“You’re the one Bea hired,” Mobius says in lieu of a greeting as he approaches, shifting his bag of gear over his shoulder.

Loki looks up at him, his face unreadable. “It appears so.”

“Didn’t know you had a boat.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

“Not for lack of trying,” Mobius says pointedly. To this, Loki says nothing, returning his attention to the rope in his hands. “Did you know it was me when you took the job?”

“I had an idea.”

That’s… something. Mobius doesn’t know what. It feels silly to be hurt by the fact that Loki left without so much as a note when it was pretty clear what he’d been after from the start. They’re not friends; they’re barely acquaintances. They fucked once. It didn’t mean anything.

(It felt like it had meant something, when Mobius had called him sweetheart and said let me take care of you, and Loki had whimpered out a broken please and held on tightly enough to leave bruises on Mobius’ skin that had lingered for days.)

“Well,” Mobius says. “Ready when you are, I guess.”

Things are tense at first. They don’t speak except to confirm the sites on the map where Mobius wants to visit. Loki watches him intently as he works, though there’s no sense of impatience in it. He just… watches, with some degree of interest. Maybe his questions about Mobius’ research that first night in the car weren’t just deflection.

“D’ya wanna help?” Mobius asks at the third stop.

Loki actually looks around like there could possibly be anyone else in the vicinity. “Me?”

“No, the marmot half a hill over,” Mobius says sardonically. “Yes, you. Would go faster with two pairs of hands.”

“Don’t you have a field assistant?”

“She had other sites to visit today.”

Mobius doesn’t wait, just starts setting up the equipment as he has at the previous localities. Somehow, he feels like he has learned something about this man, and his instincts are right. Sure enough, a few minutes later Loki cautiously approaches him.

Got ‘im, Mobius thinks, hiding his smirk.

“What, er,” Loki hedges, “would you like me to do?”

It does go more quickly with two people; quickly enough that Mobius thinks he can get in a few more sites before the early sunset. When he proposes this to Loki, he’s surprised again.

“We can keep going until nightfall,” Loki tells him.

“You can navigate back in the dark?” Mobius asks uncertainly. He hadn’t seen much in the way of electronics in the cabin.

Loki just nods as he stares out in front of the boat. “I know these waters well.”

They settle into an easier routine after that as they visit the remaining sites. Now that the dam has been breached, Loki starts talking again—though for a man who clearly likes to talk, he almost never says anything. He tells stories about nothing, regales Mobius with Norse myths of his namesake, gossips about the townsfolk that Mobius has had occasion to get to know. Mobius can tell that Loki doesn’t think he’s giving anything away, but Mobius is not your usual observer. Not by a long shot.

Night falls swiftly this time of year, and with it comes yet another vivid aurora. The phenomenon isn’t uncommon up here, of course, but Mobius feels like he’s never seen them quite so spectacularly as when he’s with Loki. But maybe that’s just the hopeless romantic in him.

Loki has somehow managed to—accidentally, no doubt—get himself talking about his boat as they head back toward the village, and Mobius pounces.

“Why Frigga?”

Loki is silent for a moment, his skin washed a faint green by the northern lights. “For my mother,” he says, so softly Mobius almost doesn’t hear him over the motor. He looks over at Mobius, and there’s something terribly laid bare in his expression. “To remind me of her and her stories.”

This time, Mobius doesn’t push.

~~~~~

“Who the everloving fuck is knocking at the door at this hour?” Bea says, with no small amount of irritation.

Mobius can’t help but agree with her sentiment, if not her delivery. The field station is three hours outside of the closest village on terrible roads. He’s not sure a single person has ever come out here that they didn’t explicitly ask to do so. Certainly not at nine o’clock at night. In fact, it’s more likely that whoever it is could be in trouble of some kind. There aren’t a lot of hikers around this time of year, but the ones that are here often seem to have a bit of a screw loose. With a sigh, Mobius levers himself out of his comfy chair and heads over to the front door, which creaks on its hinges as he opens it.

The person on the other side is not, in fact, lost.

“Loki? What are you doing here?”

“Well, hello to you too,” Loki replies. He’s quite thoroughly bundled up against the midwinter chill, his nose gone slightly pink, but there’s a tiny, tentative smile curling his lips.

“Hi, yeah, sorry,” Mobius says, taking a step back. “C’mon, get in out of the cold.”

Loki just shakes his head. “Actually, I was hoping you’d join me?”

“Join you where?”

“There’s a clearing at the top of a cliff nearby with excellent views. I have good reason to think the northern lights will be particularly stunning tonight, and I thought…” Loki trails off, looking abruptly sheepish.

“Close the goddamned door!” Bea calls from behind him, making them both jump.

Mobius makes a snap decision and grabs his winter gear, following Loki out into the cold and tugging the door closed behind him. The air has that heavy silence it only gets in the winter, when there’s snow on the ground deadening all sounds. It’s a crystal clear night, and Mobius’ breath plumes out in huge clouds in front of him as he shrugs into his coat.

“You thought?” Mobius prompts.

Loki looks briefly startled. “Oh, I just thought we could… spend some time together?”

“Did you now?” Mobius replies, unable to stop the grin that’s taking over his face. Especially when Loki makes a point to look exceedingly pained by this admission.

“Do you want to go or not?” Loki huffs with an attempt at irritation that doesn’t quite hit the mark. “I brought wine.”

“Oh, well, if there’s wine.”

“I don’t know why I came out here.”

Mobius levels a look at him. “Why did you come out here, Loki?”

“I told you, I was nearby—” Loki tries.

“No one is nearby here,” Mobius says, cutting him off. “Ever.”

A beat of silence passes, then another as Loki looks up into the trees and blows out a pensive breath. “Because I wanted to, all right? Your company isn’t… unpleasant.”

“A truly glowing endorsement.”

“Yes, well,” Loki says, biting down on a smile. “If you knew me better, you’d know that it is.”

“I think I’m starting to get the picture,” Mobius tells him as they start walking. He’s pretty sure he knows where they’re going, since he knows the area around the field station quite well, but he’s happy to let Loki lead. Their boots crunch on the snow as they wend their way through the trees along some ancient path toward the sea. “You’ve been here before,” he ventures eventually, not quite a question.

Loki gives a small nod. “Not for quite some time, though. Certainly there was no field station the last time I was here.” He slants a small smile toward Mobius. “Love what you’ve done with the place.”

“The university said the landowners were very encouraging of research activities on the property,” Mobius says, watching him carefully. “That’s you? You’re the landowner?”

“My mother left it to me,” Loki confirms. “For a long time after her death I couldn’t really bear being up here, so I left its management up to a third party. I do try to keep up with the active projects, though.”

“So that first night, when you asked me about my research…”

“I figured out who you were rather quickly, yes. But I was curious,” Loki says as he slows to a stop near some low boulders in the middle of the clearing. “I don’t think I’ve ever met someone who made me so curious as you do, Mobius.”

“I’m really not that interesting,” Mobius protests, huffing a self-deprecating laugh.

Loki shifts closer, sliding a gloved hand onto Mobius’ waist and drawing him in until their noses nearly brush together. “I disagree,” he murmurs, then he closes the remaining gap between them.

His lips are cold and dry from the winter air, but they part readily, welcoming Mobius to the heat within. It’s so different from every kiss they’ve shared previously; there’s no urgency, no desperation, no sense of being kept at arm’s length even as they fall into each other. Loki kisses him with slow and unwavering purpose, as if pouring weeks of unspoken feeling into it, all the things he hid behind idle chatter and silver words, and it leaves Mobius far more breathless than can be explained by a simple lack of oxygen.

Eventually they do part, though not without a few more stolen kisses, and Loki pulls him down to sit on the boulders. They huddle close, tangled in each other’s arms against the chill, and because it feels impossible to keep any space between them now that Loki is letting him in.

“So does this mean I get to learn more about you?” Mobius asks cheekily as Loki fishes a flask of wine out from somewhere deep in his coat. Loki gives him a look, and he grins. “I’m curious.”

A soft puff of laughter escapes Loki. “What do you want to know?”

“Tell me about your mother,” Mobius says. “If you want.”

Loki smiles softly at him, and there, under the breathtaking northern lights, he tells a story.

#lokius #loki x mobius #loki laufeyson #mobius m. mobius #loki fanfic #loki fic #loki series #loki tv #my fic #chamel's fandom fest

25 notes · View notes

kishorzeabros · 8 hours ago

Text

Revolutionising the Trade Industry: Bilddit’s One-Hour Delivery Service for Emergency Parts" London, UK

In a groundbreaking move set to transform the construction and trades industry, Bilddit is making waves with its rapid delivery service for plumbing and heating parts. The platform offers an unprecedented one-hour delivery window, enabling plumbers and engineers to source emergency parts without costly downtime.

"Our mission is simple," says CEO Punit Majithia. "We want to make sure tradespeople spend less time driving around for parts and more time focusing on their work. With Bilddit, they can order what they need from our app and have it delivered to the job site within an hour."

Bilddit’s innovative real-time inventory integration with local merchants ensures accurate stock availability. Its user-friendly app also provides AI-powered product recognition—allowing users to photograph parts and instantly find matches, reducing guesswork on site.

The platform is already gaining traction among tradespeople across London and is rapidly expanding nationwide. Industry experts predict that Bilddit’s approach could save thousands of working hours for contractors and businesses.

#Building Material Supplier in London #Ultrafast Building Material Supplier UK #Building Material Supplier UK

1 note · View note

callsign-owl · 7 days ago

Text

Roadtrip Part 3

This is a continuation of Roadtrip Part 2

London to Edinburgh, United Kingdom - July 2008

The sharp edge of anger that had propelled Owl out of the car was beginning to dull under the crushing weight of what if. What if Percy didn’t come back? What if this wasn’t just another round of their endless, exhausting game of chicken?

Owl’s gaze drifted down the motorway, the shimmering heat rising off the asphalt like a mirage. The cars that passed didn’t slow, didn’t hesitate. They just sped on toward their destinations, leaving him behind in the middle of nowhere.

Without thinking, Owl turned away from the road and toward the barrier lining the motorway. The thick, sun-heated metal railing groaned faintly as he hauled himself over it with more effort than he cared to admit but he didn’t stop until his feet hit the dry, brittle grass on the other side.

The field stretched out ahead, the landscape rolling lazily under the summer heat. Owl’s focus was drawn to a small cluster of trees just beyond the embankment. A sparse pocket of shade but better than baking under the sun like roadkill.

Once Owl reached the trees, he dropped his backpack and sank down with as much dignity as a half-broken body could muster, settling with his back against the rough bark of one of the trees.

Shortly after the full effect of the drugs finally started to hit. The sharp edges of reality softened into something distant and blurred. A lazy numbness spreading through him, thick and heavy and so damn comforting, that perfect weightlessness that pulled the world just far enough away to stop it from feeling like it might crush him. Owl let his head fall back against the tree, eyes half-lidded as he stared up at the sky through the jagged canopy of leaves.

The minutes stretched, time blurred around the edges. The low drone of insects buzzed lazily in the background, mingling with the distant hum of traffic. Owl let his eyes slip closed, the warmth of the drugs washing over him like a tide pulling him out to sea. It was easier this way. No pain. No anger. No Percy. Just nothing.

The wind stirred the grass around him, sending a dry, whispering sound across the field like nature’s own lullaby. Owl couldn't get himself to move. This was fine. He could stay here. Future Owl could deal with the fact that he was stranded in the middle of nowhere. That wasn’t his problem right now. He could think about what to do next later. Every ounce of anger, fear, and pain had been smothered under the chemical lull, leaving him floating just above the surface of consciousness.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Meanwhile, Percy sat in the parking lot of the next service station. The engine was off, but the faint ticking sound of cooling metal still echoed through the car’s frame. He stared straight ahead, jaw tight, hands resting on the steering wheel like he was still driving.

You left him.

The plan had been simple: scare him. Make him realize there were consequences to his actions. But instead, Percy had actually left him. On the side of the road. Alone. High as a kite, injured and vulnerable. Percy hadn't meant to go this far. And yet, here he was. Having abandoned his brother on the side of the road.

Percy exhaled slowly, letting his forehead rest against the steering wheel for a moment. The logical part of his brain, the part that usually ruled him, that always had a solution, a plan, an answer, kept insisting this was necessary. He deserved it. Maybe this is the wake-up call his brother needed. But what if something happened to him out there? What if he didn’t just sit there and wait? What if he wandered off? What if someone stopped, not to help, but to hurt? What if…

The thoughts spiraled, fast and relentless, wrapping around Percy‘s throat like a noose. His fingers tightened around the steering wheel, nails biting into the leather. No. No, he’ll be fine. *redacted* was stubborn enough to survive a nuclear fallout; surely he could handle a few hours of being alone by the side of the road. Right? But that wasn’t the problem. The problem wasn’t if *redacted* could survive, it was how he would survive.

What the hell were you thinking?

The words echoed in Percy‘s head, but they didn’t sound like his own. They sounded like Grandfather’s. Cold, sharp disapproval laced with a kind of disappointment that cut deeper than anger ever could.

You were supposed to handle this. You were supposed to be responsible. You’re not supposed to lose control.

But that’s exactly what this was. This wasn’t control. This was failure dressed up as authority, an emotional reaction masquerading as calculated logic. Kicking his brother out of the car wasn’t a plan. It wasn’t the solution Percy always prided himself on finding. It was anger. Frustration. Exhaustion. The very things he always swore he would never let dictate his actions. And yet, here he was.

Percy sat in the stifling silence of the car, the weight of his own actions pressing down on him like lead. For a moment, Percy let himself feel it: the failure, the regret curling sharp and sour in his stomach. His pulse hammered in his ears, every beat a reminder of how badly he had just screwed up.

But feelings didn’t solve problems. Rationality did.

Percy straightened abruptly, dragging in a slow breath and forcing the chaotic storm of emotions back into the tightly sealed compartment where they belonged. He corrected his posture into that perfectly measured stiffness that had been drilled into him from childhood. The familiar armor of control slid back into place like it had never left. Cold. Efficient. Practical.

The facts were simple: His brother was vulnerable and unpredictable. Every second Percy spent sitting here added to the risk. Percy restarted the engine and his mind shifted into familiar territory: logistics, strategy, outcomes.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

The haze was starting to thin. Not by much, just enough for Owl to feel the sharp, scraping edge of awareness clawing its way back in. The drugs were still doing their job, numbing the worst of everything, smoothing out the sharp corners of his thoughts.

Percy actually left him. That realization lingered, sticky and uncomfortable. It should have hurt more. It should have carved something deep and jagged through his chest. And maybe it would later, once the drugs wore off, it probably would rip through him like wildfire. But right now? It didn’t hurt. Not yet. Instead, it just settled. Like a fact. Nothing more.

The drugs were still trying to drag him under, whispering just lie back down, it’s easier this way, but he knew that staying here wasn't an option. Eventually, the drugs would wear off, leaving him stranded here in a lot of pain. But still, he couldn’t make himself care enough to move. What was the point?

Walking along the motorway? Suicidal. Hitchhiking? Not a chance. He wasn’t about to roll the dice on some Good Samaritan fantasy that would probably end with him stuffed in someone’s trunk. And walking further into the field? Just as useless. What would that solve? No, staying here was better. Easier. The drug's familiar and comforting embrace was too tempting to resist, wrapping around him like a warm blanket.

This is fine.

As some more time passed, Owl's thoughts began to unravel entirely, becoming nothing more than disconnected shapes and colors behind his eyelids. The wind in the grass, the distant hum of cars passing on the motorway, the slow burn of the sun against his skin all faded into the background.

And then something broke through the fog.

“Get up,” a familiar voice said.

Owl forced his eyes open, squinting against the harsh light. Percy stood there, arms crossed looking down on him.

“I said, get up,” Percy repeated, his tone icy.

Owl didn’t move. “Not happening,” Owl muttered, voice low and scratchy. At this point the lingering effects of the drugs weren't enough to overpower the weight of betrayal and resentment sitting in his chest.

“Stop being dramatic,” Percy said with a sigh.

“You fucking left me.” Owl snapped. The words came out raw, slurred at the edges. His voice lacked that sharp, venomous edge he usually wielded like a blade, it wasn’t anger, not really. It was disappointment. Hurt.

Percy stared down at him, arms still folded. His jaw tightened as he tried not to let the flicker of guilt in his chest crack through the icy veneer he had so carefully rebuilt on the drive back.

“Funny,” Percy said, voice smooth, measured, but razor-sharp underneath. “You spend half your life telling me to leave you alone. And the second I finally do?” He tilted his head. “Suddenly, I’m the villain for listening?”

That hit. Percy saw it. The way Owl flinched, the slight twitch of his shoulders like someone had landed a clean punch. It was satisfying for half a second. Then it just felt ugly.

Owl just sat there, slouched against the tree like his body had finally given up on trying to keep him upright.

“Get up,” Percy said again. “You don't get to sit there and act like you didn’t bring this on yourself.”

Owl’s eyes snapped up to meet Percy’s, something dark flickering beneath haze of the drugs still clawing at the edges of his mind. For a heartbeat, Owl just stared at Percy before he finally spoke. “You sound just like him, you know that? Father would be proud.” Each word was delivered slow and deliberate, every syllable dipped in acid.

Percy stiffened. His hands flexed at his sides, the same way their father’s did right before the worst of it started. But Percy didn’t react. Not physically, anyway. No explosive outburst. No sudden, terrifying burst of violence. Instead his expression froze. The same icy demeanor that had always made Percy dangerous in his own way.

“You think I enjoy this?” Percy’s voice was low. “You think I wanted to come back for you after that? To drag you off the side of the road like some pathetic, self-destructive parasite who can’t go ten minutes without throwing his entire life away?”

Pathetic. Parasite. The words hit harder than Owl liked to admit, slicing clean through what little remained of his defenses. "You done yet?" The question came out flat and empty.

For a second, Percy didn’t respond. His lips were pressed into a thin line. The air between them was thick with everything unsaid. Anger, disappointment, resentment but underneath it all was something else: Recognition. The words had rolled off Percy’s tongue too easily. Too naturally. Like Bartholomew himself had been standing there, speaking through him. And Percy realized it too. The recognition flickered in his eyes for just a second. It was barely there, but unmistakable. Owl saw it, and it was almost funny, really. Almost.

Bartholomew’s voice echoed in both their heads, sharp and cutting.

“You’re weak. Pathetic. A fucking waste of potential.”

Owl let out a humorless laugh. “Congratulations, Percy. You really are turning into him.” His voice was ragged, but there was a vicious sort of satisfaction in saying it out loud, in seeing the way Percy’s posture stiffened even more. The words had hit home.

“Don’t,” Percy warned.

But Owl wasn’t done. Not yet. The drugs dulled the edges of his fear and regret and left nothing but reckless momentum behind. “You’re just like him, you know? Cold. Controlling. Cruel. Acting like you’re better than everyone else.”

Percy’s nostrils flared, but his expression didn’t crack. “And what about you, *redacted*? You think you’re any better?”

The silence that followed was suffocating. Neither of them spoke, but the weight of the truth settled like between them and they both hated it. Hated how much of their father they saw in each other. Percy was everything Bartholomew pretended to be: composed, successful, ruthless in his pursuit of power and control. Owl on the other hand was everything Bartholomew actually was beneath the mask: angry, volatile, desperate to keep anyone from seeing the truth.

Owl swallowed hard, the fire in his chest replaced by something far colder. He didn’t have the energy to fight anymore. Not with Percy. Not with himself.

“I’m not him,” Owl muttered, voice low and cracked.

“No you’re not. But neither am I.” Percy said quietly. “And now, for god's sake, get up and get back in the car." Without another word, Percy turned away and headed back up the embankment toward the car that was parked at the edge of the motorway.

Owl sat there for a moment. Get up, Percy had said, like it was that simple. Like dragging himself back toward the person who had just abandoned him on the side of the road was something he could do without swallowing every last shred of his pride first.

With a heavy sigh, Owl pushed off the ground, swaying slightly as he climbed back up the embankment. His legs felt like they belonged to someone else: heavy, unreliable, a reminder of how much his body hated him right now.

The car sat idling on the breakdown lane, Percy already behind the wheel again, staring straight ahead like a statue carved out of stone. Owl yanked the door open, slid into the passenger seat with as little grace as humanly possible, and slammed it shut behind him. Owl didn’t spare Percy a glance. He couldn’t. Not without losing whatever fragile thread of composure was keeping him together. Instead, he put his headphones back on and pulled his hood up. The fabric falling low over his face forming a flimsy barrier that shielded him from Percy's gaze.

The car rolled forward and merged back onto the motorway seamlessly as if nothing had happened. As if Percy hadn’t left him behind, discarded like a unwanted piece of trash.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

At first, the numbness lingered, wrapping around Owl like a cocoon. The drugs still dulled the worst of it, smoothing out the sharp edges of anger, and betrayal. But it didn’t last. Minute by minute, the drugs’ effects began to fade. The warmth seeped out of his limbs, replaced by something colder, something sharper. A slow-burning ache that had nothing to do with the bruises on his body.

Owl squeezed his eyes shut, the weight of it all pressing down on him with suffocating clarity. He tried to push it back down. Tried to ignore it. Tried to pretend it didn’t matter, that he didn’t care. But it did matter, and it hurt.

Every inch of his body throbbed, but the physical pain was dull and distant compared to the sharp, all-consuming ache in his chest. The drugs had been his shield, wrapping him in soft cotton and bluering the edges of reality just enough that nothing could touch him. But now? Now he was left raw and exposed. Every breath scraped against his ribs like glass shards. Every bump in the road sent a flash of agony shooting through his spine. But it was nothing compared to the hollow, crushing weight of betrayal sitting in his chest like a stone.

Don’t cry. Not here. Not now. Not in front of him.

But the pain didn’t care about pride. It clawed at Owl‘s throat, thick and suffocating. His chest tightened with every shallow breath until it felt like he couldn’t pull any air in at all. His shoulders tensed, trying to hold it back, trying to keep the dam from cracking open, but the pressure just kept building.

“*redacted*.” Percy’s voice cut through the silence like. Sharp. Controlled. Too fucking calm.

Owl didn’t respond. He couldn’t.

“*redacted*.” Percy repeated.

If Percy spoke again, if he said anything else in that careful, measured tone like he gave a shit, Owl was going to lose it.

“I didn‘t mean to….”

“Don’t.” The word tumbled out of Owl’s mouth before he could stop it, hoarse and raw, cutting off Percy mid sentence.

Percy didn’t respond right away. “I came back.” The words were quiet.

“Yeah,” Owl spat. “How long exactly did it take until your precious sense of duty finally forced you back? Or was it guilt? Or did you just realize how bad it would look if you left me there for good?”

The silence that followed stretched for too long.

Owl let out a breathless, bitter laugh, the kind that didn’t hold a shred of amusement. “That’s what I thought.“

It wasn’t like Owl was wrong. Percy had come back for all those reasons. But that wasn’t the whole truth. Underneath it all was something else. Something Percy didn’t like to admit, even to himself. He had also come back because despite everything, despite how much Owl infuriated him, despite the endless cycle of chaos and destruction, he cared. And Percy hated that he cared. Hated how it felt like weakness.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

An uncomfortable and tense silence followed them all the way to the front steps of their grandfather’s estate, an old, looming stone structure, partially covered in thick ivy that clawed it's way up the walls. The sun was setting at this point, turning the sky above a deep indigo streaked with firey shades of red and orange.

Owl sat stiffly in the passenger seat, eyes fixed ahead but unfocused. The drugs had worn off by now, leaving nothing to soften the edges anymore. Every inch of his body body screamed with exhaustion, tension, and pain.

Swallowing hard, Owl eventually forced himself to open the door and to follow Percy. The grand oak doors opened before they reached them. A familiar figure stood there: Archibald *redacted*, their grandfather. Tall and imposing, even in his old age, with steel-grey hair and a presence that could silence a room without uttering a word. His gaze swept over them both with piercing clarity, eyes lingering on Owl. The older man studied him for a heartbeat, eyes narrowing just slightly, as if cataloguing every bruise, every injury.

“Percival. *redacted*.” His voice was smooth, measured like tempered steel. “You’re late.”

Percy respectfully dipped his head slightly. "Apologies,” he replied, his voice flat, professional. Like nothing out of the ordinary had happened at all.

Archibald only nodded. “Come inside.”

#call of duty #call of duty oc #my ocs #oc rp #original character #task force 141 #tf 141

3 notes · View notes