#tile roof cleaner

[roof-cleaners]

Expert Roof Repair Services in Williamstown by Singh Roofing

Are you in need of reliable roof repair Williamstown? Look no further than Singh Roofing. As a leading roofing company in the area, we specialize in providing top-quality repairs to ensure the longevity and integrity of your roof.

About Singh Roofing:

At Singh Roofing, we take pride in our commitment to excellence and customer satisfaction. With years of experience in the industry, our team of skilled technicians has the expertise to handle any roofing issue, big or small. We understand the importance of a sturdy and well-maintained roof, and we're dedicated to delivering superior results on every project.

Our Services:

Singh Roofing offers a comprehensive range of roof repair services to meet your needs:

Leak Detection and Repair: Our experts use advanced techniques to pinpoint and repair leaks, preventing water damage and mold growth.

Shingle Replacement: Damaged or missing shingles can compromise the integrity of your roof. We'll replace them promptly to restore your roof's protection.

Gutter Repair: Properly functioning gutters are essential for directing water away from your home. We can repair damaged gutters to prevent water buildup and potential structural damage.

Storm Damage Restoration: Severe weather can wreak havoc on your roof. Our team is experienced in repairing storm damage and restoring your roof to its pre-damaged condition.

Routine Maintenance: Regular maintenance is key to prolonging the life of your roof. We offer inspection and maintenance services to identify and address potential issues before they escalate.

Why Choose Singh Roofing:

Expertise: With our years of experience and specialized training, you can trust us to deliver high-quality results.

Reliability: We understand the urgency of roof repairs, which is why we respond promptly to your service requests.

Customer Satisfaction: Your satisfaction is our priority. We'll work closely with you to ensure that your needs are met and that you're completely satisfied with the results.

Competitive Pricing: We offer competitive pricing without compromising on the quality of our workmanship.

Contact Us:

Don't wait until a minor issue becomes a major problem. Contact Singh Roofing today to schedule your roof repair service in Williamstown. Our friendly team is here to assist you and provide you with the expert solutions you need to keep your roof in optimal condition.

[agarwalbuildcare]

The Triple Threat for Perfect Tiles Exploring Tile Cleaners Spacers and Grout

Tiles are an integral part of any well-designed space, be it residential or commercial. They offer durability, aesthetic appeal, and versatility, making them a popular choice for flooring, walls, and even backsplashes. However, achieving that perfect tile installation requires more than just selecting the right tiles. It involves paying attention to crucial elements like tile cleaners, spacers, and grout. In this comprehensive guide, we will delve into these essential components and explore how they contribute to the flawless beauty of your tiled surfaces. 

The Importance of Tile Cleaners

Tile cleaners play a vital role in maintaining the longevity and appearance of your tiles. Over time, dirt, grime, and stains can accumulate on the tile surfaces, dulling their shine and diminishing their visual impact. Using an effective tile cleaner is crucial to restore the tiles' sparkle and keep them looking their best. 

When searching for tile cleaners, look for products that are specifically designed for your tile type. Different tiles require different cleaning methods and formulas, so it's essential to choose a cleaner that is compatible with your tile material, whether it's ceramic, porcelain, natural stone, or any other type. Additionally, opt for environmentally friendly and non-toxic cleaners to ensure the safety of both your tiles and your health. 

Tile Grout: The Unsung Hero

While tile cleaners enhance the appearance of the tiles, grout is the unsung hero that holds the entire tile installation together. Grout not only fills the gaps between the tiles but also provides stability, prevents moisture penetration, and protects against cracks or shifting. 

To find the best tile grout at the best price in India, it's crucial to consider the specific requirements of your project. Factors such as tile size, joint width, and the environment in which the tiles will be installed all influence the choice of grout. Manufacturers in India offer a wide range of grout options, including epoxy grout, cement-based grout, and color-enhancing grout. It's important to select the right grout that suits your aesthetic preferences and functional needs. 

Tile Spacers for Precision

Achieving a professional-looking tile installation requires precise alignment and spacing. This is where tile spacers come into play. These small, often overlooked tools ensure consistent spacing between tiles, resulting in a uniform and visually appealing finished look. 

Tile spacer manufacturers in India offer a variety of spacer options to accommodate different tile sizes and joint widths. By using tile spacers, you can achieve symmetrical lines, equal spacing, and a seamless appearance. This attention to detail enhances the overall aesthetic value of your tiled surfaces and makes them stand out. 

The Quest for the Best Tile Adhesive

To complete the trifecta of perfect tiles, we cannot overlook the importance of choosing the best tile adhesive. Tile adhesives ensure the tiles adhere firmly to the substrate, providing stability, strength, and long-lasting durability. With the right adhesive, you can avoid issues such as tile slippage, dislodgment, or premature damage. 

In India, numerous manufacturers offer a wide range of tile adhesives to suit various tile types and installation conditions. When selecting a tile adhesive, consider factors such as tile material, surface preparation, and environmental conditions like temperature and humidity. Choose an adhesive that guarantees a strong bond, easy application, and compatibility with your tile and substrate. 

Enhance Your Tiling Journey

In conclusion, achieving the perfect tile installation involves a triple-threat approach. By utilizing high-quality tile cleaners, selecting the right tile grout, and utilizing tile spacers for precision, you can create stunning tiled surfaces that elevate the beauty of any space. Remember to choose products from reputable manufacturers in India, ensuring the best quality and performance.

[megaservices]

School Cleaning Jobs in Brisbane

Whether you are a backpacker looking for a new job or a Brisbane local wanting to upgrade your skills, school cleaning jobs could be the perfect position for you. If you’re applying for one of these positions you will need to have certain qualifications, experience and know how to present yourself professionally.

Health & Safety

Providing a safe, clean and hygienic learning environment is important for schools. It helps prevent illness among students, staff and faculties.

Cleaning can reduce the spread of viruses and bacteria that cause a variety of health conditions including respiratory infections, skin diseases, food poisoning and eczema. It can also prevent allergies and asthma.

School cleaners are required to follow policies and procedures that keep the workplace free of hazards. These include safety training, hazard identification, risk assessments and management practices.

The key to maintaining a safe work environment is to keep records of your activities and risks. These records can help you monitor the effectiveness of your risk management strategies and controls.

In Australia, Work Health and Safety laws are harmonised, meaning that they apply in every State. These laws are designed to make working across States easier and safer for workers. They include a model Work Health and Safety Act, regulations, Codes of Practice and national compliance and enforcement policy.

Efficiency

School facilities managers face unique challenges, namely the need to keep their buildings clean. In addition, there is an intense pressure to ensure safety - especially with children using these spaces on a daily basis.

Professional cleaners can offer efficiency and reliability to schools with their cleaning expertise. They can help manage cleaning rotas and ensure that every area is thoroughly cleaned.

A clean school environment promotes better student and teacher performance. Teachers are less distracted by a dirty classroom, and they can focus on interacting with students better.

In addition, a clean classroom can improve the longevity of equipment like whiteboards and floor tiles. Keeping these areas clean will prevent dust from damaging them.

In addition to these benefits, a clean environment also teaches children good habits. They can carry this cleanliness with them throughout their lives and apply it to other situations.

Flexibility

Schools have an important role to play in helping students acquire knowledge and understanding, as well as fostering social and vocational skills. A clean school environment is a big part of that. It can help prevent illness from spreading, which can impact on the quality of education for everyone involved.

With that in mind, there are several things to consider when looking for the best school cleaning company in Brisbane. These include the number of school cleaning jobs available, as well as how flexible they are. In addition, you should also be aware of the reputation that your chosen company has in the industry. You may be able to save time and money by choosing an established and reliable company instead of one that is new to the market. Finally, you should be sure that you’re getting the most out of your cleaning budget by working with a company that offers the best value for money.

Reputation

Reputation is what people believe about a brand, person, company, product or service. It's a powerful force, one that dictates people's behavior and drives their actions. Reputation has created civilizations, made culture, and even sparked genocide.

In school cleaning jobs in Brisbane, you'll have to make sure that your work is done in a way that doesn't negatively impact the reputation of your employer or the school. The best way to do this is by getting the job done right and using high-quality cleaning supplies. To get the best results, you can hire a professional school cleaner to help you out. With years of experience, Roger and his team can handle any job with ease and leave the space in your school looking clean and shiny. So, if you're looking for school cleaning jobs in Brisbane, contact the professionals at About Commercial Cleaning and see how we can help! Our services are guaranteed to meet and exceed your expectations.

[nocturnalfei]

“𝒽𝑒𝓎 𝓂𝓊𝓇𝒹𝑒𝓇𝑒𝓇, 𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓎 𝒷𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓉𝒽 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓈𝓉𝑒𝒶𝓁 𝒾𝓈 𝒶 𝒷𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓉𝒽 𝐼 𝒷𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓎𝑜𝓊” ⋆˚. ݁˖

⏾ — 𝓓𝓪𝓻𝓴 𝓔𝔂𝓮𝓼 . ݁˖

song: 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘦 𝘦𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘱𝘦 - 𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘧 𝘮𝘰𝘰𝘯 𝘳𝘶𝘯

assassin!lee minho x afab!reader // word count: 4.8k

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: dark content (do not read if uncomfortable), kidnapping, drugging, minor character death, mentions of blood

note from author: this is my first published work after a long hiatus, hope you like it <3

Minho has never been proud of what he is. It is just the cards that life dealt him, the product of his raising. It is what’s expected of him. He was proud, however, to be the best assassin in his family. He lived to see the glimmer of resentment in his father’s eyes whenever he got to the kill first. Minho was always smarter, always stealthier, always quicker, and always cleaner. His father began Minho’s training at the mere age of 4 and by the age of 7, Minho had successfully poisoned a rank 3 target. He always swore to surpass his father, for if he had to be what he was, he would always make sure his father regretted it.

Minho’s siblings were decent assassins, but only his eldest brother came close to his skill. As the youngest of four, Minho literally fought to survive his childhood. For as his father says, “if any of you are weak enough to get killed by one another, you’re too weak to be in this family.” Minho has never attempted on his siblings, another trait that he is proud to provoke his father with. Minho didn’t need to prove that he was the best.

It was currently 8:21 pm. Minho was perched on the rooftop of an apartment, overlooking the city. He enjoyed the view. The dark sky contrasted with the lights of the city, as if the stars had all descended to the streets, leaving the sky to remain as an endless void. After a deep inhale, he glanced at his watch again. 8:23. In seven minutes, an heiress to some royal family (Minho never cared for these details of the jobs) would arrive home for the night. And that was when Minho would make his move.

A chill swept through the air, carrying the scent of the freshly baked croissants at the next door bakery. Minho’s beanie and jacket kept him warm, along with his gloves and face mask. But, as he shifted slightly, the icy blade pressed into his skin at his waistline sent a different chill through his body. Maybe he wasn’t proud of his career, but he couldn’t deny there was a rush of excitement with every job he accepted. It was in his blood. He was born to be a monster.

8:28. He heard the growling engine growing louder, shifting himself flat against the roof to avoid detection as the car pulled up. Even being 3 stories up, Minho’s observant eyes peered over the tiles to inspect the scene below. The driver got out of the car, heading to the rear passenger door and opening it. And out stepped you.

Minho never showed emotion. His ruthless family would use it against him, so he learned to keep his expression neutral and his body language in check. But when he saw you, his eyebrows betrayed him with the slightest twitch. You were adorned in a luxurious black gown, the chiffon skirt cascading around your legs, the sleeveless bodice framing your figure. Minho blinked to clear his thoughts, watching as you entered the apartment, another man getting out of the car and tailing you. An employee of your father’s, most likely.

Minho remembers the job description: “mafia family heir, to be captured for ransom, then killed. Rank 1.” The ranks justified the difficulty of a job. But rank 1s were saved for kings and queens themselves or other jobs of that severity. Family members and heirs were usually ranked 2 or 3, depending on the security and relations. So what made you special? His curiosity urged him to get closer to you and, convincing himself that it was simply the next move for the job, his body complied.

Minho slid down the roof slanting onto the upper balcony, swiftly tucking into the shadows again. Like the professional he was, Minho had already surveyed the apartment and knew the layout. A 3-story apartment in a small community, tucked away between other similar apartments and a bakery. Expensive, but relatively hidden, blending in with the other buildings along the street. He quickly picked the lock, taking advantage of the precious minutes between your employee disabling the alarm and resetting it as he slipped inside.

He had expected a bedroom as luxurious as the dress you wore, but was surprised to find the place rather simply designed and decorated. You had books and clothes scattered about, an easel in the corner, a stuffed rabbit on your bed. It looked…normal. Not like the bedroom of a mafia heir. And he’s seen a couple of those in his life.

Footsteps ascending the stairs broke him from his thoughts. He carefully crouched behind the easel. Even if you had turned the lights on, the shadow from the bookcase next to him was perfect cover. He had planned every move accordingly. And now, he waited.

Minho listened carefully to the noises outside the door, pleased to find the walls weren’t thin. He strained his ears to pick up on your words. You sounded upset, but he couldn’t make out why. Minho didn’t flinch as you flung the door open, nor when you slammed it shut and turned on the light. He sat perfectly still, eyes just being able to see your figure between the easel and the corner of the bookcase.

You threw yourself onto the bed, hands working to rid yourself of your jewelry. Minho could easily swipe your earrings after his job was done - they were obviously worth a hefty penny. But Minho never cared for money. His grandfather started this family business for money, then fame once his children showed aptitude to follow his footsteps. His father continued the legacy for the same reasons. His siblings would’ve swiped your earrings, your necklace, your rings, and hell maybe even the gown after they were done with you. But not Minho. He only cared about getting the job done.

You stood, catching his full attention again. His eyes followed your every move as you made your way to your closet. You slipped your heels off, throwing them into the corner before grabbing a tee shirt. Your delicate hands reached for the zipper at the back of your dress. Minho politely shifted his gaze, keeping his pupils glued on your calves as the dress plummeted to the floor. He watched you throw the oversized shirt on in his peripherals, the hem reaching the tops of your thighs, not leaving much to the imagination. He tried to avoid seeing your underwear, not understanding why he was feeling some sense of nerves.

Minho has been a professional assassin for over a decade. He had forgotten what nerves were. But as you turned slightly, his eyes took in your face up close, and his heart skipped a beat. You were beautiful. As you grew closer, Minho’s muscles tensed. His fingers naturally found the hilt of his knife. He was a professional, he wouldn’t let you distract him from his job, no matter how much your eyes made his pulse quicken.

Suddenly, your door swung open, stopping you in your tracks. “Y/n, your father is on the pho-“

“I don’t want to talk to him.” You hissed, returning to plop on your bed.

The man from the car took a tentative step into the room. “Will you please not be difficult, Y/n. You knew this day would come.”

You shoved your face into the pillows with a groan. If Minho wasn’t perfectly controlled, he would’ve let a chuckle slip out. Minho had only ever met two types of heirs: stuck up and spoiled or meek and polite. Your childishness was interesting. The man tried to sneak closer to you with the phone, but you jumped up and shoved him out the door. “Leave me alone!” The door slammed shut. Minho watched you return to the bed, grabbing your rabbit and sighing deeply.

Hundreds of jobs over the years. Hundreds of faces that Minho has seen, lives he’s heard, and not one sprouted an ounce of interest in him. So, why you? Why was he curious about what was troubling you? Why were you a rank 1? What was going on here?

Minho sat, still as a rock and in total silence, as the night went on. It didn’t take long for you to fall asleep, rabbit tucked in your arms. The noises of the house quieted as well and finally he slid out of his hiding spot. He stalked over to your bed, trying to deny himself admiring your features. Your hair fanned out on the pillow like a halo.

Minho grabbed the small bag of powder from his pocket, spreading the substance over his palm. “I’m sorry.” He breathed, holding his palm to your mouth and nose while his other hand quickly grabbed your wrists. You woke up with a start, immediately fighting, but to no avail. Minho’s was much stronger than he looked. After a few moments, the drug kicked in a you lay limp in his grasp. Minho took a damp towelette to his glove, pocketing it, then gathered you in his arms.

You woke up in a daze. The room was blurry and your head pounded. You tried to turn, realizing you couldn’t move. Before you could attempt to speak, a voice made you jump. “Finally awake?” You blinked until the blurriness faded, leaving you in a small and dark room with a strange man staring back at you. “How do you feel?”

Still confused, you shook your head, only to wince when it pounded. “Uh,” your own voice startled you. It was hoarse.

The man stepped closer. “I thought so. The drug is relatively harmless, but can cause dehydration.” He is gloved hand reached out a glass of water towards you. “Here.”

You stubbornly turned your head, awareness setting in as you felt the ropes binding your wrists behind you. You fought the panic rising in your chest. You needed to be brave. “Who are you?” You asked, craning your neck to look around, seeing you were lying on a bed. “And where am I?”

To your surprise, the man chuckled. You tried to ignore how charming his voice was. “Drink some water and I’ll tell you.” His tone was casual, as if kidnapping you was just another Tuesday for him. It irritated you.

“No.” You spat. “You probably poisoned it.”

Again, the man laughed. “I’ve had several hours to kill you, my dear.” He shifted you into a seated position before guiding the water to your lips. “If I wanted you dead, you wouldn’t have woken up just now.” You pouted at his words. He was right. Reluctantly, you put your lips to the rim of the glass, allowing him to pour the water onto your tongue. You immediately felt better as the pounding left your head. “There you go,” he praised.

You rolled your eyes, ignoring the warmth that spread inside you. You couldn’t even tell what he looked like, beanie and mask only leaving his eyes on display, but they were enthralling. Those dark eyes watched you intently, reading you with curiosity and amusement. You looked around the room, breaking the eye contact before you could be pulled into their depths. “Where am I?”

He set the glass down on the bedside table. “My room.”

“Your room?” You asked, unable to hide your surprise. “And who might you be?”

“That’s a secret.” He smirked, enjoying the annoyance in your features.

You bit your tongue. He seemed calm and friendly, and yet, there was an aura of danger surrounding him. You needed to be careful. “So,” you drawled, checking out the rest of the room, more so to avoid his eyes. There wasn’t much to it apart from a large bookcase next to a desk and the bed you currently resided on. You did notice a closet in the corner. But, no windows. Where were you? “Why have you kidnapped me, then?”

He sighed, catching you off guard. Coming from a mafia family, you had always been warned of people coming after you for various reasons. Money, revenge against your father, etc. You knew of people attempting to hurt you before, but their attempts were always disrupted by your guards. Your father had never left you alone for fear of this day, always guards around and within your apartment, his most trusted friend to always monitor your whereabouts. You were actually rather impressed that the man in front of you now had managed to pull off this stunt, the first to ever succeed.

Still, you’d always pictured the faces of the attempted kidnappers and assassins over the years. All you could imagine was different forms of evil. Angry, disgusting, maniacal, faces without remorse for what they were doing. But when you gazed upon the eyes of the man in front of you, you saw none of those things. What you saw was a bored and uninterested face, but if you allowed your eyes to linger on his for just a moment too long, you saw what was almost…sadness.

Finally, the man spoke, breaking you from your trance. “There’s a ransom for your return.” He was careful in his words, not to give away too many details about the job or his employer. Again, a professional. “I will keep you here until that ransom is delivered and then return you home safely.” He didn’t like lying to you, but he wasn't going to tell you this ended in your death. ‘to be captured for ransom, then killed…’ A bitter taste sat on Minho’s tongue. To request your murder even after receiving the ransom money, that was a clear giveaway of a personal grudge. His father had given him this job, but who was the employer?

Minho was a professional, always seeing the job to the end. But goddamn him if he couldn’t shake this feeling that something wasn’t right. He watched you intently, finally letting himself admire you. A professional he was, but evil he wasn’t. You were beautiful, innocent. Minho knew evil and you were not that. You didn’t deserve this fate. He had to think of a plan.

“So, this is for money.” you groaned, looking up at the ceiling. “Of course. Very cliche of you, I was actually hoping for better.”

That comment caught Minho off-guard and he snickered. You were different, indeed. “It wasn’t my plan, dear.” He fought the urge to move the stray hair from your face. “Just the job I took.”

You shouldn’t be talking to this man, your kidnapper, so casually. You should be stoic, or fighting, or scared, or something of a normal reaction to being kidnapped. But even with his dark presence, there was an air of ease with him. “You do this for a living then? Kidnapping?”

Minho hummed. “It is part of my skill set, I suppose.” His eyes never left you. It should be unsettling, you shouldn’t be enjoying his attention.

The room was quiet as you pondered which question to ask next. As you watched his eyes, you noticed the aging in them, as if he has seen many things, lived many lifetimes. But the surrounding skin pointed to a man rather young. Your curiosity got the better of you. “How old are you?”

Minho hesitated. He didn’t have friends. He didn’t really talk to anyone, actually. He kept to himself and his books. The conversation taking a personal turn made him uncomfortable, but he was tempted to share himself with you. Still, he had to protect his identity. “20.”

Your eyes widened. “Youre only a year older than me?”

Before the conversation could continue, Minho’s phone buzzed. He fished it out of his pocket, walking away from you to answer the call. “She’s awake.” Minho spoke first.

“The ransom has been posted. Await my signal for the return.” His dad was always straight to the point.

“Understood.” Minho hung up the phone, returning to your side, only to stop in his tracks. The way you looked up at him, eyes wide and questioning, caused a pang in his heart. You were causing him to feel so many things in such a short amount of time. You were dangerous, you would break the facade Minho has spent over a decade perfecting. He couldn’t have that. “Your ransom has been posted. I’ll return you home once it’s paid.”

You should be happy to hear the news, but you weren’t. You didn’t want to go home, where every move was monitored, every decision made for you. Besides, you wanted to know more about this mysterious man with his captivating eyes.

At that moment, your stomach let out an embarrassing growl. Heat rose to your cheeks as you quickly looked away from his amused gaze. “Are you hungry?” You wanted to hide, deny it, but your stomach gave you away again. With a chuckle, Minho turned towards the door. “I’ll be right back.”

A good few moments passed (you had no idea how much time in actuality since there was no clock or windows) before Minho returned to the room, a steaming bowl in his hands. He sat next to you on the bed. You peered into the bowl and inhaled. Wow, the soup smelled and looked amazing. Minho gathered some of the soup in a spoon before bringing it to your lips. The act was too intimate, too kind for the situation you were in, but it surprisingly felt natural. Minho fed you until the bowl was empty, then gave you more water. The comfortable silence that fell upon you two was finally broken by your voice. “So, you cook took?”

Minho gave a small chuckle. “My family doesn’t exactly cook, so I learned some basic recipes.” You waited for him to continue speaking, but he seemed to end it there. You wanted to know more. What was his family like? What kind of childhood would one have to go through to choose this kind of lifestyle? You decided against asking more. The man before you was shrouded in mystery and you had a desire to discover every detail about him.

Minho’s eyes met yours, catching you blatantly watching him. But this time, you didn’t turn away. You let yourself be pulled into those depths. You didn’t even know this man’s name, and he had kidnapped you for the matter, but you felt an irresistible pull towards him. He must have felt the same, taking a deep sigh before his gloved hand reached out to your face. You froze as his fingers grazed your cheekbone, guiding a stray hair behind your ear.

Your eyes were locked with his, breathing stalled as you waited for his next move. Instead, you jumped at the buzz of Minho’s cellphone. He was quick to answer it, leaving you stranded on the bed and walking to the corner of the room. “It’s done.” His father’s voice traveled through the phone. “Finish the job.”

Minho’s jaw tightened, but his tone remained neutral. “Understood.” He hung up the phone, returning it to his pocket. He was just ordered to kill you. He had always finished his jobs, quickly, perfectly, and without hesitation. But as he glanced back to your form on his bed, he couldn’t shake the sinking feeling in his chest. You looked up at him, eyes round and hopeful. Minho has never regretted what he was, until now.

“Your ransom’s been paid.” Minho stated. You quickly noticed his change in demeanor, as subtle as it was. Something was off. You patiently waited for him to continue. Finally, Minho spoke again. “I’ve been ordered to kill you.”

You feel panic rise in your chest. Suddenly you remember the reality of your situation: kidnapped, bound, at the mercy of a dangerous stranger. Minho hated the way quickly your gaze had changed, the admiration and curiosity being replaced by pure fear. “But, you said I would be returned home after the payment.” You pleaded.

Minho sighed heavily again. “The job was to kidnap you until the ransom had been paid and then kill you.” His eyes stayed glued to the floor, the unfamiliar feeling of shame overwhelming him.

“You lied to me!” Your outburst forced his gaze back to you, the image before him shattering the heart he always questioned having. Tears cascaded down your cheeks. Because of him. It felt so wrong. “I actually trusted you, but this whole time has been a lie!” Your sobs rang through the room. Minho’s chest ached for you. This was wrong.

Minho reached your side in a heartbeat. You jumped at his speed, trying to move away from him, but his hands grasped your shoulders to keep you in place. You refused to look at him, disgusted with yourself for being so foolish. “Y/n,” Minho started. You shook your head. You wanted nothing more to do with the monster in front of you. His hand gripped your jaw, gently forcing you to face him. “Y/n. Look at me.” Your eyes finally met his. Those inviting depths. You wanted to believe they could pull you in, keep you safe. Minho’s thumb wiped a tear off your cheek. “I am NOT going to hurt you.”

He pulled you into a hug, surprising you. His strong arms held you firm until the shaking in your shoulders calmed down. You felt his warm, calloused hands slide down your arms to your bound wrists. When did he remove his gloves? A frigid object sent another wave of panic through you before you realized he had only cut the rope from your wrists. He holds you for another moment before pulling away, hands remaining on your arms, his full attention on your face. “I did not lie to you. I will return you to your family.”

You should be relieved, but you only had more racing thoughts. This was his job. “So, you’re an assassin?”

The question pulled the corners of Minho’s lips up. “I am.” He shouldn’t continue, but he needed to regain your trust. “I come from a family of assassins.”

You let that sink in for a moment. “So, if you return me, you would have failed your job?” Minho gave a curt nod. “What will that mean for you?”

Minho paused, debating how to answer your question. “I have never failed a job before.” He stated matter of factly. “My family will never let me live it down, my reputation will take a huge hit.” He saw the emotion begin to rise in your eyes again. “But that doesn’t matter. I will return you home safely. I promise, Y/n.”

You nodded, believing his words. Your arms wrapped around him and you properly hugged. He held you firm, protectively. He smelled like cedar and you melted into his hold. “May I know your name?” You whispered into the soft skin at his neck.

His breath tickled your cheek and you felt him smile through his mask. He leaned back just slightly, just enough so that when he removed his mask you could get a good look at him. Wow. He was nothing like you had pictured assassins to look. Dark, cat-like eyes and defined cheek bones, soft petals for lips. He was beautiful.

You had a strong urge to cup his face, but resisted as you mentally kicked yourself for having such a thought. Instead, the man leaned in even closer, lips reaching yours in the faintest of kisses, just shy of actually being counted as one but exciting your body just the same. “Minho,” he whispered. “My name is Minho.”

“Minho.” You repeated before his lips finally met yours in a proper kiss. As he distracted you, you couldn’t stop your hand from finding his cheek, pulling him closer and deepening the kiss. This seemed to please him, his own hands snaking around your waist and shoulders, holding you close.

The streets are quiet as the night blanketed the town. You could see your apartment around the corner, guards stationed at the door. You walked along the cobblestone street towards your home. Minho kept to the shadows, but you felt him watching you, making you feel safe.

When you came closer to the lamp in front of your apartment, you saw your father’s consigliere open the door as if he was leaving. “Y/n?“ He stopped in his tracks, shocked. You entered the light of the street lamp, greeting your father’s consigliere.

Minho watched you from the shadows. He didn’t plan to return home right away. He couldn’t shake the feeling of something still being off, and throughout the years, his instincts have always held true and kept him safe. So, he listened to them. He was perched on your rooftop, just like the night he took you when your scream reached his ears. His body reacting before his mind’s command as he swooped into your bedroom. There you were facing your father’s consigliere, a knife in the man’s hand pointed right at you. Minho lunged, gripping his own knife, the blade glistening in the moonlight, hungry for blood.

In a blink, the consigliere was on the ground, knife thrown across the room and Minho’s knife at his throat. “It was you.” Minho growled, everything clicking in his mind. “You posted the job on Y/n. You wanted her killed.” Minho pressed the knife into the man’s skin. A droplet of crimson formed, igniting the predator inside Minho. It took every ounce of his strength to not push further and finish the job, reminding himself that you were watching.

“This good-for-nothing brat doesn’t deserve her father’s riches.” The man spat, wincing as the knife cut even more. “Yes, I listed her as a rank 1 and was told the best assassin was assigned to the job.” Minho saw red. His muscles shake as he used every ounce of strength to hold himself back, but every word from the man made it more difficult a task. “Her death was ensured and guaranteed to not be traced back to me. And I’m guessing you’re the said assassin? Pathetic.”

Minho withdrew his knife long enough to punch the man in the jaw. “In the mafia world, you are closest to her father. You are practically family to her. She trusted you!” Another punch. You watched as Minho’s knuckles broke the man’s nose, blood cascading down his face. “Why list her death on the market?”

“Because,” the man choked, spitting blood. “With her out of the picture, her father may actually be able to focus on his work! He has a significant business to run.” He coughed, blood spattering on Minho’s mask. “Her mother was just as much as a distraction, so I had gotten rid of her as well.” At your gasp, Minho’s heart sank. “At least that assassin could finish the job!”

Minho leaned closer to the man’s face. From where you stood, you could no longer see either of their faces, but Minho’s aura was seething with rage. “What a worthless excuse for a human.” Minho hissed. “I will spend the rest of my life waiting to see you in hell.” And with that, Minho slit the man’s throat. He had purposely positioned his body so you couldn’t see the act.

Minho stood and you ran over to him. He held you tight, wanting to protect you from everything in this world, everything he was. “I need to leave.” He whispered into your hair. “The police will be here soon.”

“No,” you begged, unable to let him go. “Stay. Please.”

Minho tsked, pulling you away but keeping his hands on your shoulders. “Your family wouldn’t exactly approve of an assassin living amongst them.” Minho half-joked.

”Then take me with you.” You pleaded. You heard the faint sirens outside, you still had a moment before the police arrived. “I don’t want to stay here.”

“No.” Minho said, voice stern. “You have a life here. I can’t take you away from that.”

“Minho!” His eyes softened, searching yours as he waited for your next words. “My father arranged to have me married off.” Minho’s eyes widened and you noticed that rage swirling in their depths. “The dude is awful and my father doesn’t care that I’m unhappy. I have no life here. Please.”

The sirens grew closer, but you leaned forward, lips meeting his own as you desperately tried to share your unspoken words through the kids. You didn’t love the man you were to be married to. But you loved the man in front of you now. The one that took you away and kept you say. The one you trusted to do it all over again.

The deafening sirens were on your street. Minho reluctantly broke the kiss, lifting you into his arms and carrying you onto the balcony. He would do as you ask and take you far away. He knew both of your families would come looking for you two, but he wasn’t worried. For once, he was proud of what he was. Because what he was, the horrible skills that he has spent his entire life developing, he would now use to keep you safe. He was born this way so that you may be his, forever.

©𝗻𝗼𝗰𝘁𝘂𝗿𝗻𝗮𝗹𝗳𝗲𝗶 <𝟯 𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁𝘀 𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗲𝗿𝘃𝗲𝗱. 𝗱𝗼 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗰𝗼𝗽𝘆 𝗼𝗿 𝗿𝗲𝗽𝗼𝘀𝘁 𝗮𝗻𝘆 𝗼𝗳 𝗺𝘆 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗸𝘀 𝗼𝗻 𝗮𝗻𝘆 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗺. 𝗱𝗼 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗰𝗹𝗮𝗶𝗺 𝗺𝘆 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗸𝘀 𝗮𝘀 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗼𝘄𝗻.

[hometoursandotherstuff]

You never know what’s going on in a home. Here we have a plain dark gray home, built in 1978 in Omaha, Nebraska. It has 4bd. 4ba. & is listed for $925K. I don’t even know what to call this style.

For having been built in 1978, it’s in excellent condition. 

Look at this. Is it industrial? Mid-century? Space age? 

Nice glass block wall.

Here we are making out way to the dining room. There are levels, though, so watch your step. To left is a living room with interior glass windows. It looks like a mall store, doesn’t it?

You would to buy barrels of glass cleaner for this house.

Wood ceilings. I’ve never seen a kitchen like this. 

Here’s a huge island with seating and an Aztec sun mozaic. 

Back to the glass store living room. 

This is interesting. Interesting ceiling.

Now, this is different. You can see the indoor pool through a glass wall. Above is a mezzanine with storage shelves behind glass. 

There is also a bar/kitchenette for the pool.

3 steps down from the kitchenette is a family room. 

Tile bath, one of 4.

The indoor pool. I would have to decorate this room, it’s so plain.

Small tile bath for the pool.

Stairs to the bedrooms.

The main bd. has a decoration of columns and huge moldings, which is kind of dramatic. Is the furniture built in? 

Here’s a roof deck for the main bd.

Main bd. en-suite. There are so many little steps and levels in this home.

Looks like a family room in a garage or basement.

Outdoors there’s a patio with a firepit.

Plus a small hot tub that looks like a big can.

Large tile garage.

On .92 acres wooded acres.

https://www.remax.com/ne/elkhorn/home-details/21811-hillandale-rd-elkhorn-ne-68022/1379395680300761495/M00000441/22306312

[pfctipper]

[ euphoric ] for a celebratory kiss - for LiebTip?

hello george ty so much for the lovely prompt (tip!) and for your patience! <3 also never has there been better evidence of this post than how i managed to interpret this

[ euphoric ] for a celebratory kiss

Is that you, he says, to the first blurred face, as gentle hands ease him down on to the French cobblestones and someone says his name over and over again in a voice that’s soft even over the machine-gun fire and the shattering glass, until it all fades to black.

The faces that hover over him to change his bandages and lower him on to stretchers to move him from sand to truck to ship to truck again, over and over until he loses track, grow cleaner and clearer; the accents shift, and for a little while they’re almost something he can almost place, brogues like his father’s but sharper, but the only thing that’s ever really familiar is the same carefully-schooled expression they all wear and how they all call him private.  

Three months after the redheaded nurse the Marine corporal in the next bed tells him is pretty hangs up colorful red-white-blue bunting and he watches the vague shapes of people dancing in the street through the window, a doctor stands at his bedside, close enough that Ed can make out his gray hair and the weariness in his shoulders but not the look in his eyes, and tells him you’re going home.

The house in Detroit is familiar, the same broken roof tiles and fence pales his father never seems to get around to repairing, at least until he sees the way his mother looks standing under the hand-painted banner hung over the porch and hears the way she says oh, Edward before she puts her hands over her mouth.

He doesn’t recognize any of the faces in the railcar going west, even though the ways they look at him are familiar: the wide-eyed young man who hurries out of his seat, the woman who averts her gaze and the little girl in her lap who stares, the shamefaced conductor who refuses his money and then lifts his bag when they pull into Union Station in the dark, saying, thank you for your service, sir, solemnly as he sets it down on the platform.

But outside, by one of the battered taxicabs, there’s the orange tip of a cigarette and just enough moonlight reflecting on the rain-soaked sidewalk for him to make out narrow shoulders hunched defensively, in just the same way Ed had pictured when he’d looked at the painstaking handwriting on the letter that had come through the door a month earlier, that had made his chest ache before he’d even read the words.

‘Hope you didn’t turn down any fares for me,’ Ed says, leaning heavily on one of his crutches in the warm light of the streetlamp. ‘A fellow can get pretty used to not paying his way.’

‘Tip,’ says Joe Liebgott, softly, and looks at Ed like he’s the fucking sun.

Joe opens the door of the cab for him, lifts his bag into the trunk and then out again all without asking, and at first Ed supposes maybe it’s without thinking, like he does for all his fares, but then he watches the way Joe stares down the girl at the door of the boarding house when she spares a startled glance over at Ed.

‘You look good, Joe,’ he says, in the cramped twin room, and Joe doesn’t, really, clothes hanging loose on his too-thin frame and hair cut unevenly, patchy stubble on his jaw and dark bruises under his eyes illuminated starkly by the flickering bare bulb, too-bright in a way that reminds Ed of the weeks where he’d blinked awake and not been able to make out anything but light.

He finds he likes looking at Joe anyway, the familiarity of it, only up close there’s a scar on his neck that Ed hasn’t seen before, doesn’t know about, not yet; he leans one crutch against the bed and lifts a hand to rest his fingertips against it, watching how the pink healed skin goes white when he presses down.

‘Fuck,’ Joe says, ragged, and there's a moment where it's as though neither of them breathe. ‘It’s just – it’s fucking strange, Tip. Fuck. Seeing you.’

Ed’s legs are aching and sore, stiffer from the journey; he shifts on his feet and sees the way Joe’s eyes flick down before he closes them. ‘Not – fuck, Tip, they told us –’

‘Joe,’ says Ed, starting out sharp but then softening in the same way Joe’s features had when he’d drifted asleep against Ed’s shoulder in the barns and hedgerows of Normandy, and then he lets the other crutch slip to the ground and presses his hand over the dog tags he knows he’ll still find under Joe’s faded shirt. It makes him unsteady, and he feels the way Joe’s hands come up to his waist to hold him even as he lets Ed fall into him anyway.

When Ed presses his open mouth to the scar on Joe’s neck he can hear the shallow breath Joe takes. ‘Joe, I’m here,’ Ed says, lips moving against the chain of Joe’s dog tags, tasting faintly metallic in his mouth, and then, ‘We’re here.’

And afterwards, when Joe has kissed him the same way he had that last morning in Normandy, mouth hot against his behind the barn as everyone else slept, eyes closed against the too-bright sunrise and hands on Ed’s waist over the webbing and ammo belt, Ed lies in the unfamiliar bed and blinks up at the too-bright light, filling his vision with nothing but white, and it feels somehow like home.

[evwritesgames]

Yaknow as a longtime itch.io lurker one thing that makes me sad is that there’s a lot of different takes on the same theme that don’t actually try to do anything new. Usually fantasy stuff. There are so so many fantasy packs that are nearly identical…

The art is fine and a lot of effort already, but it makes the assets not… stand out. Which is understandable! The point is to make something generic anyone can use! But it’s also a shame artistically because there’s little that’s unique to them, so they fade into the background easily… Plus if I need something specific I might have five packs to look through that just don’t do what I want, because they have the same take on the same theme, so I have 7 different Generic Unidentifiable Trees and Village House With Hay Roof but say no wooden cart an ox could pull. (I genuinely don’t remember seeing that as an asset before…)

Say, let’s continue on fantasy packs. I can name like one or two of them that I remember specifically because there was a variety of themes to them— going way beyond man with sword in European forest with some village and river tiles. That’s what makes me actually want to buy them! If there’s a variety in the type of characters and body types, or the kind of places you can lead your characters into (and I can repurpose this stuff even when it SOUNDS super specific! Don’t think I can’t! I grabbed underwater atlantis ruins and made it into an aquarium zoo with themed flooring… one time I made a greenhouse out of several recolored tilesets and the only thing I had to draw was glass tiles!)

I’m not here to complain. See if I want to do something unique, I CAN draw it myself… the thing is, my art is passable, but I don’t like drawing as much as coding so it’s not a great incentive. I’d rather grab something an actual artist made! Genuinely! That’s mutual benefit! So I’m not here to complain I’m just… kinda sad tbh!

When I go look at what’s new a lot of it doesn’t do anything to stand out! It’s just more trees and villages and oh this one has a slime enemy. Well. Like 2 out of 5 I saw in the past month. And they’re all blue. Rimuru come back here

Part of it is of course because I’ve been there a while, but you’d be surprised how some stuff is actually hard to find. A 16x16 4 directions dragon, for instance? I’ve only found one. Why’s no one drawing that when there’s so many 16x16 fantasy packs? (I think it’s because they’re hard to draw, which… fair. but there’s a niche there!)

One time years ago I went looking for a giant beehive environment for a part of a game I was making, and I could not for the life of me find anything, paid or not, so I drew it myself and put it out there. Recently, I noticed someone else did it too (much better than my own lol, more detail, cleaner art, they did a great job)

But like. There’s plenty of other themes that probably never see the light of day. Say, a flesh environment like you’re inside a monster, I’ve only seen a couple float by too, and at least one of them was precisely in a fantasy pack that went out its way to cover a dozen of themes. Most folks stop at the base fantasy stuff as a starting kit. There might be some here and there but I don’t think I’ve ever seen a pack intended to be set in a real city, so you can’t really make a historical game without custom assets— wouldn’t there be a lot of games you could make if you could make it look like you’re strolling in Paris in particular? There’s plenty of photo references for this stuff, but people will mostly draw something generic instead (understandably! being too specific risks not selling!). There’s a lot of gaps when everyone does the same stuff over and over, especially if it’s in almost the same way they’ve seen before.

Coz that’s what happens when you try and be generic. You match the generally accepted feel. Look at the current state of anime, you could put half a dozen isekais in the same world and the characters wouldn’t notice anything changed. The tropes barely ever vary from how they’re established. Elves are thin, pale pretty blondes with light eyes and long ears (have you ever seen a fat elf in mainstream media??). Magic is cast with mana and if you go too hard you cough blood (no one remembers tuberculosis is the origin of this trope). Young nobles all go to a magical academy (this is such a funny parody of what europe was like that it’s completely detached from reality at this point).

I find this fascinating. Not bad. Really interesting in its own way. People end up concentrating on details to be creative about and it has its own value. But it does not help anyone be super creative in the broader settings. Even the sceneries are the same, and it ends up reflecting on what you find on itch— because stories that have already been made are what artists draw inspiration from, right? It’s a cycle.

(It’s a cycle in more ways than one, the other day I saw someone compile a bunch of webtoons that re-use the same 3d model of a castle to trace in their story, because they all used the same resources to draw…!)

So, I think going out your way to do something specific makes you stand out lately, if only because there’s so much generic stuff floating around. Specific themes in a huge pack ARE often the appeal. A city isn’t just streets and doors and windows. What about bus stops and railways? Shops with their big letters out front? Parks? And every one in the real world has its own quirks too. If you draw a specific train, it’ll feel homely to someone, and like a faded vacation for someone else. A train you draw as you think about what trains look like from movies and films, or referenced as a midway point between four others, will not evoke a particularly strong feeling, it’s just the idea of a train.

Oh wow this is getting away from me. Apologies. You don’t have to post all that. Let me get back on track.

Lately on itch I noticed one artist who’s been doing a fantasy pack BUT having a fun time doing less realistic colors, and see, that makes them stand out! I actually remember them! But that’s an exception. Most don’t do that. The grass is green, the sky is blue, and winter packs (when they exist) are all white snow over forests with frozen lakes.

From my personal experience the stand out criteria for asset packs are often sheer variety/volume (not super healthy for artists but I think that’s the biggest appeal, which encourages generic takes on stuff… since you want big numbers. Still huge respect for those who actually go through with it, it’s a ton of work, especially if they do take the time to explore themes!) or personal taste (can’t actually control your audience, but say, I’ll pick up characters if I think their faces look particularly cute over more crunched up ones).

TLDR I really respect all the artists on itch but I’m sad “generic” seems to be believed to be the way to go to sell something. I’m not even sure it’s actually true. It feels like christmas whenever I find something I’ve never seen before on itch! (ouch my wallet. yes i have an asset hoarding problem.)

All that to say: I really like your art! It stood out to me from how expressive and diverse it feels! I’ll be looking at your future works~ Sorry about the ramble hahaha I spent like… an hour more on this than I intended o-O No need to post it if you don’t wanna…

Hey, don't worry about the length. I write long ass rambles, rants, and essays all the time. On letterbox'd you can see me write 10k words for movies 5 people saw. I appreciate a person who can speak at length about things and isn't afraid to follow sidebars and tangents and can and does circle back to the point effectively. Underrated skills.

This was really fascinating to read and could EASILY be reshaped into a convincing "state of the union" style essay about where things are at for this aspect of Itch. Itch does not receive much coverage the way other big internet things do, not that I know of. I have to admit though that I'm not in "the community" of itch very much. I have a weird disconnect where it's hard for me to see how and where to "join" stuff and I often find myself on the margins wondering why I can't get closer. I kinda hope the weird meta-discourse on things like Youtube never really happens to itch but if it did, I suspect reflective essays like yours here would be the higher quality material.

Anyways. It's nice to know that you appreciate what I try to do with my assets. You're bang on that "generic" seems to sell better but also comes with major caveats. I noticed there were almost no unofficial cyberpunk/scifi/future assets for RPG Maker and similar all the way back in 2001 when I first started playing with RM2K. It hasn't got much better since then and I suppose part of that may be a lack of standout, big deal indie games (particularly RPG maker games) that use these aesthetics. There is ALWAYS time for fantasy, even the generic Western Europe shit that you always see. There is also an entire subgenre of "Stardew-like" assets and games. I myself am making a take on the lifesim genre, The Hedge Wizard, but the art style is probably closer to Earthbound, Roots of Pacha, etc than to Stardew. You can see some of the material from that on my tumblr if you're keen.

My personal fantasy theme, The Nine Realms, on itch, is Norse inspired and does feature diverse characters for the exact reasons you highlight. I think the fantasy genre and JRPGs have a long history of racism, some of it very mild and some of it not at all. The kind of person who looks at my Nine Realms stuff and goes "black vikings? wtf" is a person I don't want anywhere near me or my work. They're not only factually incorrect assuming Europe was some kind of white fortress, but they're missing the point. I'm glad you get it because it means someone does. You may be interested to know that Nine Realms basically does not sell. I periodically work on it still because I have a big plan for it (including a take on elves I think you'll like) but it's a passion project. I think it would sell better if I was more holistic in my approach to what assets to include (one piece of advice I got was that it should include "farmsim" stuff and I see why but haven't been especially moved to get into that). In the very cynical and depressed part of my brain, I assume racism and "anti-woke" sentiment is part of the reason it doesn't sell too. I deliberately drew a line in the sand, a thing I do often on principle, and I can handle the consequences. Like you, I am often fascinated by these things, especially how tropes work.

At the end of the day, artists are on itch for different reasons. There's a small community of pixel artists who specifically do itch stuff and there's a split between those who buy into the hustle mindset, the personal brand, all that shit, and people who do not. I do not. I know it means I'm "less successful" but the far end of the more hustle-oriented artists are people who analyze Youtube metrics and exploit children for money (people don't like to admit or consider that the internet's demographics have fundamentally changed) creep me the fuck out and I won't be part of that.

Would love a link to the fantasy artist you mention. Always looking for people to follow on itch. I also tend to like unorthodox color choices. I played a game a while back that was basically a top down Soulslike made out of scribbles. Can't remember the title and google is of no help as usual. Haha. Anyway, that one was cool.

Last thing I'll say for now is that I do have something new coming, a new theme, that is all in b&w or grayscale. I've teased it a bit but let me know if you want the full pitch and I can lay it out. It's the thing called Retro Dead City. Might be a big enough hint right there. Haha.

Thank you for showing so much interest in me and my work. I really appreciate it and enjoy conversations like this.

[spiders-hth-is-an-outlier]

We're having the roof replaced, and it's so, so loud. Margo is handling it with relative grace, but Eliot is Just Super Not. He's sensitive about noises; a little dude with principled objections to the vacuum cleaner is not going to be down with a literal rain of tiles being torn off the house and cascading to the ground.

I'm trying to explain the whole process, but I'm not sure how well he can hear me from under the bed, and I won't fit under there with him. Sorry, king. None of this reflects at all on your ability to protect the household, you are still excellent in your field of specialization (bugs and assorted vermin).

[dk-thrive]

The rain has finally started... The drops hitting the tile roof sound comforting, and already the air feels cleaner, lighter, as the humidity is washed out of it.

— Lisa See, Lady Tan's Circle of Women, A Novel (Simon & Schuster, June 6, 2023)

[theretirementstory]

01/09/2024. Greetings on this first Sunday in September, where the weather in Bar-sur-Aube is 22c (and sunny) we are due 32c so I will need to hide in the shade.

This photo was taken on September 1st 2018, that was when the town used to have the Foire aux Bulles on the first weekend of the month, which for some reason was given a new name “Bulles et Gastronomie Foire”and moved to a new slot, the last weekend of the month.

Let’s get my health news out of the way first! My platelets have not fallen to 10 or below for a number of weeks and so the doctors in Paris agreed that we should try for just one transfusion per week 😳. The injection to boost my white blood cells is to be stopped as it looks as if my body is working better there. I still have to have the injection for red blood cells but haven’t had a haemoglobin transfusion for almost two weeks 😁 and of course I am still having platelet injections and transfusions. My blood pressure tablets have been stopped completely in the hope that blood pressure will return to normal levels after being really low. All in all a “good news” week. Keep your 🤞for me.

I had to eke out the shopping as Monique wanted to do some, I asked Anie to get fresh fruit and my neighbour to go for my prescription. On Friday (after my trip to Paris) my neighbour drove me to two supermarkets, where I hurried round picking up items for “my family’s” arrival. We are all so excited to be seeing one another soon.

It has been another busy week (well aren’t they all?) I messaged the gardener, who came out and cut the grass on Tuesday, then he messaged to say he would cut the hedges on Friday, so now my garden looks pretty good. I contacted the plumber who also called in on Tuesday and repaired the waste “thing” in the upstairs washbasin. I finally plucked up courage to contact the man to clean the outside walls of the house, they are streaked with red which appears to come from the roof tiles. He came out and looked at them, gave me a price which we agreed and then we agreed a start date. The only person, both Monique and I, have been unable to contact is the roofer. He seems to have gone to ground! She said I will have to try and find another man to do the work but to be honest those men are as rare as hens teeth! Oh well, it’s just one job left to do I suppose.

It was pay day for my cleaner and as usual, I hadn’t done something correctly! I finally printed off the paper she needed, at 5am on Friday (before my trip to Paris), left it where I had said I would leave it and she hasn’t been for it yet. Oh well I have done my bit, without my car I cannot go and deliver it to her. If Anie comes down I will get her to take it but other than that, I don’t know.

Pauline came to see me on Tuesday and we spent a lovely couple of hours together. She was quite taken by the gardener and kept “watching him work”.

I had a surprise yesterday, my friend, from the next village, sent a message to say she had left something outside my front door. Sure enough, a bunch of flowers were resting on the door handle and there was a large bag of tomatoes and courgettes. As it was so hot, I really couldn’t face cooking anything but I checked out some recipes and think I will be making tomato and courgette soup plus courgettes, tomato and garlic. Well I can but try!

We have had some really lovely days and I am hoping for more of these for next week. This week it has meant that washing could be hung out and dried which is a big boost enabling me to prepare for the autumn and winter.

If it’s good weather next week my visitors will be in the garden taking the sun and reading books. The perfect way to de-stress.

So “Mr Solicitor” and “The Recovery Coordinator” have been busy packing their bags and will spend today relaxing 🤞before an early start in the morning. Oh wow, don’t think about it or I will get 🤪.

“The Photographer” has been out and about in York taking photos. He is trying lots of different things and ways to photograph scenes, people etc. He made a flying visit home yesterday and will be heading back to York this evening.

On Friday morning the alarm woke me at 4:30a.m. it was dark and I felt as if it was still nighttime! I love the summer for the bright early mornings but know that those days will soon give way to darker mornings. It’s sad in a way but at least I have my trusty sunrise alarm clock to help me wake up to some light. When I was younger I wished I could hibernate until the days grew longer, now as I approach another birthday I want to make the most of the hours available to me, be they light or dark. Yes it’s the month of the autumnal equinox too!

So finally, I have reached the music slot, I don’t know why I haven’t had this song in before now! The song is “Play That Funky Music” by Wild Cherry which was released in 1976.

This is another 1970’s song, it’s “Black Betty” by Ram Jam which was released in 1977. When I hear either of these songs I am transported poolside at the Hotel Tour Khalef in Sousse Tunisia. I was young and free as a bird unlike now where I am old but still free as a bird 😂.

Have a good week until next week, I hope to.

Final photo, the garden, ready for the visitors.

[thessalian]

Thess vs Progress

Not to say that things are necessarily going well in the grand scheme of things (I mean, shit, just look at ... all of that ... out there - or don't if you need a break from unrelenting horror), but from a personal-life perspective, there are good things to note.

For all I promised myself this week off was supposed to be about relaxing, I did Do Things. Well, I Made Things. So far - chicken stew, potato salad, and brownies. I have plans in the direction of cereal bars, potato soup, sweet potato soup, beef stew, and risotto. Need to get out to the shops soon, though, because I need courgette for bolognaise and some more vanilla extract for any further baking I may wish to do. Like I said - month of batch-cooking. Though my appetite's on the decline at the moment and I'm not doing great pain-wise, so today might be a tin of soup, some potato salad, and maybe a sandwich if I'm feeling up to it.

The better news, though, is about my living situation. Long story short: there are two flats in this building, and my mother owns both, and both require renovation in a major way. So I'm shuttling around like the ball in a shell game between the flats. Or ... that was the plan, anyway. I moved into this flat from the other flat ... a little more than four years ago, I think? And for most of those four years, very little seemed to be getting done. My stepfather didn't get near the place. So the longer he waited, the longer I was stuck in the flat I'm in now - the flat which, while better laid out than the old flat, has the most atrocious plumbing it has been my privilege to experience. By which I mean:

No shower pump (so it's been baths in a tiny-ass tub for four years and I would commit a minor felony for a shower)

Leaky tub, in the carpeted bathroom. (Well, I think it's just that the tub is this cheap, badly-installed piece of plastic crap and because the cold tap leaks when I turn it up higher than a trickle, it seeps through the very bad grouting and onto the floor. The carpeted floor. IN A BATHROOM. I don't know what the people who designed this place were smoking)

By "bad grouting", I mean that some of the wall tiles literally fell off the wall and into my bathwater when I was taking a bath a couple of years ago.

Wonky boiler (though at least my stepfather installed a working timer on the damn thing so I don't have to switch on the day boost for two hours to get enough hot water to bathe)

Leaky faucet in the kitchen which has been half-assedly patched with electrical tape. (Literally. My stepfather thought this was even a vague solution.)

The kitchen sink drain doesn't have a U-bend, so using drain cleaner on it is a waste of fucking time (which is great when it's the drain that probably sees the most overall debris and gunk of any drain but the toilet)

Also the place is just ... grungy in ways I can't fix. There are cracks in various of the walls. The carpet is well past its best. The light fixtures ... the only ones that give light worth a damn are the bare bulb in one end of the living room and the kitchen lighting that my stepfather put in when I told him I didn't have enough light to make sure I was washing the dishes well enough. The others are gaudy-ass chandeliers. The less said about the curtains, the better. I don't generally complain because, I mean, it's a roof over my head that I don't have to torture myself to pay for, and my stepfather replaced the non-functional heaters last year so I'm not freezing my ass off trying to be mindful of the electricity bill like I was during that cold snap in 2022. So I was willing to wait and cope with the problems of the place for as long as necessary because you don't go being a choosing beggar in this kind of situation.

My mother, however, has been over for dinner a few times, and while I try to downplay it, she knows I'm struggling with the whole thing. So I figure she's the one who lit a fire under him, and he's been working himself ragged on the other flat for a few months now. I've been gifting him with baked goods every so often, partly because I can never eat a full batch of anything on my own before it gets stale but mostly because I appreciate the work he's putting in, especially with his back issues.

Which is when we come to today. Despite a bad pain day (weird agony in my outer left thigh and some grip strength issues on top of the rest of the increased OW), I made brownies, and I brought him some while he was working. He showed me the work on the kitchen (SUCH an improvement over when I first lived there, you have no idea!) and told me the current plan. Apparently, the goal is to get that flat liveable - not necessarily finished, but just done enough for someone to be able to, like, cook and bathe and sleep and everything - and then move me into it so they can start doing this flat. No real timeframe given on the work here yet, but I figure it's going to be a lot because if nothing else, they want to move a whole wall to give me a kitchen worth the name, size-wise.

Point is that if everything continues according to plan, the other flat will be liveable in about a month. I could be living in a flat with access to regular showers by mid-August - early September at the latest. I give a little extra time on that because I'm going to need to be able to book time off around then, since my stepfather's going to want me to move all my stuff in one day again and I will hurt for days afterwards. That and I have to get my phone and internet transferred and that might take a day or so, and I obviously can't work without it. Thus, better to be sure it's all organised for maximum efficiency. Either way, actual showers soon.

It's a nice thing to think about to keep from dwelling too hard on the election tomorrow. I've already voted, and the final results won't be in until Friday morning, but ... honestly, given that Starmer's been making noises about how trans women don't belong in single-sex spaces and how he wants to meet with JK Rowling at some point and is actually trying to arrange that (like TERF-In-Chief is a front-bench cabinet position now or something), and how he's almost certainly going to win, it's depressing. That's ignoring the rest of his so-called policies. It's not as big a mess as what's going on in the US, but it's mess enough. The US still has a chance to turn its would-be dictator away; we have "meet the new boss; same as the old boss" - damn near literally.

I'mma play Tavern Talk or something for awhile. It's fun and cute and will probably cheer me up at least a bit.

[faradaysketches]

Woogmeer, Netherlands. July 2023 The owner came out to have a look at the sketch and told me the history of the house. The tiled part of the roof is called a spiegel clock bell. The cafe owner opposite also came out to look at the sketch and said the tiled part was for collecting rainwater which was cleaner than from a thatched roof. So these designs became a status symbol.

[mortemoppetere]

TIMING: current LOCATION: teddy's house PARTIES: @eldritchaccident & @mortemoppetere CONTENT: suicide ideation, alcoholism SUMMARY: teddy makes good on their threat to get emilio out of the bar he's squatting in.

The back room of a bar wasn’t the best place Emilio had ever stayed, but it also wasn’t the worst. It was cleaner than a lot of the motel rooms he’d taken up in since his departure from Mexico, roomier than the back of Rhett’s van when the two of them had been traveling together. The fact that it came with very easy access to alcohol was a plus, too. There was no shower, but he found it easy enough to take care of that in the bathroom of whoever he hooked up with that night; most people didn’t question it, particularly not when he had a few houses he visited often these days. So the bar wasn’t perfect. What was? It was a roof over his head and a place for Perro to sleep, even if Emilio was far too on edge to even consider doing the same. That was all he really needed.

He’d been out for a little while, incapable of sitting still for long even with the goo that covered the majority of his usual haunts. Out in the bar for a while, bumming drinks and pretending to listen to people who spoke to him, then out in the streets with a stake in his hand and a determination building in his chest. A few spawns took the edge off, but there was nothing more substantial. Most things with any sense had gone underground with the goo, preferring to avoid the possibility of being turned to stone even if it did mean avoiding their fun, too. It meant that there was nothing more than those few spawn, leaving Emilio half-wired and restless as he made his way back into the bar.

Last call had already been called, but the bartender let him in with a roll of her eyes. “Boss can’t find out about this,” she warned.

“Yeah, yeah.” He dug in his pocket, pulling out a twenty and pressing it into her hand. “For your sister. Pick her up something better than fast food on your way home.”

“Thanks, Milio.” The bartender sighed, shaking her head. “You look like shit, by the way.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, ducking by her and trudging through the empty bar towards the back room. He pushed the door open, sliding in and shutting it behind him quickly. Perro had a tendency to dart out if he didn’t. “Perro,” he called. “¡Ándale! Gonna get your dinner ready to…” He trailed off. 

There was no quiet sound of claws against the tile floor, no fuzzy head poking out from under the blanket on the ratty couch. Immediately, Emilio’s heart jumped to his throat. Had someone let the dog out? Had someone taken him? Possibilities swirled in his head, his hands trembling and his heart racing. Shouldn’t have left the dog here alone, shouldn’t have gotten a dog in the first place when he could barely take care of himself, shouldn’t have…

His eyes caught sight of a bright yellow sticky note on the wall above where Perro’s food and water bowl were strangely missing. There was something stuck next to it with a shiny gleam. Emilio crossed the small room in two wide strides, ripping the note off the wall. Told you I would, Perro is my bestie now. His eyes darted to the other item tacked onto the wall — a photo, he realized. Perro, tongue out and head tilted to one side, in the arms of… Teddy fucking Jones.

Emilio groaned, letting his head fall against the wall. The adrenaline of the panic of finding Perro missing was still thrumming in his veins, mixing together with irritation because he’d been fine. They’d been fine in the bar, him and Perro. And, more importantly, Teddy had been fine with distance between them and the whirlwind of trouble that came with Emilio Cortez. But Teddy wasn’t one who knew how to leave well enough alone, and Emilio knew there was only one way to get his damn dog back. 

Upon going to grab the duffel bag of whatever meager belongings he’d managed to gather from his apartment before the departure, he was somehow unsurprised to find that missing, too. Teddy was a thorough ass, if nothing else. Clenching his jaw, Emilio steeled himself. Only one thing to do. He had to go to Teddy’s stupid house and get his damn dog back.

He’d much preferred the spawns.

—

Careful calculation and effort had gone into this pup-napping. Teddy, champion of full-assing (rather than half-assing) had gone into full planning mode the moment Emilio started pulling his bullshit stubbornness. Did the slayer really think it was okay just to live in a goddamn bar until the goo situation was resolved?? And that was a big if it got resolved. It was untenable. Literally. On the best of days Emilio teetered a line of self destruction, but this, this was something else. It was almost starting to feel personal. 

They hadn't seen each other since that night. Since the tattoo, since Emilio goddamn Cortez saved their life and absolutely refused to admit any part in it. A small part of Teddy, the same part that ate at them when their father had told them its intentions to leave the dimension, began to fester. As it always did whenever a change in dynamic occured. A cold unlogical thing that preyed upon the deepest fears that permeated through the entirety of their being. 

Maybe Emilio realized he didn't want anything to do with them now that it was a more long term problem. Maybe he was only playing along because there was an expiration date set in stone. The man was constantly trying to push them away, saying how shitty of a friend he was. Was it easier for him to just take the blame like that? The whole 'It's not you it's me.' kinda thing? 

So yeah, the dognapping was one part funny bit, one part desperate attempt to understand where Emilio was at. To force the distance closed. Teddy was barely conscious of the gnawing unease that was starting to bubble up inside them. Only that its effect was strong. Driving them to impulsively act upon a whim. Well, impulsively and meticulously plan for a couple days for the perfect time to strike. 

The weather had already taken a turn for the chilly, which was excellent. The ex-demon waited until the coldest day to enact Operation Tripod. A careful series of texts and one very well bribed bartender, and Teddy had been let in while the slayer was out. They gathered up everything, left the perfect amount of evidence, then headed back to the mansion their father had left to them. Now Emilio didn't have a car right then, the goo saw to that one. And the walk from the bar to the house wasn't going to be a pleasant one with the biting chill setting in the air. Teds was counting on it. Was it mean? A little. Was it a bit manipulative?? Yeah okay. That too. 

But the house was warm. Smelled of fresh baked bread. Perro had a new dog bed and a bunch of toys ready to be played with. A few dolled up bottles of Emilio's whiskey of choice lined a shelf in the kitchen. His duffle bag sat perched nearby, with a gift resting against it. Above it all, a tiny banner cobbled together from party supplies of the past read "Welcome Home or Else." It was perfect. Only Teddy didn't expect how tired the whole set up would make them. They were still exhausted from the ritual. Still feeling as if their insides had just been dry-cleaned in an industrial tumbler. When they returned home with the spoils of conquest, they settled down on the couch with the pup for just a second. Just to catch their breath. Except the blanket was so cozy, and the dog immediately snuggled up underneath and well…

Teddy was fast asleep by the time anyone came around. One arm curled underneath their head like a pillow, the other wrapped protectively around the puppy who had taken to slumbering just as quickly. They didn't even hear him come in. Neither of them. Or at least Perro didn't make any move to leave the warm cocoon. Good dog. 

—

Of course Teddy had waited until it was cold to pull this shit. Emilio wondered, briefly, if this had been an intentional move on their part following his impassioned rant about his hatred of plummeting temperatures, but the question was answered as quickly as it came to mind because of course it had. Of course Teddy would use their newfound knowledge of Emilio’s distaste for any weather that dropped below the sweltering heat he’d grown up with, and of course they’d use that to their advantage. They were probably sitting pretty in their 90 degree mansion enjoying his dog and his duffel bag.

(Okay, they probably weren’t enjoying the duffel bag. The duffel bag was mostly filled with boxers and weapons. The dog was much more enjoyable.)

Emilio looked downright murderous as he trudged through town, too stubborn to call for a ride despite the cold air nipping at his skin or the deep-seated ache that settled into his leg. His anger kept him warm… at least in the psychological sense. He was still shivering, still pulling his jacket a little tighter around his shoulders. The leather jacket he typically sported wasn’t the warmest, but he didn’t own anything warmer. As much as he hated the cold, he hated shopping more. His wardrobe was limited to clothes he’d ‘found’ that fit him, and with his apartment stuck under a steaming pile of goo, it was even more limited to the things he’d managed to stuff into his bag. So the jacket was all he really had, and the fact that it still smelled faintly of Teddy from the way he’d draped it over their shoulders the last time they’d hung out only served to feed into the angry rant he was muttering under his breath to provide a soundtrack to the trek.

By the time the too-big house that Teddy’s father had gifted them stretched into view, Emilio’s shivers were far too dramatic for October in Maine. Maybe the rage hadn’t warmed him quite as much as the spite had frozen him over. His leg was so stiff that it was practically useless, dragged behind him like more of a burden than a limb. Logically, he knew he wouldn’t be able to make the walk back to the bar, and there was no way in hell Teddy would drive him when the whole reason they’d done this was to convince him to stay with them. But logic didn’t really fit in Emilio’s mind, now or ever. His stubbornness didn’t leave any room for it.

The front door was unlocked, which was unsurprising since Teddy wanted him to come in. It was a good thing, too; he wouldn’t have been able to kick it open and stay on his feet with only one leg capable of holding his weight, and picking the lock wouldn’t have felt dramatic enough. He slammed it open, anyway, pretending the sound of it hitting the wall made him feel better. It kind of did, a little. 

He stomped into the kitchen, faltering a little. Teddy hadn’t been lying about how warm the place was. And what the hell was that smell? It was a lot nicer than the stale cigarette and spilt alcohol scents that clung to the bar, but Emilio steeled himself against it, anyway. He reminded himself that it was so much safer for Teddy if he was squirreled away in a bar across town, pushed away memories of a bloody living room floor that wanted to crawl into his head and stay there. Teddy had just survived the impossible once. It wouldn’t be fair to force them to do it again.

So, he found the duffel bag. He snorted at the banner, hiding his amusement as best he could. He spotted the lump on the couch… and the smaller lump beside it. Apparently, Perro was enough of a goddamn sap to not mind the fact that Teddy was human now. 

The dog lifted his head at the sound of Emilio’s rustling, but made no move to get up from under the blanket. Emilio shot him a surly glare. ��Traidor,” he mumbled sourly, Perro wagged his tail. 

Whatever. He’d collect the dog last, when he could make a break for it if it woke Teddy up. Sure, Emilio wasn’t exactly fast, but Teddy probably wasn’t much faster. Not when they were half asleep and probably still felt like shit from whatever that ritual had done. Emilio continued collecting his things, swiping a few bottles of whiskey from the cabinet because if Teddy was going to steal his dog, Emilio was going to steal their whiskey. That was a fair play.

He was just about ready to go grab Perro when he spotted it. The jar on the counter, sealed tightly shut and clearly discarded in a frustrated defeat. Softening a little, Emilio licked his lips and dragged himself over to it. He grabbed the jar with one hand, twisted the lid with the other. It popped as the seal came undone, and Emilio set it back where he’d found it carefully. Satisfied, he took a step back… only to forget himself and put a little too much weight on his bad leg.

It folded underneath him, and he let out a loud string of Spanish curses as he went stumbling backwards. He reached out instinctively, succeeding only in grabbing a barstool and bringing it down with him in a deafening crash that filled the silence of the house and echoed off the walls. Perro let out a surprised bark and hopped off the couch, and Emilio groaned.

Yeah. Nobody was sleeping through that.

—

If the crash itself hadn't startled Teddy awake, the sharp quick bark right in their ear was enough to. In a flurry, the dog was scampering towards the source of the noise and Teddy and the blanket were careening towards the floor. Face first on the carpet clad tile. They lay there a moment, feeling everything settle into place as the lovely painless sleep sharpened into harsh awful awareness. The soft decorative rug wasn't quite so kind as the fibers roughed themselves into Teddy's face. Something in their shoulder had popped, and a radiating throb of pain washed through them in pulses.

Perro had no such troubles. He was already bounding over to Emilio, happily wagging his little tail and licking at the slayer's leg before stamping his one good front paw and doubling back towards the lump of blankets in the living room. 

"Nnhhfuck." 

Well, that was clearly more than just a minute of closing their eyes. Teddy could hear Emilio shuffling, trying to right himself after his spill. Karma. Not for the slayer, but the ex-demon who had selfishly put the man in the position he was in. Shaky arms pried themselves up, pushing the rest of Teds along with them. 

"You–" They were still only about half conscious. Sounding almost delirious between exhaustion and pain. God they probably looked like shit. Excellent fucking impression Jones. Trying to make the man want to stay and yet they'd probably just succeed in actually pissing him off enough to up and leave entirely. Give up on the problem before it consumed him too. "See you got my party invite. Did you get–" A quick pause to catch their breath. "Did you get your gift?"

—

Teddy crashed down off the couch, and Emilio let his head fall back onto the tile because, yeah. Shit like this was exactly why he shouldn’t stay here, wasn’t it? It was a constant goddamn domino effect — Emilio showed up, he planted himself in someone’s life, he fucked something up, they got hurt. He crashed onto the floor of Teddy’s kitchen, and there was Teddy, crashing onto the floor themself. Didn’t they get the cause and effect here? Couldn’t they read the writing on the page in Emilio Cortez’s Three Step Guide to Getting People Killed? 

He grunted in Teddy’s general direction, settling back onto the floor as Perro ran over to lick him. Paw on thigh, tongue on his leg, then a huff and he was back to Teddy. Emilio moved to right himself again, gritting his teeth against the pain that shot up his leg. Apparently, the limb had a real fucking problem with the walk to Teddy’s fucking mansion. Figured. Useless fucking thing.

“Party invite? You kidnapped my dog,” Emilio replied flatly. “Está traumatizado.” Perro, contradicting the claim, climbed into Teddy’s lap and curled up, evidently finding the whole thing exhausting enough to earn him another nap. “How did you even get into my room?” He narrowed his tired eyes at Teddy, though he was pretty sure he knew the answer. He thought back to the bartender with the little sister she spoke of often, the one who looked at him with her brows pinched in concern and told him she’d really like it if he got a bit of sleep tonight. She meant well, he knew. She probably thought that this was helping. That Emilio was someone who could be helped. He knew the truth was something else.

Teddy spoke again, sounding pained and tired and how the fuck could they want Emilio here? Did they like the trouble he brought with him, or his tendency to fuck just about everything up? “The whiskey? I was gonna steal it,” he admitted. He’d grabbed the bag so quickly that he hadn’t seen the present left beside it — when Emilio’s mind was set to something, he tended to overlook things. Not the best trait to have in a detective, but he rarely got invested enough in his cases for it to matter. 

Pushing himself up a little more, he gave up on trying to stand and propped himself in a sitting position against the counter, trying his damnedest to make it look intentional instead of necessary. He eyed Teddy, eyes raking over their body carefully. In one piece, just like they’d said. One fucked up piece, it looked like, but one piece all the same. “You don’t have to do this,” he said after a moment. “This thing you’re doing. You don’t have to. I’m a shitty houseguest. And the dog still pees on the carpet half the time. And I —” He stopped, not quite able to finish. I get people killed, sat on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn’t form his lips around the words. “I need to go back to the bar.”

—

Teddy scooped the small dog and shuffled their way over to Emilio, plopping themself and Perro down beside him on the kitchen floor. There was an apologetic tint to their smile. The ache in the slayer’s bones wasn’t something they wanted to add to. But it had the effect they expected. He didn’t look like he was going anywhere fast. Perro found a nook between them to settle, half his body on one of them, the rest on the other. Ted idly stroked the dog’s head as Emilio spoke. 

"You can't steal it if I bought it for you. But that ain't the gift." They stretched up fumbling around blindly for the small box before handing it over to the slayer. It wasn’t exactly neatly wrapped, but it did in fact have the appearance of something you were more likely to find at a pretty pink princess’s very special birthday party. Inside was something much less… silly. 

Their time spent hopping around from job to job, meeting new folks and making ‘friends’ wherever they went meant Teddy had a lot of folks who had a lot of talents on hand. Metalsmithing was one of them. Inside the box was three simple things. An intricately carved knife, more practical than pretty but definitely the kind that could be wielded intimately or thrown with perfect balance. Circling it was a simple chord of leather, with a small silver version of the very stake that Emilio had tattooed on their skin, as well as a keychain with, of course, a key for the house. 

—

Teddy made their way over, and Emilio sat completely still as they did, as if he was afraid that just breathing might fuck something up. Like his presence alone was enough to put them at risk, like he was pushing some unknown limit with his mere existence. It felt that way, sometimes. How could it not? His life had been a systematic pattern of grief and loss, and it never seemed to slow. It was one after another after another. His father, before he’d known what a father was at all. His brother, when he was still at an age most people would call a kid. Everyone, when he was just about to get himself together and find a solution. When a pattern repeated enough times, you began to accept it as inevitable. To care about something, for Emilio, was to lose it. And, despite his best goddamn intentions, he cared about Teddy Jones. So wasn’t the loss written in stone already?

“If you bought it for me, it’s a gift. That’s what a gift is, isn’t it?” He was only arguing for the sake of arguing now, for the way it made his heart beat a little slower and his palms sweat a little less. Arguing was something he understood far better than the rest of it. He could fight better than he could sit still, even if he was fighting with petty corrections instead of his usual style.

He certainly didn’t know how to navigate this. Teddy was reaching up, was handing him a box wrapped in pink paper that made his throat feel dry for reasons he couldn’t quite comprehend. Emilio’s eyes darted up to meet theirs briefly, question clear in the expression on his face. They’d gone out, they’d gotten something for him, they’d taken the time to wrap it. No one had ever done anything like this for Emilio before. He’d never even known that it was something people did at all, never known enough to want it.

Carefully, he unwrapped the paper from the box. It was slow and meticulous, and his gaze kept jumping up to Teddy periodically, like he was trying to make sure he was doing it right. When it was finally unwrapped, he pulled out the knife first. He studied it, tested the weight in his hands. It was well-balanced. Good for throwing, or for using in close combat. He flipped it deftly between his fingers with a nod.

Then, he looked to the leather chord and the things hanging off it. The stake made his throat feel tight, the way it brought back the memory of his hands holding the tattoo gun and marking Teddy’s skin with a design he’d been sure would only serve to decorate their corpse. He rubbed a thumb across the metal, fiddling with it absently. And… He looked to the key. He didn’t have to ask what it was for; the banner hanging from the ceiling said it all, didn’t it? 

Emilio tried to pretend that his fingers weren’t trembling, tried to blame it on the cold still clinging to his bones. “Teddy…” He said their name quietly. Like a plea, though he didn’t know what he was asking for. “You don’t want me here. I’m not — I’m not safe to be around. And I don’t want you to…” He trailed off again, words stuck behind his teeth. It was so hard to say what he wanted to say. He’d never been very good at it. “You’ve already been through hell. Me being here, even for a little while, it’ll make it worse. Always make it worse. I don’t want that. For you.”

—

A full spectrum display of human emotion washed over Emilio’s face and Teddy soaked it in. Carefully observing how each showed themselves. Confusion, focus, shock, approval, and then the all too familiar grief tinged resolve that always seemed to pop up last. He said their name, and they tried to hide the way it made their heart leap. Tried to quell the brightness inside their chest lest it show through like the glowing runes sometimes did through their skin. Funny how some things seemed to soar when certain people said them. Such a simple thing, one they had heard almost every day of their life and yet… from Emilio’s lips it was a song. It meant something. 

“I–” A joke itched to get out. Make light of the situation and downplay the selfishness of it all but Teddy couldn’t do that. Not here. Not now. Not with him. “I don’t want to be alone.” Their throat tightened, like they were having an allergic reaction to the truth. To speaking their mind without guise or guile. Real. The way Emilio made them, the most human they’d ever been. Even before the ritual. “I can’t be alone right now.” There was fear in their voice. But not for anything that the slayer could ever bring down upon them. 

With a sigh, they removed the cherry red glasses that they didn’t need anymore. Almost… disappointed by the lack of change to their skin. They stared intently at their hands as their fingertips rubbed stuttered circles around each other. Shaking to the tune of every nerve in their body singing at full force. There was no webbing between the digits. No points to the end of their fingernails. The only evidence of their past life was a small blotchy scar where the holy oil had splashed and burned them and the ache that never left their bones. Ted took a moment, pressed their thumb over the mark and wondered what it would be like if they didn’t carry any lasting scars of the strange history they had. Would they be someone different then? Who would that person be? 

They turned, watery eyes glistening but not yet crying, a soft apologetic smile on their lips. Teddy let loose a breath that had been held far too long. Sounding more like a laugh than a rush of air. “It’s pretty pathetic, right? I’m almost thirty five, and I’m here sobbing like a baby cause my dad is leaving. But it’s– it’s everything. Dad’s going away. We don’t know if it’s forever, but it’s not like its dimension can get collect calls or whatever. And I’m just– I’m here. In this big empty house and I’m alone. I’m alone and I’m human and I never had to be that before. I never had to be real. I was always just a concept. With everyone else I just shaped myself to fit them. Whatever they needed… But not with you.” 

Circumstances of fate held the pair of broken toys at just the right distance that neither could hide their true face. Teddy might not have been so unrelentingly themself around Emilio if they had met differently. They were starting to think it was a good thing. For all the strife it caused them at the beginning, they were closer for it now, weren’t they? 

“Everything is different now, and I don’t– feel like myself. I just need someone who knows me.” A quiet hushed pause and Teddy reached a hand over. Clasping Emilio’s fist around the necklace, around the key. 

“I need you here.” 

—

At first, he thought they were going to argue. To do what they always did, what this song and dance between the two of them had been for months now. Emilio would tell Teddy the truth, that he was a worthless and broken thing that everyone was better off without. Teddy would insist that he was wrong, that the sun shone out his ass and people liked him just fine. They’d go back and forth on it for a while, until one of them gave in or got frustrated and stopped replying entirely. Emilio steeled himself for more of the same, because he was fucking exhausted but he never seemed to run out of the energy he needed to bicker with Teddy and he thought that might mean something even if he didn’t know what. 

But then, Teddy spoke, and it wasn’t what he’d expected. All those jabs and well-thought out arguments died in his throat and, for a split second, he was a six year old sitting in the middle of the floor of an empty shed, covered in blood and dust and aching in ways no kid should ever have to understand. Loneliness was a shield now, a suit of armor he hid himself away in, but it hadn’t been back then. Back then, in that shed, all Emilio had wanted was for someone to be with him. For someone to speak to him through the wall, or open that fucking door. For someone to tell him he’d be alright, even if they didn’t mean it.

He shrunk back a little, deflated as the arguments he’d been preparing to hurl Teddy’s way shriveled up in his chest and turned to dust the same way the spawns his mother used to throw at that six year old kid always had. The pang of guilt in his chest found a new cause. He’d been so relieved that Teddy was alive that he hadn’t thought about what they’d lost. He hadn’t stopped to consider that Levi, while too callous a parent to win any awards in Emilio’s book, was still the only parent Teddy had. And he was leaving now, fucking off to some far away place where Teddy would probably never see nor hear from him again. Teddy was grieving. Not just their father, but everything they’d lost along with him.

The ache crept up the slayer’s leg again, radiating through his useless knee and curling around his body like a blanket of pain, wrapping him up tight. He knew what this felt like, to some extent. His entire body hadn’t changed the way Teddy’s had, but he’d lost a piece of himself when that injury turned his leg into more of a decoration than a functioning limb, into a source of constant pain instead of a thing to stand on. Was it easier or harder, he wondered, to have visual differences to accompany the physical ones? He’d seen Teddy’s base form only once or twice, but he knew it was far different than this. And he wondered if that made it easier to swallow, somehow. If his leg had turned black, or shrunk down, or made itself somehow look different than the one beside it, would he feel better about the fact that it wasn’t what it used to be? Or would it be just one more thing to grieve?

“It’s not pathetic,” he said quietly. “It’s — It hurts. Losing someone you… didn’t think you’d have to lose. It hurts.” He thought of his daughter, who should have outlived him. That was the natural order of things, wasn’t it? Children buried their parents because they were supposed to. But when it happened the other way around… Teddy had probably spent most of their life assuming that Levi would outlive them, too. Because he was an ancient demon, and they were something new. And Levi wasn’t dying, but it must have felt the same, anyway. Emilio might not be able to relate to going from being something else to being human, but he sure as hell knew what it felt like to lose people. He was a goddamn expert at that.

Teddy reached out, put a hand over Emilio’s fist where it held that tiny silver stake, and it didn’t feel as unnatural as he thought it probably should have. In fact, none of this felt unnatural. Teddy was themself around Emilio, they said, but the inverse was true, too. Emilio was as close to himself as he knew how to be with Teddy. Less of a ghost, more of a person. At first, it had been because he didn’t give a shit what they thought of him, because himself was the most annoying thing he knew how to be. But now… There was more to it than that. It was easy to be a person around Teddy. It was easy to try to be more than he was. He didn’t know why.

“I talk in my sleep,” he mumbled. “Wake up in a bad way, sometimes, even with the fish toy thing you gave me. Don’t know where I am or who’s with me. Walk around before I’m awake, too. Be out in the kitchen, still not really, uh… here. Almost stabbed a guy who stayed over once. Almost stab people a lot, actually. Don’t like it when I can’t hear people coming. If they walk too quiet, sneak up on me without me knowing. Sets me off. Makes me… I don’t know. Jumpy. Takes hours to feel normal again, after. The whiskey you bought won’t last the week. I drink a lot of it. Need to drink a lot of it, I think. Hands shake if I don’t get enough. Food doesn’t settle right. When I eat food. I don’t — do that. A lot. Or sleep. It’s — Nothing tastes right, you know, and it feels like… I don’t know. Rocks in my stomach, sometimes. And sleeping, you know, I don’t like how it… What I see. Slayers don’t need a lot of it, anyway. Yeah. We get by on a little, and I get by on less. And I smoke. I smoke a lot. Shitty cigarettes. Cheap ones. You won’t like how they smell. Uh… I don’t like small spaces. Closets. Alacenas. Sheds. That kind of thing. I get stuck in one, might bring the whole house down. Won’t mean to. Just happens. Lots of things just happen. Get mad for no reason, you’ve seen that. Get real mad. Hard to… think. And sometimes, you know, it’s hard to do anything. Can’t get out of bed. Not good on stairs, obviously. Gotta use the elevator at the apartment just to get up. Last time it was broken, Andy had to carry my drunk ass up the steps. Haven’t had to be quiet in the morning in a long time. Not good at sitting still, either. Some part of me’s always gotta be moving. Hands. Leg. Something. I try to sit still, and it’s like ants crawling all over me. Don’t do much cleaning. Can’t cook anything more than a sandwich.”

It was probably the most he’d ever said to Teddy in one go. It was the most he’d said to just about anyone in one go in years, save for a few special cases with extenuating circumstances. He let it hang in the air between them for a minute, let it settle. Then, he looked back down at his hand, with Teddy’s on top of it, and shrugged, adding, “You’ll need to know all that. If I’m gonna stay here.”

— 

The flat of Teddy's back came to rest against the smooth wall underneath the counter. One shoulder pressing into his, the contact traveling down their arm to the hand blanketing his. Electric in a way, but far steadier than the frantic fleeting moments of touch they had shared in the past. Just a hum. Gentle as a stream in spring. There were no punches to be thrown tonight. No monsters to chase. No bad guys to bring to justice. No assholes who needed their asses kicked. Just two broken people trying their best to be a patch for the other's scars. 

Teddy wasn't good at this. The heavy stuff. Maybe they had a little more experience with talking about it than Emilio, king of clamming up as it were. But the Joneses weren't very big on dramatic heart-to-heart conversations or discussing deep topics. Whatever Ted knew was what they had taught themself. The comforting words they wished someone else had shared with them. Leviathan, and by extension its ward, were creatures of action. Finding acts of devotion to be much better at explaining themselves than words ever could be. Hell, it took them a deadly ritual of untangling their intertwined lives to actually get to talk about the mess it all created. The ex-demon was good at beguiling strangers with honeyed words on a silver tongue, but the truth? This raw kind of openness that Emilio was sharing stripped them bare. 

They listened in silence. Never throwing an insult or jab where Emilio might have thought they would. Ted squeezed the hand that still sat inside their own a few times. Whenever something struck them as unfair to the slayer. Which is to say quite a few times. Half, if not all of these behaviors he was warning them about were responses to trauma. Were effects of the world crashing down on him one too many times. They still didn't know the details. Emilio wasn't keen on sharing them. Said it was difficult, or nearly impossible. And that was okay. All of it was okay. It just meant the world to Teddy that he was willing to stay at all. 

The quiet after his speaking stopped wasn't one of doubt. Wasn't Teddy second guessing their decision. Just… processing. Making sure they heard everything right, going over each statement in their head. Running the list backwards as they tried to reflect. One simple thing caught them though. Right at the beginning. They might have missed it if they hadn't gone back through everything again. "You…still sleep with the plushie I gave you?" The softest of smiles crept back on Ted's face. A dopey little thing that lit a fire in their eyes. "You said you gave it to Perro. That he destroyed it or whatever. But you–" 

A sudden flush of blood to their cheeks cut them off. A fleeting thought of Emilio sleeping with the plushie of them inspired some… less than pure thoughts. Thoughts that would get them in trouble. Thoughts that were uncalled for and unfair to Emilio. It was clear he still loved someone else. Someone who was gone, someone Teddy would forever be standing behind the ghost of. They knew that much. And that was okay. They could still be friends. Still be close, still… be there for him. In any way they could. At least some form of themself would get to have those experiences. Even if the plushie was a shape that just… didn't exist anymore. 

"Man… didn't even get to do a farewell tour for Big Finn." It was easier to distract themself. To barge into a separate topic like it was a logical leap instead of an impulsive emotional one. "I think technically that toy is a collectible now. Better watch out, someone might come try and steal it, just like that guy did with my t–" fuck. That was a whole can of worms they didn't want to open again. They wanted to shut that chapter of their life forever. Never think about the stranger, the lemonade, the car, and the missing appendage they never got to appreciate properly. They definitely didn't want to involve Emilio, who already had too much on his plate. So they tried their best to think on their feet. "Trinkets." Good save Jones. "Got 'em back though, no trouble even. Guy didn't realize he was stealing from the family that owned the tour. Just saw originals and thought he was clever." 

Ugh. Perfect. Now they were lying to the one man they never ever wanted to lie to. Teddy sighed, tiredness catching back up with them as they sat. Their knees came up to meet their chest and they finally, finally removed their hand from his. If only to press the heels of their palms into their eyes. Blocking everything out. Rubbing until they saw stars. Better than looking at his expression as he surely caught the shift in theirs.

—

Teddy didn’t interrupt his spiel, and Emilio found he was less surprised by that than he’d thought he’d be. A few months ago, if you’d asked, he’d have told you that he was pretty sure Teddy Jones was physically incapable of letting him get through a single sentence without throwing in whatever they had to say, much less a ‘speech’ like the one he’d just rattled off. But… Teddy was quiet. Not in an angry way, not in a way that made Emilio wonder if he’d done something wrong. In a way that he thought might mean they were actually listening to him. So few people had ever really given him that.

The silence that hung between them when he’d finished wasn’t uncomfortable and that, too, seemed less surprising than it ought to. Emilio was almost always uncomfortable in situations like this one. He wasn’t sure the list of things that made him a bad roommate that he’d just offered to Teddy counted as baring his soul — the way he saw it, nothing more was revealed there than a few indisputable facts Teddy would have figured out in a week of Emilio staying with them, anyway — but it was certainly more than he told most people and, for a man who hated revealing even the smallest parts of himself to anyone else, it felt like an awful lot. But the silence didn’t feel suffocating, and it wasn’t hard to sit in it even if sitting still wasn’t much of an option. His leg bounced absently, but Teddy didn’t seem to mind. 

When they finally did speak, he snorted at the piece they’d seemed to find to cling to. “Yeah, well, Perro thought it was too ugly to chew on,” he lied smoothly. It was the kind of lie Teddy would know was a lie, the kind that allowed Emilio to speak the truth without saying too much. The toy Teddy had given him when he was suffering under the godawful curse that ugly necklace had placed on his head had been good for quieting the voices, but it was good for other things, too. The fabric was soft, even in the places where his fingers had rubbed it so thin that it was hardly there at all. Waking up with it in the bed did something to ground him, to remind him of where he was even if remembering where he was made him feel sick sometimes. 

And… If he was being more honest than he’d usually allow himself to be, the way the thing made him think of Teddy wasn’t bad, either. There was something comforting about it, almost. He’d like to pretend it was because remembering the irritation Teddy inevitably brought along with them helped him forget about everything else in his head. It was the kind of lie that made it a little easier to keep that toy without feeling strange about it.

Teddy spoke again, and there was something in their tone that made him shift, something that made him realize there were things they weren’t saying. “Need you not to bullshit me,” he said, “if you want me to stay here.” It was an unfair thing to ask, he realized; there were so many things Teddy didn’t know about him, so many things he refused to say. Asking Teddy to be honest with him when he hadn’t given them the same was shitty, and Emilio was trying not to be shitty anymore. 

So he hesitated for a moment, swallowing. “Tell me what you were going to say there,” he said carefully, “and you can… ask me something. And I won’t bullshit you, either. One question.” Because Teddy liked games like that, he knew, even if Emilio didn’t. And… he didn’t mind being honest with Teddy. Not for one question, at least. He just hoped they wouldn’t ask one that would find them taking back the necklace gripped in his fist. The idea of losing it made him feel a childish sense of fear. 

—

Caught. Of course. Because Teddy wasn’t about to fool the goddamn detective they invited to live in their house because he was the only person on earth who fucking knew them. They should have realized that before the words ever tumbled out like an unstoppable avalanche of instinct. Why were they always doing that? Cutting themself down to digestible sizes for almost everyone around them. Often until there was nothing left. “Yeah-yeah.” A heavy sigh rolled Teddy forward. They lowered their head until it almost hung between their knees. Shaky fingers ran through their hair and stopped to put pressure on the back of their neck. 

“Would you believe me if I said I usually don’t try to bullshit you?” Maybe it was just ‘cause Emilio was easy enough to mess with by speaking the truth. Maybe it was because of fascination from the beginning of their rocky relationship that had developed into this… all consuming fondness. Gross. “How do you always do that? Know when I’m– those are not my questions. I– I can think of a better one.” Teddy’s face scrunched into a grimace as their stomach turned sour. A thin sheen of sweat even started to show as they tried to organize the story in their mind. It was uncomfortable. It was stupid. They were so ashamed of it all, that they practically let it happen. They should have realized something was up the moment the man asked them what they were. They should have known they weren’t some untouchable thing. Especially while still recovering from all that shit in the mine. 

“S-someone cut off my tail. Few weeks ago? Maybe a month I’m– I’m not sure.” Ted’s voice was so quiet, so scratchy from a dry throat. “It doesn’t even matter though, it’s fine. I don’t even have the nub anymore, so it doesn’t– I don’t– You don’t have to worry about it.” God they felt like they were going to throw up. They couldn’t look at Emilio, not while talking about this. “It was my fault anyway, I was an idiot and got into a car with him and– and it was just really fucking stupid.” Their hands gripped tighter on the back of their neck, or at least as tight as they could with the sweat on their palms. “That’s something you’ll have to deal with if you wanna live here.” A half-laugh barked out, exasperated and desperate. 

“I’m a real fucking idiot some times. I know I am. And I can’t seem to do anything about it. I just– I get myself into shit situations because I think I can– because I used to be immortal. I piss people off because I get too dead set on something that shouldn’t even matter to most folks. I– I get nightmares too. When I sleep. It’s why I have– why I had so many of those plushies and wards and everything, though… I guess those are gonna die out soon. No more demon magic.” They paused, thinking about more unsightly things Emilio might have to contend with. Things that wouldn’t mix. “I wake up screaming. Sometimes. I don’t know. It’s been a bit since I’ve actually had someone… living near me. Usually just skiddadle after–y’know.” Teddy sighed, something about talking about sleeping around other people in front of Emilio drew the breath from their lungs. Better to just leave it at an allusion. 

“I’ve got days where I can’t get out of bed too. Sometimes ‘cause I’m in too much pain, sometimes because my head just isn’t on right.” They shrugged. In a way, they hoped the sudden spill of their guts might distract the detective from the whole tail fiasco. But they doubted he’d gloss over it. Wasn’t his style. “Maybe if we sync up we can have a slumber party.” 

— 

“I know you don’t.” And it was true. Emilio was a paranoid bastard, but he still knew, somehow, that Teddy was almost always honest with him. Not from the very beginning — for a long time, he’d been sure Teddy was lying about all the Joy shit, about pretty much everything — but for a while now. It had infuriated him at first, that honesty. He hadn’t known what to do with it, hadn’t known how to dislike someone and trust them at the same time. Those in between months with Teddy, where he’d both hated them and understood them, had been a hell of a time. He wasn’t sure how he’d survived it now. “You’re not as hard to read as you think you are, Jones.” Not for Emilio, at least. “I’ll give you a pass. Those aren’t your questions.” 

He listened as Teddy spoke, anger burning in his chest. If not for the pain in his leg and the cold in his bones, he might have gotten up, right then and there. Might have marched out of the house to start on some quest to hunt down the bastard, even with the very limited information Teddy had just given him. As it was, he could only sit in place, working his jaw and letting the fury settle into his bones. “Don’t do that,” he said. “Don’t — Don’t pretend it doesn’t matter. It matters.” What Teddy went through mattered, no matter how they tried to downplay it. Because they always did, didn’t they? The roof, the mine, the ritual, this. They liked to pretend it didn’t matter when they got hurt. But how could it not? How could it not matter? 

“I’m gonna kill him,” he said, matter-of-factly. “The guy. I’ll fucking kill him, Teds. I want to. That shit — That shit wasn’t your fault. Don’t care if you got in a car with him. Don’t care about any of it. It’s on him, not on you.” He opened and closed the hand not holding the necklace a time or two, letting the motion relax him… as much as he was capable of relaxing. Which was to say… not much at all. He thought of what Teddy said, of how they were reckless, sometimes. Another thing they had in common, wasn’t it? “I’m not good at… being a person,” he said with a small shake of his head. “Better as a knife. You know? Better at hurting. At being hurt, sometimes. So I do it, too. Walk into things with no plan. I think I want…” He trailed off, unable to say it. He’d felt it for so long now, but it was hard to get the words out, hard to admit it. He’d all but said it to Rhett. Everyone knew. Still… I think I want to die was a heavy confession to make. And the idea of saying it to Teddy, who’d fought so hard to live, felt almost cruel. So Emilio only shrugged, looking back down at the necklace in his hand. It was easier.

He nodded as Teddy went on. “Don’t sleep in front of people much, either.” The only person still living who he’d slept in front of intentionally was Rhett. He fell asleep without meaning to, sometimes — forcing yourself to stay awake for days on end would see to that — but he rarely closed his eyes with the intention of falling asleep, and never when someone else was around to see it. He woke up screaming, too. Disoriented, unsteady. Ready for a fight, even when he was the only one around. The number of times he’d taken a swing at Rhett in a half-asleep state during those months after the massacre was, frankly, unsettlingly large.

With a quiet snort, the detective shook his head. “Wouldn’t count on it. I don’t — I won’t sleep much. While I’m here.” Because he didn’t want to take a swing at Teddy, didn’t want to risk hurting them because he was still too goddamn stupid to know the difference between a dream and reality, sometimes. “Hey, you tell me if you see that guy again. The one who… Because I mean it, Teds. Not letting someone get away with that shit. Not when…” Not when it’s you. The very thought of it made him feel sick. Teddy deserved a hell of a lot better than that, after everything they’d been through. If the universe wouldn’t give the guy a break, Emilio would force one out of it. 

Shifting against the counter, Emilio tapped his finger against his knee absently. “Okay,” he said. “Okay. Deal’s a deal. Where’s the burning question, Jones? I’ll be honest with you. You’ve got my word on that.”

—

Even if they knew how he was going to act about it, it wouldn't have prepared Teddy for the fervent and ardent determination Emilio showed. It should have comforted them. But something about the whole mess filled them with this deep seeded shame. It was impossible to shake. It sunk them further the more they thought about it. The more their mind relived the sequence. They retreated deeper into themself. Their breath hitched, their hands wrung tighter around each other. They were so scrunched up that Perro had to move his head fully back on Emilio's lap, though not without giving a wry confused look towards the human that was rapidly approaching critical crunch. Threatening to become a black hole rather than a person. 

Being seen in pain wasn't something Teddy had ever been good at. It was a weakness they never allowed themself to have. Having someone this close who could see through their bullshit, someone who wouldn't give up if they tried to change the subject or deescalate. It terrified them. They didn't ever want to see that man again. Didn't want to look at those piercing blue eyes, his sharp features and how they looked both so calm and predatory at the same time. Somehow, they were more scared of him now than when it happened. The vision of Parker Wright that lived in their brain was a demented wax figure that moved without walking, talked without speaking and was always just there in the back of their peripherals whenever they went somewhere alone. 

"Please. No–just let it go, Em. It's not gonna fix anything– I can't– I don't–" Teddy was trying so hard to catch up with their heart, which apparently thought they were running a marathon. "No one else got hurt, it's not that big of a deal–" Except they weren't the only one hurt. They weren't even the only one who got part of their aquatic tail stolen. But they didn't mention that. Didn't bring it up. Couldn't get themselves to. A sour selfishness that pulled them farther from the shore of wanting to be a better person. Teagan deserved better. But Teddy had already failed her once. They'd do it again because that's all they ever really did, wasn't it? 

"I'll forgoe my question if you just drop it, this– this is why I didn't want to talk about– It's not that bad but– but it's just too much. Too recent." Excuse after excuse poured out. A leaky tap of some volatile liquid threatening to corrode all it touched. "This isn't how I wanted this night to go. It was supposed to be happy. I wanted to make you happy. I'm fucking this all up. Just– ugh maybe we should crack that whiskey open." Teddy sighed, hoping the longer breath would help to slow the hyperventilation. "Think I'd need a whole lake of it to fix this…"

—

“It’s a big deal to me.” He didn’t mean to snap, but he did. Seeing Teddy like this, seeing them small and uncertain and afraid… God, he would have burned the fucking world to the ground if it meant he never had to see them this way again. He’d have killed a thousand cowardly, tail-stealing bastards, would have fallen on any number of swords. Teddy might not have thought themself worth such a reaction, but Emilio did. Because Teddy cared about people, took care of people. They peeled a half-dead slayer who’d been nothing bit awful to them out of an alley and dragged him back to their boat to patch up his wounds without asking for anything in return. They’d led him down from that rooftop and into their car when the voices in his head became too loud for him to manage. They’d build a fucking bridge across buildings to make sure he didn’t have to spend one more minute trapped in his apartment. Teddy looked out for people, looked out for Emilio. Didn’t they deserve to have someone do the same for them? Even if it was Emilio, who was worthless more often than not. Even if it was Emilio, who had only ever been good at failing people. Teddy still deserved to have someone on their side, and Emilio would be that person.

He shifted, and Perro, frustrated with the status of his two chosen seats and their inability to remain static for him, stood with a huff and moved down, curling up between their ankles instead. “I’m not going to drop it. I can’t — I can’t let it go. I can’t do that.” He’d never been able to. It was one of the many things that made him a glaring neon sign of not good enough, one of the many failures his mother had often seen fit to point towards. Victor’s death was an ache that lived within him still. Flora would haunt him for as long as he lived, even if he did manage to take out every one of the bastards who’d been involved in killing her. He couldn’t let go of his anger, couldn’t give up on his grief. It was all he was, sometimes. 

“You’re not fucking anything up. I’m not —” He sighed, pushing his hair away from his face and trying to swallow the building frustration. He was the one fucking it up, wasn’t he? His inability to let things go, the way he couldn’t listen even as Teddy begged him to drop it. Teddy wanted to make him happy, and Emilio had no idea how to make that happen. He wasn’t sure he ever had. Even the lightest moments in his life had carried some kind of heaviness to them. Flora’s birth had been marred by the knowledge that it was his job to train her for her death. Every milestone she passed felt like a nail in a tiny coffin. His wedding had been a flurry of stress, of worrying that he was disappointing someone just by being, no matter how much Juliana assured him he wasn’t.

He looked back to the necklace, resisted the urge to fiddle with his wedding ring even as his fingers itched for it. Instead, he twisted the tiny metal stake between his fingers. Same motion, almost. Just in a different place. “I’m sorry. Look, we don’t have to talk about it. I won’t make you do that. But you — You matter to me, asshole. Too much for me to be all right with this guy… running around out there after doing this to you. I mean, fuck, Teds, would you be able to? If somebody did something like that to me, would you be able to let it go?” He knew the answer as surely as he knew his own name. Teddy cared about him. He cared about Teddy. It wasn’t as strange as it used to be.

“So… You still got your question. Ask it, save it for later, whatever. But you still got it. I won’t bullshit you. I mean that.”

—

The quiet this time was more tense. More sharp. Lasted longer, stretching into uncomfortable territory and Teddy knew it was their fault. A small flash of pink and their tongue slid over their lips. It didn't do much, their mouth was so dry it only served to crack at their throat and hollow their chest. There was a long beat, but eventually they quirked their head up to the side. A dark eye peering over the arm that still sheltered their head. 

"I don't even know if he's– from here or whatever. Never seen him before. We– I–" Teddy swallowed a lump, then another. "Later." Their resolve wasn't enough to do what Emilio asked. "We can talk about it later." Their head tilted a little more. Once again they were just inches from each other. Once again Emilio was trying to save them. Only this time they were practically the one trying to put themself back in the hole. 

They wanted to reach out. Wanted to wrap their arms around him and hold him so tight, never wanted to let go at all. They didn't know why he cared so much. Didn't know why he was acting like Teddy being in pain was the end of the world. They were always in pain. It wasn't something new. Wasn't even the worst pain they'd been in recently. "Why– why don't we do something else. There's a pool table in one of the rooms. Let's just– I'll figure out a question later, too. We can do that later. Let's just–" A hand was all they were able to shift. Replacing it back around Emilio's, only this time their palms were facing each other. Their thumb ran circles around the base of each knuckle. "Anything else. Your choice." 

—

Another silence stretched out. Long, heavy. It shouldn’t have been. If you could let things go, his mother’s voice sounded exasperated in his head, it wouldn’t be. You hold onto things too tightly. What use is it? What use are you? His throat felt tight, his chest ached. He wanted a drink. His fingers twitched with the desire, like it was a physical thing. Maybe it was. He hadn’t gone more than a few hours without a drink in years now; he knew that had effects on a body that weren’t just in the mind. 

“Later,” he relented, though his tone was firm enough to say that it still wouldn’t be dropped. Someone had hurt Teddy, and that wasn’t a thing Emilio could excuse anymore. He’d find who did it. He’d hurt them back. That desire was a physical thing, too, just as much as that need for a drink was. His fingers twitched for it, his throat ached for it. He needed the vengeance as much as he needed the whiskey. It was the only thing that kept his feet underneath him, sometimes, the only thing that kept his lungs moving. 

But this wasn’t just about him, he knew. Emilio needed his vengeance like he needed his whiskey, had a body that craved it so intently that it had long ago lost sight of the fact that it was killing him slow. But Teddy? Teddy needed something else. Teddy wanted to change the subject, wanted a distraction, and Emilio could give them that. They’d talk about it later. He’d find out more later. He’d have a drink, he’d sharpen his knife, he’d let the thing that was going to kill him get another shot in and pretend he didn’t want it to land. But only later. Taking care of what Teddy wanted now was going to come first. It had to come first. Emilio was less important, less valuable. He mattered less. He knew that.

He straightened his back, shifted his position. He undid the clasp on the necklace, fastened it around his throat. The charm fell under his shirt, landed next to the silver cross and Juliana’s wedding band. Later, after Teddy went to bed, he’d transfer the cross and the ring to the same silver chain as the stake, wear them all together. A cross for protection. A ring to remember. And a stake to…

He let his hand drop, slipping the key and the knife into his pocket. “I don’t know how to play pool,” he announced. “Maybe you teach me. Or… tell me. Not sure I can get up. Leg’s fucked, querido. Think your plan to keep me here’s off to a good start.” The nickname slipped in without intention; he told himself it didn’t matter. Teddy’s inability to speak Spanish might have been infuriating when Emilio couldn’t find the words to express himself in English, but right now? It meant they wouldn’t know the difference between this nickname and any of the usual ones the detective threw their way.

(Well, except idiota. Even without knowing Spanish, Emilio was pretty sure Teddy could guess that one.)

—

Everything seemed to be spinning. Fast and slow, different directions. Teddy felt flung forward, slashed back. Nothing and everything. Misfires. Too much, too little, no sense. Just mixed up inside their head. A manic mayhem caught somewhere between wanting to savor the moment of sitting beside him hand in hand. Of needing that connection and feeling it. But still stuck in the ache and panic thinking about that night sent them into. 

Teddy bottled up everything negative. They always had. Threw it somewhere and locked it away. Their emotions didn't matter because they weren't real. There and then gone. The only constant in their life was Leviathan and it wasn't a fan of those troubling human emotions. Took it right til the end to show up and try to help Teddy open up and feel like it was okay to feel things at all. 

Trying to bring those buried memories back up wasn’t an easy process. Wasn’t a painless one. But Teddy could see Emilio was trying. Could appreciate the monumental effort that must have taken him to put it aside for any time at all because yes, if this had happened to him they would have hunted Parker to the ends of the earth. Would’ve ripped the man’s limbs off one by one. Made him watch as they found a new and awful way to pickle or taxidermy or destroy or something that would scar the man in the same way he had done to others. They’d boil the ocean with their rage. They knew they would. Teddy wrestled with that. Felt trapped by it. But–

Later.

He’d pick it back up later. Teddy wouldn't have to relive it all so soon. Not on a night where it was supposed to be about Emilio. Supposed to be a good thing. The next step forward, towards something that could help the slayer find some stability. Even if it was temporary. "Yeah I can teach you, think you'd be real good at it honestly, kinda surprised you haven't picked it up from how many bars you frequent–" 

Wait. 

That. 

No, he didn't just– 

Querido. 

The smoothness with which it slipped off his tongue. The way it curled around his voice. Raspy, low. Sweet. A rocket could have launched in Teddy's chest and it would have made less noise than their heart as it beat out a symphony and ascended till it felt like it was in their throat. 

Querido.

Emilio– he didn't know Teddy knew— still thought that— But why would he—?!

Teddy turned their face away so very quickly. Burying it in their arms. Luckily it wasn't much of a shift, luckily they were already red from the sudden anxiety spike, luckily they were already emotional and flustered and– well they were mostly covered already anyway. Flushed and confused, Ted stared at the space between their ankles where Perro's head sat lazily snoozing, content as a clam to just be nearby. The whole of their focus zeroed in on the dog because the rest of the world had just fallen out of focus. 

He couldn't have meant it. It was a mistake. Wasn't meant for them. That wasn't something Teddy had earned. Maybe it was just— like a nickname he used for something he'd grown… stupidly fond of. Something you shouldn't but do anyway. Like a stray dog. Like how you'd speak to a dog. It was probably a nickname meant for Perro and it accidentally slipped out because, well Perro was right there, and there was already so much going on and Teddy was acting dramatic and stupid and– yeah that had to be it. No other explanation. None that would make sense. 

When Teddy Jones had started that whole bit, it just seemed like a little gimmick. A funny way to maybe hear some embarrassing tidbit or something like that, but Emilio goddamn Cortez calling Teddy Jones dear, darling, or love was never in the cards. So it had to be a mistake. Or a joke. Something to lighten the mood, one sided as to not seem…mean spirited maybe? Meaning escaped them. Not even just the word but of everything. Their mind babbled like a baby trying to come up with any and all other definitions, or similar words he might have meant. Words he should have used. It took almost a half a minute for Teddy.exe to reboot. They did so with a massive sigh. Forcing air into their lungs and logical thoughts back into their brain. 

"I'm done moping." They announced, like that was something you could just decide. Like they still weren't about to fall to pieces, just a little more… sugar coated than before. "Let's get somewhere comfier, and let me get you something for that knee. I've got a brace somewhere in my room. Got some tiger balm that's incredible on shit joints. We'll both get some rest even if it's not sleep, and then I'll teach you how to play pool. Sound good?"

—-

Emilio had seen Teddy in a lot of perilous situations throughout their brief companionship. Hell, the first time he met them ended with them tumbling backwards off a roof, and things had only built from there. The alley with the hellhound, where Emilio hadn’t been in much better shape. The day he found Teddy in their boat on their way to becoming that crystal monster he’d lost in the mines. They day they got them back from the mines. The weeks preceding this very moment, when Teddy had been sure they were going to die and Emilio had been too pessimistic to think anything else. He’d seen Teddy in a lot of bad ways, seen them suffering in one form or another on and on for months now.

But he’d never seen them quite like this.

They were quiet, which felt like a real red flag. Red all over, hiding their face in their arms. It couldn’t have been anything he said — with as little Spanish as Teddy seemed to speak given the context of previous conversations they’d had, there was no way they knew enough to know the significance of the word Emilio hadn’t meant to say. So this, this uncharacteristic quiet, it had to circle back to the conversation they’d been having. The tail, the man who’d taken it, it had done a clear number on Teddy. It had broken something there, and the ever-present fire in Emilio’s chest burned so hot that he worried it might set the whole damn house ablaze. 

Teddy didn’t want to talk about it. They’d said as much, punctuated it with this quiet that was so unlike them it hurt a little. They didn’t want to talk, and that was all right. They didn’t need to. Emilio was a half-decent detective, after all; he’d find the guy who did this, who made Teddy this… shaking, quiet, not-Teddy way, and he’d make him pay for it. Take him apart piece by piece, give his fingers to Perro to chew on. The word slipped in by accident, but he realized that he’d still meant it. Emilio cared about Teddy, and Emilio took care of the people he cared about. So he’d do that.

It took longer than he would have liked for it to for Teddy to come back to themself. They announced they were finished moping, and Emilio had to bite his tongue to keep himself from telling them that they didn’t have to do that, didn’t have to hide their feelings to make him comfortable. He settled for flashing them a look instead, the kind he hoped would say it all, but he didn’t verbally push the subject. Let them ignore it if they wanted to. He’d already decided that the man who’d caused it wouldn’t be a problem much longer.

(He wondered, in a brief and fleeting thought, if Teddy might like one of the guy’s fingers, too. He shook the notion away as quickly as it had come. Teddy didn’t seem the type to find such a thing to be a… friendly gesture.)

His mouth fell open, protests ready to be fired — he didn’t need a brace, didn’t need oil, didn’t need a more comfortable place to sit, didn’t need anything a person might need because he wasn’t supposed to need anything at all — but all of the words died on his lips. Sometimes, with Teddy, it was easier just to humor them. “I’m not wearing a brace,” he grumbled, because his mouth was already open and there had to be a line somewhere, at the very least. “Yours would not fit me, anyway. Your legs are skinny. Como un ciervo.” He brought his hands up to his head, mimicking a deer’s antlers in hopes of being understood. It was hopeless, he knew; Teddy didn’t seem to get more than the barest basics of Spanish. At least that came in handy when things slipped out. 

“But I know what it’s really about. You want to get my pants off.” There was an unidentifiable ache that came with the jab; he didn’t understand it. Teddy had been clear in the past that he found Emilio nice to look at; most people did. He didn’t think it was conceited to say that he was handsome. But with Teddy… He bit his tongue absently, trying not to think about it. Teddy probably did want to get his pants off. The fact that that was all there’d ever be to it shouldn’t make him feel anything more than relief. 

He hummed, chasing the thoughts from his mind. “You can sleep,” he offered. “If you want to. You probably should sleep, I think. You don’t have to worry about me going anywhere. I’ll be around when you wake up. Promise.”

—

Did the night go as planned? No. Decidedly not. And yet… Emilio was actually staying. Teddy loosened a little more. The relief he offered was the salve to soothe their rusted limbs. Easing the stress away one chip at a time. Slowly letting them calm down to a state of almost okay. He shot them a look, it should have been withering but instead it made Ted smile. A soft and cautious thing. Bordering, just barely, on the mischievous mug they sported when a sly scheme slipped into their stream of consciousness. "Yeah, you won't wear a brace, just like you wouldn't come stay here. Just like you said I wouldn't actually steal the dog. Just like you saying you'd never like me." 

Teddy winked and they almost felt normal. Maybe the kind of normal that came after running a full marathon and a half, fighting a bear, then drinking a big glass of battery acid, but still, almost totally next to normal. Whatever that meant for them in this brave new world of humanity they had to explore. Relieved only by the fact that they wouldn't have to do it alone. Emilio might have been human all his life (Human plus as he liked to call it. Teddy would still argue, of course.) but he was still learning what it meant to be a person because after everything, he still thought of himself as a blade. As something only built to destroy. 

"I like you better, you know. As a person, I mean. Rather than a weapon. I think I'd really fuckin prefer you as my friend. Trouble and everything. More than maybe anyone else on earth, so. I dunno. Whenever you touch that necklace just try and remember that." Remember that I'm yours. They wanted to say. Remember that I'm here for you no matter what. Teddy steadied themself against the counter, bracing enough that they were able to get some leverage and pull the slayer up to his full height. Still a bit of strain, definitely lacking their usual strength by a country mile. Still they were able to lift him. Just about eye to eye, with him standing a smidge above. Shame really, that Teddy never got to annoy him by shape shifting just a little taller. Maybe they should have thought about it before the ritual. This body was the only one they got now. For better or worse. No changes. Perfectly human. 

"Also hey, I can't be a ciervo or whatever, I'm not a demon anymore. I don't have horns. Most real demons don't even have horns, either. Nine times out of ten they're all tentacles and melty flesh or just abstract masses of organs and shadows. Really fucking gross to be honest. You lucked the fuck out getting the hottest demons in the world in your little town." The more words poured out, the more they fell back into routine. Bickering with Emilio felt safe, felt warm and cozy like a cup of hot chocolate. Teddy hooked their head underneath his arm and started the long procession over to the couch. Trying so fucking hard not to let the way the close contact electrified their skin and set off fireworks in their chest show. 

"Ah but you forget Cortez, I've got swimmer's legs. They ain't skinny at all. These thighs save lives. The brace will fit just fine." Hell, a lot of their clothes would fit Emilio. Not that he'd be caught dead in the Hawaiian shirts or silk robes that Teddy liked to frequent. Even if all the slayer's clothes and belongings had been swallowed whole by the goo, Ted didn't think he'd go for that. Probably walk around nude first. Which, well… that would– "Please, if I wanted to see you with your pants off, I'd just have to ask. Seems like you have a hard time saying no to me these days bud. You're losing your edge. It's a great look." 

I’ll be around when you wake up. Promise. 

God Emilio knew just how to drive them fucking insane, didn't he? The exact right phrasing that had them ducking their head away, hoping to a god they didn't believe in that the detective wouldn't detect it. "Yeah well, alright. If you promise. I can work with that." 

—

Emilio rolled his eyes, shooting Teddy another glare with very little heat to it. God, they really had him dead to rights, didn’t they? Usually, when Emilio said something, he meant it. But Teddy Jones had a way of changing his mind, somehow. “You got me here through kidnapping,” he said solemnly, looking down at Perro as he snored between their ankles. “I think this is a hostage situation. I am being held against my will.” Yeah. He sure looked like it. Emilio was far more relaxed now than he’d been upon his arrival — more relaxed, in fact, than he typically was in his own apartment. That anger that sat in his chest still burned with the thought of what had been done to Teddy, but the resolve to find and kill the man who’d done it certainly helped it feel more like a low simmer than a raging wildfire. He’d save the fury for the man who deserved it. Teddy deserved something else.

And… maybe what Teddy deserved was nothing Emilio could ever give them. Not with his hard edges and his death wish. Teddy was human now, a soft and fragile thing. And Emilio, despite his physiology and genetics making him just as human (albeit with a few added kicks), had no idea how to be that. Teddy deserved better friends than Emilio knew how to be… but they wanted this one. They wanted the guy who couldn’t get off the damn floor, with weapons weighing down his jacket pockets and a past that weighed down the rest of him. And what they wanted had to stand for something. They deserved that, too.

He didn’t know what to say to Teddy’s affirmation of as much, didn’t know the right response. Tests, for Emilio, had always involved an awful lot of blood. He didn’t know how to pass one that only required him to be a person. So he shrugged, hand going up absently to rub at the silver stake now hanging from his throat. He rolled it absently between his thumb and finger, trying to take Teddy’s advice and remember their words. Since they’d only just been spoken, it wasn’t hard. Later, he knew, it would be. When he was alone, when he felt like less of a person, when the only company he had was the company of the person he hated more than anyone. For now, he let Teddy pull him to his feet. Slow, easy. His leg ached and screamed, and he grit his teeth against it but didn’t make a sound. At least he was good at that. 

“Ciervo is not demon,” he snorted, rolling his eyes. “Maybe you should learn Spanish.” Or maybe they shouldn’t. If Emilio had slipped once, he’d probably do it again. It was better if Teddy didn’t understand what he was saying in those moments, better if they got to live in the blissful ignorance of not knowing. Because they’d feel some obligation, wouldn’t they? Teddy was the type to enter into something they didn’t want just to spare someone else’s feelings, and Emilio didn’t want that for him. Especially not when he didn’t even remotely understand his own feelings or what they meant or what he wanted. His head was a mess; it made sense that his heart would be the same. 

He let himself lean on them as they made their way over to the couch, the two of them propping one another up. Christ, it must have been a sight; two idiots who could hardly stand on their own. “You call those thighs? They are chicken legs. I hear el cloqueo.” He imitated a chicken clucking, grin spread across his face even though Teddy wasn’t in the position to actually see it. The expression turned to one of offense at the… okay, probably true assessment of his ability — or lack thereof — to say no to Teddy Jones. “I say no to you all the time. I’m saying no to you right now. No. See?” 

They settled onto the couch, the cushions soft against Emilio’s back as he leaned into them. Perro, who’d been trailing behind, hopped up and planted himself firmly in the slayer’s lap, curling into a tight little ball. He rested one hand on the dog’s back, the other falling hesitantly onto Teddy’s knee. “Yeah,” he confirmed. “Promise. Get some rest, Teds. It’ll be all right.”

[megaservices]

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Algae prevention solution

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One last option is to use a strong surface cleaner. This will leave an invisible barrier that will protect the roof from future mold and algae growth.

[alwaysdevilday]

BLACK FRIDAY (3)

Before the first snowfall of the year, you're having the dream almost every night.

You remember very little of the events in Storage #3. You recall the sweet, searing pain of a light, the soft crunch of desiccated chitin being crushed underfoot, the caustic bite of cleaner filling your nose and lungs. You recall the sensation of a hand pressing on your shoulder. You recall the trembling of your lip as your breath caught in your chest and you waited in absolute silence to hear... what, exactly?

The details have almost completely vanished, swallowed up by a warm, grey void, the existence of which can only be made out in negative space, in the hole it leaves behind.

The dream always starts the same way.

You're standing in a library. Beneath your bare feet you can feel the subtle pressure of the edges and corners of a carefully-laid wood floor. It's a herringbone pattern, one you've only seen in photographs. The wood is stained and lacquered the color of rich wine, or maybe dried blood. Most of the wood in the library is the same, save for the gnarled roots that wind up through shattered tile and embrace the shelves as they climb up, up, up towards the ceiling.

The roots would easily reach the roof if there was one; instead of a surface overhead, the roots and shelves simply continue out of sight, swallowed up by the same featureless mist that obscures everything beyond twenty paces or so.

The shelves themselves are all packed with books of every size, color and shape. So many books that you couldn't catalogue them in a year, a decade, maybe in your lifetime. You want to reach out and pluck one, peruse it, take its knowledge for your own... but you have the overwhelming feeling that none of the bounty here is meant for you. It isn't yours, and the pain of that realization sinks deep into your soul every time you come here.

Something wanders the halls and aisles of the library. It's tall, in the same way that you felt your father was tall when you were barely out of your diapers. There is something there beyond purely physical dimensions, an aching knowledge of significance that sits heavily within your head. You can never make out any features, other than the fact that it is so, so lean and that something elaborate, circular and terrifyingly grand sits behind its head no matter which angle you see it from. You're not permitted to look too hard. Whenever it passes your way your instincts take over and you duck into a corner or behind a shelf and wait, huddled over like a child hiding from the boogeyman. If it notices you, it doesn't seem to care, as every single time it simply slumps past (shf... shf... shf...) and eventually out of sight again.

You know that it is called the Librarian but you don't know how you know.

Eventually, the dream always ends with you standing in front of a volume that has caught your interest. It's almost always a different book. You can read the title sometimes, but rarely recognize the language. You find your arm slowly lifting, your fingers (the same fingers that were burnt before by something by the light by why can't you remember) drifting ever-closer to its spine. You are so hungry.

You awake sitting up in bed, your hand lifted slightly off the covers. For the next few hours, there's a deep emptiness within you that nothing seems to fill.

On New Year's Eve you are closing the Store alone. You're packing up your things in the locker room and about to leave when you notice one of the locker doors is hanging slightly open. You're not sure which co-worker it's assigned to, maybe someone who usually works mornings. You reach out to close it for them when something compels you to take a peek inside.

Within the locker there is only an empty, aging lunchbox with cracked plastic lining and a small book. The book is one of those cheap dollar store notebooks, the ones with the cardboard covers and nylon bands to hold them closed when not in use. This one is a slightly faded teal... or maybe cyan? Scrawled on the cover in streaky permanent marker are two words: "WINTER SIGHTS".