#Waste coupling for wash basin

[raajrajasharma]

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[luveline]

𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐣𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐦𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐩𝐢𝐝 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧

you start to second guess your relationship when eddie doesn't waylay you with his usual abundance of kisses after work. meanwhile, eddie tries to work out what's upsetting you, how to fix it, and most urgently, how to ask you a super important question. fem!reader, 5k

cw: eddie skipping meals at work, suggestive flirting

˚‧꒰ა ✮ ໒꒱‧˚

Eddie's borrowed headphones slip down your head as you dance. Nothing dramatic, a shoulder wiggle as you do the dishes. You can't hear the racket you're making, plates crashing into one another on the drying rack, the hot water pounding the basin, the clip of your sock-clad foot against wooden slats as you tap it. 

Your hands burn at the high temperature. Your fingertips are pruned, palms chapped as you finish washing Eddie's mountain of dishes. His whole apartment was in similar disarray before you arrived, laundry to the eyes and one of his haphazard book towers collapsed in the bedroom. The dishes had been scraped and rinsed but not washed, the laundry designated to one corner of the bathroom; Eddie's not unclean, necessarily, but unfocused. 

You had time. You don't mind coming over to help him out. 

Though if he knew you were here doing this he'd blow a gasket. I don't want you wasting your time doing shit I should've done a week ago, he'd say. 

It isn't time that matters to you. You'd take a couple of days out if it helped him, if it meant he could enjoy the place he lives to the fullest extent. Plus, you spend time here too. And you get to borrow his Walkman the whole time. Eddie has the best tapes. 

You hum along to the finishing line of the song and set the last clean cup upside down on the draining board. Satisfied at a job well done, you wipe the sink basin clean, drain suds from the sponge, and turn off the water. Cool air floats in through the open window, kissing your lightly perspiring skin hello. 

You dry your hands on a cloth and push Eddie's headphones carefully down to your neck, more than careful with his things. He works hard for everything he has, days and nights and any shift they want him to take. Most of it goes into his savings account. His spare change gets dropped into a washed out pasta sauce jar on the sill for a forthcoming rainy day. Ridiculous amounts of it get spent on you, and if you asked Eddie he'd say it was perfectly reasonable, sweetheart. 

You're not asking him. You don't think new clothes and sweet treats nearly every time you see him counts as reasonable, but you'd be a liar if you said you didn't appreciate it. 

Hence your unsanctioned use of his spare key. You buy him treats too, but money can't buy the satisfaction of a clean home. (Well, it could. Hiring a day maid might've been quicker and cleaner in the end, but would a day maid have put their heart and soul into dusting his figurines with a makeup brush for fifteen minutes?)

You turn around with Eddie on your mind, feeling grateful and tired at once. Your thoughts stutter at the warm body standing casually in the doorway, his shoulder pressed to the jam, a rucksack and a carabiner of keys hanging from his curled fingers. 

"Hey," Eddie says. 

You flinch like he's coming at you, startled by his sudden appearance. 

His laugh is apologetic, at least. "Woah! I thought you heard me, where's your head?" 

You slap a hand to your racing heart and huff out a breath that fans up your face. Eddie straightens from his cool guy slouch, dropping his keys on the counter and sliding his bag beside them. 

"It's around here somewhere," you say through a smile, trying and failing to glare at him as he puts his hands on your waist. "You scared me bad." 

"It was accidental." 

He pulls your hips to his and leans back. A close pressure without being particularly sexual. It's obvious that he's looking you over, like you might've miraculously run into harm in the sixteen hours you've been apart. 

"I didn't think you'd be back yet, sorry," you say breathlessly, still recuperating from your scare. 

"I'm the sorry one." 

He brings a hand to your face. If there's one thing you can count on with your boyfriend, it's that he's going to find an excuse to touch your face at least once a day, whether it be with the back of a ring-heavy finger trailing down your cheek lightly, or a flat, hot palm, calluses scratching ever so slightly as he squeezes it into whatever shape he feels like. Never cruel, but melding. 

He's in a mood. 

Not salacious. Teasing at most, he pulls a rough line down from the corner of your eye to your lips. 

"Why are you doing my dishes?" he asks. 

His hands smell like citrus scrub and white vinegar. They must've had him cleaning in the kitchen at work again. 

"So you wouldn't have to. I know you don't mean to let them pile up." 

"I'll find my laundry in the dryer, I'm guessing." 

"Nope. Folded in your dresser, more like."

He pulls your chest to his, the heat of his breath kissing your nose. It smells like the spearmint gum he chews obsessively during his morning shifts. Eddie has a theory that eating in the mornings is breaking a seal —you'll be much hungrier for the rest of the day than you would've been otherwise. Better to wait for lunch. 

You hate his theory (three meals a day plus as many snacks as he needs would be perfect,  if he could find the time) and his gum for what it represents. It reminds you that he likely hasn't eaten today, and you're quick to start brainstorming ideas for dinner from the ingredients you'd seen while cleaning. He has ground beef, enough eggs to make pasta, and a tupperware of frozen soup from last Wednesday. The world's your oyster. 

"What are you thinking about?" he asks. You don't have time to answer. "I wish you didn't do all the laundry, babe. Those stairs are a fucking killer." 

He leans that last inch. A kiss is coming any second now, your pulse capering between your ears. A hundred kisses shared between you and you wait for the next with the same calibre of excitement as you did for the first. 

"I owe you a deep tissue massage, right?" he murmurs. 

You beam at him, pushing the heel of your palm against his chest to widen the distance between you into something a little less heart-pounding. "You haven't eaten today, have you?" 

"I'm pretty hungry," he says, his voice smooth as angora silk. 

He looks, again, like he might kiss you. His eyes dip to your lips, a molten brown shining in the kitchen light. You wait, and you wait, but he doesn't close the gap. 

You push your smile to one side, your eyelashes twined in the corners from the force of it. Your smile isn't entirely genuine. It's cool if he doesn't wanna kiss you… sort of. He can do whatever he likes, of course, you'd never force him to kiss you just to keep you happy or for any other reason, but you're a little down at the idea that he doesn't want to. You love how they feel. You're used to them as both hello and goodbye. 

Eddie might not want to kiss you, but he isn't putting on a show, his amorous smirking a reality you battle with (read: give in to, enjoy, daydream about) on the regular. Perhaps he isn't eager to ravish you after a full day bussing tables. That's more than okay. 

However he might be feeling, you aren't going to let him go hungry a minute longer. "Dinner?" you ask. 

"I was thinking sloppy Joes," he says, his hand running down your arm. He turns for the fridge. You follow. "Brioche buns?" 

You step in front of him, the fridge door a cacophony of glass rattling as you tug it open. "I'm making them." 

Eddie wraps his arms around you, moving you bodily to the side. It's too quick for you to dig your heels in. 

"You used to be a gentleman," you complain. 

"No, I didn't." He taps your ankle with the rubber toe of his converse. 

You make dinner together, to each other's chagrin. Eddie steals spatulas and frying pan handles from your grip. You bump his hip away from the stove grill to toast buns. When you sit down together on the couch, it's at war, elbows digging into soft spots and cups placed out of reach on the coffee table. 

"Dick," you say. 

Eddie takes a bite, says, "You're the dick, dick," and starts shovelling fries onto your plate. "Giving me more fries is ridiculous. We should eat the same portions, we're the same age." 

"But one of us had breakfast and lunch, and one of us didn't," you say, using your fork to give his gifted fries straight back. 

And here's where you get the first inkling that something's making him not want to kiss you, emphasis on you. 

Eddie loves kissing you when he feels loved. For obvious starters, whenever you tell him you love him he makes sure to kiss your lips. When you make him laugh, when you wash his hair in the shower, when you draw stars into his palms, all those things garner a fond peck to the temple. He kisses the space just under your ear so often you're sure there's a contusion in the shape of his mouth there, permanent and purpling, his go-to whenever he's laying on top of you or hugging you from behind. 

You can count on a mildly greasy kiss no matter the meal. Eddie loves eating dinner together. He waits for you to get home, sometimes for hours, to share a plate with you. You've never not indulged him with a kiss. Tonight, he doesn't ask. 

It would be here. Name-calling dripping in affection, you elbow glancing off of his as you cut into your sloppy Joe, and the TV failing to cover the sound of a quick kiss before he digs in. You're gutted at the lack and surprised to have noticed it, but you don't go so far as to mourn the loss: Eddie's likely too hungry to think about kissing, that's all. Right?

Despite attempts to convince you otherwise, he's hungry. He finishes his plate in what feels like five big bites, hair tucked behind his ears, an innocent but far off look about him as he wipes his fingers in a piece of kitchen towel and leans back into the couch cushions with a small groan. 

"We should stop eating on the couch," he says. 

"You told me you wanted to sit here." You're confused. 

"It's like, testing fate. I'm a mess. I'll ruin it and have to get a new one I can't afford." 

You chew on a fry. "I mean," —you put your hand over your mouth, pleased when he turns to you with a ready-made smile, like the act of just looking at you is one he enjoys— "even if you drop something on it, we can Didi Seven it. Or get one of those fancy water vacuum things." 

"It's my couch," he says. "You wouldn't have to clean it." 

"You're my boyfriend," you respond, "so I wouldn't mind." 

"I'm your boyfriend," he says, his head tilted ever so slightly to one side. 

His lips close, his eyes tracking up and along the lines of your features with an unnameable emotion in his gaze. You'd like to say that it's love, but you're starting to think it's something else. 

"Don't say it like that. You sound too unsure," you say.

Amusement dances across his face. "Are you finished?" he asks, opening his hand for your tray. 

"No," you say, faux-stroppy. You take another fry. 

Eddie grabs his tray. He skirts around your legs and stops at your side. In his more dopey moods, he'd take your face into his hand again and hold your head still as he kisses your crown. 

He squeezes your shoulder. "I'm not unsure about anything," he says warmly. "I'll get you a drink, yeah? Ice?" 

A chuck under the chin with his forefinger and he's gone, leaving you sitting there wondering what's wrong with him. Home an hour now and not one single kiss? Is this the end of the honeymoon phase? How do people survive this shit, you think. It's agonising.

Your chewing turns morose. 

You and Eddie go through phases, waxing and waning, as most people do. There's always love there, but sometimes there's so much of it you don't know what to do with yourself besides lavish in it. Only yesterday morning he'd been in your bed, shirtless (as you often wish he'd be), dark ink like bruises in the low light where it climbed the lengths of his arms and his bare chest. You were lax under his touch, his nose and lips pressing to your skin as he kissed you from rib to soft tummy. Slow, kissing you as though he had nowhere else to be but there. As though his next shift wasn't thirty minutes around the corner. 

You were mortified when he blew a raspberry. Now you're thinking you might peel out of your shirt and ask him to do it again if it means he'll kiss you in any definition. 

"What are you thinking about?" he asks as he returns, his hand sliding along from your shoulder to the other while he steps over your legs. 

"What are you thinking about?" you ask. 

"Feeling very repetitive today, are we?" he teases, no consideration for your dinner tray as he collapses into the seat beside you. 

You're expecting his cheek on your shoulder, his hair tickling your upper arm. It doesn't come. Worried he's discouraged by your tray, you place it on the coffee table and sit back. You really want him to kiss you. 

Kissing someone isn't something you thought you'd want to do before you met Eddie. To be kissed, sure. To give a chaste peck, absolutely. But to have someone put their weight on you, to press at the seam of your lips with their own and to wade in like a steady wave, one breath at a time, until you're unsure where the boundary of your mouth begins and his ends, that was all new. Eddie kisses like he loves, loud and brash, rough and eager. Gentle when he needs to be but arduous. 

He makes you feel wanted in a thousand ways and the first is his greedy penchant for stealing a kiss or three at every opportunity. It's weird that he hasn't kissed you yet. He's acting weird. 

"You're being super weird," you say. You feel like a pressure cooker with steam pouring from the release valve. 

Eddie smirks at you. "That so? Any explanation attached to that, or are we name-calling? I have some names for you, if we are." 

"Oh, I have to know." 

"Figured you would." He throws his leg over your thigh. The firm muscle of it tenses as he wiggles his foot. 

"What were you gonna call me?" you prompt impatiently.   

"Sweetheart. Angel." He turns his cheek into the back of the couch, bringing his pinky to your face and drawing a line from the smoothest skin under your eye outward. "Pretty. Very pretty." 

"Says you," you murmur. If he thinks you're so pretty, why won't he kiss you? "I can't work out your angle today." 

"Am I acting differently?" he asks, seemingly unperturbed. 

No. He just hasn't kissed you. There might have been a moment when he first came home where you thought he was hesitating to kiss you, but since then he's acted exactly as he usually does (minus kissing, therefore making it unusual). 

You sigh, half serious and half wanton sadness. "No." His nose twitches. You startle. "What?" 

"Nothing." 

"What, do I have bad breath?" you ask, bringing a hurried palm to your mouth to try and test it. 

Eddie pulls your hand down, admonishing through a laugh, "You obviously don't. You know I'd tell you, babe." 

"Oh." 

"I got gum though, if you want it." 

You bat his chest. "I bet you do… I don't know what it is, then. I give up." 

"What's what?" he asks. He takes a curl of his hair around a painted fingernail. It coils on his finger, where he pinches the end, bringing it up to your chin and drawing a smile under your lips with the tip. 

"I… do I have something in my teeth? A zit? What's the issue?" you ask, lost. 

"There's no issue!" He laughs, and he curves his hand gently around your neck. "Why do you think there's an issue?" he asks. A thread of his voice wavers. Impossible to notice if you didn't know everything about him, down to the stray hair. 

"No, because," —your voice shrinks— "you're being off with me." You won't cry, but it's impossible to stop the doubt that seeps into your voice. "You're not…" 

Eddie strokes your neck with his thumb, growing serious. "I'm not what?" 

"You haven't kissed me." You avoid his eyes. "Not since you saw me." 

"I'm sorry," he says, immediately dipping forward. 

You pull back. "Wait–" 

Eddie waits. "What?" he asks. 

"I don't want you to kiss me just 'cus I asked you to." 

Eddie pushes his hand upward, his index finger shaped to your jawline. He rubs a quarter circle from your chin to your jaw tentatively with his thumb, an awful sorry look in his eyes that he gets whenever you're upset. "Well, I always want to kiss you," he confesses. His eyebrows furrow. "You know that, right?" 

"But you haven't, today." 

Is that pathetic? you panic. Noticing, caring, it feels so, so silly all of a sudden, you can't believe you spilled it that easily. You may as well have written clingy loser across your forehead in glaring pen. 

Eddie sees it. He doesn't cringe at you like you fear he will. 

"Ah," he says, almost humming, his lips barely parted, "that's just not okay, is it? My girl waiting on a kiss." 

He leans in. You shy away, wanting his kiss but wanting the run up more. Eddie follows your lead, keeping space between you, rubbing a diligent and affectionate circle into your cheek. His touch is soft enough to tickle. 

"I'm not trying to act desperate, I just figured– I thought there was a reason you hadn't," you say. 

Eddie asks you in his softest, most genial tones if he can kiss you. 

You don't say yes so much as you lift your chin and close your eyes. Your relief is sharp as he closes the fizzing space between you, as he guides your face to his and holds it there like a treasured pearl cupped in two palms. He makes a sound at the back of his throat that kills any doubts of his affection stone cold dead. Your lips part a millimetre if that, and Eddie slots into the gap, his hands growing less and less careful by the second, the pressure of his touch amping up. He moves back only long enough to turn his head, your noses bumping, another breathy sound slipping past his lips. You smother it gracelessly with a rougher reciprocation. 

It's not your longest kiss, but it works. It's the reassurement you needed. Eddie pulls away to suck in a harsh breath, the feeling foreign against your tingling lips. His face dips, his eyes out of view. His hands move in twin down the slope of your neck, languish, feel along the thin layer of your t-shirt as though he's looking for some secret answer. 

"I'm not trying to act weird around you, I'm just nervous," he says.

You feel your back aching, stiff as a rod. "Nervous?" you ask quietly. 

Eddie rests his forehead on your chin. He whispers a cuss, and then he sits up very tall and looks you in the eye. 

It takes him five seconds to tell you what it is that's making him anxious. In that time, you come up with a handful of things. I lost my job. I don't want to be with you anymore. There's someone else. There's no one else, but you did something that pissed me off/made me uncomfortable/disgusted me. I'm sick. None of your guesses are good, and none prepare you for what he asks next. 

"Would you wanna move in with me?" 

His hand meanders along your thigh. An awkward smile catches his lip like a fish hook, tugging it up on one side. 

"I… what?" 

"I think it's a good idea. I was trying to ask you yesterday, and now today it didn't feel right. I don't want you thinking I'm asking because you did my laundry." His hand warms your thigh, a pervasive heat. Your face is similarly hot. "We could split rent, and you could keep saving. You wouldn't have to deal with your shitty neighbours. You'd be closer to your job, and– and to me. It's a good idea," he repeats. "There's a ton of reasons it would be good for you, but I'm asking 'cus I missed you so bad last night I couldn't sleep. I wanna be with you whenever we can be." 

"You'd really want me to?" you ask. 

"You'd never have to wait for a kiss again," he says hopefully. "I know it's a big move. I get it if you're not ready." 

"I'm ready," you say. You don't know it's true until you've said it aloud. 

Delight sparks and catches like sun-dried tinder. Elation lights his eyes. "Holy shit, yeah? You want to?" 

"Yeah," you say, nodding emphatically, trying not to yell. "Yes, I want to. I'd love to! That would be–" 

"A dream," he finishes, snatching your waist into his grasp, basically yanking you into his arms.

"Amazing," you say, your arms forced over his shoulders. 

You wrap your arms around the back of his head, curls that smell of almond oil and a generous dollop of hair mousse crushed to your face. Your eyes slip closed. You suck in an inconspicuous breath, though your self-indulgent action is interrupted by a groan, Eddie squeezing you hard enough to make the bones in your back click three at a time. 

"I can't believe you, sweetheart. I don't kiss you for an hour and you think there's something wrong?" He laughs.

"I'm spoiled," you say sheepishly. To draw his attention, you add, "I can't believe you, afraid to ask me that! Why would I say no? I love you." 

"I love you, too," he says, pulling the small of your back tighter still so he can dig his nose into the side of your head. 

He kisses you all over the side of your face until you're painted in little warm patches from overexposure. A loved up mess, and dizzy with relief.

Relief and excitement. "How soon do you want me in here?" you ask, sitting back. 

"How soon do you want another kiss?" he asks. 

"Will we be stealing each other's questions all day?" you ask. 

"For the rest of time, if I get my way." 

"That's so corny," you whisper, ecstatic. 

Eddie pushes you down onto the couch cushions. You know before he so much as pulls up a knee that he's going to climb on top of you. You make room for him, your heart feeling like it could breach through your ribs one bone at a time. 

"What are you doing?" you whisper with a smile. 

"Making up for lost kisses."

—

Two Weeks Later

Eddie wakes to a kiss. 

Your arm thrown over his waist, your hand feeling greedily at the trim curve atop his hip, you've well and truly wrapped yourself around him. Like an octopus. He imagines the popping sound of your suckers if he tried to detach you (not that he'd want to). 

You're dotting shy, soft kisses down the column of his throat. "I love you," you say softly between them, a melody that turns him to jelly. "I love you. Love you, love you, love you." 

Your kisses are a compromise —after the general holy fucking shit-ism of your conversation a fortnight ago, Eddie put his foot down. He was out of his mind knowing his apartment was about to become yours, but he was also incredibly unhappy about the faces you'd made before he asked. He remembers your voice, your apprehension as you mumbled, "No, because, you're being off with me."  

Eddie had been totally off trying to figure out how to ask what was potentially the second most important question he could ever ask you; he was distracted enough by it that he totally forgot about kissing you senseless. And your worrying asked a totally new question he hadn't thought of before. Why does Eddie always kiss you first? And why had the lack of a kiss been seen as a bar, and not an invitation? 

Hence Project Kiss Me, Stupid. Or Project Kiss Me Stupid if he's feeling particularly in love (because you aren't stupid at all, but you may have made an unintelligent assumption (Eddie not kissing you for a few hours did not mean even slightly that he isn't gross in love). 

The project was more like a proposal. Eddie decided you should be making the first move more often, so you weren't ever left feeling like something was wrong between you for lack of a kiss again. "If you ever think I'm mad at you, plant one on me. I promise I won't be mad much longer," he told you.

You're passing with flying colours, as far as he's concerned. Eddie thinks your moving in was gift enough, but fuck, all these kisses? He's been a walking vestibule of love, and lust, and sickening fondness for two weeks now. Project Kiss Me Stupid is the best thing that's ever happened to him. He's a genius.

"Good morning," you say into his neck, a hint of teeth scratching him with the greeting. Eddie cups the back of your head with a weak, tired groan as your lips close over his pulse.

"Morning," he says. His voice is thick with the grit of sleep. 

"This is okay?" you ask, pausing in your kiss. 

Eddie tips his head back heavily into plush pillows, your pillows, fresh with new bedding to match the nightstands you'd decided on together. "Please," he says. His arm slides behind your back to belt you in. "I'm gonna think you don't like me anymore if you take any longer." 

"Very funny," you murmur. 

He knows he's forgiven for teasing when your face dives back into the crook of his neck. His eyes shutter closed, blissed, thinking, God, I could get used to this, when you nip him. 

"You didn't like my joke, I take it?" 

"It was funny," you say, giving him a scratching kiss.

"That's counter-intuitive," he warns. "I like it rough." 

You fall away from him to cover your face with both hands. He knows he's rubbing off on you at the sight, your head shaking a theatrical side to side that fails to hide real embarrassment beneath it. You look especially tortured. 

Eddie knows exactly how to fix it. 

˚‧꒰ა ✮ ໒꒱‧˚

thanks so much for reading! I really hope you enjoyed!

[the-fiction-witch]

Scrubber Girl

Media Artful Dogder

Character Jack Dawkins

Couple Jack X Reader

Rating Flirty AF

first fic post show release for Jack Dawkins!

I would like to formally welcome him to the roasta and thank everyone involved in artful dodger!

I hummed myself a gentle tune as I folded laundry away into the upper cupboard when suddenly this smell, this stench! this utter aporance! met my nose. 

"Ohh my-" I gasped turning to see if I could see what on earth had happened only to see a strange sight indeed. 

As Resisdent Dr Jack Dawkins came trudging up the stairs dressed in his shoes, socks, his undergarments and a dirty old coat, with a look of anger and frustration his body coated with dirt, blood and... frankly I didn't want to know what else. His whole body stank enough I could smell him before he even reached the top of the stairs.

I met his angry eyes, then his... undergarments utterly in shock grabbing a yet folded sheet to hold over my eyes

"ahhh goodness gracious! Dr Dawkins!" I yelped "What on earth happened?"

"Don't ask." He snapped heading to his room, 

I quickly finished the laundry and took my dress in hand to scamper along behind him to his room quickly going in before he stopped me 

"What on earth happened?"

"I don't want to talk about it" 

"Alright, You need a bath. You utterly reek"

"I'm fine" he said stripping the jacket off and washing his face from the basin by his bed

"Jack you need a bath." 

"I'll deal with it in the morning Y/n I know you trying to help but It's been a long day I just want to get to bed." 

"I just clean those sheets jack, No absolutely not." I said moving to stand in front of his wardrobe to prevent him from getting clean clothes

"Y/n."

"I will ask you nicely once Jack, and I will ask you rather bluntly a second time. Do not make me ask you a third." I glared 

He rolled his eyes "Run me a bath." 

"Thank you, I will add some extra bubbles just for you" I smiled going to scamper away to run him a bath but he grabbed my arm "Yes?" I asked his response like normal was to merely rub his nose on mine "Not on your life while you're smelling like that doctor. Once your bath is finished I will consider it" I told him before I hurried down to the bathroom running the large tub with a nice fresh bar of soap, some fluffy towels and extra bubbles and soon enough he arrived wrapped up in his jacket with a fresh set of clothes "You're bath awaits you, Dr Dawkins" 

"Thank you y/n." 

"You're welcome, now come on let's get rid of that horrid... whatever it is." I told him 

He smiled and stripped off what remained of his clothes before climbing into the tub "Ahhh hot,"

"if its not hot your not clean" I giggled "Enjoy your bath" I smiled going to leave but he grabbed my arm and tugged me back "Yes?"

His response was to lean on the side and give me puppy eyes 

"Alright" I rolled my eyes sitting on the edge "What on God's green earth is in your hair?" I asked 

"You don't wanna know" he sighed relaxing a little 

"I worry about you sometimes." I sighed picking up a rag from the side getting a good rub of soap and starting on his matted hair filled with chunks of... ehhh I don't wanna know "You get into another fight again?"

"No."

"You trip over the surgery waste bucket again?"

"No. And I can do it myself you know" He pouted 

"Alright I'll go" I laughed trying to get up and leave but he grabbed my arm and pulled me back

"Ohh no you don't" He smirked tugging me back so much I almost fell in his bath with him 

"Jack let me go!" I giggled 

"How am I ever meant to get clean without my little scrubber" He smirked 

"Jack!" I giggled pushing him off before he really did pull me in his bath with him "Not while you still covered in... Ohh my- Is this flesh in your hair! How- what- when-"

"I told you, you didn't want to know." 

"Let me guess some crack pot scheme of you boys downstairs gone horribly wrong?" I asked having to work a bit harder now I knew what it all was getting the good scrubbing brush 

"More or less" He shrugged "While your at it scrubber girl I have a terrible itch on my back" He complained arching his back so I could use my long scrubber 

"I protest to being labelled your scrubber girl" I complain playfully but still decently hitting him on the head with the wooden steam of the scrubber 

"Owww" He complained "Sorry scrubber girl"

"One of these days, your going to call me that and I'm going to push this scrubber slightly further down and end up shoving it right up your arse. Like to see your quick fingers get you out of that"

"You'd be amazed what my quick fingers can do" he smirked "I suppose you wouldn't be surprised. Would you scrubber girl?" He smirked leaning back to playfully wink at me 

"You want me to hit you again? cause I'll do it. and it'll be much harder."

"not the only thing getting harder." he smirked 

"Okay. You asked for it." I glared fetching the hard brush the one often used for the bottom of your feet, calus hands and stubborn merky mud. I dabbed a bit of soap and before he could argue or protest I shoved the brush down his chest until I met his crotch and scrubbed like I was cleaning off old boots to which he squealed like a nine-year-old girl has lost her dolly and immediately he scampered himself to the other end of the bath sheepishly holding his legs to his chest

"No." He warned "Noo. put the brush down."

"I'm not sure, a scrubber girl needs to scrub" I giggled jumping to the other side and trying to get him again but he again moved in fear 

"ahh no! no. okay... I apologise." He said, "Just put the brush down."

"Alright," I giggled setting the brush down "What am I?" I asked 

"My scrubber girl" he smirked 

"Jack," I warn going to pick it up again

"Alright! Alright, Your y/n. my very sweet little laundry girl." he smiled moving over to be close to me leaning on the tub a little "Not the scrubber girl"

"That's better" I smiled fixing his hair a little and giving his lips a soft gentle kiss he tried for more But I pulled back 

"Would my lovely laundry girl like to join me?" He suggested

"After what's just come off your body Jack you have more chance of getting the virgin Mary herself coming through that door to give you blow job" 

"I mean... you can empty it and re-run it if you feel that strongly about it"

"Just put some pants on Jack before I really do shove that scrubbing brush up your arse" I warn getting up and throwing him a towel to it hit him in the face

"Thank you-" He sighed 

[starshideurfics]

Captive, Captivating, part 2

part 1

into the steddie-verse, omegaverse, dubcon, we’re all in the same imperial rome/war prize gutter together, mdni 🔞

It takes nearly three quarters of an hour for Geta’s knot to go down, and he smiles smugly as his pretty little omega wriggles in place. The way he shifts just so, startling at his body’s reaction, the clench and pulse of being stretched open so perfectly for the first time.

Geta pets over Stepan’s flank, cups the firm cheeks of his round bottom, thinking about how nice it will feel to slam his hips against that plushness when he has his omega present and takes him from behind. How deep he will be able to delve into that sweet cunt to sow his seed. Deep enough it has to catch.

He refrains from slipping his fingers between those cheeks, no matter how much he wants to stroke over the tight furl of Stepan’s asshole. To make him shiver. To whisper, ‘All your holes will be mine, and soon enough you will beg for me to fuck you here.’ His barbarian prince has been through enough for the morning, Geta does not actually wish to terrorize him, especially not with all he has planned for the rest of the day.

Once he finally slips free, Geta plucks up Stepan’s cast aside loincloth, the linen roughspun, and uses it to wipe his cock clean. He smirks when he notices the pale streaks of red mixed with the slick and seed; their couplings will be easier now his maidenhead is broken.

Stepan has curled up on his side, legs squeezed tightly together, arms wrapped around his chest. Geta grips his knee, whispers, “I need to see, mellitus. Make sure the bleeding has stopped.”

He does not speak, simply allows Geta to lift his leg and bare his cunt. The lips are puffy, must be sore, and he’s careful as he gently feels around Stepan’s entrance, pleased to only find slick and seed when he pulls his fingers back. He sucks the shine from them, revels in the taste of them both mixed on his tongue, bitter and sweet and musky, and slowly lowers the omega’s leg. Draping the sheets back over Stepan, Geta stands, pulls on a robe, and goes to the entrance to the tent, ordering hot water and a wash basin be brought at once, along with food to break their fast after.

Sitting at his desk, Geta looks over the reports that will leave with the morning’s courier. He considers scribbling a note to his mother, to tell her of his plans, but quickly thinks better of it. There is little she can do for him from the capital, and surprise will be far more helpful to him when it comes to his brother.

When the water arrives, he tends to himself first, only really worrying about his groin as he washes away the last bits of drying cum. Then he returns to his bed, offering Stepan a hand, and helping him to his feet. Geta has the omega stand in the basin, and drags a warm, wet cloth over his body, washing away the dirt and sweat and slick. He’s nearly finished when Stepan stops his hand, trapping the cloth at his hip. “I can see to myself, Dominus.”

Geta preens at the word, how easily Stepan has begun using the title. My lord. Master. “And I care for what is mine.” Still, he passes the cloth to Stepan, watches as he wipes gingerly between his legs. It’s such a waste, washing all that beautiful slick away when Geta would happily lap it up and swallow it down. But there is not time for such indulgences.

Fetching a larger cloth, he wraps Stepan in it and squeezes his shoulders. “Dry well,” Geta orders, going to dig through a trunk and retrieving a tunica in deep, rich blue, tossing it casually onto the bed. He plucks a wooden comb from a side table, and returns to Stepan, careful as he pulls the fine teeth through his hair. He starts at the ends, working his way up to the roots, breaking up strands held together by sweat and oil, detangling a small knot at his nape. Once he’s satisfied with his work, Geta turns him towards the bed. “Dress. Quickly if you do not wish Caius to see your pretty ass when he brings our food.”

Geta does not take his own advice, robe open and showing off his soft cock, unbothered by his servants seeing him in any state of undress. His focus is again on compiling his reports, rolling up scrolls and slipping them in the courier’s case. He hands the case to Caius after he sets down the tray of roasted goat, bread, dates, and wine that is to be the morning meal.

Caius bows as he is dismissed, casting a furtive eye over to Stepan, the omega looking every inch a prince now he is so richly dressed. Geta suddenly desperately wants to gild him—gold at his throat and wrists, on his fingers, at his ankles and on his head, a chain dripping rubies and pearls around his waist…

Soon enough he will show off his prize, but first, he must stick to his plan.

Which first now means filling his stomach. He takes one chair next to the small table, nods to the other. “Sit. Eat.”

Stepan does as he’s told, his bites small. Even with his nerves quelling his appetite he must be hungrier than that. But Geta does not worry. He will ensure his omega feeds himself properly at the evening’s feast.

His own hunger sated, Geta retrieves a tunica for himself, this one in imperial purple, dressing to meet with an equal, even if Ricardius Spear-Handed is a lesser king of a small kingdom. He finishes with a gold circlet in his hair. He almost realizes too late that Stepan is barefoot, and fetches him a pair of leather sandals that tie in place at his ankle.

“Come, Stepan,” he whispers, offering his hand again, which the omega lightly grips, fingers loose. “A runner has already been sent ahead, and we had best be on our way. Your father will be expecting us.”

🌙🏛️🌿

The roman puts Stepan on a gentle mare, the horse following easily behind his own stallion. Silently, he takes in the familiar forest road, the verdant life and scents of his home in summer surrounding him. At least for the length of the journey he can pretend that this is any other day—that he will go home to sleep in his own nest when night falls, and this will all have been a strange dream.

But it’s not so. He will leave with the romans and almost certainly never return to his homeland. And he shall do so gladly if it will buy safety for his people. If it will keep his siblings from being sent into a losing battle.

His father’s hall comes into view and Stepan wants to leap from his horse and run inside. To fling himself into his mother’s arms and weep against her breast.

The dull ache between his legs is a potent reminder of why he cannot. His master has despoiled him, his value now locked to what this one alpha wants with him.

Fortunately, they do not need to wait long, his father’s personal guard coming out to meet them and escort the romans before their king. But Dominus is the one to offer Stepan his hand and help him from the mare’s back. “I have not chained you to my side, little prince,” he whispers in his ear. “You may go to your parents when we enter the hall. They are sure to be worried after your wellbeing.” He presses a soft kiss just below Stepan’s ear, like he can’t help himself from taking this small liberty. “Show them you are unharmed.”

“Yes, Dominus,” Stepan whispers back, dropping his hand and turning toward to doors.

Yakiv waits there, Master of the Guard, the man who taught Stepan how to hold a sword, to defend himself with a dagger. The one who carried him home when he fell from an apple tree at 8 years old and broke his arm, the one to hear Ravna’s shrieking when all he could do was lie on the ground and whimper in pain.

Stepan keeps his pace even as he crosses to meet him, Yakiv grabbing him by the shoulders as soon as he’s close enough. “Oh, pup, what did you do?”

“I was only… I know the woods so well! I only wanted to come back with information, but-” Stepan stops, swallows, lowers his voice back to just above a whisper. “I was angry. And I thought it would be more help than it was, and I got caught.”

“Yes. You did.” The disappointment in Yakiv’s scent burns in his nose. “You’re lucky you weren’t killed.”

“I know. But the romans knew of Father…”

“And your Latin is good.”

“Yes. And I’m an omega.”

The disappointment turns to concern, but Yakiv does not ask. He simply gathers Stepan to him in a bear hug, then ushers him into the hall.

His parents sit on their thrones, waiting, but as soon as he’s through the doors, his mother—stepmother, but the only mother he can remember—is on her feet, rushing to meet him. She kisses his cheek and wraps her arms around him. “Styopa, my heart, what happened? We’ve been sick with worry.”

“I’m sorry, Mama.” He hides his face against her shoulder. “But I’m all right. Everything will be all right now.”

“Styopa…” His mother doesn’t say anything more, she simply strokes his hair, kisses his forehead, and leads him back to the dais. She takes her seat, and he stands behind her, at her left shoulder.

Even though it is normally beneath his duties, Yakiv announces the roman’s entrance, Dominus followed by his own guards and contingent of soldiers. “My king,” he calls, “Caesar Septimius Geta thanks you for your hospitality and for welcoming him so quickly.”

Stepan’s blood turns to ice as he finally understands.

He is Emperor Severus’s younger son. Brother to Emperor Caracalla. Heir to the whole of the Roman Empire until his brother finally has children of his own.

And he wants Stepan.

The room tilts on its axis, and Stepan only stays upright by clutching at the backrest of the queen’s throne. His father will surely reprimand him for the disrespect, and for showing weakness in front of a foreign ruler. If only his father knew how weak he has already been before Geta.

How little he has to hide.

“Well met, Caesar!” Rikhardt calls, smiling as the roman advances. “Your emissary claims you come with terms of peace. Terms far fairer than our neighbors have been granted.”

Geta smiles with too many teeth. “I do, Rikhardt Spear-Handed. Bend the knee to Rome, and retain all your rights and sovereignties as king here. You will have the protection of Rome without giving up any of your lands or powers.”

Stepan looks to his father, sees his skeptical smile, knows the offer sounds too good to be true.

“And what do you ask of me, Septimius Geta?”

“I, of course, require that you offer hospitality and safe passage to any roman citizen passing through your lands, that you give quarter to legionnaires on campaign, and…” Geta pauses, glances around the room, dark eyes locking with Stepan’s for a long moment before he turns his attention back to the king. “I ask for your eldest son’s neck. I wish to take Stepan as my mate.”

A mating is more than a marriage, especially amongst romantic nobles as far as Stepan has learned. A marriage is an arrangement between families, built on politics and trade rather than attraction or intimacy. Stepan had not thought he would even be offered marriage, just the comfort of being a pampered concubine, one who could be a spy because who cares what is said before an unlearned foreigner.

But a mating—

“Stepan, come,” Rikhardt says, motioning with two fingers, and Stepan rushes to comply, certain he’s missed some of the conversation as he circles around to stand beside him.

“Yes, Father?”

Rikhardt takes Stepan by the hand, looks up into the eyes that match his own, and asks, “Do you accept this alpha’s offer for your neck?”

Stepan does not hesitate in his answer. There is no other choice. “I do.”

“Good. Then it is what shall be!” Rikhardt stands, puts an arm around Stepan’s shoulder, and turns his gaze back onto Geta and his wolfish grin. “We shall prepare the wedding feast, for tonight you will marry him before our gods, and then his neck will be yours.”

Part 3

[mariacallous]

In the mornings in Varanasi, the air on the banks of the Ganges fills with the scent of burning bodies. On the steps of the Manikarnika ghat—the holiest of the city’s stepped riverbanks, upon which Hindu dead are cremated—the fires are already lit, and mourners assemble by the hundred to accompany their loved ones at the end. Pyres of sandalwood (for the rich) and mango wood (for everyone else) are already burning; on one, a corpse wrapped in white is visible in the flames.

Down at the river, where I’m watching from a boat, some families are engaged in the ceremonial washing of their dead, the corpses shrouded in white linen and decorated with flowers. A few meters away, a man from another family (usually, the honor is bestowed on the eldest son) wades into the water, casting in the ashes of an already cremated relative so that the Ganges might carry their spirit onwards to the next life or even moksha, the end of the rebirth cycle, and transcendence.

The funeral ceremonies, held against the backdrop of the ancient city, are undeniably beautiful; but the same can’t be said of the river itself. The water’s surface is flaked with ashes; ceremonial flowers linger in the eddies. Just downstream, a couple of men are diving for discarded jewelry. Not 50 meters upstream, another group, having finished their rites, are bathing in the filthy water. An older man, clad in white, finishes his bathing with a traditional blessing: He cups the fetid Ganges water in one hand and takes a sip.

The Ganges is one of the most densely populated river basins in the world, providing water for an estimated 600 million people. But to Hindus, it is more than a waterway: It is Ma Ganga, the mother river, formed—according to the sacred text the Bhagavata Purana—when Lord Vishnu himself punctured a hole in the universe and divine water flooded into the world. Water from the Ganges is widely used in Hindu prayer and ceremony; you can buy plastic bottles of it from stalls all over the subcontinent—or order one on Amazon in the UK for as little as £3.

And yet despite its sacred status, the Ganges is one of the most contaminated major rivers on earth. The UN has called it “woefully polluted.” As India’s population has exploded—in April 2023, it overtook China to become the world’s most populous country—hundreds of millions of people have settled along the Ganges’ floodplain. India’s sanitation system has struggled to keep up. The Ganges itself has become a dumping ground for countless pollutants: toxic pesticides, industrial waste, plastic, and, more than anything, billions upon billions of liters of human effluent.

It’s March 2022, and I’ve come to India while reporting my book, Wasteland, about the global waste industry. And few issues in waste are more critical (yet less sexy) than sanitation. In the global north, sewage is a problem that many of us assumed was more or less fixed in Victorian times. But access to clean water and adequate sanitation remains an urgent global issue. Some 1.7 billion people worldwide still do not have access to modern sanitation facilities.

Every day, an estimated 494 million people without access to flushing toilets and closed sewers are forced to defecate in the open, in gutters, or in plastic bags. The World Health Organization estimates that one in 10 people consumes wastewater (aka sewage) every year, either via unclean drinking water or contaminated food. In India, the result is that 37 million people are thought to be affected by water-borne illnesses such as typhoid, dysentery, and hepatitis every year. Worldwide, poor sanitation kills more children annually than AIDS, malaria, and measles combined.

Sanitation is one of those amenities that most of us in the global north don’t think about until something goes wrong. In the UK, sewers have lately dominated news headlines for the wrong reasons: Many of Britain’s rivers and beaches are being polluted by sewage overflow and farming runoff. According to the UK’s Environment Agency, water companies discharged sewage into English rivers on 301,091 occasions in 2022, totaling more than 1.7 million hours; on Britain’s beaches, sewage is reportedly making swimmers sick. Britain’s sanitation woes have been caused by years of neglect: systemic underinvestment by profit-chasing ownership; austerity-starved and ineffectual regulation; and the ever-widening expansion of our concrete urban spaces, which divert water away from natural soaks like soil and wetlands and into our watercourses.

In India—like much of the global south—the issue is the opposite: In most cases, the sewers were never there in the first place. In this respect, the Ganges’ pollution is a strange mark of success. When Prime Minister Narendra Modi was first elected in 2014, among the first things he did was launch the Clean India Campaign, a nationwide effort to install sanitation and modern waste facilities in a country that had previously lacked them.

Even those critical of Modi’s government—denounced for alleged Islamophobic policies and oppression of the press, among many other things—have to admit that the numbers since have been astonishing. Between 2014 and 2019, by one official estimate, India installed 110 million toilets, providing sanitation for an estimated half a billion people. Little more than a decade ago, India was known for having the highest rate of open defecation (that is, shitting in the open) in the world. Thanks to this massive expansion of public and private toilets, that rate has reportedly plummeted. The issue is that with so many new toilets, the sewage needs to go somewhere.

In that sense, India is like many rapidly urbanizing countries in the global south. But India is also unique, in that Hindu culture places rivers at the center of religious beliefs. And it’s for this reason the Modi government, alongside its Clean India Campaign, launched an expensive infrastructure plan to clean up the national river: the Namami Gange (“Obeisance to the Ganges”) program. It is by no means the first attempt. Previous governments have been launching “‘action plans”’ to clean the Ganges since at least the 1980s. But past efforts, beset by alleged corruption and mismanagement, rarely got far.

To date, the Namami Gange program has cost over 328 billion rupees ($3.77 billion) and promised the construction of more than 170 new sewage facilities and 5,211 kilometers of sewer lines—enough to cross the Atlantic Ocean. It is a fascinating test case in the global effort to clean up our rivers and seas. After all, if you can’t clean a river sacred to hundreds of millions of people, what hope do the rest of us have?

The offices of Varanasi’s water board, are a traffic-clogged drive west from the cremation ghats and the old city, in one of Varanasi’s increasingly busy commercial neighborhoods. When I arrive there is construction work and activity everywhere. In his air-conditioned office, Raghuvendra Kumar, Jal Kal’s general manager, explains that this is one of the challenges that the Namami Gange project has faced. “This city does not sleep,” he explains.

Kumar, a neat man with a side parting, in a black leather jacket and surgical mask (when we speak, India is not long out of a Covid spike), has been at Jal Kal since 2018. “When I joined, the situation in the city was much worse, because the work was still in progress,” Kumar says. “Sewers were flowing everywhere. It flowed into the streets.”

Varanasi is among the oldest inhabited cities in the world. It is situated at the confluence of two rivers: the Varuna and Assi, both tributaries of the Ganges, which join the river course here. The city’s spiritual and tourist center, on the western bank of the river, is a warren of alleyways, many too narrow to move cars down and often blocked by stray cows and market stalls. The city’s original trunk sewer (the main sewer, into which smaller pipes feed) was built by the British in the early 20th century, but local officials explain that the precursor can be traced back to the Mughal Empire.

Until a few years ago, much of the city’s sewage was released untreated into the Ganges via public drains, or nullahs, which discharged along the same bank as the ghats, where people habitually bathe. Since 2016, the center of the city has seen the installation of several kilometers of new sewer lines, connecting pipes that once spewed straight into the river to a new intercepting sewer, which now carries much of the flow off to one of three new sewage treatment plants. Out of 23 known drains that previously carried raw sewage into the Ganges, Kumar says that 20 have been capped, with the rest in progress. Later, on the same boat that took me past the cremation sites, I see it myself: The city’s most notorious drain, Sisamau, is now capped. Only a steady trickle remains.

In a city that has seen near-constant civic engineering work going on for the last two decades, the sewer project has not always been popular. (“Changing the mindset of the people is a very difficult task,” Kumar says.) To improve uptake of the new waste regime, Jal Kal and the state’s Pollution Control Board put out a series of local adverts; the city ran public announcements over loudspeakers from garbage collection vehicles, warning against open defecation and asking inhabitants not to pollute the river and new drains with garbage. “In the last three to five years, it has come into the habit of the citizens that we have to improve our lifestyle, we have to change our behavior,” Kumar says. “And now it has become the habit of the people.”

It’s not the only change that has taken place in Varanasi. The temple flowers that once clogged the banks of the Ganges after cremations and religious festivals are now collected on the banks in marked bins and in the river using floating barriers; the remains are composted or collected by a local startup, Phool, which converts them into incense sticks. The city’s wider green policies have helped cut pollution levels: Varanasi has passed laws banning certain plastics within the holy city and launched a scheme mandating that more than 580 diesel-powered boats on the river be converted to run on compressed natural gas, reducing oil slicks on the water’s surface. The city also set about “beautifying” the ghats, employing teams of workers to collect leftover waste for recycling, and artists to paint murals celebrating the Namami Gange campaign. And most importantly, 361 public toilets have been built, connected to the new sewers, to reduce the rate of open defecation.

Among the Namami Gange projects inaugurated by Modi himself are a new sewage treatment plant in Dinapur, to the northeast of the city, designed to process up to 140 million liters of effluent per day. Similarly, as the city has expanded, so by necessity has the sanitation system. The day after I visit Jal Kal, I am given a tour of a brand-new sewage plant in Ramnagar, on the river’s west bank, where the population is booming. On the road to the plant I’m surrounded by building works, formal and informal; at one point, we pass a group digging up bricks from a newly laid road, presumably for housing construction.

I’m met by Shashikari Shastri, an engineer in charge, who shows me around. The sewage treatment plant is a modern and pleasant place (at least, as pleasant as sewage works get), with pale green buildings and neat rows of trees in the flower beds.

Most sewage treatment plants work in a similar way. To grossly simplify: The bigger solids (i.e., feces) are screened out in large, often open tanks, and those solids that remain are allowed to settle on the bottom of the tank or float to the surface, and are removed. The remaining water is then passed into a series of tanks and mixed with bacteria, which digest the leftover organic matter and kill off remaining pathogens. The ponds are aerated to encourage digestion. (The result tends to be bubbling lanes of sewage which, if you close your eyes, could sound like water fountains, were it not for the smell.) At this stage, any lingering solids are again settled out. Different technologies exist for third and even fourth steps to clean the water further—UV light, chlorination, etc.

The older sewage treatment plants in Varanasi work using an activated sludge technique, in which some of the solids removed during the settling process are reinjected as a kind of bacterial starter. Ramnagar, however, uses a modern A20 (anaerobic-anoxic) design, in which the effluent is passed through additional tanks to reduce dissolved nitrogen and phosphorus. “Our focus is to minimize eutrophication, because last year lots of algae and eutrophication was found [in the Ganges],” Shastri explains. Eutrophication is when a body of water becomes overly enriched with nutrients and minerals, leading to an explosion of algae, which can choke the river of aquatic life.

We arrive eventually at the outlet pipe, a cascading series of tiled waterfalls at the river’s edge. By now, Shastri says, the treated water is far cleaner than when it arrived. This is measured using biological oxygen demand (BOD)—the amount of dissolved oxygen in the water that bacteria need to remove any unwanted organic matter, a proxy measure for how much waste is in the water. “The BOD at the inlet is 180 mg/liter,” Shastri explains. “At the outlet, it’s 5 to10 mg/liter.” Down on the sand, children are playing. Another group is mining sand (illegally, most likely) for building materials.

The sewage treatment plant—like several that I visited along the Ganges reporting my book—is an impressive place, if small. (Despite asking, I was not permitted access to the city’s largest plant, in Dinapur, during my time there.) Still, I couldn’t help but feel that its minuscule size was woefully inadequate for the task in hand.

Size is not the only issue. The rosy image of the Namami Gange campaign, painted by the city’s civil servants, does not always match the reality on the ground. While almost everyone I spoke to in Varanasi was positive about the effect of the campaign on the river and the city, it’s clear that despite the rapid pace of building, the Ganges is still far from clean.

One afternoon in Varanasi, my fellow reporter Rahul Singh and I walked over to the banks of the Assi River (or “Assi nullah [sewer]” as many people still colloquially refer to it). Despite the Namami Gange project’s efforts, the banks of the Assi were buried ankle-deep in plastic waste: microsachets, bottles, packets, pots. I met one of the city’s waste pickers collecting PET bottles, which he can sell for 10 rupees (less than 10p) per kilogram. A little further upstream, floating barriers have been installed in the water to help catch the garbage; so much trash has built up on them that it has created reef-like islands midstream.

When the Assi reaches the Ganges, it passes through a pumping plant, designed to filter out solid rubbish before transferring the wastewater downstream to a sewage treatment plant. But when I visited, the pumping station was barely manned and operating at a fraction of its capacity. One of the metal screens for trapping garbage was broken; inside the facility, plastic and other waste trickled slowly off a conveyor belt and into sacks to be carted away for recycling or incineration. One of the staff (who I agreed could remain nameless) told me the plant extracts a ton of plastic waste per day.

The creaking reality of some of the infrastructure goes against the government’s line on the Namami Gange campaign, which it tends to portray in rapturous, nationalistic tones. The reality is that nearly 10 years after Modi first unveiled the project, the Ganges in Varanasi, and along much of its stretch, remains polluted.

According to the government-run Pollution Control Board’s own figures, in 2020, samples of the river water collected in Varanasi far exceeded India’s own recommended limits for fecal coliform and fecal streptococci bacteria—the latter exceeding the limit by more than 20-fold. The same was true when I visited the industrial city of Kanpur, known for its chromium and heavy metals pollution. It’s not just the Ganges, either: The Yamuna, in Delhi, registered fecal streptococci readings at 10,800 times the recommended limit. All across India, there are reports of rivers foaming with toxic waste or lakes catching fire.

This is the reality of a country like India, that is growing at such an astonishing rate: The risk for India’s civic planners is that by the time new infrastructure—sewage plants, waste facilities, roads—are built, the population is already greater than their capacity. (It is also, it should be said, not solely an Indian problem. Every major industrial country—from China in the last two decades, to the US and other Western countries several decades ago—has faced river pollution crises.) But the continued failure of the government’s schemes to clean the Ganges is a wedge issue for religious campaigners, to whom the issue of cleaning the Ganges is more than practical or political. It’s moral.

One evening in Varanasi, I head back to the ghats, to meet with one of the Namami Gange project’s most outspoken critics. Vishwambhar Nath Mishra is an intense man in his fifties, with white hair and a thick mustache. Mishra is a professor of electronics engineering at Banaras Hindu University, and also mahant (high priest) of Varanasi’s Sankat Mochan Hanuman Temple, a position he inherited from his late father, Veer Bhadra Mishra. Mishra’s father was a lifelong campaigner for the Ganges, and back in the 1980s he set up the Sankat Mochan Foundation, an NGO focused on protecting the river; when we meet, in a room near the foundation, there is a picture of the elder Mishra on the wall, smiling happily. When Mishra Sr. died in 2013, Vishwambhar inherited the foundation, along with his religious duties.

For Mishra, that combination—of engineering, campaigning, and religion—gives him a unique perspective on the requirements of cleaning the Ganges. “The use of this river is entirely different from other river systems,” Mishra says. “People come from distant places and worship Ganga like their mother. A few [of those] people come and gently touch Ganga water and put it on their forehead. A few people come and take a religious bathe in the river. And a few take sips of Ganga water.” This sip is a sacred ritual part of the daily bath in the river taken by many devout Indians.

“Now, if people are sipping on the water, that means the quality has to be potable water quality; there has to be no compromise,” Mishra says. For him, it’s personal. As a religious leader, one person expected to sip Ganges water during their daily bath is Mishra himself.

Mishra’s weapon in the fight for the Ganges is a simple one: data. In 1993, the Sankat Mochan Foundation established one of the few independent labs to analyze the quality of the Ganges’ water in Varanasi. “That’s why they [the government] are scared,” Mishra says. “We have a database that speaks the reality of how healthy the river is.” Ever since, the foundation has been keeping track of the water—bacteria levels, oxygen demand—and has seen the river’s health decline with India’s growth.

According to Mishra and his fellow activists, the government’s own figures when it comes to sewage in Varanasi don’t add up. The largest sewage treatment plant, at Dinapur, has a stated processing capacity of 140 million liters a day (MLD). “Now as a matter of fact, I know that in [the Dinapur plant], they are able to carry only 60 MLD of sewage,” Mishra says, growing more animated as he talks. “At Goitha, where the capacity is 120 MLD, a few months back when I asked those people, they are able to transport only 10 to20 MLD of sewage. That’s all. So as a scientific man, you can just calculate the efficiency.” Similarly, Mishra claims that the government’s assertions that drains are no longer discharging into the river is not true. “Five years ago we found 33 locations discharging [sewage] … That has reduced to 15 or 16,” he says. (The Uttar Pradesh Pollution Control Board did not respond to requests for comment.)

Whereas India’s religious and environmental campaigners like Mishra hope to make the Ganges drinkable again, the Indian government has to date only declared an intent to make the Ganges in Varanasi a Class B river—fit for bathing only. Even by that standard, Mishra says, the project is failing. “We have scientific parameters that if Ganga is a Class B River, then total fecal coliform count should be less than 500 per 100 ml,” Mishra says. (Fecal coliform bacteria are a strong indicator of other pathogens being present.) Mishra shows me a ream of paper, upon which he has printed charts of the lab’s water quality data at numerous locations, going back months. “Right now [in March 2022], where we are sitting at Tulshi ghat, the figure is 41,400 per 100 ml. At the end of [Varanasi], where a big channel is discharging, it is 51 million.”

(While I could not independently confirm these numbers, even the Indian government’s data shows that pathogen levels in the Ganges at Varanasi are many multiples higher than its safety targets.)

Back in 2014, before the launch of the Namami Gange program, Mishra sat with Modi to discuss his hopes to clean the Ganges. Mishra’s foundation has since presented its own proposals for treatment projects, but has been ignored. The Pollution Control Board and state government dispute the foundation’s data; Mishra, meanwhile, says that the government’s figures, which are averages of samples taken from across the width of the river, do not reflect the reality experienced by bathers on the ghats, where sewers discharge into the Ganges and the water is slower. “They will never recognize our laboratory because they know that it will be a big trouble for them. But we have all the data since 1993.”

Mishra also claims that commercial interests are preventing the government from taking even more decisive action to cut pollution. “Ganga happens to be a very fertile cow. So, everybody’s milking in the name of Ganga,” he says. (Allegations of corruption have plagued India’s many Ganges cleanup campaigns, although Mishra didn’t share any specific evidence of corruption. India’s Ministry of Jal Shakti, or water ministry, did not respond to WIRED’s requests for comment.)

Most politicians and engineers in India, when asked, will tell you that a totally pure Ganges, of the sort that Mishra is aiming for, is almost certainly impossible. (“Religious people don’t follow logic,” SK Barman, a project manager for the state water company’s Ganga Pollution Prevention Unit, told me. “We have to achieve salvation somehow. Moksha, moksha, moksha.”) But in driving the conversation, it’s also clear that without Mishra and the countless other environmental activists across India campaigning for the Ganges restoration, the issue would be worse.

A year since I was last in Varanasi, it’s clear that India’s sanitation drive is still far from where the government’s narrative would have the public believe. According to a public information request by the Indian news organization Down to Earth, in 2023, 71 percent of the Ganges’ river monitoring stations were reporting “alarmingly high” levels of fecal coliform bacteria. Over 66 percent of drains in the state of Uttar Pradesh, where Varanasi sits, still empty into the Ganges and its tributaries.

There is no doubt that the Namami Gange project has made progress, and not just in the number of toilets installed and treatment plants made operational. Nearly every member of the public I spoke to in India—in Varanasi, Kanpur, and in New Delhi—confirmed that anecdotally, pollution issues are improving. It wasn’t that long ago that dead bodies would be regularly found in the river, and sewage in the rainy season flowed up onto the ghats. Today, there are increased sightings of aquatic life, such as the Ganges river dolphin.

And at 2022’s state elections, Modi’s BJP party remained in power—a significant sign ahead of 2024’s presidential election. In March 2023, Modi’s government confirmed Namami Gange Mission II, an additional $2.56 billion of expenditure on expanding the program and continuing to complete already commissioned infrastructure.

As for Mishra and the other activists advocating for a clean holy river, their campaign continues, no matter how unpopular it makes him with the government and Modi-leaning press. “I have heard, ‘Why? Why don’t you say the Ganga is clean?’ Mishra says. “I cannot say that. We are totally committed to the Ganga, and we cannot mislead people. For me, the Ganga is the medium of my life.”

It’s a holy mission, I say.

“It’s a holy mission, and it’s a scientific mission.”

[bumblebeeappletree]

Emma and Edo were once a hotel stage show dance team, until they quit to live out their dream of rescuing animals (Emma) and farming (Edo) on the island of Tenerife. They bought cheap land and began to transform the rocky, dusty soil into a lush homestead.

In the beginning, it was just Emma, Edo, and some family toiling on the land to create basic accommodation. This was at a time of bare basics, with no electricity, running water, or toilets. Soon they were joined by volunteers, and they got creative building homes out of old vans, hillside caves, mud and clay, and scrap materials (including a lot of old pallet wood).

After a couple years, they had expanded beyond an animal sanctuary into a full-fledged community with 40 to 50 volunteers living on-site who all worked to live as lightly on the land as possible. The Tenerife Horse Rescue community is completely off-grid, using solar power, but also clever inventions like a horse poo water heater and a pedal-powered washing machine.

Since the average rainfall on Tenerife is between 11 to 30 millimeters for most of the year, all water is reused. Kitchen and shower water (greywater) is filtered with natural materials like pebbles and papyrus. Toilet water (blackwater) goes through a more rigorous process of biofilters. First it goes into tanks where it is oxygenated to separate liquids and solids, then it flows into a biofilter basin which works as a hydroponic pond (gravel, water, plants but no soil). Then it goes through a biofilter basins which use gravel and papyrus to trap particles and compounds after which it is finally clean enough to water the garden.

To feed what has now become a small village of people and animals, the villagers have graduated from dumpster diving to “freeganism”: they have an established relationship with a local supermarket to collect all damaged, ugly or out-of-date food. Every day, three volunteers pick up new van loads of food, it is then sorted for humans or animals.

To be sure that nothing gets wasted, and to give back to the community, they’ve gone one step further by registering as a local food bank so they can distribute food to local low-income families and other animal sanctuaries.

To volunteer: https://tenerifehorserescue.com/volun...

To donate: https://tenerifehorserescue.com/

More videos on the Tenerife Horse Rescue channel: / @tenerifehorserescue

Drone footage of Tenerife: @madairadventure5201

On *faircompanies: https://faircompanies.com/videos/coup...

[esselbathfittings]

Exploring the World of Sanitary Ware: Essential Types for Modern Bathrooms

n contemporary household architecture, the bathroom's role can be considered a comfort and cleanliness zone. Core to this haven is a plethora of sanitary-ware products, all of which serve specific sanitary functions and enhance the space’s aesthetic appeal. It is important for those planning, designing, or remodelling the bathroom to have adequate information concerning the different categories of sanitary wares. Whether it’s the old-age classics or the new-age novelties, here is your comprehensive guide to the basic categories of sanitary ware to become the stylist of your bathroom space.

Toilets

The most basic fixture one can have in a bathroom sanitary fittings is a toilet; however, innovation has allowed for a wide array of choices for every shower door. Close-coupled toilet designs are common and they refer to the style where the cistern is affixed to the back of the toilet bowl, making it compact in design. Wall-hung toilets are installed on the wall so they look as if they are ‘floating’; the design is fashionable and helps keep the floors clean. Back-to-wall toilets incorporate the elegance of wall-mounted toilets with the easy installation process of the close-coupled one since the cistern is fixed within the wall or a piece of furniture.

Basins

Basins or sinks can come in several designs to make them suitable for the bathroom in terms of their designs or their functions. Pedestal basins are conventional in their design and they are mounted on a pedestal that conceals the pipes, so they exude elegance. Wall-hung basins are installed directly onto the wall and thus do not require a pedestal, and they are good for modern style and compact washrooms. Vessel sinks, or countertop basins, are installed on top of the vanity or directly to the countertop which provides a great emphasis in the design. Under-mount basins are fitted below the countertop so that the waste appears to be directly below the counter, they also make it easier to clean the counter since they are fitted below.

Bidets

Bidets are more and more being adopted in contemporary washrooms for sanitary purposes. They come in two main types - the standalone bidets which a wash basin fixtures placed beside a toilet and bidet toilets which are bidets that are built into the toilet, thus being the space-saving type. Although widely used in franchises, urinals are gradually being incorporated into home use, particularly in houses that have male occupants. Hanging models and floor-based ones are offered, both possessing efficiency and saving space for the room.

Bathtubs

Bathtubs are most associated with comfort and richness or at least with the desire to be rich. There are the child hoc ones which are freestanding bathtubs They are installed anywhere within the bathroom and are considered as the center of the bathroom design. Corner bathtubs are placed with three sides are space-saving, and usually are accompanied by a shower. A corner bathtub has triangular walls and installation is done on the corner these bathtubs are ideal for space savers. They are generally known as accessible bathtubs and contain a door through which a person can enter the bathtub, and these are suitable for the elderly or disabled person.

Shower Enclosures

Enclosures themselves come in all shapes and sizes, fitting the size and style of the interior design of the bathroom. Some shower enclosures are frameless, the design of these incorporates a few nuts and bolts as this will give a more sophisticated outlook. Framed shower enclosures have noticeable frames and give shower screens a more classical touch and extra sturdiness. Sliding door showers are recommended if the bathroom space is small because the doors roll in instead of swinging out. Walk-in showers do not have doors and have very small plans to them and this gives the user a wide space feeling.

Bathroom Accessories

Other accompaniments to the general outlook and use of the bathroom include towel rails and rings whereby you place your towels in an ideal position. Soap dispensing systems and dishes are either to be mounted on the wall or standing on the counter. The toilet roll holders can range from simple designs to elaborate ones that conform to the décor of the bathroom. Some bathroom essentials can include mirrors and cabinets and the available varieties include simple mirrors and even those mirrors that are installed with cabinets.

Selecting the bathroom sanitary ware plays a crucial role in designing the required comfort and at the same time a clean and beautiful interior. Why settle for a boring bathroom design when there are millions of choices out there guaranteeing you a bathroom style of your preference whether it is the conventional or the modern style? Knowing the various types of sanitary items for the bathroom will enable you to consider the various aspects that will help in the improvement of the showpiece’s functionality and beauty.

Start your bathroom remodeling process with Essel Bath Fittings because the perfect bath sanitary ware is there to actualize your dream.

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[salusindiabrand]

5 Essential Tips For Buying Waste Coupling

drain pipe with the waste pipe of a wash basin in a bathroom

[servicechampions]

Signs you are facing a clogged Drain

Discovering a clogged drain in your house might be one of the most terrifying experiences a homeowner can have. While this isn't a major issue, it is inconvenient — especially when you're spending more time in your tiny dwelling and just want the water to drain. However, there are a few possible solutions to the problem at hand – but first, you must understand the symptoms of a clogged drain:

WHAT ARE THE SIGNS OF A CLOGGED DRAIN?

WATER THAT DRAINS SLOWLY

Consider this: You're hand-washing your dinner dishes when you realise the water in your washbasin isn't draining quickly. However, as the tap is turned off, all of the remaining water appears to vanish at a glacial rate. You have a clog on your hands whether you detect the problem with one or several drains in your home.

A PERMANENT CLOG

One of the most obvious indicators of a clogged drain is when you turn on the water and it doesn't seem to exit your washbasin basin or bathtub. This frequently suggests a blockage and that no water will move through. You might be wondering right now, "How does this happen?" Here are some of the causes of sluggish draining and/or plugged drains:

What causes an Obstructed drain?

Discarding COOKING Side-effects

After you cook a feast, where do you discard the oil (or cooking oil) extra post cooking? In all honesty, many pour it directly down a close by drain in their home. While this might appear to be innocuous to do, something is intense and could cause some serious seepage issues.

Consider it like this: While you're cooking and oil shapes, it's a fluid (because of the intensity of the dish). In any case, the moment that there is no intensity applied to the cooking side-effect, it starts to solidify — particularly when it comes into contact with your cool waste line.

Also, over the long haul, any cooking result that solidifies on the drain will gradually make the pathway for the water to leave the sink significantly more tight — which eventually makes that feared obstruct. In any case, to keep away from this, you'll need to empty cooking oil into an old compartment, let it solidify, and dispose of that holder in a close by trash bin.

Throwing Trash DOWN THE Channel

On the subject of discarding some unacceptable things down your channel, we should discuss trash. No, we're not discussing an old household item or anything significant in structure yet rather little produce stickers, pieces of paper, and the rundown goes on. Commonly, in light of their appearance, property holders will dispose of more modest bits of garbage by throwing them down a channel.

While they might appear to fit easily, they can either get stopped in the drainpipe or on the other hand, assuming they're tacky, can grip to its side, gathering any extra trash that might tumble down your channel. Likewise to pouring cooking oil down your channel, the trash that sticks to the line can make a restricted opening for H2O and lead to a possible obstruct.

Consequently, to keep away from that stop up, you'll need to think about taking any trash (regardless of how little it could be) and throwing it into a close by rubbish repository. This will save your channel from an obstruct and will give you inner serenity realizing that your pipes is out of danger.

WHAT CAUSES A Sluggish Channel?

Impediments IN Numerous Channel Lines

Do you feel as though there are numerous sluggish channels in your home? On the off chance that that is the situation, the main thing in need of attention might be that you have a couple of obstructed channels around your unassuming homestead. Think about it like this: in spite of the fact that they're isolated in different pieces of your living space, all channel pipes in the end lead to the primary sewer line. In the event that any of them have an obstruct or a prior issue to make them channel gradually, then, at that point, there's an opportunity it will disrupt different channels in your home.

Something else to consider is that there might be an issue with your principal sewer line.

Upheld Fundamental SEWER LINE

Presently, in the event that you have been extremely cognizant about the thing you're putting down your sink channels and latrine, yet run into disapproving of slow depletes, chances are, there's an issue with your primary sewer line: it's supported. As it's known, each channel in your home associates with a "mother" channel called the fundamental sewer line. All things considered, any pollutants from these channels meet in the fundamental sewer pipe inspection before they are conveyed to your town's sewer line.

In any case, assuming your principal sewer line is supported, anything that has been waiting in there will have no spot to proceed to will make your channels back up — which is never a very smart arrangement. Until the central concern is fixed, you'll experience irregularities with the channels in your home.

HOW Might An Obstructed Deplete BE CLEARED?

HYDRO-Flying

One of the most outstanding ways of killing an obstructed channel is to consider having a hydro-streaming help. Like how a strain washer functions beyond your home, this imaginative channel innovation utilizes a squanderer impacting head that is wound through a channel to give a powerful tension wash.

Moreover, this negligibly obtrusive method will clear that obstinate obstruct in a matter of seconds, and it will assist with wiping out the whole line, which will additionally guarantee that you have an issue free channel in the days to come!

Establishing

An elective answer for get to the "root" of the issue is to pick an establishing administration. Going back to the extent that 1934, this unclogging strategy will cut up any garbage that has framed within your pipes. The way this works is that a long snake with a mechanized edge is embedded in the channel. As it advances through the line, it cuts up whatever might be deterring the line.

A portion of the numerous deterrents establishing can eliminate are:

•           Oil

•           Hair

•           Soil

•           Tree roots

Winding

One more method for clearing an obstruct is to consider winding. This basic assistance utilizes a retractable, adaptable drill (suggestive of a slim link) that is steadily embedded into the channel to assist with eliminating anything sticking to the walls.

HOW Might I KEEP A Channel Issue FREE?

Stay away from Compound Channel More clean

Here and there, a mortgage holder's most memorable sense is to utilize a synthetic channel cleaner to eliminate any obstructs they might run into. While that might be a fast and simple arrangement, the drawn out impacts are not exactly heavenly. Depending on synthetic channel cleaner can erode your pipes over the long haul and may expect them to be supplanted — assuming that the issue declines.

BE Aware OF WHAT YOU Discard

As referenced before, there are numerous ways that a channel can stop up — yet ordinarily, the block is expected to discarding things that ought to be thrown in a trash bin as opposed to punched through the holes of the channel opening.

The absolute most normal things include:

•           Q-tips

•           Produce stickers

•           Cooking oil/oil

•           Hair decorations

•           paper clutter.

To keep an issue from occurring, it's fundamental to be aware of what you put down your pipes channels. On the off chance that you don't know whether something will fit, then it's ideal to discard it in your garbage bin simply.

[alasafeergroup]

Plumbing and Sanitary Installation: A Comprehensive Guide

Plumbing and sanitary installation play a crucial role in maintaining the comfort and functionality of our homes and buildings. Whether you’re planning a new construction project, renovating an existing space, or simply need to fix a leaky faucet, understanding the basics of plumbing and sanitary systems is essential. In this blog, we’ll take you through the key aspects of plumbing and sanitary installation, from the fundamentals to some advanced tips.

Understanding Plumbing and Sanitary Systems

Plumbing and sanitary systems are very important for the health, hygiene and comfort of the people living in a building. They involve the design, installation and maintenance of pipes, fixtures and appliances that supply water and remove waste from a building. Plumbing and sanitary systems have many components and functions, such as:

· Water supply system: This system provides water for various purposes, such as drinking, cooking, washing, etc. The water supply system consists of water sources, storage tanks, pumps, pipes, valves, taps and meters. The water quality and pressure should be maintained according to the standards and regulations.

· Drainage system: This system collects and disposes the waste water from the sinks, toilets, showers, etc. The drainage system consists of traps, soil pipes, waste pipes, vent pipes, septic tanks and sewer lines. The drainage system should be designed to prevent clogging, leakage, backflow and odor.

· Sanitary fittings: These are the devices that are used to access or control the water supply and drainage system. They include hand wash basins, sinks, bathtubs, water closets, faucets, showers, etc. The sanitary fittings should be durable, easy to clean and aesthetically pleasing.

Tools and Materials For Plumbing and Sanitary works

Tools and materials are essential for plumbing and sanitary work. They help the plumber to perform various tasks such as cutting, bending, joining, sealing, and repairing pipes and fittings. Some of the common tools and materials used in plumbing and sanitary work are:

· Pipe cutter: A tool used to cut pipes of different materials and sizes. There are different types of pipe cutters, such as solid type, hook type, and chain type.

· Hacksaw: A tool used to cut metal pipes, nuts, bolts, screws, and other objects. It has a blade with fine teeth that can cut through hard materials.

· Hole saw: A tool used to cut circular holes in pipes, walls, floors, and other surfaces. It has a cylindrical blade with teeth that can drill through various materials.

· Pipe bender: A tool used to bend pipes into different shapes and angles. It can be manual or hydraulic. It has a curved form that can fit around the pipe and apply pressure to bend it.

· Wrenches: Tools used to tighten or loosen nuts, bolts, fittings, valves, and other objects. There are different types of wrenches, such as adjustable wrench, pipe wrench, basin wrench, faucet key, torque wrench, etc.

· Pliers: Tools used to grip, twist, cut, or bend wires, pipes, nuts, bolts, and other objects. They have two handles and two jaws that can be opened or closed by applying pressure.

· Plumber’s torch: A tool used to heat pipes and fittings for soldering or brazing. It has a flame that can melt metal and create a strong joint.

· Thread sealing tape: A material used to seal the threads of pipes and fittings to prevent leaks. It is also known as plumber’s tape or Teflon tape. It is wrapped around the threads before screwing them together.

· Pipes: Materials used to transport water or waste from one place to another. They can be made of metal, plastic, clay, concrete, or other materials. They have different sizes, shapes, and specifications depending on their use.

· Fittings: Materials used to connect pipes or change their direction, size, or shape. They can be elbows, tees, reducers, couplings, unions, valves, traps, etc. They have different types and standards depending on their use.

These are some of the tools and materials used in plumbing and sanitary work.

Planning Your Installation

· Creating a layout: A layout is a drawing that shows the location and connection of plumbing and sanitary fixtures, pipes, fittings, valves, etc. in your site. A layout helps you to visualize the design, estimate the materials and costs, and avoid conflicts and errors. To create a layout, you need to follow these steps:

o Measure the dimensions of your site and draw a floor plan to scale.

o Mark the location of plumbing and sanitary fixtures, such as sinks, toilets, showers, etc., on the floor plan. Make sure they are not too close together or too far from the water supply and drainage lines.

o Mark the drain lines and vents for the fixtures on the floor plan. The drain lines should be sloped at least 1/4 inch per foot to allow gravity to move the wastewater. The vents should be extended above the roof to prevent air locks and sewer gases.

o Add the supply lines for the fixtures on the floor plan. The supply lines should be sized according to the water demand and pressure of each fixture. You can use a water supply fixture unit (WSFU) table to calculate the required pipe sizes.

o Indicate the pipe sizes and the exact type of every fitting on the layout. You can use symbols or abbreviations to represent different types of pipes and fittings.

o Create riser drawings to show vertical pipe runs and connections between floors.

o Review your layout and check for any errors or inconsistencies. You may need to revise your layout according to the codes and standards, site conditions, or customer preferences.

· Determining pipe sizes: Pipe sizes are important for ensuring adequate water flow and pressure, preventing leaks and noises, and saving energy and water. Pipe sizes depend on various factors, such as water demand, pressure, length, material, etc. To determine pipe sizes, you need to follow these steps:

o Estimate the water demand of each fixture by using a WSFU table or a fixture flow rate table. The WSFU is a measure of how much water a fixture consumes per minute at peak demand. The fixture flow rate is the actual amount of water that flows through a fixture at a given pressure.

o Calculate the total WSFU or fixture flow rate for each branch or main line by adding up the values of all fixtures connected to that line.

o Find the appropriate pipe size for each branch or main line by using a pipe sizing chart or table. The pipe sizing chart or table shows the relationship between pipe size, water flow rate, water velocity, and pressure drop. You need to choose a pipe size that can deliver the required water flow rate without exceeding the maximum water velocity or pressure drop.

o Adjust the pipe size if necessary by considering other factors, such as friction loss, elevation change, fittings loss, etc. Friction loss is the loss of pressure due to the resistance of water flowing through pipes. Elevation change is the difference in height between two points in a pipe system. Fittings loss is the loss of pressure due to bends, elbows, tees, valves, etc. in pipes. You may need to increase or decrease the pipe size depending on these factors.

· Ensuring proper slope for drainage: Slope is the angle or gradient of a pipe that affects how fast or slow the wastewater flows through it. Slope is important for preventing clogging, backflow, siphoning, and odor in drainage pipes. Slope depends on various factors, such as pipe size, material, length, etc. To ensure proper slope for drainage, you need to follow these steps:

o Determine the minimum slope required for each drain pipe by using a slope chart or table. The slope chart or table shows the relationship between pipe size, slope

Installation Steps for Plumbing and Sanitary Works

Here are 3 installation steps for plumbing and sanitary works

· Underground rough-in phase: This is the first stage of plumbing installation, where the pipes and fittings are laid below the ground level, before the concrete slab is poured. This phase involves digging trenches, laying pipes, connecting fittings, installing traps, vents, cleanouts, etc., and testing the system for leaks and pressure. This phase requires careful planning and coordination with other trades, such as electrical, mechanical, etc., to avoid conflicts and damages.

· Aboveground rough-in phase: This is the second stage of plumbing installation, where the pipes and fittings are installed above the ground level, after the concrete slab is cured. This phase involves running pipes through walls, floors, ceilings, etc., connecting fixtures, installing valves, regulators, meters, etc., and testing the system for leaks and pressure. This phase requires accurate measurements and alignments, as well as proper supports and insulation for the pipes.

· Finishing phase: This is the final stage of plumbing installation, where the fixtures and appliances are installed and connected to the plumbing system. This phase involves mounting sinks, toilets, showers, faucets, etc., connecting water heaters, dishwashers, washing machines, etc., and testing the system for functionality and performance. This phase requires careful handling and installation of the fixtures and appliances, as well as aesthetic considerations.

Common Plumbing Issues and Solutions

Plumbing issues are common problems that can affect any household. They can range from minor annoyances to major emergencies, depending on the severity and location of the problem. Some of the most common plumbing issues and their solutions are:

Dripping faucets: This is a problem that can waste water and money, as well as cause annoying noises. The main cause of dripping faucets is usually a worn-out washer or O-ring that needs to be replaced. To fix this problem, you need to turn off the water supply to the faucet, unscrew the faucet head, remove the old washer or O-ring, and install a new one.

Leaking pipes: This is a problem that can damage your walls, floors, and furniture, as well as increase your water bill. The main causes of leaking pipes are corrosion, cracks, loose joints, or high water pressure. To fix this problem, you need to locate the source of the leak, turn off the water supply to the pipe, and either patch the leak with a repair clamp or tape, or replace the damaged section of the pipe.

Running toilets: This is a problem that can waste up to 200 gallons of water per day, as well as make annoying sounds. The main causes of running toilets are faulty flappers, fill valves, flush valves, or chains. To fix this problem, you need to open the tank lid, inspect the parts for wear and tear, and either adjust or replace them as needed.

Low water pressure: This is a problem that can make it hard to use your faucets, showers, and appliances. The main causes of low water pressure are clogged aerators, pipes, or valves, or faulty pressure regulators. To fix this problem, you need to clean or replace the aerators, pipes, or valves that are causing the blockage, or adjust or replace the pressure regulator that is malfunctioning.

Clogged drains: This is a problem that can prevent water from flowing freely through your sinks, tubs, or toilets. The main causes of clogged drains are hair, soap scum, grease, food particles, or foreign objects that accumulate in your pipes. To fix this problem, you need to use a plunger, a drain snake, or a chemical drain cleaner to dislodge or dissolve the clog.

These are some of the most common plumbing issues and their solutions.

Maintenance and Care

Maintenance and care for plumbing and sanitary work is an essential part of keeping your plumbing system in good condition and preventing costly repairs or damages. Plumbing and sanitary work involves the installation, repair, and maintenance of pipes, fittings, fixtures, and appliances that supply water and remove waste from a building. Some of the maintenance and care tips for plumbing and sanitary work are:

Check for leaks regularly: Leaks can waste water, increase your water bill, and cause damage to your walls, floors, furniture, etc. You can check for leaks by inspecting your pipes, faucets, toilets, showers, etc. for signs of dripping, wetness, corrosion, or mold. You can also use a water meter to monitor your water usage and detect any unusual changes. If you find any leaks, you should fix them as soon as possible or call a professional plumber to do it for you.

Clean your drains periodically: Drains can get clogged by hair, soap scum, grease, food particles, or foreign objects that accumulate in your pipes. Clogged drains can prevent water from flowing freely, cause backups, overflows, or odors. You can clean your drains by using a plunger, a drain snake, or a chemical drain cleaner to dislodge or dissolve the clog. You can also use baking soda and vinegar to create a natural drain cleaner that can remove minor clogs and freshen up your drains.

Replace your washers and O-rings occasionally: Washers and O-rings are rubber parts that seal the joints of pipes and fittings to prevent leaks. Over time, they can wear out, crack, or break due to constant use or exposure to water. You can replace your washers and O-rings by turning off the water supply to the faucet or valve, unscrewing the faucet head or valve body, removing the old washer or O-ring, and installing a new one.

Insulate your pipes properly: Pipes can freeze or burst in cold weather if they are not insulated properly. Frozen or burst pipes can cause water damage, flooding, or loss of water supply. You can insulate your pipes by wrapping them with foam pipe insulation, heat tape, or newspaper. You can also keep your faucets dripping slightly to prevent the water from freezing in the pipes.

Service your water-using appliances regularly: Water-using appliances such as water heaters, dishwashers, washing machines, etc., need regular servicing to ensure their efficiency and performance. You can service your water-using appliances by following the manufacturer’s instructions for cleaning

Advanced Plumbing Techniques

Advanced plumbing techniques are methods and technologies that can improve the efficiency, performance, and sustainability of plumbing systems. They can help plumbers and homeowners to save water, energy, and money, as well as prevent or solve common plumbing problems. Some examples of advanced plumbing techniques are:

Tankless water heaters: These are devices that heat water on demand, without storing it in a tank. They can save energy and space, as well as provide continuous hot water supply.

Hot water recirculation: This is a system that circulates hot water from the heater to the faucet, and back to the heater, using a pump and a loop of pipes. It can reduce water wastage and waiting time, as well as increase comfort and convenience.

Smart irrigation: This is a system that uses sensors and weather forecasts to control the watering of gardens and lawns. It can optimize water usage and plant health, as well as reduce runoff and erosion.

Leak detectors: These are devices that monitor the water pressure and flow in pipes, and alert the user if there is a leak. They can prevent water damage, flooding, and high water bills, as well as help locate the source of the leak.

Advanced touchless faucet: This is a faucet that uses motion sensors or voice commands to turn on and off the water flow. It can prevent cross-contamination, save water, and enhance hygiene and accessibility.

Hiring Professionals

When it comes to plumbing and sanitary installation, ensuring that the job is done right is paramount. At Alasafeer Contacting Co, we understand the importance of hiring qualified professionals who can deliver top-notch service. Our licensed and insured experts have years of experience in plumbing and sanitary installation, ensuring that your project adheres to the highest standards and local regulations. Whether it’s a repair, renovation, or new installation, we provide transparent quotes, clear communication, and a commitment to excellence. When you choose Alasafeer Contacting Co, you’re choosing reliability and peace of mind for your plumbing and sanitary needs.

[anantradingpvtltd]

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[mprojects22]

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[syrupwit]

Slight misunderstanding about how this works corrected; fenders B16 in the continuity of your two posts about them already? Thank you!!

Hey, no worries whatsoever! Thank you for the prompt. B16 is, at the moment: "I’m going to stroke your hair but it doesn’t mean anything because I still hate you." This is in the same continuity as a couple of previous short fills (both NSFW, though this fill isn't -- Part 1, Part 2).

Under the cut, please find ~730 words of Anders/Fenris for @dadrunkwriting.

-

Fenris was finally at rest. He lay unconscious on the cot, his breath coming even and slow.

“Just dump the elf at the clinic,” Anders grumbled, as he carted an armload of torn and bloodstained linens to the bin where he stored soiled laundry. “Anders won’t be busy, it’s only his one day off to clean! Great idea, Hawke.”

It should have been a routine job, Hawke had told him, except that the smugglers they’d ambushed had been carrying some special Qunari poison. Fenris had been standing too close to a crate when some unspecified fool split it open.

The poison was nasty stuff, but not fatal. It was mostly used for torture, Hawke said, and declined to offer further explanation. The blood was from Fenris clawing at himself, as the poison created an unbearable prickling sensation that seemed to pull from inside the skin. Again, no details on how Hawke knew this. 

Fenris had thrashed, and screamed, and shredded his first set of bedding beyond hope of saving. He was on the third now. In between refusing healing potions and antidotes, he had cursed Anders fervently in at least two languages, but not Hawke, which seemed unfair. She was hiding something, Anders was sure of it.

Anders reached the bin, where he spent a moment considering if the linens were too badly torn to be mended. He decided they probably were, dumped them anyway, and stalked off to wash his hands. 

-

Steam rose from the water basin as Anders scrubbed at his skin.

“I’ll send him a bill,” he said, meaning Fenris. “Maker knows he can afford it. What’s he spending his coin on besides wine?” Thinking about Fenris’s possible pursuits irritated him, and he scrubbed harder. What a waste, that someone who could do what Fenris could would be such a stuffed-up bigot.

Anders continued, “He owes me, anyway. How many of my blankets has he ruined over the past three years?” The answer was “not that many,” because Fenris generally refused to seek help from Anders unless they were stuck on a mountain or underground or somewhere, but the question was rhetorical. 

Despite his efforts to redirect it, Anders’ mind wandered toward less unpleasant ways to… well, hopefully not ruin blankets, but cause them to need laundering. Fenris never came to the clinic for that, though, nor did he let Anders into his mansion. They always met somewhere else and Fenris always left first. 

“Ungrateful elf,” said Anders, although it sounded weak. 

He had thought that he didn’t care about seeing Fenris in pain. At one point, he’d even thought that he liked it. Now it had turned out that he didn’t anymore, not for real, not at all.

His hands and forearms were flushed bright red when he finished washing.

-

Fenris was still sleeping when Anders returned to his side. If Fenris awoke and lashed out again, Anders thought, he would have to break his promise to Hawke and cast a paralysis on him. He didn’t have a fourth set of clean dry linens available.

He drew nearer and looked at Fenris. 

His expression was tense, but blank except for the occasional twitch or grimace. Sweat had made his hair lank and plastered it to his forehead. Without thinking, reacting to an impulse that went against both his standards of conduct as a healer and experiences with Fenris, Anders reached out to smooth it back.

Fenris stayed still. He did not open his eyes, catch Anders’ hand, or break his wrist, nor did he show any sign of preparing to leap up and kill him. When Anders repeated the smoothing motion, he sighed, and Anders froze; but his face had relaxed a fraction, not tensed.

It was wrong to touch someone like this when they were vulnerable, someone who wouldn’t have allowed it otherwise. But didn’t Anders deserve some recompense for his trouble?

“If you were an animal, I wouldn’t think twice,” he murmured. 

He moved his hand fully to Fenris’s hair. It was matted with sweat and oil, not soft, and he could smell dirt and smoke in it. He imagined the runoff from washing it and suddenly, badly wanted to bathe Fenris, or bathe with Fenris, which was a very stupid thing to think about.

He petted Fenris’s hair until his expression went peaceful, and then he removed his hand.

Fenris’s eyes flew open.

[davidstortebeker]

Taking Care of Business 2 – Back to Using Water

The undeniable advantages of a flush toilet

In my last post on humanure composting I described how human feces can be composted in a simple, cheap, and efficient way, and why it is less wasteful of water and nutrients than using a conventional flush toilet.

Now, I want to return to the idea of flushing down our human wastes with water. This is not playing devil's advocate, I simply want to look at all possible advantages of that system, to see how they can be utilized in a sustainable way. Also, certain people may have a hard time adjusting to a system they are not familiar with, no matter how efficient it may be. There's nothing to be ashamed of in this. We are toilet trained from an early age, and what we learn during that formative period tends to stay with us all our lives. A flush toilet may in fact constitute a psychological necessity. This need is also important and should not be ignored, especially since there are real, tangible upsides to flush toilets.

The biggest advantage of water is the perfect seal it forms, blocking any smell from whatever has passed the curve in the pipe. This fact alone may be important enough to consider a flush system, preferably the kind that won't waste our resources like our conventional system does.

Can a flush toilet actually be sustainable?

The two most important questions to ask in this regard are: Where does the water for our toilet come from, and where does it go from there? If its origin is a clean water source, such as wells or aquifers, or any elaborate, energy hungry, purifying system, I would deem the use of such system for flushing toilets criminal, to say the least. Using potable water to get rid of excrement while others are dying of thirst used to be punishable by death in many cultures. On the other hand, the flush toilet becomes more acceptable if the water has been used previously, at least a couple of times, as it happens in Earthships. There the water in the toilet has already been used twice: first to wash (hands, dishes, clothes, shower, etc.), then to water plants in the gray-water planter in the greenhouse.

image source

No Earthship? No problem!  

Earthships are amazing at catching water, filtering it, using and reusing it, and still re-reusing it further. But what if we don't happen to be living in such a well designed structure? We can still use the water at least once, before flushing it down the toilet. For example, in one of the most common activities linked with the toilet: washing our hands. Japanese toilets have been famous for these kinds of features,  but the same idea can be implemented with locally available materials. The picture on the right is my first attempt at this in our Mexican apartment.

The other question regarding the water's final destination is equally important. Since there is no “out” or “away” where you could throw it, another option must be sought. Can humanure in water be composted? It sure can, once it has been removed from the water. Red compost worms (Eisenia fetida) do an amazing job at it. In one place in New Zealand I had the pleasure to help set up such as system. Inside of the house were a seemingly standard bathroom with a flush toilet and a kitchen with a garbage disposer in the sink. Both drained into the same bin behind the house, a concrete basin of 180x60cm, with a depth of 70cm (6 x 2 x 2.3 feet). In the bottom we laid a loop of drainage pipe, leading out through the drainage hole of the basin, and covered it all with gravel. On top of the layer of gravel we suspended a mesh basket. This is where the solids will remain, and where the worms live. The water drains away immediately while the solids remain, feeding the worms. When the basket is full of compost it can be lifted out and emptied, something we estimated to happen every 1-2 years. Meanwhile, the occupant of the house could enjoy full western comfort in kitchen and bathroom, while knowing that their resources won’t be wasted.

But what happens to the water?

Once it has left the worm-bin, the water flows through a series of basins. The first one is a filtration tank, with layers of bark, scoria, sand, and charcoal. The next step after this tank is the 97 liter (26 gallon) dosing chamber. This feature of the system ensures that when water enters the soakage trench, it spreads out evenly. Without the dosing chamber the water would dribble little by little, every time the facilities are being used, without much pressure, and accumulate in the lowest section of the trench. However, if everything is flushed at once, the entire pipe fills up evenly. This type of dosing chamber works with a pressure siphon. The lack of moving parts guarantees the low maintenance aspect.

Eventually the water drains down the hill into the pipe inside the trench. The trench is 50 meters (164 feet) long, following the contour line of the hill. Around the pipe the trench is filled with more scoria as well as charcoal. This will soak up the water as soon as it comes out of the pipe, and more microorganisms can feed on it. A bit further down the hill a line of citrus trees make use of the water that passes onward through the trench. Still further down the hill, once it has passed through the filter, the trench, and the orchard, the water goes into a pond. A red aquatic weed grows on the surface, which can be skimmed off and used in the garden. It is very rich in nutrients and can be either dried, used as mulch, or mixed into the soil. In any case, it returns the excess nutrients back into the food circle, allowing us to eat our own wastes in form of healthy, tasty, nutritious food.

Other possibilities?

Yet another system I have seen doesn't even need a hill to flush and spread out the water. The concept is quite similar: Nutrient-rich blackwater from the toilet goes into an 'infiltrator', an inverted half-pipe buried underground, with about 60 cm (2 feet) of pumice or scoria under, around, and above it. This buried dome is empty inside, that's where all the water from the house drains into. The water seeps down, into the many tiny pockets in the volcanic rock, where microorganisms get to compost it. Fruit trees are planted all around the infiltrator, and sunflowers on top of it. Their roots reach around and under the half-pipe, taking up the water and the nutrients.

Design for the proper scale

With so many ways to utilize the nutrients from human wastes, whether with or without water, there really should not be an excuse for not composting humanure. No matter which option we go with, it's always important to design the system at the right scale: don't make it too small, which can be quickly overwhelmed by a sudden peak of visitors, but don't make it too large either, which would leave its dependents (worms, trees, etc.) without the water and nutrients they need. Most importantly, make sure all the water you use is taken up, to avoid ground-water contamination, as it is often the case for old-style outhouses. 

sources: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5

[winter-fox-queen]

I only have my self to blame...

Frankie Morales x you fic 

Tags:  A lot of cursing.  So much cursing.  Drug use.  Angst.  

Summary:  I kept thinking about the coke rap they mention in the story.  And I thought, what if Frankie was innocent?  So most of this is about that, with a tense change so that when the reader enters the picture, it’s “you” -- no y/n.

I have never written a fic before.  I am no nervous AT ALL.  But I wanted to give something back, even though it’s not really romantic.  I logged into my laptop so I could use cuts.  XD  I am ashamed at how long it took me to remember my password.

2,083 words.

It was, really, a bullshit coke rap, but it was still Frankie’s fault.  He was flying one of the boss’s nicer planes, a pretty little Cessna Caravan, fitted out for luxury in the back, a curtain separating the pilot from the main cabin.  The curtain was partly folded back, so the rich folks in the cabin behind him with their booze, lounging in their leather seats don’t have to stare at the back of Frankie’s tousled, ball cap covered head.  

It also meant that he could hear what they were saying, the headset over one ear was quiet, but he’d already decided they were a bag of dicks and he wasn’t going to pay attention to them, as they laughed like a bunch of frat boys behind him.  There was a mirror, angled so he could see what was going on, and once in awhile he’d look.  There were five men and one woman, the men acting like a bunch of frat boys, the woman trying to pretend she was amused.

Frankie knew, of course, that the trouble was men like that made that secret chip on his shoulder come out. The one he tried to ignore.  Because I’m better than that, right?  They ain’t got nothing that I want.  But they did.  They didn’t have to worry about money…they didn’t have a new baby to worry about, they didn’t have to play the game of if-I-pay-this-bill-I-can-pretend-I-didn’t-get-that-one.  He was tired, worried about his lady, scared that he was going to fucking fail her, fail their little girl, Luna.  

He let out a long, pent up sigh.  He itched to put on some music, was considering it when the shuffle of curtain fabric told him he was no longer alone.

The sole woman from the back gave him a shy smile.  “Do you mind? They’re acting like idiots back there.” She had a stylish, blunt cut, a white button shirt and a short, black skirt.  Everything was fitted perfectly so the clothes molded against her.  It looked polished rather than cheap.  He smiled politely  and shrugged as she arranged herself gracefully into the copilot chair.

“So, you said your name was Frankie?”  She reached out with a foot and nudged his chair.  She’d shed her high heels, and, despite the shortness of her skirt was gathering her legs under her.  

Lady, you might as well have a danger sign around your neck.  He nodded, feeling a little out of his depth.  

“Macey.  Pleasure to meet you.  You been a pilot long?”

He nodded.

“You don’t speak much, do you?”  She was flirty enough that even he, usually captain obvious, caught on.

He gave her a sidelong look. “I’m trying to figure out how to slip the face I have a wife and kid into the conversation.”  Wife was a stretch.  He wanted to marry you, he dreamed about it.  He wanted to give you everything – a nice ring, a pretty dress. A day to be a be special, to feel loved. Proof to all your  friends and family that he could take care of you, that he was worthy.  He was scraping up money, setting it aside.  If he didn’t go for a diamond, maybe he could get her something else nice. Maybe an opal.  Opal rings couldn’t be that expensive, right?

She laughed.  “Sorry.  I’m bored.” She held up a hand.  “Scout’s honor, I will do nothing to hurt your marriage.”

He gave her a grin.  “Well, then, tell me a story.”

“A story?”

“Yeah.  Once we touch down in…”  He looked at the time “About two hours, we won’t see each other again. So tell me a story.  Something you’ve always wanted to tell someone, but you couldn’t.”

She arched an eyebrow provocatively.

“Not like that, not a secret.  Just a story you want to tell.  Can be anything, I don’t care.”

She looked bemused for a second.  Then she starts, haltingly, as if she’s never had t actually make real conversation.  As if she’s never had anyone to listen to her.  And the thing is, she’s funny.  Clever. He finds himself laughing as he does his thing, even throwing back a couple of smart remarks of his own.  She has a gift of making him feel like he has a wicked sense of humor, and for a little bit, the cares he’s been harboring fall silent.  

So does the cabin behind him, once.  He has a mirror, set low, so he can see behind him.  The ringleader of the group is glaring at him, not looking too happy.

Well, fuck him. What can he do?  

A lot, apparently.

They land, and Macey gets up to go out the back.  “Thanks, Frankie.  Good luck with everything.”

“You, too, thanks for passing the time with me,” he says, and sets about the tasks.  He checks gauges, writes things down, and finally, goes back and checks over the cabin.  He gets out a basin from a cabinet and puts the used rocks glasses in it.  He won’t wash them – he’ll just dump the basin on the sideboard inside the hanger.  He doesn’t have to do the cleaning, but Allie, the janitor who usually cleaned up the planes, had hurt her back and everything, like picking up candy bar wrappers and throwing them away, checking the seats to see if anything had been left behind was an extra chore she did not need.

The plastic baggy was almost invisible against the beige leather of the seats.  He picked it up, made a shocked little huff, like he’d put his hand on a snake.  Coke. A pretty good amount of it, too. The old craving raised its head, making his hand shake a little.  He heard voices, and shoved the baggy in his pocket.  I’ll pitch it.  He had to take a leak, anyway, he’d go, flush that garbage down the toilet, and there. Done.  He wasn’t that man any more.  It was the one thing he could do for you.

He grabbed the waste basket and put it next to the door, grabbed the tub of glasses and put it under his arm.

“Frankie?  You in there?”

“Yeah, boss…coming.”  Snagging the clipboard to put on top of the glasses so he’d have a free hand if he needed it, he went down the steps and onto the tarmac.

Hector stood there, hands in his pockets, looking ore hang dog than usual.  “Yeah, boss?”

“The passengers said you were flying high, Frankie.”

That stopped him dead, like to concussion from a bomb, hitting his face and chest and taking out the air in his lungs.  “What? No, I’d never…”  

“They said that they saw you – just before take off.  And you know, I don’t want to believe it, but looking at your eyes…they do look awful red.”

“I’ve been up late with Luna.  She’s not been sleeping that great, and I can’t leave it all on…”

Hector nodded, as if he believed him, but Frankie had a feeling he didn’t.  He’d give real money to know exactly what the fuck had been said. “Turn out your pockets, Frankie.”

You jackass.    He attacked himself.  Did you really think they just accidentally left that much coke behind? You fucking jackass.  “I found some shit they left behind, but you gotta believe me, Hector, I am clean.  I’ve been clean for a couple years now.”

“Just show me your pockets, son, then we can just leave this behind.”

He took the coke out. “I told you, I found it on the plane.”

Hector shook his head, and started to walk away.  

“Look, I’ll take a test.” He jogged a little, caught the other man’s arm.  “Seriously. You can watch to make sure I’m not cheating.  You’ll see. I’m clean.  I’ll take a drug test right now.”

“You just happened to find a baggy of coke?  That the passengers happened to leave behind?  And why would they accuse you, if it’s not true?”

Frankie dropped his hand. I guess you wouldn’t believe me if I said some asshole thought I was flirting with his girl and thought he’d get back at me…hell, I’m not sure I believe it.

“I’ll be reporting you. They’ll suspend you.  Maybe they will go easy on you, you being a Vet and this being your first offense…but you need to clean out your locker.  I’ll write a check for what we owe you.”

“I…I need this job.” He could hear an edge of pleading in his voice, and he hated it, but he’d go down on his fucking knees and beg if he had to.

Hector’s eyes hardened. “And I don’t need to send a druggie up in one of my planes.”

**

Frankie took the back roads home.  There was an old farm gate, a place where he could pull off the road and stare, blindly, at overgrown fields.  

“What am I gonna do?” He whispered, over and over, like a mantra.  “What am I gonna fucking do?”  His hands clutched the steering wheel, knuckles white.  He could barely breathe, and when the words wouldn’t come he just sat there, panting, beating his head against the steering when and wondering how he’d survive this.

When his breathing steadied, he got back on the road, and went home.  It was the only thing he could do.

You knew something was wrong, he could see it, but he wasn’t being exactly subtle, pressing his spine against the doorframe like he was ready to run.

“Hey baby,” you say, and he smiles a little.  Tries, anyway.

“Where’s Luna?”  He’s surprised how hoarse his voice is.  He shouldn’t be.  He’d been in some bad situations, but he’d never felt this a drift, this terrified.

“Laying down.”  You say it sweetly, like everything is OK.  You’re cooking bread in the over, something’s in the crock pot and everything smells like home and like everything left to lose.

You lean against the sink. If you reached out, you could almost touch him, but you don’t.  There’s a look in your eyes, like Frankie is a wild animal, easily spooked and so you’re going to move slow and careful.

“I lost my job.”  He says it so quietly he’s not sure you heard, until your shoulders drop a little.  

“Oh, honey, what happened?” No recrimination.  Not yet.  You take a step closer to him.

So he tells you.  He doesn’t lie, just lays it all out there.  Not looking at you, not daring to, instead staring at the refrigerator door and all the magnets and photos and clutter.  But seeing them, either.

“He didn’t believe you?” You practically shriek it out.  “What the fuck…you’ve been an awesome employee for what?  A year and a half now  and he wouldn’t even let you take a damned test to let you prove yourself? Seriously?  I’m going to kick his ass…”

The baby monitor interrupts her, Luna making fitful little noises.  After all, the house was not that big.  You hold a finger up to Frankie.  “Hold that thought.”  You leave the kitchen, shaking your head, and Frankie stands there, feeling like he’s on the edge of the precipice.  

“Ah, Luna, baby, what’s wrong?”  He can hear you, a much gentler, sweeter voice echoing out of the monitor.  He stands over it, hands clutching the counter on either side of it, listening.  You are both everything to him.  Everything.

He listens to you say nonsense as you change the little baby, to you muttering about how such a tiny, adorable thing can smell so bad.  “You must get it from your daddy,”  you say a little louder, as if you know Frankie is there, listening, and he grins a little.

He doesn’t move, when you come back out into the kitchen, when you wrap your arms around him.  You hug him tight and he starts to feel a little less adrift.  

He turns, looks down into your eyes.  “You believe me?”  Puts his arms around you carefully, like he’s still not sure of his reception, because he still doesn’t feel like he deserves this, the right to touch you.  

You reach up and cradle his cheek.  “Always, mi vida.  Always.” And he starts shaking, and he starts crying and he buries his face in your neck so you can’t see, and you toss aside the ball cap so you can stroke his hair.  “It’s going to be alright, honey.  We’ll figure it out.  Its going to be alright.”

[my-funky-little-cowboy]

I know this is a little late, but @mesangelique​ I was your back-up secret santa for @rdr-secret-santa​! You wanted a cute Kieran x reader piece, and I really hope I delivered 💚💚

Relationship: Kieran Duffy x f!reader Characters: Tilly Jackson, Kieran Duffy, f!reader Warnings: none Themes: fluff, pining Words: 1,792 [ ko-fi] || [ ao3 ]

“Kieran? You ain’t got nothin’ to be scared of about talkin’ to him. He’s as harmless as they come!” Tilly chuckled and a rush of embarrassment washed over you. 

“I know, he’s just about the sweetest man there is. I just, I just don’t know what we would talk about! We ain’t got nothin’ in common.” You said, defeatedly.

“You know anything about horses? Because, next to Arthur, I ain’t ever met anyone who loves horses that much.” Tilly replied.

“I can’t say I do.”

“Well, there you go! You want to spend more time with him, have him teach you about horses!” She put her hands on her hips. “Do something! You’re driving us ladies wild by moping around because he won’t give you the time’a day. He’s as timid as a field mouse, you think he is gonna try anything with the boys around?”

Tilly was right, Kieran kept mostly to himself, especially around the women, though he was always pleasant enough. The gang had started to warm up to him in the last six months, but he still spent a lot of his time alone with the horses. 

“You’re probably right.” You said, standing up.

“Of course I am.” Tilly smiled smugly. “Now go talk to him, I think he was cleaning one of the saddles last I saw him.” She said nudging you gently with her hip before going to finish her chores.

Right. Tilly’s right, just go talk to him. You’ve talked to him before,  no problem!

You made your way over to where the horses were grazing, nervously watching them. You didn’t know much about horses, that was true, but they also made you kind of anxious. Such a big animal, all that power, they could kill you so easily. Maggie raised her head as you passed, making you take a step to the side. 

“Oh, hey there miss! Need somethin’?” Kieran’s voice was warm as he rounded the wagon, his hands full with some fresh water for the horses.

“Just, uh just wanted to come look at the horses.”  

Kieran poured the water into the tin bath, and turned back toward you, a smile plastered on his face.

“You like horses?”

“Well, I actually don’t know too much about horses. They kind of scare me.” You rubbed your arm nervously.

“Scared of ‘em? How can you be scared of somethin’ so sweet?” He walked past you to Maggie, running his hand along her flank and she lazily raised her head. “Maggie here? Gentle as a kitten, c’mere, I’ll show ya!”

He waved his hand for you to join him and you took a cautious step forward. 

“C’mon now, she won’t bite, will ya Maggie?” He took her face in his hands and gave her a scratch under the chin. 

You inched your way up behind him. A stupid grin spread across your face as you watched him gently kiss Maggie’s nose. He reached back for your hand and you felt your ears get hot as his fingers laced between yours.

He pulled you in front of him, bringing your hands up to brush lightly along Maggie’s neck. Her coat was smooth against your hand and you felt her lean into your touch.

“See? No more than a kitten.”  He said in your ear. “Horses can read your energy. Did you know that? The more relaxed you are, the more relaxed they are.” 

He released your hand, taking a step back and you exhaled, releasing a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

“How can they tell?” Maggie turned her head to look at them as Kieran backed up, flicking her ears, annoyed that the attention had stopped.

“Don’t really know, might be because of how we have worked with horses for a long time.”  He shrugged.

You watched as he picked up a brush and moved farther into the herd. Kieran gestured for you to follow him and you moved reluctantly into the herd. “C’mon miss, you gotta meet them all!” 

He stopped in the middle of the herd and a few of them moved toward him, vying for his attention. Ennis spotted you and pushed his nose into your arm, pulling gently on your sleeve.

“No, no, uhhh...”

Kieran looked up as the horse really began to tug. “Ennis! No, leave her alone. Shoo! Shoo!” 

Ennis snorted and walked away, flicking his tail in agitation. Kieran apologized profusely, promising he just wanted a treat. He pulled you closer to the middle him near the center of the herd. 

He spent the next half an hour telling you about each of the horses and how they all had their own personalities. Showing you how to brush them, and how each has its own preferred brushing. You were in awe, watching him, he cared so much for them and he was so sweet to them. He turned back, offering you the brush.

“Now you try, miss!” His smile was bright as you took the brush from him, his cheeks tinged with pink as your hands met and he turned quickly, calling Branwen over. “Branwen’s my horse.” He cleared his throat and muttered. “But I’m sure you knew that…”

You brushed out Branwen the way he showed you. He watched you for a few minutes before disappearing to return to his chores. Branwen watched you, her gentle eyes following your movements, she nuzzled you as you neared her face, closing her eyes as you took her face in your hands, gently petting her as Kieran had shown you. Maybe horses weren’t as scary as you thought, in fact, you found that you actually kind of liked them. The horse leaned into you as you finished and Kieran chuckled.

“I think she likes you.” He said, placing a bale of hay down and pulling a knife from his belt, making quick work of the bindings. “Here, give her some hay, then she’ll love you.” He pulled some hay from the bale and held it out for you.

You took the hay, offering it to Branwen who whinnied happily, taking the hay from your hand. A smile pulled at your lips. They definitely weren’t scary, giving her a gentle scratch on face.

“Thanks.” You said as Kieran joined you, his hand full of hay as he led Branwen to graze with the others. “For letting me help you today.” 

“Oh! Ain’t nothin’, really!” He clapped the dust from his hands. “So, ya still scared of ‘em?”  Taking the brush from you.

“I don’t think so.” You shook your head. “I should, uh, I should get back to my chores. It was real nice talkin’ to ya.” Kieran’s face turned bright red, and he mumbled that he enjoyed it too.

                                                        -- ♞ --

It had been about six months since the boys had brought him back to camp, and it had been nearly another month before they let him off that tree. Some of the women had snuck him a bit of food and water here and there, but even then, most of them steered clear, leaving the job to you.

Despite everything he had been so polite, when he was awake. Dutch had warned everyone not to feed him or give him water, but watching him, day after day, had been too cruel. 

It started with sneaking him a drink of water, late one night, after most of the rest of the camp was asleep. Just a small sip, too scared to get caught. He had whispered his thanks through chapped lips, a small smile cracking them further.

Then again when you saw him around camp, tending to the horses, doing the chores no one else would. Still the group kept him at arm’s reach, only Arthur would talk to him, threaten him. He smiled through it, wished everyone a pleasant day, thankful to be alive.

Slowly the gang began to accept him and you spoke more, in passing. Polite niceties around the fire, greetings over coffee, but still he kept mostly to himself. It was endearing, he could have left, found someplace where people would have accepted him, but he stayed, wanting to belong. 

You remember the night that you realized your feelings for him, the night he said he stayed here, because despite everything, the gang had been nicer to him than Colm ever was. It had been late. Everyone had been drinking, celebrating a successful score, and you were sitting at the fire. Only a couple remained: Kieran, Uncle, Reverend Swanson and yourself. The men might not have heard it, his low and tearful admission, each of them lost in their own demons, but you did. Suddenly overwhelmed by his confession, he apologized and disappeared into the night. 

He wanted to feel loved, wanted to belong, and it had struck you so deeply. 

                                                         -- ♞ --

You settled between the girls at the fire, the sun just ducking below the horizon. Tilly had cornered you shortly after you went back to your chores. 

“So?” She sidled up to you behind Pearson’s wagon, a cat-like smile crawling across her face. “How’d it go?”

“I learned a lot about horses.” You brushed her off, pretending to pay attention to your chores.

“C’mon, you can tell me!” Tilly whined.

“That’s the God’s honest truth, Tilly!” You sighed, returning the dirty dish to the basin. “He taught me a bit more about horses. He was real sweet about it.” 

Tilly huffed and crossed her arms before a sly smile started to creep across her face once more. She waved at you and turned to leave.

“Well, if you don’t want to tell me.” She called over her shoulder as she sauntered off around the wagon. You stared after her, your face twisted in confusion when you heard someone come up behind you.

“Evenin’ miss.” The familiar voice came from behind you, and you silently cursed Tilly before spinning around to greet Kieran. He rubbed the back of his neck. “I wanted to see if I could help ya with your chores…” he paused, “...since you helped me, I mean.”

You gasped slightly in surprise, feeling the heat rush to your cheeks.  “Oh, heh, it was nothin’. You don’t need to waste your time helpin’ me.” You turned back to your chores, to hide your face.

“I, uh, I don’t think it’d be a waste.” Kieran stepped forward, offering you a small smile as you looked over at him.

He picked up a rag from the counter and held out his hand. “To be honest, I like spendin’ time with you.”  He looked down as his face turned all shades of red.

A small chuckle escaped you. Tilly had been right. “I like spending time with you, too.”  You held out a bowl to him.