#lime stucco

[conkreetmonkey]

holy shit this is long... tldr; I get neurodivergent over masonry

So I've been doing a lot of research on building methods, from the conventional to the old school to the new, and one thing I always found missing from older methods (as in basically anything that isn't either solid concrete or stick-frame) was the lack of hard, impassable moisture barriers on exterior walls. Surely a wall that looks like old red brick on the outside and inside must have more layers in between, right? Where's the housewrap? Where's the bitumen or tar paper? Pretty much all old-school roof materials I've seen have had some sort of waterproof layer under the shingles, but never the walls, floors nor foundations themselves.

Now, I live in a town with a lot of 100 year old buildings, which isn't that old but still predates the prevalence of the 2x4 and the popularization of plastic. I've been in many buildings where the walls on the inside are seemingly the same clay brick material as the ones on the inside. My grandma's basement was seemingly made from assorted stone, and I've seen many basements with walls of brick or cinderblock. Despite the inherent porosity of their materials, these walls hold strong through the harsh Canadian winters and the soggy spring thaw, the wood and plaster up against them free from water damage or mold. It felt impossible. Surely there was something I wasn't seeing, right? Surely you can't just build a 2-whyte brick wall with an air gap in between and some drainage holes and just have it work, right? Where's the mould? Where's the mildew? Where's the water damage, and crumbling from repeated freeze-and-thaw cycles?

I was unable to find a straight answer, despite the fact that I was obviously missing something. You can't just stick insulation, plasterboard and framing joists up against a brick wall that's exposed to outside air on the other side, right? Surely it will rot!

The only things I was able to find were synthetic sealing creams that make things hydrophobic, and something about a metal "dimple sheet" that required you to "decouple" the roof joists from the walls to install it, because it was simply assumed that you'd be installing the product in a preexisting brick house. Both of these things were obviously modern, and heavily flawed as products. The sealants needed reapplied every 5 years and didn't even provide full protection, and the metal sheet, once installed, required that no wood any longer touch the bricks as it would somehow become guaranteed to rot. This isn't even what I wanted to know. How did people 100 years ago build the buildings I know I've stood in, where the bricks were free from chemical sealants and physical moisture barriers yet didn't let the rain in?

Finally, after posting to a masonry forum, I recieved my answer.

There is no secret ingredient.

The exterior layer of bricks simply get wet when it's wet and dry out when it's dry.

Limestone is naturally antifungal and antibacterial, so mold simply cannot grow on materials made from it. Lime plaster allows water vapour to pass through it, yet resists actual liquid water, so at once water cannot become trapped within it and fester, but applying a lime stucco to exterior walls or a plaster to interior ones prevents leakage while allowing water vapour in the air to pass through, and thus the house to "breathe." Additionally, old insulation "fluff" that is now made from foam or fibreglass was then made from wool, which is also naturally antibacterial. And wood, of course, can simply be sealed to prevent decay with a multitude of different methods, if that's even needed, which it often isn't unless it's actually touching a surface that can be expected to routinely become moist.

Old buildings simply weren't built with absolute airtightness in mind. There's no one layer that's 100% moistureproof in an old exterior wall; even water repellant surfaces such as lime stucco allow humidity to pass through. There's no hydrophobic layer of tarpuline, rubber or tar anywhere but on the roof.

Dudes, I'm starting to realize that modern stick-framed housing insulated with pink fiberglass and made of pine, chipboard and plastic wrap... kind of sucks? Like, they have their advantages surely, they're immensely easier, quicker and cheaper to build, and way easier to heat/cool, but they're also flimsy and, quite ironically, actually MORE prone to mold than old school buildings, because once the housewrap under that vinyl siding, stone block veneer or board-and-batten starts to go (and it will eventually), it's a single point of failure, and everything behind it is prone to rot? And if moisture does seep in, it has no way to escape due to the moisture-tight, airtight quality of the home, so it has no choice but to fester? Like, think about taking a hot shower, and the steam that builds up, only removable from the home with a modern HVAC fan or by opening a window. Think about how, if you don't do one of those things, you're all but certain to get mold on the drywall. That's because of the lack of vapour-permeable materials! It simply can't pass though any exterior wall, back outside into the air! The air is stagnant by default!

And look, this is not me claiming that stick-frame is inherently bad, or that old style building methods are always better. Back then they put asbestos in the walls and lead in the pipes, paint and windows. Technology has moved forward, not back, and is continuing to move forward, becoming better, stronger, more efficient. But when the modern home uses housewrap and housewrap alone as waterproofing, it's hubris manifest. It's a sheet of plastic screwed to some plywood with a wide washer. Eventually, there will be a leak, inside or out, and once that happens you're all but guaranteed destructive rot and mold. It's a tradeoff, exchanging durability and ease of maintainence for cheaper construction and better insulation, and sometimes that's justifiable, but nowadays it seems to be the only option in all of suburbia.

Limestone is a great material. It has a variety of uses, it's abundant, it's simultaneously water resistant and breatheable, it prevents mold, and it can even self-heal from minor damage. Clay and stone may be porous, but they're strong. These materials have their downsides, but they're not inferior. Pretty much no material is (except for fucking cordwood, which just plainly sucks ass in 95% of situations). Logs and timber have a place. Concrete has a place. Steel and other metals have a place. Plastic has a place. So long as it's not toxic, it has a place. There is no one best way to build a building, just as there is no one best way to cook a meal; it depends on where you are and who you're serving it to.

And now that I understand the simple genius of lime mortar and stone or clay blocks, I feel bad that they're not really used in the mainstream anymore. Sometimes, it's better to accept that moisture exists and have a multi-faceted system for directing it away from decay-prone materials, rather than to try to "defeat" it entirely with the modern miracle material of plastic, and then cockily build everything behind the plastic out of rottable materials. No home can go forever without repairs, just as no person, tool or machine can. The question is whether there's any redundancy, or if one failure in a crucial area destroys the whole system.

I've always loved masonry aesthetically, and now I love it functionally as well. This world has so many wonderful things in it.

[rarasek]

Porch - Backyard

a medium-sized eclectic back porch image with an addition to the roof

[alongtaleoffashion]

Eclectic Porch

Mid-sized eclectic back porch idea with a roof extension

[fomikrai]

Porch - Eclectic Porch This design for a mid-sized eclectic back porch with a roof extension is an illustration.

[vampiricallyxspeaking]

Eclectic Porch

Mid-sized eclectic back porch photo with a roof extension

[fannibalmusical]

Porch Backyard Mid-sized eclectic back porch idea with a roof extension

[fishervk]

Backyard Porch

[rosy-blossoms]

Los Angeles Flat Roofing Ideas for a massive contemporary green wood exterior home renovation

[cecilepages]

Modern Exterior Los Angeles Idea for a large, contemporary, green, three-story apartment building

[daily-struggle-bd]

Los Angeles Wood Exterior Large trendy green three-story wood exterior home photo

[whostolethetaiyaki]

Contemporary Exterior Los Angeles Large trendy green exterior of a three-story wood house image

[sakurafarron]

Eclectic Porch - Backyard

[yourmomsawh0r3]

oh my god someone who writes for Marcelo!

Maybe one where Marcello takes reader to meet his mom! Reader is super nervous but he keeps reassuring her that it’ll be okay and that he’s already told her everything about reader and his mom is excited!!

ughh i love this story already! hope you enjoy babe🫶🏼✨

Suegra

pairing: marcello hernandez x f! reader

Marcello’s car rolled to a stop in front of a house that felt like it had a heartbeat of its own. The pastel yellow stucco walls, trimmed with white, were dappled in the late afternoon sunlight. A pair of rocking chairs sat on the front porch, and wind chimes gently tinkled with the breeze. The house exuded warmth just like Marcello himself.

“This is it,” he said, a note of nostalgia in his voice as he cut the engine.

You leaned forward to get a better look, clutching the flowers tightly in your hands. “It’s beautiful,” you murmured, your nerves momentarily eclipsed by the charm of his childhood home.

Marcello grinned. “It’s not much, but it’s home. The porch? That’s where my mom and I used to sit and watch thunderstorms. And that tree over there? I fell out of it once when I was trying to rescue a kite. Mom freaked out. I think she lectured me for a week.”

You laughed softly, picturing little Marcello dangling from the tree, all big brown eyes and mischievous energy.

He turned to you, his expression softening. “You okay, cariño? You’ve been quiet.”

You hesitated, then nodded. “I’m just… I want to make a good impression, you know? This house your mom it’s such a big part of who you are.”

Marcello reached over, brushing his thumb over your knuckles. “Hey, listen to me. My mom’s going to love you. I’ve told her how smart you are, how funny, how much you care about people. She already thinks you’re perfect. And if it helps, she’s way less scary than she sounds.”

You gave him a wobbly smile, and he leaned in to kiss your temple before hopping out of the car. He rounded the front, opening your door and holding out his hand. You took it, letting him pull you to your feet.

As you walked up the steps together, you noticed little details brightly painted flower pots lined the porch, each one bursting with marigolds and hibiscus. A small ceramic rooster sat on the windowsill, and a faint melody of salsa music drifted through the open window.

Marcello knocked, but before his hand even left the door, it swung open. His mom stood there, a vision of warmth and hospitality. She was petite, her dark hair streaked with gray, her smile wide and genuine.

“¡Mi hijo!” she exclaimed, pulling Marcello into a tight hug that seemed to compress all the love in the world into one gesture.

“Hola, Mami,” Marcello said, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it.

When she pulled back, her eyes landed on you, and her smile grew even brighter. “And you must be Y/N.”

You quickly held out the bouquet, nerves making your hands tremble slightly. “Hi, um, these are for you. Thank you so much for having me.”

Her eyes sparkled as she accepted the flowers. “¡Qué hermosa! Thank you, mija. You didn’t have to do this. Come, come in!”

She ushered you inside, and immediately, the house wrapped you in its embrace. The walls were adorned with family photos Marcello as a baby, Marcello with his mom at the beach, Marcello in a little league uniform. The air smelled of something delicious garlic, spices, and a hint of citrus.

“I hope you’re hungry,” she said, leading you into the kitchen, where a feast awaited. The table was covered in dishes: arroz con pollo, black beans, plantains, and a salad with avocado and lime.

Marcello leaned in to whisper, “She’s trying to impress you too, you know. This much food? She’s pulling out all the stops.”

You smiled, feeling your nerves begin to ease. His mom motioned for you to sit, and as the meal unfolded, so did the stories. She shared tales of Marcello’s childhood how he was always cracking jokes, how he used to run around the house with his cousins pretending to be a TV host.

“Even as a niño, he was making everyone laugh,” she said, beaming at her son.

Marcello groaned, though his eyes were filled with affection. “Okay, Mami, no need to embarrass me.”

By the time dessert arrived homemade flan, its caramel glaze glistening you felt completely at ease. His mom reached across the table to touch your hand, her expression earnest.

“Thank you for making my son so happy,” she said. “I can see it in his eyes when he looks at you. You’re family now, mija. Anytime you want to come over, my house is yours.”

Your throat tightened with emotion, and you barely managed to whisper, “Thank you.”

On the way home, Marcello looked over at you, his eyes soft in the dim glow of the dashboard. “Told you she’d love you,” he said, squeezing your hand.

You smiled, resting your head against his shoulder. “I love her too. And I love you, Marcello.”

He kissed the top of your head, his voice filled with a quiet kind of joy. “I love you more, cariño. Always.”

As the night deepened, the comforting glow of the living room lights softened, wrapping the room in an intimate warmth. Plates and glasses from dinner had been cleared away, replaced by laughter and the sound of an old camcorder clicking to life.

“Okay, okay, you have to see this one,” Marcello’s mom said excitedly, sitting cross-legged on the floor next to you while Marcello stretched out on the couch behind you.

The TV flickered, and soon a grainy video of a much younger Marcello filled the screen. He couldn’t have been more than six, his dark curls bouncing as he ran across the backyard. He was shirtless, covered in streaks of mud, holding a garden hose in one hand and laughing wildly.

“Oh no,” Marcello groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Not this one.”

“Yes, this one!” his mom said, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “This was the day he decided to water the plants by himself… except he forgot the hose was on full blast and ended up drenching himself instead.”

You couldn’t help but giggle, your eyes darting between the screen and Marcello’s embarrassed expression. “You were so cute!”

“I was a menace,” Marcello corrected, shaking his head.

The video transitioned to another clip a birthday party. Marcello stood in front of a cake almost as big as he was, his little face lighting up as everyone sang to him. He clapped excitedly at the end of the song, then smashed his hands into the cake with no hesitation.

“Oh, come on,” Marcello groaned again, though you could see the corner of his mouth twitching upward.

“Stop pretending you’re embarrassed,” you teased, nudging his leg with your elbow. “You love the attention.”

His mom laughed along with you, patting your knee. “She’s got your number, mijo.”

For hours, the three of you sat together, watching memories unfold on the screen. Marcello’s mom told you stories about each moment how he’d insisted on wearing a cape to school for an entire week, how he’d once tried to sell lemonade in the living room because it was “too hot outside,” and how he’d cried happy tears the first time he performed in a school play.

By the time the last video ended, you felt like you’d been given a front-row seat to the life that had shaped the man you loved.

“Thank you for sharing these with me,” you said softly to his mom as she started tidying up the tapes.

She waved you off with a warm smile. “You’re part of the family now, mija. This is your history too.��

Marcello watched the interaction from the couch, his heart swelling as he saw how effortlessly you and his mom had bonded. He hadn’t known it was possible to love you even more, but tonight, you proved him wrong.

In the weeks that followed, his mom’s words rang true you quickly became part of the family. Marcello often joked that you spent more time at her house than he did, but he secretly loved how close the two of you had become.

One Saturday afternoon, he walked into his mom’s kitchen to find the two of you seated at the table, a rainbow of nail polish bottles spread out before you. His mom was carefully painting your nails while you both chatted and laughed like old friends.

“What’s this?” Marcello asked, leaning against the doorframe with a grin.

“We’re having girl time,” his mom said without missing a beat, waving him off with her free hand.

“Girl time?” Marcello echoed, raising an eyebrow at you.

You smirked at him. “Don’t be jealous. We’re planning a shopping trip next weekend, and you’re not invited.”

His mom nodded in agreement, a playful glint in her eye. “She’s my shopping partner now. We have to keep you boys in line somehow.”

Marcello chuckled, shaking his head. “Great. Now I have to compete with my own mom for your attention.”

You blew him a kiss, your freshly painted nails sparkling in the sunlight. “Sorry, babe. Priorities.”

Despite his teasing, Marcello was endlessly grateful for the bond you’d formed with his mom. Watching you two together laughing, cooking, even gossiping gave him a glimpse into the future. He imagined Sunday dinners filled with warmth and love, holidays spent surrounded by family, and a life where you and his mom remained inseparable.

That night, as you both lay in bed, Marcello wrapped his arms around you and kissed the top of your head.

“I think you love my mom more than me,” he joked, his voice low and affectionate.

You tilted your head to look at him, your eyes sparkling. “I just love that she raised someone as amazing as you.”

Marcello’s heart swelled, and he pulled you closer. “She was right, you know. You’re family now, cariño. And one day, I hope we’ll have a home just like hers a place where we can make memories, raise kids, and maybe even show them some embarrassing videos of me.”

You laughed softly, resting your head against his chest. “I’d like that.”

In that moment, the future felt as bright and vibrant as the home videos you’d watched earlier. It was a future filled with love, laughter, and a family that already felt like yours.

As the night deepened, the comforting glow of the living room lights softened, wrapping the room in an intimate warmth. Plates and glasses from dinner had been cleared away, replaced by laughter and the sound of an old camcorder clicking to life.

“Okay, okay, you have to see this one,” Marcello’s mom said excitedly, sitting cross-legged on the floor next to you while Marcello stretched out on the couch behind you.

The TV flickered, and soon a grainy video of a much younger Marcello filled the screen. He couldn’t have been more than six, his dark curls bouncing as he ran across the backyard. He was shirtless, covered in streaks of mud, holding a garden hose in one hand and laughing wildly.

“Oh no,” Marcello groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Not this one.”

“Yes, this one!” his mom said, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “This was the day he decided to water the plants by himself… except he forgot the hose was on full blast and ended up drenching himself instead.”

You couldn’t help but giggle, your eyes darting between the screen and Marcello’s embarrassed expression. “You were so cute!”

“I was a menace,” Marcello corrected, shaking his head.

The video transitioned to another clip a birthday party. Marcello stood in front of a cake almost as big as he was, his little face lighting up as everyone sang to him. He clapped excitedly at the end of the song, then smashed his hands into the cake with no hesitation.

“Oh, come on,” Marcello groaned again, though you could see the corner of his mouth twitching upward.

“Stop pretending you’re embarrassed,” you teased, nudging his leg with your elbow. “You love the attention.”

His mom laughed along with you, patting your knee. “She’s got your number, mijo.”

For hours, the three of you sat together, watching memories unfold on the screen. Marcello’s mom told you stories about each moment how he’d insisted on wearing a cape to school for an entire week, how he’d once tried to sell lemonade in the living room because it was “too hot outside,” and how he’d cried happy tears the first time he performed in a school play.

By the time the last video ended, you felt like you’d been given a front-row seat to the life that had shaped the man you loved.

“Thank you for sharing these with me,” you said softly to his mom as she started tidying up the tapes.

She waved you off with a warm smile. “You’re part of the family now, mija. This is your history too.”

Marcello watched the interaction from the couch, his heart swelling as he saw how effortlessly you and his mom had bonded. He hadn’t known it was possible to love you even more, but tonight, you proved him wrong.

In the weeks that followed, his mom’s words rang true you quickly became part of the family. Marcello often joked that you spent more time at her house than he did, but he secretly loved how close the two of you had become.

One Saturday afternoon, he walked into his mom’s kitchen to find the two of you seated at the table, a rainbow of nail polish bottles spread out before you. His mom was carefully painting your nails while you both chatted and laughed like old friends.

“What’s this?” Marcello asked, leaning against the doorframe with a grin.

“We’re having girl time,” his mom said without missing a beat, waving him off with her free hand.

“Girl time?” Marcello echoed, raising an eyebrow at you.

You smirked at him. “Don’t be jealous. We’re planning a shopping trip next weekend, and you’re not invited.”

His mom nodded in agreement, a playful glint in her eye. “She’s my shopping partner now. We have to keep you boys in line somehow.”

Marcello chuckled, shaking his head. “Great. Now I have to compete with my own mom for your attention.”

You blew him a kiss, your freshly painted nails sparkling in the sunlight. “Sorry, babe. Priorities.”

Despite his teasing, Marcello was endlessly grateful for the bond you’d formed with his mom. Watching you two together laughing, cooking, even gossiping gave him a glimpse into the future. He imagined Sunday dinners filled with warmth and love, holidays spent surrounded by family, and a life where you and his mom remained inseparable.

That night, as you both lay in bed, Marcello wrapped his arms around you and kissed the top of your head.

“I think you love my mom more than me,” he joked, his voice low and affectionate.

You tilted your head to look at him, your eyes sparkling. “I just love that she raised someone as amazing as you.”

Marcello’s heart swelled, and he pulled you closer. “She was right, you know. You’re family now, cariño. And one day, I hope we’ll have a home just like hers a place where we can make memories, raise kids, and maybe even show them some embarrassing videos of me.”

You laughed softly, resting your head against his chest. “I’d like that.”

In that moment, the future felt as bright and vibrant as the home videos you’d watched earlier. It was a future filled with love, laughter, and a family that already felt like yours.

[sketchyelvenasss]

Wildfire

Read on ao3 or undercut v v

1,277 words

An event from Rhys' life with Lyvius and Dorian while he was 14-15.

'-- you’ve chosen a difficult school.” He ran his hand through Rhys’ ginger hair that had changed about the time his magic manifested. “You need to learn to control your anger, Rhys. If you don’t fall to a demon, you will fall to yourself.” --"

It was a typical day for Rhys. Dorian was at the senate and would be there all day, Lyvius was minding the shop and told Rhys to spend some time for himself. 

Time for himself ment hanging in the back alley behind the shop with his friend smoking. Rhys came down the alley holding the box of his special cigarettes closely to his side. The filling was made of a homeopathic moss, embrum, and elfroot. It created this warm buzz feeling in one's head and under the skin. Rhys couldn’t tell if Gilleon hung with him for him, or for the smokes. Either way the teen was always floating in the general vicinity of the store. The young man had lots of free time on his hands since his only duties were his university classes, and he always managed to finish about an hour after midday.

“I’m probably gonna get in trouble for this one day.” He said as he approached his friend.

Gilleon laughed, pulling his long black hair into a ponytail, before grabbing a cigarette from the box. “If they catch ya’ just say it was the “no good Tevinter boy next door.”

“Like they’d believe me.” Rhys created a small fire in his hand and lit their cigarettes.

“Man, I wish I had magic. I was supposed to be the heir for my family, but here I am 19 and absolutely fucking useless. My parents don’t even talk to me anymore.”

“Sorry, Gil.” Rhys mentally slapped himself in the face. He tried not to use magic around him, normally he’d bring a small alchemy apparatus that would produce a small flame to light up with, but he had forgotten today. 

He felt bad for Gilleon. It was the nature of Tevinter to breed children like dogs and toss them aside when it wasn’t the result they wanted. Even though the loss of Nan was hard, Rhys can hardly imagine how good he has it. If not for Lyvius and Dorian he’d just be a faceless slave somewhere. Or a nameless corpse in the ground. He blew a cloud of smoke in thought.

“You wanna come by the store later? We got some new herbs in. I’m sure Lyvius wouldn’t mind if we tested some of their properties.”

Gil smiled. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

Rhys for the last few weeks had been showing Gilleon alchemy. He was a fast learner. Easily learning the effects of most basic ingredients. Rhys often tried to reassure his friend that he was brilliant, with study and practice he could become a master apothecary. Lyvius agreed and had extended an invitation for Gilleon to apprentice with him. Gil was beyond appreciative, but his parents still expected him to attend classes. On top of that, if they knew he was friends with Rhys they wouldn’t be pleased. He didn’t want to cause more trouble if they found out that an elf was teaching him.

A couple cigarettes later it was about time for Rhys to get back to the shop. He and Gilleon walked down the alley turning onto the main street toward Elvehn Remedies. Even out on the street you could smell it. Mint and tea leaves, or limes and sage, roasted nuts and honey, cinnamon, clove, it was ever changing. The scent was never the same for each person. Everyone left remembering a different smell that made them relaxed and a little happier. For Rhys he always smelt strong notes of rosemary and burning embrum. He had asked Lyvius if it was some kind of magic, but even he didn’t know. It must have been with how old the building was.

Reaching it Rhys noticed that the dark blue door was on its hinges. Immediately he knew something was wrong. He clung to the stucco wall as he cautiously approached. He poked his head around the doorframe and saw a group of five men. They were big, burly, and definitely unwanted. Rhys quickly glanced at Gil mouthing run home before looking back.

At that moment the tallest one wearing a violet cowl snapped his fingers. The four jumped over the counter to grab Lyvius, who tried to defend himself. He was able to send one of them flying into one of the bookshelves. It collapsed on top of the assailant burying him in books. But the other three managed to grab him. Lyvius’ hands sparked, but before he could cast a spell they clapped cuffs on him. They snuffed his magic. 

Rhys grit his teeth, anger burning in his veins. His vision clouded with a red haze. There was no thought, just a spur to act as he dashed into the room. In a blue flash two of the three slavers fell to the ground bleeding profusely from their throats. The third was too shocked to react when Rhys turned on him and pierced his belly with the lyrium blade. The man screamed in agony as the magic melted his flesh, the metal so hot it boiled his blood.  All the slavers needed to go away. For Forever.

“Rhys! That’s enough, he’s dead.” 

Rhys blinked and the haze cleared. Lyvius’ expression was a mix of worry and fear. He could clearly see what he had done and he felt sick to his stomach. As Rhys was doubled over the man with the cowl took the opportunity to grab the boy. The young elf yelped and Lyvius’ eyes went wide. The slaver held his arm with one hand and had a knife to his throat with the other. 

“You’re going to pay for that boy!”

“Please, not my son! I’ll do whatever you want.” Lyvius pleaded.

Rhys hated this. Hated the sad face Lyvius was making, that he was groveling. Hated this man restraining him. So much so he felt the heat in his gut. His skin suddenly caught fire, it didn’t harm him, but it burned his aggressor. The fire spread over his clothes, ate at his flesh and hair. The man begged him to stop, but he couldn’t. He wouldn’t. The fire-- the hate--wouldn’t subside. Rhys felt tears form in his eyes and evaporate off his skin as he watched the man’s form get consumed.

Then he blacked out.

When he came to the smell of rosemary and embrum filled his nostrils, reminding him where he was. He opened his eyes to Lyvius holding his head in his lap, his father’s eyes filled with tears. Gil was beside him, his concerned expression relaxing when Rhys woke.

“Thank Mythal.” He breathed like he’d been holding his breath this whole time. Rhys went to sit up, but Lyvius stopped him. “Don’t… continue resting for now.”

“That wasn’t a dream was it?” 

Lyvius hesitated. 

“No… you’ve chosen a difficult school.” He ran his hand through Rhys’ ginger hair that had changed about the time his magic manifested. “You need to learn to control your anger, Rhys. If you don’t fall to a demon, you will fall to yourself.”

Rhys slowly sat up. The bodies were gone, but the shop was still a mess. Tables overturned, the collapsed bookshelf near the front of the store. Some burnt books and plants caught in Rhys’ fire. The blood on the carpet that they would now have to throw out. 

He looked at his red stained hands and felt tears swell, upset at himself. That was his problem. He took a deep breath.

“I’m sorry.”

Lyvius hugged him. “It’s just something we need to work on. I love you and I am lucky to have you.”

They waited a bit till Rhys regained some of his strength before they started cleaning up the mess.

[penig]

unexpected-tigers asked:

I have googled to no avail, please explain the beery setups thing?

The proper phrase is "beer and set ups," which wouldn't have helped - I just tried and got nothing. Maybe they don't do this anymore. But here's how it was:

In a dry county, liquor can only be sold in "private clubs," which is usually circumvented these days by calling a cover charge "buying a one-night membership." But not every bar is a place you'd pay a cover charge to get into, and some counties are semi-dry, in that you can buy beer, but nothing harder. So there'd be places called "ice houses," combination pool rooms/convenience stores, which advertised "beer and set-ups," so you'd know you had the right kind of ice house. They'd sell you a beer and a "set-up," which was a tumbler of ice and maybe a lime wedge, or if you asked you could get the non-alcoholic mixers for things like rum and Coke, and you poured your own liquor into it out of the bottle you'd brought with you. How you obtained the bottle was your business - clearly not from these nice ice-house people with no liquor license.

You obtained the bottles, mostly, from the liquor stores at any border shared by a dry or semi-dry county and a wet county, which border was also a hotbed of DWI arrests and alcohol-related traffic accidents. Or maybe you distilled it yourself for private consumption. Prohibition really doesn't work, but it makes some people feel virtuous to vote for it, I guess. San Antonio's been wet for most of the time since I moved here, but there's still a few old ice houses around with the faded words "Beer and Set-ups" stenciled onto the stucco, and there used to be more when I got here in the late 70s.

Now that I think of it, those ice houses were the alcoholic brethren of head shops, where you can buy all the accoutrements of marijuana use, but not the marijuana. Presumably with the increased legality of marijuana these will also gradually fade away.