#roof safety equipment

[garzasupply]

roofing supply services

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[ehssafetynewsamerica-blog]

Newark roofing contractor faces $328K in fines after investigators find workers exposed repeatedly to fall hazards at 3 worksites in a month

Repeated failures add RRC Home Improvement to OSHA’s ‘Severe Violator’ list NEWARK, NJ – Federal workplace safety officials have again cited a Newark construction contractor for repeatedly violating U.S. Department of Labor safety requirements at three North Jersey worksites, exposing employees to falls from elevations, the construction industry’s leading cause of death and serious…

[jensownzoo]

Okay. Fuck it. I give up for now.

Was determined to throw a coat of rubber roof tar over the spot where shingles have blown off this morning. Wanted to do it yesterday afternoon, but started having backspasms on the walk to vote and decided it probably wasn't a good idea.

Got the 5 gallon bucket of coating out of the basement. The contents have completely separated, which isn't surprising since it's just been sitting for years. Start trying to stir it up and I have to do it manually since I sold my more powerful drill with the mixing attachment after I stopped needing it to mix concrete for fence posts. Really regret that now since it took all morning to get everything completely resuspended and my wrists, elbows, and shoulders are killing me.

Go into garage with battery-powered lantern (because lightning fried the electrical system in there last summer and replacing the breakers and gcfi outlet didn't fix it, so no lights) to see if I can find some tar paper too. I had some at one point, can remember putting hands on it sometime in the past few years, cannot remember if I threw it away or kept it. Cannot find tar paper, do find old shingles and a large rodent nest. Then on my way out, notice there's significant daylight coming in at the roofline at the opposite end of the garage. SIGNIFICANT daylight. Fuck.

Grab ladder and go around to that side of the garage on the outside. Squirrels have ripped up shingles and rotten strand board above the gutter and into the roof. Like a 6 x 12" section. Rain will flow right into the hole and into the garage and all over the stuff beneath it. This is the first time I consider it a lucky thing to not have rained in over a month as this seems to be relatively recent damage. Unfortunately, it's supposed to storm tonight/tomorrow (which is why I was trying to repair the roof).

So. Redirect attention to fixing the squirrel damage. Repurpose some ducting I had leftover from venting the dryer. It's 2ft lengths of sheet metal that hook together to form a tube shape instead of the flexible coil stuff, so it will work. Shove one edge under the remaining shingles, flex the rest to fit into the interior groove of the gutter, and flatten somewhat to hold it firmly in place. Use aluminum flashing tape to secure sections together so the critters can't rip them right out.

I wore work gloves, but apparently there's something in the rotten strand board, either mold or mites, that causing me to itch like crazy on my unprotected forearms. So there's that.

It's now just a few hours before sunset and the clouds are already rolling in. I'm sweaty and grimy and very frustrated. This particular roof repair is something that really scares me and has kept me at a high level of anxiety all day. I have no issue climbing on my other roofs, but this one is two-story, with a steep pitch, and the shingles are already loose enough to be falling off. I've been trying to psych myself up enough to get it done for weeks because I can't afford to pay someone to do it for me. Now it's going to be too cold and too wet to use the coating, but there's also not enough time left for it to have a chance of setting in time today.

So I'm giving up. For now.

On the next clear day I will climb up on the roof with a tarp and a few cinderblocks and rope and try to block the rain from that spot until it's warm and dry enough to affix a patch. Maybe I'll see if I can do a trade for some tar paper in the meantime. Maybe a few newish shingles (the ones I found in the garage are pretty old and stiff) for a proper patch job. Until then, I'll just have to sit in the underlying room during the rain with buckets and plastic sheets so I can catch any leaks before water ruins anything.

Sigh.

[nirbobharvey]

Residential Roof Replacement Safety - Equipment and Requirements

Prevent severe damage to your home and landscape and devastating injuries to your roofers and loved ones. When safety equipment is utilized properly, and safety procedures are adhered to, costly damages and severe injuries can be prevented.

newimageroofingatlanta.com gathered essential information on equipment and requirements that ensure roofing crew and occupant safety, including any necessary permits, emergency preparedness plans, and severe weather forecasts.

Safety Equipment and Requirements

Roofing work can be hazardous, and the consequences of neglecting safety measures can be severe (ranging from minor injuries to fatal accidents). Ensuring safety is not only a legal and ethical obligation but a practical one that minimizes delays, additional costs, and potential damage to the property. Consider the following roofing crew safety equipment:

Personal Protective Equipment (PPE): Roofers should wear the appropriate PPE, including:

Hard Hats

Safety Glasses or Face Shields

Hearing Protection

Gloves

Non-Slip Footwear.

PPE provides protection against falling debris, sharp objects, and noise-related issues.

Fall-Arrest Systems: Fall-arrest systems are critical for all roofing projects. Roofers must have access to fall arrest systems, which typically consist of:

Harnesses

Lifelines

Anchor points

Note: Roofing companies must provide training on the proper use of these systems to prevent falls from heights.

Roof Brackets and Toe Boards: These devices help create a safer working platform on the roof, reducing slip or fall risks. Roof brackets secure to the roof’s surface and provide a stable platform for workers to stand on.

Ladders and Access Equipment: High-quality ladders and access equipment, like scaffolding, should be used to provide safe entry and exit points to the roof. Proper ladder setup and secure anchoring are essential to prevent accidents.

Roofing Tools and Equipment: Roofing crews should have access to specialized tools and equipment like:

Roofing Nail Guns

Roofing Knives

Safety Knives

Note: These tools are designed to enhance efficiency while minimizing risks associated with manual labor.

Tip: All cutting or trimming equipment must be kept sharpened to prevent incidents from over-used or dull blades.

Safety Requirements for Occupants

While much of the safety responsibility falls on the roofing crew, homeowners and occupants also have a crucial role to play in ensuring safety during a roof replacement project.

Clear the Work Area: Before the roofing crew arrives, homeowners should remove any obstacles around the house that could hinder their work. This includes:

Outdoor Furniture

Landscape Accessories

Vehicles

Equipment

Tip: If you have limited space to store these items, rent a storage unit for their safe-keeping.

Communication with Roofing Crew: Establishing clear communication with the roofing company and installation crew is essential. Discuss any concerns or special requirements you may have, like protecting delicate landscaping or pet safety.

Children and Pet Safety: Ensure that children and pets are kept safely away from the work area. The noise and presence of workers on the roof can be unsettling or disorienting for them. Consider temporary accommodations or playdates away from the home.

Secure Loose Items: Secure any loose items in your attic or upper floor to prevent them from falling during the roof replacement. Vibrations from the work can dislodge objects.

Tip: When roof installation is complete, verify that any wall fasteners haven’t come loose from vibrations caused by the nailing or pounding.

Follow Instructions from Roofing Crew: It’s crucial to follow any safety instructions provided by the roofing crew. This may include remaining inside the house or keeping windows closed during certain phases of the roofing project.

Read more about residential roofing systems at newimageroofingatlanta.com/residential-roofing-what-you-need-to-know/

Regulatory Compliance and Permits

Roofing projects are subject to local building codes and regulations. Compliance with these codes – when applicable – is mandatory to ensure the safety and structural integrity of the roof.

It’s essential for roofing companies to obtain any necessary permits and inspections before and after the project. Homeowners should verify that their roofing contractor is licensed, insured, bonded, and that they adhere to all local and/or regional regulations.

Emergency Preparedness

Both the roofing crew and occupants should be prepared for emergencies. Roofing companies should have an emergency plan in place, including:

First Aid Kits

Fire Extinguishers

Protocols for handling accidents or injuries

Homeowners should know how to contact emergency services and be familiar with evacuation routes in case of fire or other emergencies.

Weather Considerations

Weather can significantly impact the safety of a roofing project. Roofing work should not proceed in adverse weather conditions, like:

Rain

High Winds

Icy Conditions

It’s essential to monitor weather forecasts and reschedule work if necessary to prevent accidents related to slippery surfaces or unstable conditions.

Crew and Resident Communication

Clear communication between the roofing crew and homeowners is vital for ensuring safety. Homeowners should be informed of the project’s timeline, potential disruptions, and safety measures. Likewise, the roofing crew should be aware of any unique circumstances or concerns within or around the home.

Note: Following safety requirements, complying with regulations, and maintaining open communication will keep the crew and occupants safe throughout a successful and secure roofing project. Safety should always be the top priority when embarking on any roofing endeavor, as it protects lives, property, and peace of mind.

Subscribe to this YouTube Channel to see informative videos about roofing topics.

Roof Replacement Safety

In this article, you discovered essential information about the safety equipment and requirements needed to keep your roofing crew and loved ones safe during a residential roof replacement.

Meticulous attention to safety procedures and equipment usage will keep your roofers and home’s occupants from suffering life threatening injuries when mishaps occur.

Disregard for safety protocols can lead to devastating injuries when a roofer loses their balance or material slides off the roof falling to the ground.

Sources: osha.gov/sites/default/files/2018-11/fy12_sh-23536-12_StudentReferenceMaterials.pdf cdc.gov/niosh/construction/pdfs/cf2022-wtw-508.pdf nachi.org/fall-arrest-systems.htm

New Image Roofing Atlanta

2020 Howell Mill Rd NW Suite 232 Atlanta, GA 30318 (404) 680-0041

To see the original version of this article, visit https://www.newimageroofingatlanta.com/residential-roof-replacement-safety-equipment-and-requirements/

[roofsmartpadsroofingsolutions]

Buy RoofSmart Roofing Pads Pack of 3 – Roofsmart Pads

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RoofSmart Pads solve two really big problems people encounter when working on a roof. RoofSmart Pads serve as a walkway or work station preventing damage to the roof you might be working and they also prevent injuries because it offers stable and secure footing!

[ohproserpine]

vi. deer dolly

see all chapters here tags: fem! reader, reader is a performer in a speakeasy, heavy warning for violence and blood, overdose, murder, death, hunting, graphic descriptions of injuries, manipulation, allusion to death, grey morality, references to alcoholism, twisted view of love, gorey descriptions of love, murder, heated scene (making out)

˚୨୧₊♱

You never really liked cars.

The first time you had ridden in one was in the 1930s.

It was after one of your shifts, the wet streets illuminated only by the flickering glow of the rusting lampposts. There you stood, still in your glad rags and wrapped in a coat, the misty drizzle kissing your face. Alastor arrived a few minutes later with a honk of his horn, surprising you with a ride home in his latest purchase—a stunning red car with a sleek roof that gleamed in the dim light, its long, sweeping fenders and rounded body cutting a striking figure against the darkness of the night.

As you got into the car, excitement tingled in your veins, eager to experience the wonders of modern transportation. However, the thrill quickly turned to fear as the speeds increased, and your husband, the ass he was, seemed to enjoy nothing more than pushing the accelerator and hearing your horrified screams. Each time the car accelerated, you found yourself clinging onto him for dear life, the rush of wind slamming against your flushed face, your heart racing in your chest.

Since then, you swore never to get into a car again, preferring the safety of solid ground beneath your feet, the memory of that terrifying ride haunting your thoughts whenever you heard the roar of an engine.

Now, standing outside and shivering in the cold, you watched as a long royal blue limo pulled up before you. The sleek vehicle gleamed under the streetlights, its polished surface reflecting the dim glow of the surrounding city. The doors, adorned with gold accents, were automated and opened up for you, revealing a plush interior illuminated by soft, warm lighting. Small steps extended gracefully from below, inviting you to step inside.

Velvette wasted no time and went in first, her stiletto heels clicking against the polished floor as she settled into one of the luxurious seats. Already engrossed in a phone call, her voice echoed faintly through the open doorway, mingling with the low hum of the engine.

Meanwhile, Vox stood by your side, his imposing figure casting a shadow over the pavement. You knew he was making sure you wouldn't attempt to escape, although the thought barely crossed your mind.

After all, where could you possibly run to now? Any endeavor in that direction would likely prove futile and possibly even fatal. The evidence of your soul being sold was clear, evident in the now black color of your sclera.

"Well," Vox drawled, his voice carrying a subtle edge of impatience as he gestured towards the open limousine door. "Aren't you going to go in?"

You hesitated, biting your lip as you reluctantly took a step back. Vox eyed your actions warily.

"Is it safe?" you found yourself blurting out, your voice trembling with uncertainty.

"Is it safe?" Vox repeated with a scoff, a hint of annoyance flickering in his eyes. "Of course it's safe! I made it!"

He pointed to the VoxTek logo on the car—as though he were a seasoned salesman promoting a product. The metal emblem gleamed under the faint streetlights. Yet, rather than assuring you, the sight of the branding only heightened your unease.

Vox noticed the lack of change in your expression and sighed, deciding to take a different approach. With a faint glimmer of empathy, he motioned toward a nearby building which had a large billboard featuring his face and image.

"See there?" he gestured, his tone adopting a persuasive edge. "See what that billboard says? VoxTek is a symbol of power and security. You're in the safest hands possible. This limousine is equipped with state-of-the-art safety features."

His attempt to reassure you only rang hollow in your ears, and despite his words, a sense of unease continued to gnaw at you. Yet, Vox still persisted, his voice softening as he stepped closer to you. You had to crane your head up to look at him while he stared down at you, his figure casting a shadow over your form.

"I assure you," he pressed, his tone gentler now. "You have nothing to fear."

With no other choice but to comply, you reluctantly stepped forward, your movements stiff and hesitant. Vox held your hand as he guided you towards the waiting limousine. As you entered the luxurious interior, the door closed behind you with a soft click, sealing your fate as the vehicle pulled away from the curb and disappeared into the night.

Outside, the city lights blurred into streaks of color as the limousine sped through the streets. With each passing moment, the distance between you and Mimzy's torn-down lounge grew.

Lost in your thoughts, you barely noticed when the limousine finally came to a stop, the sudden silence jolting you back to reality. As the door opened with a soft hiss, you gazed out to behold the imposing V Tower looming before you.

Its grandeur was undeniable, with its towering floors and striking red windows gleaming in the night. At the very top, a massive antenna sat, reaching towards the sky like a beacon, while a studio sign was plastered along the building's front, featuring red lips nestled within the arches of the middle V, an iconic symbol of the entertainment empire housed within.

Vox and Velvette emerged from the limousine, their presence causing a few loiterers on the street to scurry away in fear.

Oh, how you wished you could do the same.

Inside the car, you hesitated, nerves coiling in your stomach as you fidgeted with your hands. Then, unexpectedly, Vox turned to you, his expression unreadable as he extended his hand.

Surprised, you paused for a moment before accepting his hand, allowing him to guide you down the steps. The chilly night air enveloped you as your feet touched the pavement, the distant sound of the limo's engine fading away as it drove off.

Seconds passed, and Vox still maintained his grip on your hand, his hold firm. Confusion flickered in your mind as you turned to him, noticing the irritation in his gaze as he eyed your wedding ring.

"Is there a problem, mister?" you asked as you followed his gaze to your ring.

Vox's expression remained inscrutable for a moment before he finally responded, his tone cool and detached.

"I suggest you ditch that," he said, his eyes narrowing slightly. "It's a liability now. Doesn't do any favors for your image, doll."

"But I'm awfully attached. It's…" you began, your voice trailing off as you struggled to find a good enough excuse.

You knew all too well the consequences of revealing your connection, especially in your current vulnerable state. The mere mention of Alastor's name could unravel everything, plunging you deeper into this mess. With two powerful overlords and a soul contract hanging over your head like a guillotine, caution was not just a choice but a necessity.

"It's a symbol of your past life," Vox interjected, his voice cutting through your hesitation.

"And we're leaving that behind now." He extended his hand, the glint of his metal claws catching the dim light, mirroring the uncertainty in your expression. "Hand it over."

With a resigned sigh, you reluctantly slipped the ring off your finger, a pang of loss gripping your heart as you handed it to the overlord. Vox accepted it with a dismissive nod before tucking it into his pocket, his attention already turning back to the looming entrance of the V Tower.

As you entered the building flanked by both Vox and Velvette, you were immediately struck by the brash, modern atmosphere that engulfed you. The walls were painted in bold hues of pink and red, illuminated by the glare of oversized LED screens that flashed with images and advertisements for upcoming events. The floor beneath your feet was polished to a sterile sheen, reflecting the harsh neon lights that bathed the space.

Velvette, with her usual air of haughty superiority, led the way to your room, her steps brisk and impatient. She barely spared you a glance as she gestured towards the metal door that stood before you, its surface cold and unwelcoming.

With a swish of her fingers, she conjured an obtrusively bright star decoration on the wall, reminiscent of celebrity door decorations found in Hollywood, with your name scrawled in cursive on its surface.

"Right, if there's anything you need, you just go down to the lobby and find someone named Shalom," Velvette barked, her tone sharp and impatient, her eyes darting around the room as if searching for an escape route.

"Say, is there a chance I could lay my mitts on a radio?" you asked, hoping to grasp onto some semblance of familiarity in this alien environment, your eyes flitting back and forth between the two of them.

But instead of a response, Vox began to buffer, his screen flashing with bright neon glitches, while Velvette's lips curled into a sneer, her expression one of thinly veiled contempt and amusement at your request.

"Guess I'll take that as a no then?" you smiled tensely, your attempt falling flat.

To your surprise, Vox shook his head, and his screen flashed back to his face, the glitches disappearing as quickly as they had come.

The TV demon reached into his pocket and pulled out a sleek smartphone. Without a word, he plopped it into your hand, and you turned it over, confusion evident on your face.

"A phone?" you said, flabbergasted, your eyebrows shooting up in disbelief. You blinked in astonishment, the absurdity of the situation not lost on you. You were more surprised by the fact that it came from his pocket. Does he keep random smartphones on him at all times?

"Yes, a phone," Vox confirmed with a smirk, a hint of pride dancing in his eyes. "Consider it a courtesy from VoxTek. No need for a radio when we have such sleek products. This is the future! You don't need old shit from the past. Those radios barely pick up anything worth listening to, just crappy, barely audible broadcasts."

"Oh," you said, the air deflating from your lungs as a pang of disappointment settled in your chest. The phone was a thoughtful gesture, but it wasn't going to fix your longing to speak to Alastor. "Well. I suppose I should thank you."

"Don't mention it," Vox replied casually, his demeanor shifting back to its usual aloofness, his tone devoid of any genuine warmth or concern.

With a resigned sigh, you turned and stepped into your new room. You looked around the décor curiously, taking in the sleek modern furniture and it's peculiar design.

Velvette followed closely behind you, her eyes, framed with smoky eyeshadow, narrowing as she regarded you with disgust. The glint of her perfectly manicured nails caught the harsh overhead lights as she folded her arms across her chest.

"Really? A hooverette dress?" Velvette sneered, each syllable dripping with disdain. "You're like a relic from the '40s. Outdated."

You felt a surge of anger at the comment. Sure, you died near the 1940s, but that didn't mean you were outdated. Before you could even muster a response, Velvette raised a hand, and with a flick of her fingers, she effortlessly transformed the fabric of your dress. It rippled and shifted, morphing before your eyes into a pink silk pajama robe, trimmed with a cream-colored fur. She stepped back, a self-satisfied smirk curling her lips as she admired her handiwork.

"Much better," she declared with a clap. "Listen, you're representing VoxTek now. Even when sleeping, we can't have you looking like a washed-up has-been, can we?"

Swallowing your pride, you forced a tight-lipped nod, suppressing the urge to lash out in defiance.

"Yes, ma'am," you managed to grit out, your voice strained. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet," she retorted, her tone sharp and dismissive. "I've got a lot of work to do, and you've got a long way to go before I can get you stage ready."

With that, Velvette stormed out of the room, her heels clicking sharply against the polished floor with each brisk step. As she disappeared from view, Vox leaned in, his shadow casting a long silhouette against the wall. He reached for the doorknob, his fingers gliding over the cool metal.

"Goodnight," he murmured softly, his voice barely audible above the hum of the air conditioning. With a gentle pull, he closed the door with a thud, sealing you in with your thoughts and fears. The latch clicked shut, and you were left alone, enveloped in the eerie silence of the unfamiliar space.

With a heavy sigh, you turned to survey your room even closer.

Your eyes swept over the tall walls adorned with abstract artwork, bursts of vibrant colors contrasting sharply with the subdued hues of the furniture. The wide windows offered a breathtaking view of the city skyline, with skyscrapers twinkling in the distance like distant constellations.

Approaching the plush king-sized bed, you sank into its cloud-like mattress, feeling its comforting embrace envelop you. It was definitely an improvement from Mimzy's lounge. And yet, despite the luxurious trappings, a sense of confinement lingered. After all, a gilded cage remains a cage.

As you assessed your situation, it became clear that you were going to be the star attraction in Velvette's upcoming fashion extravaganza. Her shows were always a hit, and this year's circus-themed spectacle had her buzzing with excitement. The lead model was a singer-actress you'd heard of; you'd seen her the day Mimzy dragged her into the lounge. Pity the poor girl died.

Given the circus motif, it was apparent why Velvette had chosen you. Your background as a singer, coupled with your doll-like appearance, made you the perfect fit for the role.

The best course of action now was to play it safe. Going along with her plan was sure to draw attention, from the lowest imps to Lucifer Morningstar himself. Your face was bound to be plastered on every screen in the infernal realm, broadcasted to demons and damned souls alike. Even with his hatred for the picture shows, Alastor would have to be both blind and deaf to miss this.

He would come for you, you knew it deep in your bones, and yet a pessimistic voice in the back of your head whispered doubts.

Did you even deserve to be taken back after all of this?

With these thoughts weighing heavily on your mind like an anchor dragging you into the depths, you closed your eyes, seeking solace in the darkness behind your lids. But sleep remained elusive, evading your grasp.

As the night wore on, exhaustion crept over you like a heavy fog, its tendrils enveloping you in a suffocating embrace. Despite the turmoil raging within, your body succumbed to weariness, and gradually, you slipped into your dreams.

˚୨୧₊♱

Both you and Alastor embarked on a slow journey through the darkened streets of Louisiana, the car's headlights cutting through the enveloping gloom like beacons. Carefully navigating the labyrinthine city, you avoided the occasional patrol car with its blinding flashlights, skirting through shadowed alleys and side streets to evade detection.

Finally reaching the outskirts of town, where the forest awaited, Alastor brought the car to a halt, the engine's low hum fading into silence. Turning to you, he noticed the fear etched on your face, your wide eyes reflecting the dim glow of the dashboard lights.

With a tender touch, Alastor took your face in his hands, calling for you. "Cher?"

You turned to him, your lips parting slightly as tears welled in your eyes. Alastor's touch was feather-light as his fingertips traced a delicate path along the curve of your cheek. With a gentle brush of his thumb, he coaxed your eyelids closed. Tears streamed down your cheeks, leaving a trail in their wake. As you blinked your eyes open again, you were met with the tender press of his lips against yours.

"We did what we had to do," Alastor murmured against your lips, his voice a low rasp that sent goosebumps dancing across your skin.

With his eyes closed, he leaned in closer, his kiss growing more urgent, almost desperate. You responded in kind, the roughness of the kiss igniting a fire within you.

Feeling his fingers threading through the back of your hair, you whimpered and melted into his embrace, your hands clutching onto his broad shoulders, nails digging into the fabric of his button-up shirt. Alastor groaned in response as he lifted you effortlessly from the passenger seat and settled you onto his lap. Your chest pressed flat against his, the rhythm of your heartbeat syncing with his own.

As the sky grew darker, the moon mingling with the fading hues of sunset, the wind whispered through the open windows of the car, carrying with it the promise of a new beginning.

Alastor eventually pulled away, his gaze lingering on your tousled hair and puffy lips as he leaned back in his seat, taking in every detail of your appearance. Seeing you in such a ruined state stirred something within him.

"Are you ready?" he asked. You nodded meekly in response, your heart racing.

Truth be told, you didn't think you could ever truly be ready for what you were about to do.

Your husband hummed in acknowledgment, allowing you to slip off his lap as he straightened his brown coat, the fabric rustling softly with each movement.

Guiding you out of the car, he then reached into the backseat, retrieving his hunting gun. The metallic click of the firearm being loaded echoed in the quiet night. And you damn near fainted when he handed it to you, the weight of it feeling heavier than you could bear. The metal surface was icy against your palm, and you fought the urge to recoil, but Alastor pressed it firmly into your hand, his touch reassuring yet commanding.

"You'll need this," Alastor spoke lowly, bending down to your height, his glasses slipping further down the bridge of his nose. "Use it for safety. There might be wild animals out."

You hesitated, the weight of the weapon heavy in your hand, but the urgency in his tone spurred you to nod in agreement.

"Do you remember when I taught you how to hunt?" he questioned, slipping on a pair of dark leather gloves he had pulled out of his pocket. His voice was low and smooth, laced with a hint of nostalgia. "You remember how to shoot, no?"

You nodded, eyes still glued to the gun, unable to tear your gaze away.

"Words, cher. Use your words."

"Yes, love," you whispered, finding your voice. Alastor smiled, the rough texture of his glove grazing gently against your cheek as he pressed his hand to your face one last time before stepping away.

Your husband made his way to the trunk of the car, the soft glow of the taillights casting long shadows across the forest floor. With strong pull, he opened it, revealing its contents. Your breath caught in your throat as he retrieved a shovel and a black body bag, the sight sending a sickening feeling through your stomach.

Alastor slung the bag over his shoulder and began walking, his steps confident, as if he knew exactly where he was going. The weight of the bag seemed inconsequential to him, swinging lightly with each stride. There was an odd, almost unsettling look in his eyes as he whistled a tune, the sound echoing eerily through the silent woods. A glint of something primal and untamed flickered within their depths.

Nonetheless, you followed him, drawn to his presence like a moth to a flame.

Trudging deeper, the shadows seemed to grow darker, more menacing. The silence pressed in on you from all sides, broken only by Alastor's whistling and the sound of your footsteps crunching on the forest floor. Each step felt like a descent into madness, the unknown lurking just beyond the reach of your flashlight's beam.

Suddenly, Alastor halted in a secluded corner, where the trees were decaying, their long branches resembling gnarled fingers reaching out for you in the darkness. He turned to you, the dim light of your flashlight reflecting off his glasses, giving his brown eyes an otherworldly glint.

In that moment, illuminated by the pale beam, he looked almost demonic, his features twisted by the play of light and shadow.

"I'll be back shortly, cher," he hummed with a smile, adjusting the bag over his shoulder. You couldn't help but notice a darkened spot on his brown coat, the collar of his white button-up now stained with crimson. "Stay here."

With that, he disappeared into the darkness, his figure swallowed by the shadows of the forest, leaving you alone amidst the looming trees.

Time stretched on endlessly, each minute feeling like an eternity as you stood alone. Faintly, you could hear the distant sound of Alastor's shovel breaking through the earth's surface, its metallic scrape and the muffled thud as it struck the soil sending another wave of nausea curling in your gut, each noise a grim reminder of the task at hand.

All you wanted was to escape, to return to the safety of your quaint house in the city.

More than anything, you longed to open a bottle of whiskey, to drown your fears and sorrows in its comforting embrace. Maybe have a second, or a third, and just forget.

Forget about all of this. Forget it all ever happened. But deep down, you knew that no amount of alcohol could erase the memories of tonight, each image now etched into your mind like scars on your soul.

All of a sudden, a rustling sound behind you sent a jolt of adrenaline through your veins, followed by the distant but unmistakable bark of dogs. The sound seemed to come from all directions, surrounding you in a menacing chorus.

With a sharp gasp, you spun round and round in a whirl, your vision tunneling with fear as you scanned the darkness, eyes wide and frantic. Every rustle of the leaves, every snap of a twig, seemed to magnify the sense of dread that gripped you. Your breaths came in ragged gasps, the cool night air burning in your lungs as you struggled to keep your composure.

And then, without warning, something lunged from the darkness, a blur of movement that sent your heart racing even faster. Instinct took over, and without thinking, you raised the gun and fired, the deafening sound reverberating through the silent forest.

You gasped for air, the rush of adrenaline coursing through your veins as you found yourself sitting on the damp, muddy ground. The recoil of the gun had sent you sprawling backward, leaving you disoriented and breathless.

With trembling hands, you clutched the gun closer to your chest, the cold metal providing a shaky sense of security in the darkness. Despite the fear coursing through your veins, a surge of determination propelled you forward, your muscles tensed and ready for whatever danger lay ahead. Scrambling to your feet, you pushed yourself onward.

Each step was punctuated by the crunch of underbrush beneath your boots, the sound amplifying in the stillness of the forest. Amidst the shadows and foliage, you caught a blur of brown, relief flooding through you like a wave crashing against the shore.

Oh, heavens, it was just a deer.

As you trudged towards the poor animal, your foot caught on a branch, and you stumbled, the unforgiving forest floor meeting your body with a painful thud. In the fall, your gun slipped from your grasp, skidding off into the shadows.

Wincing, you pushed yourself up to your knees, the earthy scent of decay mingling with the metallic tang of blood. You looked toward the fallen creature, its form now visible in the dim moonlight filtering through the trees. But as you crawled over, dread crept into your heart.

There, lying face down on the dirt, was Alastor, his once-immaculate brown coat now dirtied, blending seamlessly with mud. His glasses lay shattered and discarded in front of him, glinting faintly in the dim moonlight that danced across the forest floor. A pool of crimson blood seeped from his head, staining the earth beneath him.

Your eyes widened with renewed horror as the truth dawned upon you, and you fell onto your back, scrambling away from the corpse of your husband, the damp earth sticking to your palms as you clawed at the ground in your panic.

The bark of the dogs were louder now, closer. Ignoring the dizzy vertigo in your head, you pushed yourself to your feet, your senses on high alert.

You choked out a broken apology but found that you could not hear it, that you could not make any sound at all.

You breathed, it was all you could do, all you could manage at the moment, and with the terrible weight on your chest, even that was made difficult.

What have you done?

˚୨୧₊♱

"Salutations! It's Tom back on the airwaves! Hold onto your hats because we've got some news that'll knock your socks off! Alastor Caron, the big shot radio host and husband of underground singer Dolly, also known as Y/N Caron, has been found pushing up daisies out in the sticks of Louisiana!

That's right, folks, he's dead!

Word on the street is, ol' Alastor met our maker with a bullet to the head in what can only be described as a real tragic whodunit. Sources close to the case are whispering in the wind, suggesting that Dolly herself might be mixed up in this spicy little affair. The coppers found her fingerprints on the gun! Can you believe it?! Stay tuned as we peel back the curtain and spill the tea on this sto—"

You shut the radio off with a frustrated slam of your fist, the sound echoing through the desolate living room.

Eviction papers and newspapers, crumpled and worn from countless readings, are strewn haphazardly across the table.

"Gone Girl," "Husband-killer," "Missing Marionette," "A Doll's Vanishing Act," "Manhunt underway for Suspected Murderer," "Louisiana Radio Host dead; Wife blamed."

The headlines scream, each word a painful reminder of the nightmare engulfing your life.

Empty bottles litter around you, their contents spilled and forgotten, the sharp scent of alcohol mingling with the drowning feeling of grief that permeates the room. Sirens wail in the distance while red and blue lights dance along the walls, cast by the dim light filtering through tightly shut curtains.

As you reach for another bottle, the drinks blur into one another, their labels indistinguishable in the dark room. The burning sensation as the liquid courses down your throat offers temporary relief from the turmoil raging inside your mind, numbing the pain and grief threatening to consume you. Each sip takes you further into a haze.

The room spins around you, items warping and dancing in a twisted mockery of your predicament. There are whispers now, soft and insidious, slithering into your ears like serpents. You try to push away the accusing voices echoing in your mind, drowning them out with your bottle's numbing embrace. But with each passing moment, the weight of the accusations grows heavier, dragging you deeper into despair.

Nausea churns in the pit of your stomach, and you finally stop moving, the dizziness overwhelming you. A deathly coldness settles over you, seeping into your bones like icy tendrils, causing you to shiver involuntarily. Your fingers lose their grip on the bottle, and it crashes to the ground with a shattering sound that echoes in the stillness of the room, shards of glass scattering across the floor like stars falling from the sky. You follow suit, collapsing onto the floor, limbs heavy and muscles twitching.

You stare vacantly ahead, unable to move, your eyes glazed over with a hollow emptiness as a sense of dread washes over you, suffusing the air with an oppressive weight. Each breath feels like a battle, your chest tightening with every inhalation, as if your lungs were filled with water.

Your breaths grow more labored, each one shallower than the last, until they eventually cease altogether, leaving you gasping for air that refuses to come.

The world around you fades into darkness, the edges of your vision blurring as consciousness slips away, leaving you engulfed in a silence broken only by the faint echo of your last heartbeat.

˚୨୧₊♱

There was screaming.

Footsteps thudded along a path nearby, accompanied by the fluttering of wings as creatures soared overhead.

You awaken with a startle, disoriented and groggy.

Slowly sitting up, you find yourself surrounded by a crimson landscape, a pentagram shimmering ominously in the air above you. As you move, your hand sinks into something cold and wet, a sickening squelch accompanying the sensation.

Horror grips you as you realize your hand is touching a corpse, its monstrous form adorned with twisted horns, jagged tails, and rows of sharp teeth. The pair of lifeless eyes shift and stare into you, devoid of any trace of humanity.

Frozen with terror and panic, you scramble away from the grotesque sight, the ground slick with crimson ichor, each step leaving bloody handprints and footprints in your wake.

The evening light of this place reveals a grim environment surrounding you – a lumpy, uneven field of corpses and bones, a mass grave unlike any you've ever seen. But these corpses are not human; they are demonic, twisted and contorted in death.

Before you can even make sense of this grotesque scene, a spear slices through the air, its sharp tip gleaming in the dim light. With a thud, it embeds itself into the ground beside you. A sharp, stinging sensation follows as your cheeks burn, crimson liquid trailing down your skin.

Gasping for breath, you look up and catch sight of a figure soaring overhead, its massive wings spread wide against the crimson sky. Each beat sends a gust of wind rushing past you, whipping your hair around your face. The figure's single eye fixates on you, its gaze piercing through the darkness, the other obscured by a large 'X' mark.

Adrenaline surges through your veins as you run away, the cold sweat of fear prickling your skin.

Your surroundings blur into a chaotic whirlwind as you race through the labyrinthine alleys of Hell. With every stride, your heart pounds in your chest like a drum. Each footfall echoes in the narrow passageways, the walls closing in around you like a vice, but the chase of the angel behind you drives you forward, your muscles burning with exertion as you push yourself to your limits.

Suddenly, you're yanked to a stop, your body colliding with a stone floor as you're pulled into a hidden doorway. Pain shoots through your arm, and you wince, clutching it tightly against your chest. It throbs with a dull ache, bruised from the fall.

As you cautiously lift your gaze, you find yourself in a familiar setting—a speakeasy, though more rugged and rundown than you were used to. The air is thick with the scent of cigarette smoke and stale alcohol. Mismatched furniture and a barely held-together bar give the place a sense of makeshift charm.

"Well, look who it is."

The voice freezes you in place, and your eyes nervously move upward to see a familiar blonde woman before you, her sharp teeth glinting in the dim light, her eyes dark and intense.

"Mimzy?" you whisper, disbelief coloring your voice.

"It's me!" she cheers, swinging her legs and jazzing her arms up in the air. With a jump, she plops onto the ground, circling your hunched-over form with a mischievous grin. "How you doin', Dolly?"

"How?" your mind scrambles. "You-You…"

"I know! You thought I was dead?" she snickers before knocking you upside the head playfully. "Welcome to the afterlife, you ditz!"

"What?" you rasp, eyes frantically darting from her to your surroundings. "What are you talking about? Why do you look like that?!"

"Look what? Adorable~?" Mimzy hums and waltzes over to a gramophone, inserting a disk and starting a scratching melody that fills the speakeasy.

Hello, Dolly! Well, hello, Dolly! It's so nice to have you back where you belong~

"Come on, Dolly," Mimzy says, her voice low and melodic as she sways to the music. The bedazzled fringes of her dress sparkle in the dim light as she twirls, her heels dragging along the floorboards. "You haven't been living under a rock, have you? Or did'ja just arrive?"

You're lookin' swell, Dolly I can tell, Dolly You're still glowin', you're still crowin' You're still goin' strong

"I don't understand," you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper as you struggle to comprehend what's happening. Everything feels like a dream—a nightmare, more accurately. "Where am I? What's going on?"

"We're both dead," Mimzy chuckles, tapping her heels along to the beat.

We feel the room swayin' While the band's playin' One of your old favourite songs from way back when

"What do you mean?" you manage to croak out, the words barely audible over the music.

Mimzy pauses mid-twirl. "Oh, Dolly," she sighs, shaking her head. "Hell, darling. We're in Hell."

Your blood runs cold at her words, the reality of your situation sinking in like a heavy weight on your chest. The memories of that fateful night flood your mind, filling you with a sense of guilt and despair.

Before you can voice your thoughts, Mimzy grabs your hand and pulls you into a dance, the gramophone's melody swirling around you like a sinister lullaby.

"So, take her wrap, fellas," Mimzy sings along, her laughter echoing off the walls. Her eyes gleam with a mischievous light as she leads you through the steps of the choreography you once knew so well. She twirls you around and drops you into a dip. "Find her an empty lap, fellas!"

"Dolly'll never go away again~"

You feel a surge of frustration building within you, the absurdity of overwhelming your senses. With a shout of anger, you push Mimzy away, a scowl etched deep on your face. She stumbles back, nearly losing her balance in her heels, her smile fading into a look of annoyance.

"Will you cut it out!" you snap, your voice echoing in the empty speakeasy. "Tell me what's going on!"

"Killjoy." Mimzy rolls her eyes and lets out a scoff, a smirk playing at the corner of her lips. She moves over to the gramophone and turns it off, the melody abruptly silenced.

"I just told you what was going on, you doof!" Mimzy retorts, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. The speakeasy falls into an uneasy silence, the air thick with tension, broken only by the faint sound of distant screams echoing outside the building. You gesture toward the source of the noise with a look of shock.

"Alright, I know well enough why I'm here, but what is that?" you inquire, your voice tinged with apprehension.

"An extermination. Angels come here to rid of sinners and such," Mimzy shrugs, her expression nonchalant despite the gravity of her words.

"Well, what about Alastor?" you press, the worry evident in your voice.

Mimzy's expression darkens, a flicker of anger crossing her features before she quickly masks it with a smirk. "Oh, you mean your darling husband? He's probably causing chaos somewhere, as usual. He'll be fine."

"I don't think he even knows you're here," she adds on with a yawn. "He probably thinks you're up in the shiny gates of heaven with his momma or something."

"Al knows I'm already dead?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Yup!" Mimzy chirps, her grin widening. "Your death came out in the news months ago. But only Lord knows why it took 'em so long to get you through purgatory."

The barrage of new information leaves you dizzy, your head spinning with the implications. "Wait—my death? The news?"

Mimzy moves over to the bar, kneeling down the worn floorboards as she digs through the bottom drawers.

"Didja know there's this little killin' business in Hell? I.M.P.—the Immediate Murder Professionals. And there's this cute little fella named Blitzo who does deliveries for me. I was his first costumer and poor guy needs the extra money so—"

"Mimzy, why are you telling me this?" you interject, confusion evident in your tone.

Mimzy's grin widens as she peeks at you from over the counter, her eyes gleaming with mischief.

"Well, sweetcheeks," she purrs, continuing to leaf through piles of paper, "if you paid attention to their name, they do murder. Murder in the human world, to be exact. And I hired them to go snuff you out!"

"But lo and behold, to my surprise," Mimzy continues, her tone laced with amusement, "you did their job for 'em! And this is what they brought back as proof."

With a flourish, Mimzy procures a newspaper from the depths of the cabident, her hands waving it around in excitement. She throws it to you, and you catch it, fumbling to see the headline. Your stomach churns as you take in the bold letters.

'LAST SWING: Speakeasy Star Suspected of Husband's Murder Dies in Alcohol Overdose.'

"Hi-larious!" Mimzy snorts as she presses a finger against the title, her expression gleeful. You hold the paper up, your hands trembling as you read through the article detailing your own death.

With a cackle, Mimzy jumps onto a nearby table, her movements lithe and energetic as she snatches the paper away from you.

"So, did'ja do it?" she taunts, leaning in close to your face with a devilish grin. "Didn't take you as the type. What was it? Poison? Housewife classic, I tell ya. Maybe a knife? Good ole push him down the stairs? Or was it a gun?"

You tense up at her last words, a cold sweat breaking out on your forehead. Mimzy smirks, her snicker ringing out like a sinister melody. Curls bounce around her face as she leans in closer, her lips practically ghosting against your cut.

"You shot him?"

"I—" you stutter, your breath catching in your throat as you run a hand through your frazzled hair, the disheveled strands tangling under your trembling fingers. "I didn't mean to! Heavens. I thought he was a deer!"

At that, Mimzy bursts out in loud laughter, tears streaming down her face as she clutches her stomach, doubling over with mirth. The sound echoes off the grimy walls of the speakeasy.

"Is that right?" she wheezes between fits of laughter, slapping her knee while still shaking with amusement. "No wonder he looks like a deer! Oh! The irony!"

"Deer?" you whisper out in confusion, your mind struggling to grasp the implications of her words amidst the chaos of her laughter. She laughs even harder at your response, kicking her feet in the air with unrestrained glee.

After a few minutes, she finally calms down. With a skip in her step and a glint in her eyes, she saunters over to you. Humming a tune, Mimzy twirls around you again, her movements fluid and graceful despite her earlier outburst.

"I know something you don't know~" she sings.

"What do you mean?" you frown, your voice trembling as you gaze at her, searching for any hint of what she's hiding.

"All in good time. I've told you a lot already, didn't I?" Mimzy replies cryptically, her tone snappy. "Let's see—I graciously saved you from that angel that was ready to spill your guts out, I've given you a wonderful welcome, helped you learn about your death, and, well, you were involved in my murder. I'd say the scales aren't balanced! You owe me. A lot."

Guilt churns in your gut as you nervously wring your hands. "Mimzy, no words can express how much guilt I feel about your—"

"Oh, cut the weeping dame bullshit. I don't care about that," Mimzy interrupts with a roll of her eyes and a wave of her hand. Her eyes gleam with a predatory intensity as she leans in closer.

"I'm feeling generous today," she purrs, her voice dripping with honeyed venom. "So, I'll make you a deal."

You eye her warily, the guilt in your gut twisting into a knot of apprehension. Despite your unease, you nod, silently urging her to continue, bracing yourself for whatever devil's bargain she has in store.

"In exchange for absolving your involvement in my murder and providing information on your husband," she whispers, her voice dripping with malice, "you'll owe me a favor. A big one. I want you to work for me again."

You tense, your mind racing as you process her proposition, a knot forming in the pit of your stomach. "What?"

Mimzy's smirk widens at your reaction, her eyes gleaming with amusement as she relishes in your discomfort. "That's right, sugar. I want you back on the job, working for me just like old times."

"Well I… I don't have much of a choice, do I?" you reply, clenching your fists in frustration.

Mimzy's laughter reverberates through the speakeasy, each chuckle sending shivers down your spine.

"Of course not! Would you prefer to go running to Alastor instead? Oh, dear hubby, please shield me from the consequences of my sins! My apologies for putting a bullet in your skull!" she mocks your voice, drawling the syllables out as she clasps her hands together and bats her eyes at you.

A surge of humiliation and guilt washes over you, weighing heavy on your shoulders as you struggle to come to terms with the choices before you.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady your racing thoughts. Despite the overwhelming guilt and shame swirling within you, you know that you're cornered. Mimzy has you right where she wants you, and the only way out is to play her game.

"Fine," you say through gritted teeth, your voice tinged with resignation. "I'll work for you again."

Mimzy's grin widens, her sharp teeth flashed at you. "Excellent choice, darling. You won't regret it."

With a snap of her fingers, a contract materializes in her hand. She hands it over to you, and you read through it. Funnily enough, it looks almost identical to your previous employment contract in the living with her, but one detail catches your eye.

"To settle the debt incurred due to the aforementioned act, Y/N Caron, acknowledging the gravity of her transgressions, agrees to become a singer for Mimzy's Lounge for a duration of ten decades," you read the line in shock. Turning to Mimzy, you clutch the contract tightly, your nails threatening to break the paper. "Ten decades?!"

"What?" Mimzy scoffs, her voice dripping with derision. "You stuck here for all of eternity anyways, and so is your husband. Might as well do something."

With a theatrical flourish, Mimzy reaches into her chest and pulls out a pen, waggling it teasingly in your face. "So? What will it be? Are ya gonna sign the contract? Or am I gonna have to throw you out where those angels can tear you to pieces?"

You read through the contract again, your eyes frantically scanning the paper for any loophole or escape route, but you come up empty-handed. With a sinking feeling in your chest, you realize that you're in this for the long haul.

"But what about Alastor?" you pressed, urgency creeping into your voice.

Mimzy's laughter filled the speakeasy, bouncing off the walls like mocking echoes. "Oh, sweetheart," she cooed with faux sympathy, "haven't you read the fine print? Your dear Alastor is strictly off-limits. Can't have him interfering with our little arrangement, now can we?"

"But… I need to see him," you pleaded, desperation lacing your words.

Mimzy's smirk widened into a wicked grin as she leaned in closer, mischief gleaming in her eyes. "And I need to make sure my end of the deal is fulfilled," she countered firmly.

Glancing down at the contract, you saw her pointing to a specific section. "Y/N Caron's husband, Alastor Caron, is strictly forbidden from being physically present around her in any way, shape, or form for the safety and integrity of this agreement."

"But… can't we find some middle ground?" you asked, a sliver of hope lingering in your voice.

"Ah, I've got an idea," Mimzy grinned , reaching into her drawer and pulling out an old radio. She extended it towards you. "You can talk with him as much as you like. This little radio will be your hotline to him. But there's a catch: he stays far, far away from you and this joint. How's that sound?"

Twisting the radio in your trembling hands, you felt the weight of the decision settle heavily on your shoulders. The device seemed ancient, its surface worn and its knobs slightly rusted, yet it held the power to bridge the seemingly insurmountable gap between you and Alastor. With a heavy sigh, you reluctantly brought the pen to the paper, the ink blotting the sheet as you signed your name away, sealing your fate.

"It's a deal."

[queenshelby]

Sweet Possession (Part 2)

Pairing: Very Dark! Thomas Shelby (32) x Innocent! Reader (19)

Warning: Age Gap, Smut

The following day, however, brought a gloomy atmosphere into the room as, at around 6 o'clock, there was a knock on your bedroom door, causing you to startle.

Until that night, you had never shared a bed with Tommy , and the thought of being interrupted whilst still lying naked next to him made you shudder.

"Who is it?" Thomas barked, quickly wrapping a white sheet around his waist.

"It's Arthur," came the distorted voice of Tommy's older brother, resulting in Tommy jumping out of the bed, collecting his briefs from the floor and throwing them on. "What is it, Arthur?" Tommy asked as he hurriedly opened the door to reveal Arthur, standing there, waving at you while you simply blushed with embarrassment. 

"Something's happened," Arthur blurted out. "Down at the docks."

Tommy looked at you, hunched up on the bed, clutching a sheet to your bare breasts. "Go put some clothes on, Love. I'll be back soon," he signaled to you, and you nodded in silence.

As soon as Tommy left the room, you crawled off the bed to gather your scattered garments from the floors, wondering what the problem was on site.

Since you moved into Tommy's house, there had been a lot of trouble at the docks and in his factories and when you asked your now husband about it, he would usually brush it off. 

He often put it down to strikes or interruptions due to equipment breakdown and, as his partner in life, of course, you believed him. 

Tommy was a businessman, not a criminal, and whilst you thought that his brother and Gypsie acquaintances were rather rough around the edged, you knew that Tommy was a good man.

He was a man who would do anything for you and you appreciated his kindness and the love he gave you, especially after you had been abandoned by all the other men in your life before him.

Even your older brother left you to your own devices when you were just seventeen, moving away from Birmingham without a word, as a result of which the home your parents had partially owned was being foreclosed on.

You had no choice but to move out and find work to sustain yourself, to be able to maintain a roof over your head and pay for your rent. And even then, it didn’t always suffice.

You were fired from three jobs until you found work at the Garrison and now you knew that you never had to work again.

Tommy took care of you now, treated you well and, even though he was determined to have children with you, he respected your wishes to wait.

He bought you horse, a white stallion and you were assigned not one, but two maids, which was something you always considered to be odd. 

If you wanted to go to town and spend some time shopping, Tommy had a maid and a driver accompany you and today wasn't much different when you decided to head into the city of Birmingham for some groceries. 

"Mrs Shelby, there really is no need. I can send an errand boy to do the shopping," Frances told you as you waved the list of items you wanted to buy in her perfectly manicured face with excitement. 

"But I insist Frances. I want to do the shopping and then, tonight, I will cook a nice meal for my husband," you told her politely, seeing that you had always enjoyed to cook but had not done so ever since you moved to Arrow House. 

"Very well, Mrs Shelby. Whatever you wish," she answered in a silky voice that reeked of credulousness.

"Fabulous. I know a really nice Italian Grocer by the Canal side. Do you think Isiah could drive me there?" you asked, knowing that Tommy was always rather worried about your safety and wouldn't have liked you driving yourself.  Frances hesitated for a moment. "Of course, Mrs. Shelby," she said bluntly, but not without a hint of hesitation in her voice. "I'll call Isiah right away."

You smiled appreciatively at Frances and headed off to the bathroom, quickly freshening up before heading to the car that would take you to the Italian grocer.

The car ride was comfortable and peaceful, and you couldn't help but marvel at how much your life had changed since you first met Thomas Shelby.

Your thoughts were interrupted as the car pulled up to the front of the grocery store.

The sun was shining brightly outside, illuminating the bustling streets of Birmingham and casting a warm glow on the picturesque canal that ran along the side of the store.

You stepped out of the car, taking a deep breath of the fresh air. The sound of laughter and conversation drifted towards you from nearby cafes and pubs, mixing with the distant horns and clatter of the ships moving through the canal locks.

"My mother always took me here when I was little. It's a nice little shop run by a lovely Italian family. My older brother, Alfred, used to bring me here all the time too, just after payday, before-" You paused, your smile faltering slightly. "Before he left to god knows where," you finished, your voice barely above a whisper and Isiah simply nodded with sympathy while you stepped into the shop.

The smell of coffee and bread greeted you as the door jingled shut behind you. Despite the modern facade, the interior remained cozy with a wooden counter in the middle that displayed a variety of pasta and cured meats. On the shelves, colorful tins of tomatoes and olive oil lined the walls.

Remembering the list in your hand, you carefully navigating your way through the narrow aisles and stocked up on your ingredients. 

"I am sorry ma'am, but we don't serve Blinders here," one of the Italians said to you as you roamed through the shop and, since you had no idea what the man was talking about, you just laughed nervously.

"Excuse me?" you queried, confused while Isiah appeared behind you, flashing the gun hidden beneath his jacket, thinking that you wouldn't notice.

"We don't want any trouble miss," the stocky man corrected himself quickly, and you quickly blinked, trying to process what was happening.

"Why would I give you trouble?" you asked innocently, unable to make sense of what exactly was going and Isiah then politely urged you to finish up your shopping. 

Without another word, you filled up your basket, paid for your groceries and left the store, feeling a sudden chill in the air despite the brilliant sunshine.

Isiah escorted you back to the waiting car in silence but you had so many questions that needed answering, but you refrained yourself from asking, believing that your new husband would soon explain everything to you when you returned home.

The short car ride was again filled with a heavy silence and you couldn’t help but feel unsettled. 

As you walked through the front door, Frances took the groceries from your hands and you made your way upstairs to your bedroom to get changed.  After a quick shower, you slipped into a nice but comfortable dress that Thomas had given to you as a gift.

You stared at yourself in the mirror and felt a pang of happiness in your chest. Your life had changed so dramatically since being with him and you couldn’t deny that you were happy.

You then made your way downstairs to unpack the groceries and start cooking. It was still early but you knew that the dish you were making had to sit in the oven for almost eight hours on low heat, so you knew to better get cracking.  You were pleased with the simplicity and warmth of the task at hand, letting your mind relax as you chopped and sautéed the vegetables and meat.

As you worked, you couldn’t help but wonder about the strange encounter you had at the grocer. The man’s peculiar reference to “Blinders” and the sudden appearance of Isiah’s gun were both alarming and confusing. But, you shook the thoughts away, telling yourself that there was likely a simple explanation.

Tommy had an explanation for everything and, just as you were thinking about him, he came walking through the door of the large and rarely used kitchen in wing one of Arrow House, far away from the staff quarters.  He greeted you with a gentle kiss on the cheek before pouring himself a glass of whiskey and looking at you contently.

"How did you go?" you asked your husband , referring to whatever business he had down at the docks.

Thomas took a sip of his whiskey, eyeing you carefully. "Fine," he told you. "There was some stock missing, but we dealt with it," Thomas explained, leaving out the gruesome details of the beating he ordered his men to give out. 

"You know I employed a chef to do the cooking, Love ," Thomas said, changing the subject as he watched you chopping the vegetables.

"I'm aware, but I love to cook for you. I am your wife and this is what wives do, isn't it?" you smirked  at Thomas, challenging him.

Thomas chuckled lightly, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he took another sip of his drink. "Yes, of course. I suppose it is," he conceded, a heartfelt smile playing on his lips as he drew closer from behind. 

Thomas encircled your waist with one arm and nuzzled your neck  softly, causing you to giggle and shiver at the same time.

"You look quite sexy in that dress and apron, Love ," Thomas murmured in your ear, giving it a slight nibble that triggered a heated blush infiltrating your cheeks.

You glanced at him with a playful smile before turning around, your hands instinctively moving to rest on his muscular chest, only to feel the outline of his gun sitting firmly in its halter.

"Why would you need to carry a gun?"  you whispered, turning your head slightly to catch his gaze. Thomas' eyes flickered down to the gun before meeting your gaze again.

"Just a precaution, Love. There are some dangerous people in this city," Thomas replied, his voice low and serious.

You nodded, understanding his concerns but still feeling uneasy about the situation. Thomas seemed to sense your disquiet and leaned down to kiss you softly.

"I love you," he murmured against your lips, his arms tightening around you briefly before releasing you.

"I love you too, Tommy," you replied softly, your hands still resting on his chest.

Your heart softened towards Thomas in that moment, feeling a deep affection for him. You loved him deeply and you trusted him implicitly. Knowing him as well as you did, it was hard to imagine that his business dealings could be anything but legitimate, even as you had heard rumors about his involvement in illegal activities.

Thomas had always dismissed these rumors as mere speculation, nothing more than idle gossip and slander from his rivals. And yet, as you stood there in the warm kitchen, with the smell of dinner filling the room, you couldn't shake the feeling of unease that had settled over you since your visit to the Italian grocer.

"I should really get back to cooking, Tommy," you said eventually, stepping out of Thomas' embrace and starting to chop the vegetables again, but Tommy simply removed the knife from your hand.

"The cooking can wait," he said huskily. "I've been thinking about you all day. About how beautiful you looked this morning when you were sleeping," he murmured as he nibbled your earlobe. 

"I suppose we could eat a little later than usual,"  you replied, the tension from earlier melting away as Thomas' lips moved to your neck.

The room felt warm and intimate as the two of you stood there, wrapped up in each other's embrace.

"Fuck, I want you," Thomas whispered hoarsely as his hands traveled down your body, cupping your ass roughly.

You let out a soft cry as he lifted you up onto the kitchen counter, spreading your legs apart with a confident movement that sent a thrill of anticipation coursing through your veins.

"Tommy, what if a maid walks in?" you giggled nervously, your voice breathless as Thomas' fingers deftly slipped beneath your dress and apron.

"Then let them watch ," Thomas growled, his voice thick with desire.

He tugged your panties down, exposing your wet and eager pussy to his hungry gaze.

"You are unbelievable, Thomas!" you chuckled softly just before his fingertips traced the delicate folds of your sex, your body trembling beneath his touch.

Thomas wasted no time, plunging two fingers deep into your core.

"Oh god, Tommy," you cried out, gripping the edge of the countertop as he began to pump his fingers in and out of you.

"God, you're so fucking wet. So ready for me," Tommy groaned as his thumb teased your clit, and you writhed on the counter, grinding against his hand. You felt shameless and exposed, but also incredibly alive.

As Thomas unzipped his trousers, you watched through hooded eyes, your breath hitching as his hard cock sprang free.

He stroked it a couple of times, smearing pre-cum over the tip before using it to coat your slit.

Your legs wrapped around his waist, trying to pull him closer.

Thomas chuckled for a second. "Eager, aren't we?" he asked as he positioned himself at your entrance.

You bit your lip as you felt him push inside your tight warmth, stretching you mercilessly. You moaned at the sensation of him filling you up, the feeling of fullness almost overwhelming.

"Fuck, you're tight, Love," Thomas grunted, his fingers digging into your hips as he pistoned back and forth.

"Tommy, oh god please," you whimpered, unable to form complete sentences as the pleasure built inside of you.

"I love feeling you inside me ," you confessed, the words tumbling out of your mouth before you could stop them.

"I've never felt anything like this before," you added, your voice barely above a whisper and, immediately, Thomas' eyes met yours for a brief moment, his gaze intense as he continued to fuck you.

"Neither have I, Love," Tommy told you and you cried out, biting your lip to try and contain the noise as the pleasure became almost unbearable.

You felt yourself climbing higher and higher, the tension building stronger and stronger until the waves of static pleasure crashed inside of you and, suddenly, you felt yourself falling, falling, falling and, as you kept screaming, the waves of pleasure crashed over and over again, never ending.

"Fuck, yes. That's it, Love," Thomas groaned, holding back his own release until you came down from your high. He then pulled out , springing free, and grabbed his cock, giving it a few quick thrusts as he sprayed hot streams of cum across your naked thighs.

Thomas leaned forward, moving your hair off your sweaty forehead, pressing a gentle kiss there before stepping back, still catching his breath.

Reaching for his handkerchief  , he started to wipe the remnants of their earthly pleasures of desperation and passion from between your thighs and from his limp cock before zipping up his trousers again.

“Are you alright, Love?” he addressed you gentler than ever before and you simply nodded silently, before reaching for a glass of water and taking a deep sip, feeling a little thirsty after your vigorous desperation for passion and how ‘earthshattering’ your release became.

Thomas poured himself another glass of whiskey and watched you closely as you collected yourself.

"Now that was quite unexpected," you admitted, taking a deep breath before pushing yourself off the counter and swinging your legs down to the ground.

"Was it?" he chuckled before lightening himself a cigarette and offering one to you, which you accepted graciously. 

"You know, something really strange happened today when Isiah took me to the Italian Grocer by the Canal on East Street," you started, changing the topic, as you took a deep drag from your cigarette. Thomas arched an eyebrow, encouraging you to go on.

"While I was picking up some fresh produce for dinner, one of the Italians in store told me that they weren't serving 'Blinders' at their shop and, when I queried him about what he meant by that, he told me that he didn't want any trouble. I think he saw Isiah's gun, but I can't be sure. It all was very confusing," you recounted the incident, trying to piece together what happened.

At that moment, Thomas' body language changed entirely. He leaned his head to the side, squinting his left eye and pressing his lips firmly together, as he listening to your confession.

"Did the man say anything else?"  Thomas' voice was low and measured as he tried to keep his emotions in check.

"No," you shook your head. "Well, not that I could understand," you told him, causing your husband to clear his throat. 

"And what did the Italian look like?"  Thomas questioned you with a furrowed brow, as he tried to gauge the seriousness of the situation based on the incomplete information you offered.

"Tall, skinny. He was about thirty years old, with dark hair and dark eyes," you said, almost absentmindedly, as you went on to describe more about the Italian's appearance. Then, suddenly, it struck you just how off-putting the interaction had become now, and some anxiety washed over you again. "Why are you asking?"  you questioned Thomas, wondering about the reasoning behind the sudden interest in the man you met earlier today.

Thomas, sensing your apprehension, gave you a reassuring smile as he stubbed out his cigarette, extinguishing the glowing embers.

"No reason. Just mere curiosity, Love," Tommy told you before giving you a kiss on the cheek. "Now, why don't you finish cooking while attend some more business in town, eh?" he told you, his voice gentle and loving, but you noticed a hint of something else in his eyes, something that you couldn't quite identify.

"Alright Tommy," you agreed nonetheless and Thomas kissed you deeply one last time, before grabbing his hat and coat and disappearing off to town.

Tags:

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[roofsnpaves]

DIY Roof Replacement? Think Twice!

Replacing a roof is a HUGE undertaking. While some minor repairs are DIY-friendly, a full replacement is best left to the professionals. It requires specialized skills, safety equipment, and the right materials. If you're considering a roof replacement, researching reputable local companies is crucial. For more information on professional roof replacement services, check out this resource: https://www.primeroofinglimited.co.uk/services/roof-replacement This isn't an endorsement, just a helpful link!

[carsthatnevermadeitetc]

Triumph Stag (US), 1971. The Stag has emerged from an idea of Michelotti for a Triumph grand tourer with a removable roof, in the style of the Mercedes SL. It was powered by a 3.0 SOHC V8 engine, created by doubling-up two Triumph 1.5 litre slant-4 engines. The US market cars had added safety and emissions equipment to meet Federal standards and also came with wire wheels. The V8 engine quickly developed a reputation for unreliability and overheating. Despite the popularity of Triumph's TR sports cars in the US (it was Triumph's largest market), the Stag was a sales flop in America with only 2,871 being sold during 6 years on sale

[loousir]

[Gargoyle] Stay Still

Kinktober Day 3: Bathing Them

Male Gargoyle x Male Reader

Danis

Notes/Warnings: New friends to more? (Effectively strangers to lovers) Top reader for this one friends, both reader and Danis are written to be of similar size,

Masterlist

If you like my work, please consider reblogging!

I know it's not October anymore but I'm still gonna post these as I finish them, I wanted to do it so even if it falls into next October or the one after that imma continue it LOL (oh and they're all gonna have the 2023 title image cause I'm too lazy to change it even though I very easily could 🤭)

As the designated statue cleaner, your job was relatively easy but very much enjoyable. Seeing how the once dirty grey stone shows brightly again was always a pleasure. Today was the day you were a bit scared of. Cleaning the gargoyles. Even though you did have safety equipment, the only way to get to the roof to clean then was through a small window that you could barely get yourself through. But once you did, you only had two statues that needed cleaning. While the one on the left you've cleaned before, the right one looked new. You weren't told about the change but didn't mind, seeing as you were just getting paid to do your job over ask questions.

After some careful inspection, you decided to do the left first, knowing it would take longer. You'd rather get the more time consuming one out of the way first. After maybe 20 minutes of you cleaning the statue, it felt as if someone had started to watch you. You really couldn't shake the feeling, a small shiver running up your spine when you looked to the other statue. Did it always have its head turned towards you? As much as you couldn't push that aside, you decided to ignore it for the time.

Once you got about halfway through the cleaning, you decided to take a short break. Even though it felt like you were still being eyed. You couldn't help but look around, making sure you really were the only one up there. With a small sigh, you sat down by the edge, closing your eyes for a moment, letting the breeze cool you off. When you opened your eyes again, the statue that you weren't cleaning had been sitting next you. It took you a second to realize it but once you did you panicked, nearly falling. He was nice enough to catch you, arm wrapping around your waist as he pulled you close.

"Are you ok?" He asked, a bit surprised as well. You blinked, pulling yourself away from the stranger. "I'm sorry if I scared you... I'm not supposed to move from my spot." He said awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. "The old Gargoyle retired a few weeks ago and I took his place here." You couldn't help but be confused until it clicked. You had basically been giving a living creature a bath. You stared down at your hands in disbelief, realizing you had just been openly touching someone like that. "I'm gonna take it as you didn't know that." He said, making you look back up to him. Now that you're getting a good look at him, he was stunning, especially in comparison to the other, weathered stone statue.

"So you would have just been ok with me touching you all over?" You asked, looking up to him. He would definitely be blushing right now. "I-I mean... I would have had to be..." He said softly, glancing away for a moment before looking back to you. "Its part of my job after all." He said with a small chuckle, sitting down next to you properly. You couldn't help but blush, thinking that he would have just accepted the fact that you would basically grope him all over while cleaning. And you'd have been none the wiser. "Well... I uh, still need to finish the job..." You said softly, deciding to go back to cleaning the, hopefully, non living statue. The Gargoyle looked back to you for a moment before getting close to you again.

"Can I watch you?" He asked, already doing what he asked as you got back to it. "Sure..." Your tone was a bit awkward but you didn't really mind having someone interested in what you do. "Oh, I'm Danis by the way." He said, not holding his hand out to shake since you were already focused back on your cleaning. You introduced yourself to him as well before getting quiet. His gaze was soft as he watched you clean the intricate detailing on the statue he always stood proudly next to. Since Danis was pretty good at not moving for a while, he had watched you the whole time. With a soft sigh, you sat back, looking it over to make sure you hadn't missed a spot.

Danis, rather than focusing on the statue, turned his attention to you. He thought you were beautiful. He loved how focused you were on your job, relating to you on that level. "So um... Will you have to clean me next?" He asked, eyes showing he was a little flustered about asking that question. You definitely flushed at the question, looking up to him, then away. "I... Probably should. I don't wanna get a pay cut... Kinda need the money..." You said softly, forcing yourself to think of him as just a statue. "Just stay still." You said, grabbing your tools to start cleaning him as well. "You're ok with it right?" Danis nods. "I wouldn't have asked if I wasn't." He said softly. "Should I stand or lie down or?" Danis was trying his best to make sure you were comfortable over himself. "Stand. I'll start with the back first." You said as he quickly stood up.

You decided to start with his wings, stretching them out as you worked on them. Even though his skin looked like stone, it was actually quite smooth rather than the usual porous surface. As you worked your way down, you could see his wings and back twitching. "Sorry, does that tickle?" Danis just nodded, dropping his head forward to try and tough it out. In reality, the gentleness from your touch was getting him excited. It had been a while since he had any intimate moments so you could say he was a bit touch starved. Of course, you didn't realize what you were doing to him and continued on.

You worked your way down his other wing, starting again at his neck, moving down his broad shoulders. The way the occasional water droplet rolled down his back was a sight to see. His back was muscular, something that most definitely helped him keep still. "So well sculpted..." You mumbled out, continuing down under his wings and to his lower back. Danis' wings twitched at the comment, making you raise a brow. "You ok?" You asked, still getting lower but stopping just above his ass. Danis turned his face to you, brows and eyes giving away what he was feeling. "I uhm... You're kind of making me excited..." He admitted, too nice to lie to you. Your cheeks flushed again at the comment and you stood up. "W-we can stop of you want. I'll just take the pay cut, it's no big de-mph!" Danis had turned around and cut you off, shaking his head.

"No! I, ah, sorry..." He said softly, taking his hand away from your mouth. "If... If it's ok with you, I want to keep going." He said, looking to you with a gentle gaze. You could only stare at him for a moment, thinking about what to do. "Okay." You said, placing your hands on his shoulders to straighten his posture. "Then should we continue from the front?" You asked, making Danis look away. He would absolutely be bright red right now. Danis nods softly, making sure to keep his arms out of the way as you started to clean again. You started at his defined collarbone, moving down to his smooth chest and stomach, subtle abs showing. He held back a giggle at the feeling of the brush near his belly button.

"Bit ticklish there too?" You asked, making him cover his mouth and nod as you got closer and closer to his 'problem'. "Y-you can just skip over that part..." He said, referring to the spot you were inching ever closer. "I mean, if it's ok with you I could help take care of it." You softly suggested, not forcing him into anything. "I-I uhm..." He tried to stutter out an answer but just ended up nodding. You took his yes and gently ran the soft brush along his length, teasing the tip once you reached it. He shivered and covered his mouth again. "F-fuck..." The gentle moans he was trying to hold back slipped through, making you smile up to him. "You like this spot?" You asked, teasing his tip again as he shivered, letting out a weak but muffled moan.

Danis could only nod, letting the pleasure run through his body. "Just keep it quiet... We don't wanna get caught..." You said, teasing his cock again, this time with your finger. Danis let out a broken moan as he nodded. "Oh-ohkay..." He panted out softly. You added another finger and a thumb, gently stroking his throbbing shaft. "Shit... I-ah!" Danis was suddenly overwhelmed as an unexpected orgasm made him tremble. Thanks to your position, kneeling in front of him, you got first class seats to the show, watching as his cock twitched, unloading what looked like to be years of build up. You licked your lips, tasting him as he came down from his high. Realizing what he did, he was quick to kneel down with you, frantically trying to wipe the cum off your face.

You couldn't help but chuckle, sticking your tongue out to lick his thumb when it brushed over your lips. It only made Danis flush more. "Let me finish cleaning you, and maybe we can continue this... Not, on the roof." You purred, giving him a lustful gaze, only making him all the more shy. "O-Ok..." He mumbled out, pulling his hands away to let you continue.

"I think we'll be good friends..."

[garzasupply]

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[ehssafetynewsamerica-blog]

Right Outside Our Kitchen Window

Nothing is easy. They’re rebuilding the house next door — right outside our kitchen window. Last week they had guys up too high on the roof for a …Right Outside Our Kitchen Window

[issela-santina]

“It's not always a great day for the playground. Always check for hot playground equipment. If it's too hot for your hand, it's too hot for a child's skin.”

Public service announcement from US Consumer Product Safety Commission underneath an edited image of an empty playground with a literal fireball of a sun floating no more than a few inches above the playground set's highest points (the handles on the top of the slide, and the roof).

BILDAD THE SHUHITE WAS HERE

[a-sentient-horax]

G/T Headcannons

So much of G/T is science-adjacent just because of the nature of the trope. But this got me thinking about like, G/T in the setting of science academia.

A scientist and an engineer who have a years-long dispute about whether it's possible or not to change someone's size. The scientist swears up and down that they have worked out the math and theories and it just is absolutely not possible. Meanwhile, the engineer is certain that they are close to a solution. One night, perhaps long after they stopped working together, the scientist wakes from their sleep to their roof being ripped off above them. "I fucking told you!" The now gigantic engineer gloats down at them.

Bonus if the scientist is so blinded by disbelief of their math failure that they aren't even afraid. They place their tiny hands on their hips and raise their chin up to stare right into the giant's eyes. "You had to have used a different theory. Did you make the room-temperature superconductor? Do you have any idea how vast the implications of that are? And you used it to do THIS to yourself? Are you working with [another scientist whose theories they disagree with]?"

A scientist who turned themselves giant and had a falling out with their partner who works in the same field as they do. One of them didn't include the other in a hugely impactful research paper, ending in a blowout fight. Now they both go to the same conferences and have to awkwardly avoid each other.

Additionally, one could approach the other sheepishly to ask for help on a new project. It could work both ways, a giant peering down angrily at a tiny human, or a defensive human crossing their arms and getting terse with their giant ex. "What, do you need to steal more of my ideas?"

A sizeshifter who tries to slyly shrink down to retrieve a fallen piece of lab equipment. They are caught by a coworker but instead of freaking out about their size their coworker panics about how this does NOT adhere to lab safety standards, demanding to know how many times they have done this.

A sizeshifter who pulls an all-nighter in the lab, not realizing that their frustration with not getting good results has made them gradually grow all night. The first person to come into the lab in the morning is greeted with the sight of their coworker poring over reams of printed data, towering over the equipment, and trying to rub exhaustion out of their eyes. (Queue the 'dropping the coffee cup in surprise' scene.)

A giant scientist who is at the cutting edge of their field, when a human intern starts on their research project and realizes very quickly that they have (for now) unrequited feelings for this giant. The scientist's huge form looms over the intern's workstation, casting a huge shadow. They squint their eyes at the schematics on the table. Bending over slightly, their large arm lightly brushes the human's shoulder as they point to an equation. "Is this doubling every time?" "D-doubling? I-" "If it is doubling, it should be natural log two, not log two." The giant lowers their head. Their annoyed face only a few inches from the human's. The human is blushing deeply, inhaling the smell of the giant's sweet breath. "It-d-er...doubling. Doubles." The giant's face remains unamused and annoyed. Despite their impatience, they make the effort to whisper gently, to not blow out the human's ear drums. "Then why did you write log two? Fix it."

The lead scientist and lead engineer on a project are always squabbling. In an accident, one of them gets shrunk down or grows to a large new size. Now their disagreements take place with the smaller one on some form of scaffolding, waving sheets of complex equations in the air while the other crosses their arms and shakes their head.

Two young scientists get passed over and are not included in the credits of a research paper, despite their extensive work. They go to confront the senior researcher, when one suddenly doubles, or triples in size and pins the senior researcher down, demanding credit for both of them. Their tiny friend is caught in a mix of horror and amazement as they realize that their friend could just as easily pin them down like that.

"Well, aren't you just soooo smart Mr. Giant Shithead." "That's Dr. Giant Shithead to you."

[lollytea]

Delighted myself thinking about the witch kids again, specifically their various attempts to build a replacement portal during the Summer. I'm picturing lots of brainstorm sessions that stretch late into the night and when they get tired enough, they devolve into arguing over who gets the last piece of pizza or playing truth or dare or whatever.

Hunter is feeling really proud of himself for having helped Belos rebuild a portal before. He has experience! He can make himself super useful! And then Amity 'Woman in STEM' Blight is also aiming for the same thing. She's an inventor's daughter. Her Dad's main area of expertise is using magic to power technology. She has plenty of opinions on the mechanical side of things.

Hunter and Amity either click extremely well and are plotting away at a prototype immediately or they disagree on every trivial detail and cannot go five minutes without arguing about it. There's no real resentment here. They're both just used to doing everything themselves and struggle to work as a team.

I don't think the project would get off the ground without Luz. She keeps everybody from wasting time with dud ideas because she's already spent tons of time in the Boiling Isles attempting to build a portal home. She knows exactly what WONT work cuz she's already tried it. She's also got a knack for thinking outside of the box and knows that even though glyphs are rendered useless in this realm, they can still be utilized. If she draws just the right glyph combo and finds a bit of magic for the glyphs to soak up, she's pretty sure they can light this portal's engine up.

Vee reminds them that she's still got a supply of Hexes Holdem cards, which have been working pretty well for keeping her human form. Luz, who had forgotten those things existed, nearly hits the roof in excitement.

Vee doesn't contribute much to the whole construction process, but while she does supervise. She did a health and safety course while at Summer Camp and is diligently making sure nobody is getting their asses blown up.

Portal Building is not Willow's strong suit. She does not have Luz and Hunter's experience, Amity's engineering knowledge or Gus' enthusiasm for tinkering with human technology. So she does what she does best and offers support. She hypes her smart friends up. And when they start doubting that they're actually making any progress, Willow swoops in to encourage them that if ANYBODY can build a portal, her best friends can!! Once the team realizes that they're gonna need something super strong to hold the portal upright, Willow beams. Her vines!! Her vines are tough as hell!! She can do that!!

Gus falls behind a little at first. He might be a prodigy but his skills are quite dependent on the existence of actual magic, so he struggles a bit to find his purpose here. He's very eager to work with human technology but Luz knows more about them than he does. He's smart enough to offer ideas but Hunter and Amity always come up with them before he does because they're both annoyingly STEM brained and have gotten a bit competitive about it. Gus is given the task of gathering equipment for the portal with Vee and he tries not to pout about it. After they managed to track down a half busted TV at a lawn sale, Vee takes him to a petstore to cheer him up. Gus gloomily stares at the hamsters running in their little wheels. He idly thinks about an article he read in one of his human magazines. About how hamsters in wheels can create energy. Unfortunately, hamsters aren't magic.

Cut to 2 days later when the team realizes that the Hexes Holdem cards just aren't gonna cut it. They don't possess nearly enough magic to power up a portal. It's not gonna work. All the time they've spent on this, and it's not even gonna work. They need something else. Anything else.

Luz looks like she's gonna burst into tears. Amity is pacing back and forth. Hunter is like this close 🤏 to slamming his head against the wall in an effort to rattle a genius idea out of his brain. Willow is making a valiant effort to keep everybody from having a full blown meltdown.

Gus is staring intently at Flapjack who is pecking away at the floorboards again. Then he's like "Hey....hear me out....what if-?"

[mxhlon]

War.

No one knew what it meant, really, except that there were invaders coming from the Wilds, slaughtering innocents. Mahlon had hunted there when he was young. He remembered that, of course. Being fourteen and setting traps, catching squirrels and rabbits to feed him and Virgie. But never, never had he believed the folklore about the monsters lurking in the trees. And yet, they came now with knives and guns.

Mahlon watched Hestia's face as the news rolled in, the way she went to work coordinating safety plans for the kids. He saw Slate scramble to gather his equipment, earnest to catch the first train back home to the Capitol -- to his girl and his kid. And Mahlon-- Well, he'd been overwhelmed by this panic, this unshakeable worry for Greer's wellbeing.

So here he was, in Ten.

It felt dumb, irrational. But Mahlon believed that they had been close; he could feel it, even if the memories hadn't all come back. She was there in the haze of things: her laughter on the dance floor, her tears on the roof, her face, becoming less and less distorted. And if his subconscious had led him here, then who was Mahlon to defy it?

He knocked, shifting uneasily from foot to foot. Ten was eerie in its familiarity. Mahlon could tell this wasn't the first time he'd been here. He frowned, staring at the paint on the shutters, the chickens in their coop, the flowers wilting in their boxes beneath the windows. And when Greer opened the door, Mahlon blinked, "Do I know someone named Edi?"

@greer-morgan