#Chinking Interior Walls

[timelesswoodcare]

Choose Best Quality Chinking Tool for Interior Walls

Chinking Interior Walls involves filling gaps and cracks between logs, bricks, or stones with a flexible material, such as mortar or sealant, to create a smooth, insulated, and visually appealing surface for improved structural integrity and aesthetics.

[dawn-of-worlds]

The Magic was Inside You All Along

(Laneth enters turn 11 with 11 + 2d6 (5) power, for 16 total.)

In her life, Gath of the Págar saw many things, learned much of the world, and grew large, until at last it came time for her to return to the inland sea. She finished her last days on land amidst the theologians' college, and in her search for a deeper wisdom behind the world, she gradually disentangled herself from her childhood love of discourse. Having heard every position advanced by the wisest minds, she came to value silence, time to reflect on what she had heard. And so she returned to the sea without regrets, and made no effort to come to know her new neighbours as she awaited her death in that place where all Págar are born.

This is how it is meant to be! And yet, though she lived in all respects an exemplar, this is not what happened. Perhaps it was something in her temperament, or perhaps just a strange luck, but the on that day she returned to the sea, Gath had not yet done the deed for which she would come to be known.

It happened, supposedly, while she was repairing her house one evening; a constant chore in the depths, but normally, a chore so practiced as to be done without thought. That night, however, she felt a draft of cold water and a froth of air bubbles from a chink in the interior of her house, and investigating the defect, she opened a way to a wide, dark space she had not designed, too small to fit her but lively, cold. Over many days, she expanded this space until she could fit into it, widening the inside of her house until it was much larger than the exterior, until it was so vast that she felt exposed within it; would have deemed herself unsafe, if she did not know that she was, after all, in her house. And with the work of many days, at last she found herself in a wide basin, cold and silent, lit by pale light from the sky above, and she found and followed a warm current, and this is what she found:

But we need not talk about what Gath found.

Let us say only that some time later, others still on the land sometimes heard her whisper within their own houses, as though coming from somewhere deeper within. And that those few who heard her and dug into the walls in search of the sound found what she found: endless hollows of a house within the house, by turns cavernous and labyrinthine. Silent, mostly, in that deep place, but a silence where every whisper carries. Each Págar who ventures into that space is alone; but with long travels and sharp ears, they may find their way to a place where the walls are thin, where they may hear others and others may hear them. No two may ever meet -- but those touched by such a visitation may eventually find their way to the secret depths of their own house, if they dig for it. And so the knowledge spread, as Gath's friends and colleagues from above were enlightened by a whisper in the night and a cold draft, and some few came eventually to learn her secret and pass it on to others.

The house within the house is silent and lonely; it comes close to all the houses of the living, even the strange and immobile houses of the other races, but only Págar with their deep knowledge of the craft can penetrate within it. There is water here, but no food and no life; those who dwell too long may never return, and any who visit their abandoned houses will see the secret path blocked up, as if nothing had changed. But this bleak and aimless secret called out to those who found it, a promise of something elusive and important in a world of settled knowledge and familiar places, and it called particularly to those lonely elders who dwelled beneath the sea. By whispers through the walls, they developed a sort of camaraderie, even among those they might never meet, and came to think of themselves as the Lost Theologians, searching for gods or wisdom or death in this last frontier.

Some few have discovered the final secret of the place that Gath found: if no one has lived in a house for seven years, but it remains well sheltered from the elements, it is possible with great care to step back out of this inner space into that house -- no matter where it is, no matter what manner of house or what race its builder. This is not a trustworthy art -- one cannot find a specific house, or retrace one's steps. But by the efforts of the Lost Theologians, some Págar find themselves in most unexpected places.

At first, Gath was a presence among the Lost Theologians; but she had long since grown weary of talk, and soon her whispers became less frequent, until at last they ended. Her house was found, long after, and she was not in it, not even as a corpse. And so even the Lost Theologians know not where she went, and her fate is a mystery to all mortal eyes.

But we do not watch the world with mortal eyes, so let us say a little more: that there are whispers also from within this place, whispers from the depths that only the most enlightened may here. Gath sought those whispers within, and she did not return, though she found what she sought; what she had found before, a world apart, behind the back of the gods. But we need not talk about what Gath found.

[alicewhitesblog]

Chapter 10

Upon entering the house, Toby found himself in a lobby that was sparsely lit by floating candles. Great shadows casted by the chairs and bookcases, danced in the flickering light. A flash of lightening gave more illumination if although briefly to the interior.

It that spilt second Toby saw there were a number of doors dotted along the walls of the lobby. This had to be part of Grimesludge trial. Which one would be the right one to go through?

He tried his hardest to commit to memory where all the doors were, the few candles that were there were deliberately positioned as to give light in the wrong areas. So, making it hard for Toby to find his way around.

Toby remembered there was a door nearest to the entrance where he came in. As soon as he approached it, a full-floating apparition of a female Victorian school teacher appeared in front of the door. She looked down at Toby over her glasses and waved her finger at him. Toby recoiled back, then went over to the other side of the lobby to try another door he remembered seeing there. This one had no spectre barring his entrance and so, Toby reached out for the door handle.

But then he hesitated, a thought then struck him. He remembered back to his video games. Sometimes he was deliberately put off from going somewhere by an obstacle, and how many times had he gone off somewhere else only to be killed. No, the door with the ghost bodyguard was the right door.

In the dim light he went back over to be greeted once again by the ghost. Toby stood and watched her for a bit waving her finger at him. He moved to the left and then to the right, the ghost didn't follow him. She was just staring straight ahead wagging her finger. Toby realised that the ‘ghost’ was just a projection, maybe a hologram. He reached out his hand, moved it inside the ghost and once he had the door handle, he turned it and entered the room.

Toby was now in a ballroom and around him spirits were dancing to the sound of the weirdest music he had ever heard. It was a cross between someone leaning to play the violin and the bagpipes! The sound was making him feel giddy, which was probably its intended effect. As soon as the spirits saw they had an intruder, they left their dancing partners and swooped down and around Toby.

It looked to him as if he had just disturbed a wasp’s nest. He tried shooing the troublesome spirits away, but they were relentless. Toby knew he couldn’t leave the ballroom, he saw the ticket collector enter the lobby and he would have known exactly what door Toby would have heading for.

Around and around his head the spirits flew, the music was not letting up either. With these two combined, Toby was on the point of being sick.

In the corner of the ballroom, Toby spotted a dark patch. It wasn’t like any normal shadow or dimly lit part of the room. It was a definite ‘dark patch’. Toby moved closer to this smudge in the corner of the room. The spirits continued to follow him and now Toby could see the ticket collector walk through the wall to join his brethren of ghosts.

Wisps of steam were now coming out of the dark patch, Toby knew in an instant, this was his way out. So, ignoring the spirits Toby walked into the void.

The dark patch was all consuming. What light had been in the ballroom, the dark patch had swallowed it up. What noise had been in the ballroom, the dark patch had silenced it. Toby slowly walked forward in the total blackness. He hadn’t gone far, when he smacked his head against a wall! Rubbing his nose and forehead, Toby kicked out at the wall in anger. He was surprised when his foot went through it and a chink of light could be seen. Forgetting his injury, Toby bent down on all fours to peer through the hole. He could see the other side of the train carriage!

Standing back up, he kicked the wall some more. In doing so, he leant that the wall was made of paper! So, now not only was he kicking the wall but also punching huge holes into it. Soon, he had made a hole large enough to climb through. He looked back to see he had come out at the back of the painting he had originally fell through.

Now back in the carriage and on the other side of the painting, Toby saw another inter-linking door only this time there was a familiar little wooden table and sitting on it a green velvet draw-string purse. Toby didn’t bother reading the ‘Open Me’ label attached to it. He undid the draw-string, tipped the purse upside down and was delighted to see the fourth gold coin drop into his palm.

To be concluded.

[watery-pancake]

The Well

I claw at its walls, scraping my flesh against its hard interior, gnawing down my fingers until all that is heard is bone against brick.

And yet still, I cannot climb out.

Perhaps sometimes, I will find a chink in its armor, a little groove I can weigh my weight against, and for once in years rise my weight against a fellow groove by my feet. I will climb higher and higher, now barely able to see the ground I once laid in for months, finally smelling the cool grassy air in the fields.

And yet, in a second, a gust will appear down this tunnel, and I will fall face first into the mulch that is my bed, to which I can only lie in or pace around.

All I have to survive is the buckets, that will carry up my excrement and down the bare minimum amount of sustinence. Sometimes I feel a form of entertainment, a worm amongst the dirt, to watch until they always leave.

I think, desperately, that perhaps underneath this mulch will be an escape. In the same notion as before, I claw my way into this, sinking deeper and deeper into the well until I can almost taste the warm pies my mother used to bake. And then, inevitably, my once soft fingers, now calloused by years of the brick walls, falter against a brick ending.

The well is deeper, but yet has no ending, and all that I have done is made the opening seem just a few feet farther. I cover back up this mistake, so I can feel the comfort of the dirt, instead of the reminder of what a fool I was to think that this could have worked. That there may have been an escape.

Sometimes, when the bucket reaches down, I attempt to grab at the chains, praying its weight can carry my emasciated body up. But yet, no matter how much food rots in the corner, I am always too heavy, and left with my pitiful feces falling down with me, uncleaned for the day. After many desperate attempts, a weak rope only brings down this bucket. It knows what I will do if the chain was there.

I used to see the figure who would carry this burden of bringing up and down the bucket, but after years of seeing these brick walls, my eyes have adjusted. I can no longer distinguish this figure from the wooden cover that protects the well from the sun, showers, snow or sun. I can only see the red in the walls, and the now brown stains of what remains of the tips of my digits.

It is only after so many tries, so many years, my once everlasting fighting spirit has been but dissolved into the dirt. And finally, I lay down, remembering all the little bugs that came to visit me, dreaming of the little spots they must have found to climb through. I pile up a bit for a pillow, and dig my body into the ground for a blanket. I pretend to rest, until I wake up, and dream again.

And yet, even in the last moments of my sad little life, I never thought to call for help.

[woodworkershoppe]

Common Log Siding Home Terms You Should Understand

There are several approaches to building log homes, and each has some specialized terms you should understand. One construction style that is growing rapidly is building with log siding. Two of the most popular woods used today are knotty pine for its cost-effectiveness and cedar for its moisture-resistant qualities.

Log siding is used as a building material for the external and internal walls for many structures. As its exposure increases, its uses become more varied, including:

Homes ● Rental cabins Cabins ● Park offices Garages ● Tiny houses Businesses ● Tree houses Barns ● Retail stores Workshops ● Man caves Understanding log siding home terms will be helpful in choosing the building materials and reading the blueprints for home construction.

Log Siding Terms: The Siding

The best wood log siding made today is superior to old-style plank siding that was slower to install, produced more waste, and showed nail and screw heads. These terms are helpful:

Tongue and Groove – Each board has a groove cut into one side and a tongue on the opposite side for fitting together. End Matching – Each board has a groove cut into one end and a tongue on the other end for fitting together. End-butting – The ends of siding pieces can join together (end-butted) anywhere between the wall framing (studs). Conventional Framing – The standard way to make walls with vertical studs and top and bottom plates. OSB Board – A ¾” thick material in 4’x8’ sheets that is secured to the wall framing. The exterior log siding is screwed into this board.

Log Siding Profiles

A log siding profile is its D- shape, thickness, and width to differentiate it from other forms. Although there are many on the market, four stand out as favorites, including:

Quarter Log Siding is made in 2”x 6” and 2”x 8” sizes in pine and cedar. Half Log Siding is made in 3”x 6” and 3” x 8” sizes in pine and cedar. Premier Deep-D Log Siding is made in 3”x 8” and 3”x 10” sizes in pine and cedar. Hand-Hewn Log Siding is available in all these sizes plus 3”x7” in cedar half log. This profile looks like it was hewn (shaped) with an axe or adze tool.

Interior Wall

Available Surfaces and Finishing

Formation of the log’s shape is not the only choice you have available for your log home. These terms are common among log homes and log cabins:

Smooth Surface is evenly-finished wood and not a rough surface Hand-Hewn siding looks like it was fashioned with an axe or adze tool Sealants are liquids used to seal the pores, tiny cracks, and knots in wood Stains are liquids for coloring the wood to hues of your choice Caulking is a process of sealing joints and small cracks Chinking is a similar process as caulking but used to cover larger spaces between logs Clear Coat is a final finish applied to wood that provides a clear protective coating

Log Siding Terms: Log D-Trims

Both exterior and interior walls need trims to provide a completed or finished look. Log trims are available to match the size and profile of siding you select, including:

Log Trim 2”x 6” is typically matched with quarter log pine or cedar siding Log Trim 3”x 4” is another good choice for quarter log pine or cedar siding Log Trim 3”x 6” is typically used with half log pine or cedar siding Log Trim 4”x 4” is a good option for use with half log or premier pine or cedar siding Log Trim 4” x 6” is best for premier log siding Custom Log Trim is made-to-order in your sizes and specifications

Corner Systems for the Outside

The exterior walls require installing specially-shaped corner logs before the siding and trims are screwed onto the OSB board. Four favorite options are available to fit the style you prefer:

Vertical Corners are simple 6” or 8” diameter logs milled to cover two adjoining corners Butt-N-Pass Corners are tightly pinned that do not need notching and resemble stair steps or ladders Saddle Notch Corners are fashioned with a notch cut on each side of the log so it can be connected to the log below it. It is the traditional corner connection. Double D Corners are virtually the same as D-style corners except both sides of the logs are rounded. Each style of corner is available to match all the log siding profiles and sizes. You can learn more about them at the National Association of Homebuilders.

We hope these terms help you feel more comfortable with planning and building a log home!

[180paintingfl]

Estero Elegance: Unleash Space Potential with Leading Painter

Recognizing the Services Provided by Paint Contractors

An expert who focuses on painting and associated services for both residential and commercial premises is known as a paint contractor. They provide a wide range of services, such as pressure washing, staining, wallpapering, pressure washing, and interior and exterior painting. They also provide guarantees that cover their labor.

A paint contractor in Estero can offer priceless advice on color schemes and selection, as well as suggestions for the best supplies and methods for a particular job. Apart from these services, they might also provide extra components like carpentry services, drywall repair, or even fixture construction. If someone is looking for help with interior design, this could be a great resource!

Evaluating the Experience and Skill in Painting

Evaluating a contractor's painting skill and experience is essential, especially when choosing from their portfolio. Look for someone that specializes in the kind of work you need done; staining, faux finishes, or even power washing are examples of this. Before you give them the job, ask them for references and read through customer reviews to get a sense of their work.

The Advantages of Using a Skilled Paint Contractor

Paint contractors provide a broad range of services, including pressure washing, wallpapering, and painting both inside and outside. Of them, a few are

High-quality workmanship: An experienced painter has the necessary skills and understanding to produce high-quality results.

Expert Advice: An experienced expert can provide priceless advice on choosing the right colors and finishes for your project.

Time Savings: Skilled artisans can finish the project quickly, saving you both money and time.

Accurate Estimates: A knowledgeable contractor can offer unparalleled estimates for labor, supplies, and other project-related costs.

Safety: Skilled contractors employ only allowed materials and methods, keeping everyone's safety in mind.

Professional Cleanup - To guarantee that your house looks its best when the restoration procedure is finished, choose an experienced paint contractor.

Advice for Readying Your House for Painting

Collect furniture, carpets, and other things that need to be taken out of the space.

Sweep any trash or encrusted particles from the areas that need to be decorated gently.

Even out any flaws in the wall, including cracks and chinks. You may bring your home back to its former glory by completing these activities.

Repair any drywall or plaster damage. Patching can help stop more problems and be a useful method of repairing a damaged region.

Make sure you use enough sand, primer, and sealant to prepare any sections that will be painted again.

To shield fixtures, outlets, and switch plates from paint hazards, encircle them with a layer of protection.

Protect the floors from paint by mopping them with large swathes of drop cloths or plastic.

Before your house painters in Fort Myers arrive, make sure the area is properly aired.

How to Select the Appropriate Paint Colors

Take into Account the Room's Purpose: Take into account the room's objective and how the colors you choose can affect its atmosphere.

Select A Color Palette: Pick a color scheme that will enhance the colors in the room and work well with its décor.

Test the Colors: To have a better idea of how the color will turn out, it can be helpful to feel the color more tactilely, for example, by applying small test swatches.

Examine Lighting: When choosing furniture, keep in mind that the type of lighting in a space can have a big impact on how colors appear.

Apply Color Psychology: You can affect the feelings and emotions you want to arouse in a space by utilizing the principles of color psychology. Choosing colors that evoke the emotions you want will provide the best outcomes!

Take Trends into Account: Examine the most recent changes in interior design to make sure the colors you choose will stick to be in style for many years to come. Examine how trends change over time and maintain an eye out so your decisions don't get out of style too soon!

In summary

As we wrap up this blog series, we can say with confidence that the information is incredibly accurate and thorough. We have discussed the need to comprehend how to apply findings in a variety of contexts; additionally, we have elucidated the process of deriving significant conclusions from datasets in order to facilitate the making of informed decisions. Talk to a reputable painting company in Cape Coral that has personnel with the necessary experience and skill to do the task.

[sunxdusk]

The door opened a little. Then, through the chink, warm light spilled out along with the pungent odor of chemicals, herbs, and other ingredients that his wolf’s nose picked up. But, alas, such was the curse of being wolf-touched. The ability to smell everyone and everything was both a blessing and a curse. When the door shut closed behind him, Briengr coughed. Just his luck to have caught a chill on that pestilential mountain he’d traveled from to get here. Grumbling, the blonde mopped the fever sweat from his golden brow and drew his cloak tighter lest the chills overwhelm him. The clinic was a simple, if not humble little abode with a warm interior that gave the impression of safety and cleanliness.

A far cry from the temple of Arkay that lay within Understone Keep.

He had ventured there once hoping to receive treatment for the bruising around his ankles, only to be met with poor folk relying on the kindness of the temple priests, the wailing of grieving women as their deceased family members were carted off to the Hall of the Dead, and dead bodies shrouded in cloth. Around him, beggars had picked themselves up from straw pallets and, scratching at their lice-ridden heads, shuffled towards the makeshift table at the far end of the temple vestibule for food. There, brown-clad priestesses of Arkay ladled cabbage soup into wooden bowls from a huge brass cauldron. Above them, the plasterwork on the ceiling was cracked and flaking. A mural of Arkay staring down was slowly flaking away in the damp—the wooden staff in his hand was nearly a shapeless blob. The sight of it brought back memories from his childhood. Briengr could remember his mother’s last long illness when she had gone to the temple of Talos to pray for strength. He was nine then, and his brothers could not understand why their mother coughed or spent so much time at the temple.

It had almost bored them being there — they had wanted to be outside in the sun playing soldiers, not stuck inside with the calm old white-garbed men and their interminable chanting. Looking back, Briengr understood now his mother’s pale features and her quiet recital of Talos’ Litany. He was surprised by the force of the memory and pain, although it had been long since he’d prayed to his family’s God.

Leaning against the wall, Briengr toyed idly with a spare pestle and mortar while he waited to be attended to. The aromatic scents filled the clinic, rising from deep within and making him slightly dizzy. Yet, the cool stone of the pestle was somehow comforting. The tang of the herbal perfume began to affect him, and he felt somewhat distanced from everything. Briengr wished his head would clear and all the aches and pains would disappear.

“Hi, hi, hello! Greetings! How can I help you today, sir?”

Snapping out of his musings, Briengr immediately released the pestle and straightened up a little, his green eyes zeroing in on the strangely covered…Dunmer? Briengr frowned and looked closer, noting how the elf’s body was practically swaddled in cloth, leaving only one red orb to stare at him expectantly. And yet, it wasn’t the strange appearance of the Dunmer that caught his attention. No, Briengr had seen far too many odd occurrences to give a skeever’s arse about someone covering their entire body. Besides, most Dunmer were known to cloak themselves head to toe to protect their bodies from the elements of their homeland.

This was no different.

But the smell… The smell of darkness and blood was too sharp and cloying to ignore, and suddenly, Briengr was leaning forward just a little to inhale deeply, his beast blood shifting as a sense of familiarity overwhelmed him and made him grin as the pieces clicked into place.

Vampire.

“Greetings, cousin,” he said, bowing his head respectfully. “If I had known a child of the moon lived here, I would have taken the time to…bathe myself. I apologize if my appearance offends you.” Briengr raised his head and smiled happily at the elf, now entirely comfortable in his decision to come here.

“A long way from home, are you? Usually, I would say that it is unwise to live in the most politically unstable hold in Skyrim, but seeing as there’s enough bloodshed to keep you well-fed, I am confident you’ve made the right decision in choosing your territory. Quite clever of you, cousin.”

@nirnrootic

[inspiredlivingspaces]

@elledecor - Design: @marycelestebf, photo: Ed Editor in Chief @whowhatwhit.

[mmvalentine]

hi!! how are you? I’m the one who sent you that dream prompt lol

I was thinking of this (way less weird) prompt: where feyre and Rhys knew each other since kids and were together, there’s a part of the books that Rhys says he and mor used to be sent to the cabin when they got into trouble (I think?) and here it is: Rhys has got himself in a fight with his dad and is sent there alone, but feyre finds a way to go to him without anyone knowing and they have the cabin all to themselves *insert smut here*

Hello little dreamer! Alright I've done so much prompt work these last couple of days and was trying to work through them chronologically because that's what seems fair but now I am tired and I just want to do one more and then take a break and this one is hands down my FAVOURITE of the ones left in my inbox right now. So you're getting bumped up!! Bit of a long one, fair warning.

A Chink in the Wall

Rhys has been alive for eighteen years, has known Feyre for seventeen, and has loved her for what feels like a thousand. He does not remember a time without Feyre, he has known she is his mate since before he knew what the word meant, and their progression from childhood best friends to lovers was something he does not remembering happening at one particular time, but gradually, the same way his legs had grown longer.

What he does remember is the first time they'd slept together, and how he'd spent so long thinking about it beforehand that he'd thought he'd go mad, only to discover the real madness was once they'd started and then couldn't stop. He'd thought he was hyper-aware of Feyre before- now the scent of her hit him like a brick any time she walked in the room, and once he'd caught her scent he needed to be touching her. Would start to shake and fall apart at the seams until he could pull her into his lap.

Over the years, Rhys's mother always told him that he was too rough with Feyre. Did it when they were kids and did it now, when Feyre would be around their house and he constantly had his hands under her hair or squeezing on her her hip or scratching at her belly.

"You can put her down for one second, for Cauldron's sake," she'd say over dinner.

And Rhys knew why. Had always known that as the High Lord's only son, he had power roiling off him in waves. He figured it was part of the reason why he was always moving, more and more as he got older. Whether it was sparring with the Illyrians or crawling thought the bedroom of Feyre's bedroom window, it felt like he leapt between extremes these days. Felt like he was always thirsty and needing to swallow down violence and pleasure and feeling like water. His father called it the "age of fighting and fucking;" his mother said this is why they couldn't have nice things.

But his mother doesn't know Feyre like he does. Feyre isn't some fragile little girl, she is the strongest person he knows. She is the only one who, when he is throwing all he has at her, can not only contain the energy flooding out of him in uncontrollable torrents, but still loves him all the same for it.

So these days, he does not like to be without her. Does not like to be too far from her, and although they both have curfews, Rhys does not often sleep alone.

Today is a exception.

Today, Rhys is fighting with his father because he stole a fine bottle of brandy from his father's shelf and snuck it between the bars of the cell where Azriel has been locked away. Again.

Rhys yells that what they are doing to Azriel is cruel and if they let it go on they are just as bad. His father yells back that it is not their place to meddle in another family's business and what does this have to do with Rhys being a sneak and a thief? Rhys says it is typical of his father to care more about alcohol than the life of a fae, and his father says and what exactly are you trying to say boy? And then he tells Rhys that he was not so old that Rhys's power is greater than his just yet, and then the fight breaks out.

Rhys does not like to reflect on what happens next too much because he wants to win so badly, wants to best his father just once, but he is eighteen and his father is nine hundred and twenty and the High Lord of the largest court in Prythian.

Suffice to say, the fight is over when Rhys has a black eye and bruised ribs, his father is holding him off the floor by his shirt front, and his mother is pleading with him to put him down.

He drops Rhys with a thud, and Rhys glowers at him.

"The cabin," his father snarls.

"Surely he's had punishment enough," his mother says, but his father does not look at her.

"You come swinging your fists at me?" he says to Rhys. His voice is quiet now, but glitters with rage. "You steal from me, you defy me, and then you come at me with your pathetic little claws out? Well. You can spend three days in isolation."

Rhys looks toward his mother, but there's nothing she can do. He opens his mouth to sling a final insult at his father, but space is already folding around him and he's being sent where no one else can winnow in or out without his father's explicit say so.

Rhys spends the next twenty minutes angrily pacing the cabin. He flings shadows aimlessly at the cabinets, curses his father eight times to sunday, and punches a hole in the wall. It is the latter that gets Feyre's attention.

Ouch, she says through the bond. I felt that one.

Rhys drops onto a couch heavily, the anger washing out of him at the sound of Feyre's voice in his mind.

I'm sorry, he says. I know you hate it when I break things.

Things. Your own knuckles. Yeah it's not my favourite.

Rhys sighs. I'm in the cabin, he tells her.

I know, she says. What did you do this time?

Got into a fight with my dad.

Well did you at least land a couple good ones?

Rhys grins, in spite of himself. I did manage to get a kick into his stomach, this time.

Good, Feyre says. Unlike his mother, she never tells him to try to get along with his father.

I miss you, Rhys says.

You saw me this morning, Feyre points out.

Yes, replied Rhys, but you had way too many clothes on. It didn't count. He can almost feel Feyre shifting in his mind.

You always think I'm wearing too many clothes, she says.

I do, Rhys agrees. Not naked is not good enough.

He slouches back on the couch and closes his eyes. Although he is not yet powerful enough to take down his father, his power is growing. Day by day it stretches and expands uncomfortably, like growing pains, and when he's not in Feyre's bed, sometimes the shadows hound him at night. They claw at him now, rake at his chest like a cat that thinks it's giving affection but leaves you in tatters.

He turns his thoughts back to more pleasant things.

Take it off, he growls at Feyre. Take it all off. I hate it when I can't see your skin.

And what makes you think I've been wearing clothes this whole time? Feyre asks. Rhys freezes, and is rock hard in an instant.

Show me, he shoots down the bond.

Ask nicely, Feyre answers.

Please, Rhys says. Runs his talons down the shields of her mind from top to bottom. Please. Sends her a memory of him kissing her every inch of skin. Please.

Feyre's shudder reaches him like a whisper, and then he's seeing through her eyes.

The interior of her bedroom. Where he spends more time than in his own. Clothes strewn on the floor- boots kicked off in the corner. Illyrian leathers dumped in a pile. Under garments hanging off the end of the bed.

Feyre's bare ankles crossed in front of her on her bed, on top of the covers.

Rhys shivers. He watches Feyre's gaze travel excruciatingly slowly upward, up her shins, past her knees, onto her lovely thighs.

More, Rhys breathes, but Feyre pauses. Her knees bend and the view shifts, as if she has been sitting up and is now laying back down. I need you like I need air, Rhys whimpers, and his hand grabs at the insistent ache in the front of his pants.

Mmm, sighs Feyre. Sometimes I need you. Sometimes I think I could just do it myself. Her gaze finally shifts and watches her own hand slide between her legs.

Oh you cruel thing! Rhys says. He is now practically panting the sight of her starting without him. He loves it. He hates it. It's nowhere near enough.

You know it's not as good by yourself, Rhys tells her.

I don't know, Feyre muses. I'm pretty sure it's faster. Rhys growls.

Who needs faster, he says, when I can be so, so slow. He shows her the image of him settling between her knees. Pressing kisses that start at her knee and travel down her inner thigh. Laying the flat of his tongue on her and licking a lazy stripe up her pussy that ends in a suckling kiss over her clit.

Feyre moans straight down the bond, and it cleaves through Rhys like a arrow shot true. Get over here, he tells her, and Feyre laughs breathlessly.

I can't, lover, she says. Your father has that place warded like a prison, remember? Rhys swears out loud and hurls more shadows uselessly against the walls of magic.

Alright, alright, Feyre says to him. You know just throwing things at it isn't going to work.

Fuck this, Rhys says savagely. You're my mate, he can't keep us apart.

Well, we just need to outsmart him, then, Feyre reasons. He might be stronger, but I've always thought you were smarter. Well, she amends. At least you were when you bothered to use your brain and before you were all... testosterone-y.

Rhys finds himself smiling. Testosterone-y?

Yeah, you know, Feyre says. The old upstairs brain. Remember that guy?

Rhys laughs. He is always in awe of how quickly Feyre calms him down. I thought you liked my downstairs brain, he says in his midnight voice.

Use your upstairs brain to get me through the wards, and I'll show you how much I like your downstairs brain.

And that is more than motivation enough.

Rhys gets up off the couch, and paces around the room again. My dad has always been lazy with spells, he says. He relies on his brute strength, and on everyone being afraid of him more than anything else.

Okay, Feyre says, picking up his train of thought. So... what if there's a weakness in his wards?

A chink in the wall, Rhys agrees.

Yes.

Rhys stands still, and reaches out his mind. Probes against the wards surrounding the cabin, and is aware of Feyre doing the same on the other side. They work their way right around the cabin, when finally, Feyre breathes, here.

And then Rhys gathers every bit of power he has in him, and pushes it all against that one spot. Reaches through it, throws everything he's got until his hand is breaking through, Feyre's grabbing a hold of him, they're folding space and he pulls.

There's a shudder that runs through the cabin, and then an extremely naked Feyre falls right into Rhys's chest and they collapse on the thick carpet together.

For a second, they just blink at each other in surprise.

"It worked," says Feyre. And then Rhys realises holy shit it worked, and smoothly rolls so that Feyre is on her back and he is all over her.

"Great work," is all he says, and then he blinks and his clothes vanish too so they are both naked and the heat of her against his bare cock is absolutely unbearable. He groans, slides his hand under one of her thighs, squeezing gently, and hooks it over his elbow before pushing straight into her, unable to stand not being inside her for one more second.

Feyre moans and lifts her hips to him, barely less eager. Rhys wonders idly if the age of fighting and fucking applies to females, and then as Feyre's nails scratch angry red lines over his shoulders he thinks it might just. He wonders how long this age will go on for, and if his desperate need for Feyre will ever abate. He hopes it doesn't.

"I thought you were going to be slow," Feyre says, breathless but with the most gorgeous light dancing in her eyes. Rhys's body screeches at him but he manages to get control of his movements. To move in and out of her languidly, lazily, tortuously slow. Feyre seems to enjoy it at first, keeps her eyes on his until they're rolling back in her head.

But the longer it goes on the more sensitive she becomes, until she is writhing in his arms seeking more friction, and every time he hits his base she jolts like she's being electrified. The fact that he is tormenting himself, too, seems absolutely worth it for the knowledge that he alone can wring this kind of pleasure from her.

"Still rather play by yourself?" he teases. "Does it feel like this when it's just your own fingers?"

Feyre snaps her eyes open at this, and between jagged breaths, teases him right back.

"Sometimes," she says. "When I'm touching myself and picturing you." A shiver runs through Rhys. "When I've got one hand between my legs and the other squeezing my breast." She demonstrates the last, and Rhys watches with hunger as her hand goes over her own chest.

"Fuck," he bites out, and picks up the pace a little.

"When I've got you curled around my mind and showing me that you're touching yourself too."

Rhys speeds up again.

"But mostly, no," she says, barely able to speak now. "No, nothing feels as good as when you're fucking me senseless."

And Rhys can't argue with that. He forgets his self-control completely and loses himself in her, in her body, in the intoxication of the sounds that she makes when he's inside her. The irony of his sentence to a remote location is that for once, they are able to make as much noise as they want and every time Feyre moans Rhys thinks he gets a little high.

By the time Rhys is close, they have started to breathe in tandem, and he locks his eyes on hers so that seconds later they are coming together. Rhys is breathless with the beauty of her, has always loved the look on her face when she climaxes, and suddenly the prospect of being locked up alone for three days seems mighty appealing.

Feyre sighs, eyes closed and chest moving deeply as she gets her breath back. Rhys draws out of her and then immediately misses her. He kisses her cheeks, her nipples, her stomach, and then without really thinking about it, closes his mouth around her clit and strokes it back and forth with his tongue.

Feyre sighs his name, and the sound of it is so sweet that he redoubles his efforts, until Feyre is rocking her hips to him and before he knows it, they're starting again.

Rhys thinks its going to be a very good three days indeed.

**** Little babies. Sigh I do love them so. Thank you my sweet anon for this lovely prompt.

Bonus: click here to see what Rhys's dark powers look like when they're still growing and trying to figure their shit out.

MASTERLIST

TAGLIST: @ghostlyrose2 @highladysith @stardelia @feysand-loml @tillyrubes10 @ratabrasileira @live-the-fangirl-life @maybekindasortaace @annejulianneh111 @thebonecarver @rowaelinismyotp @loosingdreams @whythefuckdoiexist @inejsarrow @swankii-art-teacher @sjmships @courtofjurdan @teddytdr @positivewitch @thalia-2-rose @darling-archeron @rapunzel1523 @fairchildjace @philosophorumaurum02 @story-scribbler @allthecolorsneverseen @asteria-of-mars

[keltonwrites]

I'm not sure if that's a good thing

“Well you’re definitely the first.” This past week, we screened-in the eastern facing porch on the side of the cabin. The porch slopes to the South, with the brick-on-dirt floor crumbling in that direction as well until it reaches uneven slabs of stone acting as steps down to the “yard” below. A mixed material retaining wall wraps beneath the steps to the south facing garage, holding up one corner of the narrow deck on the front of the house. The deck, in the heat of a high altitude summer, droops off the house like it’s daydreaming about the winter snow’s embrace. It’s safe to sit on, though I would not recommend leaning on the railing.

The side porch takes the brunt of the wind. Our wooden rocking chairs have been rocked some 20 feet into the yard more than once in the two months we lived here. In the myriad of threats we heard about the weather, most people included the wind. We all know how I feel about this ongoing weather intimidation tactic. I asked, “what speed are the gusts?” “Oh, they get up to 70 miles per hour on some days.” This was the first quantifiable piece of weather information someone had offered — an actual number we could react to with data and our historical personal experiences of various weather events. And our reaction was: uhhhh…. OK???? Look, I get it. No one’s preaching the skin benefits of -20 degree wind gusts at 70 mph, building snow drifts against your house in the span of minutes that Cooper could die in. I am not going to pretend that’s pleasant. But 70 mph? Any wind I’ve driven faster than does not intimidate me. I used to rally the horses at 12 years old in winds over 70mph to get them in the barn before the latest tornado whipped through. I helped shutter the resort in the BVI as the Category 5 hurricane rolled in. Even in Topanga, 70 mile per hour gusts were not uncommon in Santa Ana events. We had our single pane windows shatter more than once from debris in the wind. We taped cardboard up and went to sleep. That “70 mph” was all I needed to hear to confirm our next project: we were going to build a catio for these cats, and we were going to do it on the pre-existing porch structure to save time and money. We spent a week framing out the structure. We had to carve into the logs of the house to embed the wood supports for the framing.

And from there, every piece of wood was custom carved and cut to fit around the existing timber supports. The existing porch was so wildly uneven that there are gaps between each piece of old wood and the new framing. Our plan is to mix all the wood chips from the project with mortar/chinking and stuff the gaps — a good solution for the log cabin look. We built a plywood pony wall up to 28 inches from the interior of the porch, which gives a height of ~4-5ft from the exterior ground below. It’s capped with a 2x6” railing for even the fluffiest of cats to find a perch. The exterior will be wrapped with corrugated metal that we’ll quick-age to match the metal that wraps the bottom of the cabin. On the interior of the porch, we’ll use shiplap to hide the framing.

The screens themselves can withstand winds up to 120 mph, but to-be-determined if they can hold the weight of a growing maniac cat who has already tried to climb them. In the event the screens succumb to cat (or wind or snow or neighbor judgment) we’ll reinforce with metal mesh. We’re going to maintain this screen porch regardless of what the screen is. We had the pleasure of running into one of our more industrious neighbors the other day, and Ben asked him, “hey we’re building a screen porch. Is this a terrible idea?” He laughed. “Well you’re definitely the first.” But he liked it. Great way to diminish wind into the house. Simple way to regulate the temperature with massive south-facing windows. And indeed a practical outdoor safe haven for cats in predator territory. Just because you’re the first doesn’t mean you’re foolish — just foolhardy. There’s plenty of that here. This town has the typical mountain town’s truncated version of a colonizers’ history: “established 1881.” But it was plenty established prior to that by the Uncompahgre Band of the Ute Nation, removed by the U.S. Army on September 7, 1881, nearly 140 years ago. The government relocated the Uncompahgre Ute People to Utah, and one year after the Ute were forcibly removed from their ancestral land, San Miguel County split off from Ouray County and was made its own political subdivision in the newly-formed State of Colorado. In 1879, the ore-laden valley already had 50 people living in it, with a new narrow gauge railway only 2 miles away. By 1885, it was a town of 200 people. There was a hotel, a couple saloons, a pool hall. Winters were treacherous; the valley was and is prone to avalanches. But where there’s gold, there’s gumption. The power needed to run the stamp mill to process ore drove innovation. Timber was scarce at such high elevations, so a wood powered steam mill wouldn’t cut it. But the San Miguel River just a few miles down from the mine looked promising. Thus began the development and construction of the Ames Hydroelectric Generating Plant. It was a hit. In fact, it was so successful that the Ames Plant led to the adoption of alternating currents at Niagara Falls and eventually to being adopted worldwide as a viable power solution. The plant remains, but the gold rush obviously didn’t. By 1940, the U.S. Census declared this little town I call home as tied for the lowest population in the country: 2 people. By 1960, it was one of four incorporated towns in the U.S. with no residents. But the joke was on the Census — the town’s single resident was just out of town the day the census came through. 1960 population: 1. By 1980 the population grew to 38, 69 in 1990, and about 180 now. (Plus 51 dogs according to the town’s website.) With modern amenities, it’s easier to be here. Studded snow tires, satellite internet, solar panels, instant coffee. No matter the hardships, there’s the reality of the present. In the 1880s, as the town boomed, the Ouray Times declared, “it will be at no distant day a far more pretentious town than it is now.” That day hasn’t exactly arrived, but I guess it depends on what you consider pretentious. I don’t think the town claims any airs of excellence beyond what’s true. In fact, the town hardly claims anything at all. There’s no sign indicating it’s even here. There’s just the old side and the new side. The new side, the Eastern half, was drawn out in the early 1990s, some 100 years later, and is separated from the Old Town by an avalanche zone—preserved open space for hiking in the summer, preserved open space for surviving in the winter. The town forbids short-term rentals, no one has a fence, dogs roam free, and all the houses have that cabin look to them. A boulder nests in a grove near a trailhead in the center of town with a plaque paying respect to the Utes who called this valley home. There’s no industry here. No businesses allowed. If you want a $7 latte, you can drive the 14 miles required to get it, assuming there’s not an avalanche blocking your path. You can, however, buy a pink lemonade in a

solo cup at the permanent lemonade stand run by the local feral child mafia. Crystals (rocks) can be purchased for an additional cost. We bought one, hoping to buy favor at the same time. The town plan has a few guiding principles, and it’s all in the name of preservation. We must preserve: 1 - the quiet atmosphere 2 - the rustic character 3 - the natural setting

And finally: 4 - protect the health and wellbeing of the people here No snowmobiles, no ATVs, no drones. In fact, the only sign of the outside world here are the passers-through. When you take the dirt road through town to the end, you enter National Forest, and you can hike over the pass saddle at nearly 12,000 feet before descending down the other side into Silverton. The pass road climbs rutted through an aspen forest before scaling across a scree field and then lurching over to the other side. Every day, it seems like 30 or so Texans and Arizonans in lifted and loud Jeeps with unused mods climb over this mountain in the comfort of their air conditioning, simply to drive down the other side. You could hike it, ride it, run it, and ski it, but they don’t. They rev their engines, kicking up dust in a town of feral children and roaming dogs, staring at us instead of waving. I’ve lived here for two months and look how salty I am. I’ll fit in yet. But today, there is a temperature that whispers of perfect trails and the dwindling of ogglers driving 35 in a 15. It’s already snowed in the mountains we see from our kitchen. Today, like a dedication to the Septembers of our youth, you can feel a chill in the air. A temperature akin to pencils and sweaters and reinventing yourself. A temperature that doesn’t exactly sing “screen porch” but could if you had the right slippers on. That’s what I did this morning: put my slippers on and sat there in the cool mountain morning air, thinking about the cemetery behind our house, about the Ute tribe, about the miners, about the mailman who died on Christmas in 1875 on the pass, about the 5 people who died in avalanches here just last year, about the people in their cars on their phones driving through, and all the people who’s very first question to us was, “so are you gonna live here part-time or full-time?” Maybe it will be a hard place to live. But at least we’ll have a screen porch.

Every week I'm writing about moving to log cabin in a small town at 10,000 feet. Subscribe here for free: tinyletter.com/keltonwrites

[wehonoryou]

Everything You Must Know About House Painting:

Home painting sometimes seems like a straightforward job. You might be enticed to bust out your roller and do it yourself. However, it’s a task that requires a great amount of skill and time. It’s one of the most underestimated projects you can undertake in your home.Factors To Consider Before House PaintingShows on TV make house painting look like a piece of cake. What they don’t show you is what a chore it is preparing the surface of the home prior to starting. Before you decide to do house painting yourself, here are some factors you need to consider:The Scale of the WorkThe scale of the painting job has to be one of the most significant factors in deciding whether or not you hire a professional house painting service

or do the work yourself. A do-it-yourself paint job can get more complicated the bigger your house is. A larger home needs more time to do the prep work and lay down multiple paints coats.The Current State of the PaintThe age of the house you’ll be painting is also a factor you need to consider. Older homes have cracked and peeling paint that requires more prep work time. If scraping and sanding the surface for hours is not your cup of tea, you should hire professional painters.The Condition of the WallsSuppose your home has banged-up walls or a couple of holes in the drywall; painting it yourself may not be a wise choice. It’s better to hire professional house painting services to remedy the problem first before painting it over.After a thorough assessment confirming that you indeed can do the work yourself, here are some painting tips.House Painting By YourselfPainting by yourself can be a good way to modernize and freshen up your home with relatively little cost. Here are a few basic things you need to know before getting started on your house painting project.Exterior Walls

Paint a properly cleaned wall Your home has gone through the harsh elements all year round. Therefore, you must clean your house’s exterior walls first to guarantee your painting project’s success.

Don’t paint during extreme weather Painting your walls during winter may cause your paint not to dry properly. Meanwhile, painting your walls during the extreme heat of the summertime will dry the paint too fast and leave an uneven coat. To have a near-perfect finish, always consult your paint supplier on the ideal season to start your painting project.

Use oil-based paints Oil-based paints are more durable compared to water-based ones. They provide better surface penetration and better adhesion, and they’re strong enough to withstand harsh outdoor weather conditions.

Interior Walls

Prep the space first Move furniture and appliances away from the room you’re going to paint, or at least move them away from the walls and cover them with plastic sheets, drop cloths, or old newspapers. Fill any cracks or chinks on the wall with spackling.

Prime the walls It’s best to prime the walls first before painting. Wall priming covers up existing stains and colors. This will allow the topcoat of the paint to stick better for a more refined finish. There are paints available that have primer mixed in already.

Use water-based paints Latex paints or water-based paints are ideal for painting indoors. Water-based paints don’t produce odors as much as oil-based ones. They also dry more quickly and don’t crack over time, unlike oil-based paints.

Getting A Professional Painting ServiceUnfortunately, a do-it-yourself approach is not for everyone. Some simply don’t have the time or skill to do all the work involved. Others want to have their home renovated as fast as possible. Whatever the reason may be, you can always hire a professional to do the house painting for you.At

We Honor You Services

, we have dedicated, experienced, and skilled team members very much capable of painting your home in Raleigh, North Carolina, Northeast Ohio, or the surrounding areas. We know that the Triangle weather can be tough on houses, so it’s our priority to provide the best house painting that withstands both the wet and the dry.Aside from house painting, our company offers house cleaning, duct cleaning, carpet cleaning, and pressure washing services. Contact us and request a free estimate. We guarantee you superior cleaning services you will never forget.

[timelesswoodcare]

Chinking Interior Walls

Say goodbye to unsightly gaps and cracks on your walls with Timeless Wood Care Products' innovative chinking interior walls solution. With just a few simple steps, you can transform your walls into a flawless masterpiece that provides long-lasting protection.

[theunknowncryptid]

5. Night One

Next

Masterlist

Namjoon x Y/n

After her brother makes a deal, Y/n is forced to spend seven nights with the leader of the Kim crime family, Kim Namjoon.

Taglist: @amordesiempre01 @jiminals @unadulteratedlyunique @parkmaeri @bbyjoonies @lilacsmoon @s0228 @kelitt @xxxanimangxxx @chogiyeol-utopia @atomickokorox @irenebutfancier

~     ~     ~

The drive was longer than she expected. Y/n figured the quiet man at the wheel would drive her ten minutes across town, if that, but before she realized the skyscrapers turned to oak trees and all she could see were country fields.

“Where are we going?” She asked. The man glanced back at her in the rear-view mirror. He looked like he could be related to the Kim’s.

“To the private estate. Out of town.” His voice was brighter and kinder than Y/n expected. Her stomach churned. What was Kim Namjoon going to do to her that required miles of privacy.

It was a full hour before the driver turned off of the main road and onto a dirt path. Rust colored debris flew into the air around the SUV. A grove of trees opened around the road and gave way to, what Y/n assumed was, the Kim Estate.

“Whoa,” The house in the clearing looked like something out of Clue. It was old and Victorian, built with red brick. It was massive. Large enough for twenty people to live comfortably. 

The SUV parked beside the front of the house. The glass of the door and the windows, yellow light illuminated the grass. The driver stepped out and walked around to open Y/n’s door. 

“You can follow me.” He said as Y/n stepped down. Until then, she hadn’t realized how young he was. Maybe only a few years older than she was. 

He led her into the manor. The inside was just as grand. Decadent rugs covered dark hardwood. It was difficult to place the wall color because of the hundreds of decorations. There were paintings, photographs, bookcases and sculptures covering every available piece of wallpaper. The only light in the main entry was an overhead chandelier. Thousands of diamonds, strung together, cast a warm glow. Stairs lined the left wall.  Directly across the room, an archway led to some sort of living room, but it was too dim to see. Instead of taking her up the stairs or  through the arch, the man turned to the right wall and knocked on large double doors.

He didn’t wait for a summons. The man opened the door and offered for Y/n to walk ahead. Fear raided her body, but she walked through the doors. 

The room was warm. A fire burned in it’s pit against the East wall, filling the space with the sound and smell of a campfire. A beautiful desk was cluttered with papers, files, pens, books and nicknacks. Again, Y/n couldn’t tell what color the walls were. Hundreds of books lined the wall shelves. They were obviously worn and read. Blue velvet chairs sat facing the desk and a large window. The room would almost be cozy, if it weren’t for the tall man standing stiff in front of the fireplace. 

The driver shut the door behind him. It slammed shut and made her flinch. He cleared his throat.

“Your guest is here.” The man at the fireplace turned to look. Y/n struggled to maintain a bored expression. She had heard about Kim Namjoon before. Serious, Intelligent, Dangerous. He was someone to fear. He had to be, being the head of the Kim Crime Family. But simple descriptions didn’t prepare Y/n for the man in front of her. He was incredibly handsome. Dark hair fell over his eyes. His skin was tanned and, by his collar, Y/n could see a thin, white scar leading up his neck. He was dressed in a dark grey suit as if he had just come from a business meeting. His tie was loose around his neck and his hands were shoved in his pockets, making him seem more casual than the situation called for. His features were soft, but his eyes were full of judgment and annoyance. He looked Y/n up and down. 

“You’re late.” His low voice deadpanned.

“Blame your driver.” Her voice came much calmer than she felt. His eyes flickered to the man that stood behind her. 

“That will be all, Jimin.” He said. The air shifted and the sound of the office door shutting echoed. Y/n clenched her jaw. She didn’t want to be left alone with this man. She didn’t want to be here at all.

“You must love your brother very much to come here willingly.” He didn’t move at all. He just stood and stared at Y/n with a blank face. 

“Less and less each day.” She answered, dryly. The corners of his lips twitched up. The fire roaring behind left him as little more than a silhouette. 

“You’re aware of the arrangement we made?” He walked to the desk and picked up a half-drunk glass of scotch. 

“Obviously.” Y/n spat out. Anger flared in her.

“And yet, you still came?” He raised his brow at her.

“What choice did I have?” She glared. Kim Namjoon knew very well that her brother's life hung in the balance. He lifted the glass to his lips and took a swig of the alcohol.

“Your brother had a choice.”

“You knew when you gave the loan that Jungkook wouldn’t be able to pay his debt.” Y/n sneered. Over the last few days, with the help of Jin, she had come to that conclusion. It was a known fact that the Kim’s kept tabs on the Min’s, and vice-versa. Kim Namjoon knew that Jungkook had been cut off from the banks and from the Min’s. Jungkook was broke and addicted to cards. Kim also knew his money would not be repaid. He wasn’t after a simple business transaction. He was after her.

The man grinned. “You’re smart.”

“Why?” She demanded. Her hands fisted at her sides.

“Why not?” He tilted his head. Y/n continued to glare and he sighed. “A chance to have a beautiful woman in my bed. And to watch Min Yoongi squirm.”

“Why would Min Yoongi Squirm?” She feigned. The annoyance returned to his face. 

“Don’t play dumb, Y/n.” The sound of her name coming from his lips made her skin crawl. “You think Yoongi won’t notice one of his closest friends is missing for a week?”

He had her there, but she couldn’t let him know that. “I think you overestimate my worth.”

“No. But, good try.” He smirked. With an air of playfulness on his face he looked even more handsome. His eyes travelled over her body, taking stock. He stepped closer to her and she jumped back in alarm. 

“What are you doing?” She asked. She cursed her wavering voice.

“Claiming my debt.” Kim Namjoon stalked toward her again. Her lips trembled. With her back pressed to the door, Y/n came chest-to-chest with the man.

“You’re evil.” She glared. Again, he smirked.

“Oh, come on, Y/n. You’re a young woman who spends most of her time in a bar.” His hand reached up and gently placed a lock of hair behind her ear. She flinched away. “I can’t be the worst to spend some time between your legs.”

Her mouth dropped in shock and fury crashed inside her.

“You would be the first!” A furious blush covered her cheeks. For the first time that night, she could see a chink in his armor. It made her happy. His eyebrows raised and confusion contorted his features.

“You’re a virgin?”

“Surprise.” Y/n smirked. Pressed this close together she could feel his breath dusting her face. His hands were pressed to the door beside her, caging her in. His face was unreadable. She couldn’t tell if he was about to kick her out or bring her to him. Surprisingly, he pushed away from the door and walked back to his abandoned drink.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It doesn’t?” She paled. Her remaining virginity was her one and only playing card. 

“Nope.” He said. His bored confidence was firmly back in place. “Some would say it makes you even more desirable.”

Y/n scowled. “Then what are you waiting for? Get it over with.”

He smiled at her coldly. “I haven’t had my dinner yet.” He turned back to the fireplace, but spoke over his shoulder. “Will you join me?”

“I’m not hungry.” She stared at him as if he’d just told her he had ridden a seahorse here.

“Pity, you’ll need your strength later.”

Horror filled her features as, on cue, the man named Jimin entered the office.

“Show Ms. Y/l/n to the bedroom, please, Jimin.” Kim demanded. Without a word, both left into the cold of the house. 

Kim Namjoon only wished he could see Y/n’s face when she realized her bedroom doubled as his.

~     ~     ~

The room was huge. Her entire apartment could fit inside. The walls were a bordered forest green with dark hardwood floors. A leather loveseat and a matching chair faced a flat-screen TV. A large, white rug covered the sitting area, bringing light to the dark room. A large mirror covered the interior wall. The far wall had two black doors, one leading to the ridiculously luxurious bathroom, one leading to a closet full of suits, shoes, and surprisingly, hoodies, t-shirts, and basketball shorts. The room smelled like the cologne from earlier. Y/n frowned at that. She felt surrounded by Kim Namjoon. The room was freezing, but the thought of climbing into the ginormous bed made her want to cry. The duvet was black with matching silk sheets. It must have been a king size, but it was hard to tell in the large space. Eventually, she caved and climbed in. With the sheets pulled up to her chin in the dark room, Y/n felt like she was waiting for a death sentence.

Fuck Jungkook, fuck gambling, and fuck Kim Namjoon. Not literally.

At the sound of the door opening, she shut her eyes, pretending to be asleep. Footsteps sounded across the room to the closet. Y/n cracked open one eye. The closet light illuminated Kim Namjoon's silhouette. He shrugged off his jacket and hung it with the rest of the suits. His back was turned to the bed. 

“I know you’re awake.” His voice broke the silence. Grumbling, Y/n sat up. She didn’t bother to ask how he’d seen through her. He turned to look at her. He looked wearier than he has a couple hours ago. His hair was ruffled and the top button of his shirt was undone. He walked to the dresser and picked up a plate he must have brought with him. She flinched as he came nearer. 

“Eat.” He demanded. The plate he offered had crackers, cheese, and grapes. Cautiously, Y/n took a couple crackers. She nibbled on them, but kept her tight grip on the sheets. Kim wandered away and leaned against the bed post. A ghost of a smile played around his mouth. He rolled his sleeves up to his elbows, casually. When Y/n finished the crackers he held out the plate again. Without thinking, she took a few grapes. She watched him carefully.

“You’re different than I thought you would be.”

“I can imagine.” He directed his gaze to the window overlooking a garden of wildflowers.

“Why are we here?” She asked.

“In this house?” He raised an eyebrow at her. As beautiful as it was, Y/n got the idea the house stood unoccupied most of the time. “I promised your brother no one would know about our transaction.”

Y/n rolled a grape in her fingers. “Not because you evil plans work better in the country?”

“Well, that too.” Y/n suppressed a smile, then cringed at herself. There should be nothing enjoyable about her situation. Kim Namjoon planned to use her as payment and if mental or physical damage came with that, so be it. Anger flared in her.

“Stop playing with me!” She glared. Y/n overdramatically threw the covers off herself. She threw herself back onto the sheets. “Get it over with!”

Silence filled the room again.

“Dear lord, Y/n, you desperately need some new pajamas.”

“What’s wrong with them?” She demanded. She looked down at the clothing. An old, stained Dartmouth t-shirt and baggy sweatpants. 

“Did you steal them off a homeless man?” He mocked. 

“What did you expect me to wear? Lingerie?” She snarled. His eyes crawled over her intensely and she knew he was imagining her in just that. Her skin burned from the observation. It reminded her just how horrible and disgusting the man in front of her really was.

“Take it off.” He said gently. Shit.

It was time. She could do this. Who cares if she wasn’t a virgin anymore. 

Slowly, she lifted the ratty shirt over her head and threw it on the floor. Then, she lifted her hips and slid off the sweatpants. Goosebumps formed on her bare skin. She was left in just white panties. She refused to meet his gaze. In the mirror on the wall, Y/n saw her exposed body with Kim Namjoon looming over her.

The room stayed silent until she couldn’t take it anymore. All he did was stand there, staring at her with pure hunger in his eyes. A muscle jerked in his cheek and his fists clenched at his sides as his investigation paused at her breasts. Her face burned in embarrassment. 

He stepped closer and slid his hand across her raised leg. The feeling of his hand on her made her want to pull away and hide. Every nerve in her body twisted and made her gasp.

“You’re beautiful,” He said in a hoarse voice.

“Do it.” Y/n begged. “Please, just do it.”

The minutes stretched forever before he moved again. Slowly, his face lowered to hers. For a moment, she thought he was going to kiss her, then he turned his head and pressed his lips to her cheek. It only lasted a moment and then he pulled back, lifted the covers back over her and walked to the door.

“What-” 

“I’m sorry, Y/n. I guess I’m not interested in martyrs tonight.”

[nelllraiser]

into the fold, two: surrender | adam & nell

PREVIOUSLY: into the fold: part one TIMING: the ma’al cult investigation. PARTIES: @walker-journal​ and @nelllraiser​. SUMMARY: nell and adam dive deeper into the cult. CONTENT: sibling death mention, torture (implied), gaslighting (demon telepathy)

The intrusion of the eldritch on Neveah Alcott’s palatial home had initially been a subtle thing. Corruption came in degrees, and just as Neveahs parties were initially just high society networking that occasionally dabbled into idle metaphysical conversation, so too were the tiny within changes Alcott’s manner easy to dismiss as tricks of mood lighting or fanciful imagination until it was far too late. 

Those ‘idle conversations’ became more pointed speculation and the reading of certain disturbing texts readings as shadows darkened with the discrete crevices of the Neo-Gregorian architecture. The nooks behind statues, pillars, and within arches grew deeper until those shadows became actual holes into nothingness rather than the mere absence of light. Those avant garde readings proved to be strangely magnetic, even to those with no previous intellectual interest. As dalliance turned to obsession, angles within the Alcott residence started to be ...not quite right...not lining up correctly even when one squinted. 

More people were invited to these readings as doors in manor started opening to rooms that weren’t on the building's floorplan, only to lead elsewhere when opened again later. After Helena’s first ‘demonstration’ of bloodshed and symbology could attract the attention of beings beyond the confines of four dimensional space, guests started to report seeing the horrific landscapes of alien worlds beyond the house's windows. As high society parties devolved into debauched experiments to ‘expand consciousness’ through dangerous excesses of sensation, the manors’ light bulbs started to shine with colors that didn’t exist in the electromagnetic spectrum. 

It had been around the time Helena performed the first ‘miracle’ by being briefly possessed by her otherworldly patron, that the walls began to bleed. 

Now Adam sat in a dark room where the floor breathed, fleshy surface moistly yielding beneath him. The walls and ceiling stretched inward as the faces of hellish things strained against the fabric of reality. Maws, mandibles, and not quite human vissages pressed in a menagerie of faces from every angle as creatures from beyond the veil struggled to rip their way into this world. 

“Nell…,” Adam managed to gasp past the broken spasming of his ribs, “you there?” 

It hadn’t taken all that long for Nell to begin dreading the trips to the mansion. It wasn’t so much the bleeding of the walls, or even the screams that seemed to shatter silence out of nowhere that turned her stomach. No— she liked to think she was fairly ironclad when it came to things such as those at this point in her life. Instead it was the slow and steady transformation of the people, Neveah Alcott’s loyal followers, that made her insides squirm. Many of them hadn’t the faintest idea of what they were being readied for, harvested for as they pledged undying dedication to the woman whose ‘miracles’ left them wide-eyed and breathless despite the brutality of it all. 

It had taken most of what Nell had to make sure she didn’t succumb to the trials and tests of the demon, and the witch had been sparing her magic and strength specifically for nights such as these when she wasn’t sure whether the shifting of the floor beneath her was due to the emerging hellscape or loss of blood. It would have been easier if she could use her usual protections against the less savory side of demons and their effects, but such a thing wasn’t thinkable when she was meant to be embracing the demon that lay in wait, getting closer to phasing through the thinning veil every day. No doubt any resistance would be perceived as opposition, and that wasn’t the behavior of a willing and wanting devotee. 

Nell’s eyes were closed when Adam’s voice found her, cutting through the fog of her mind like the beam of a lighthouse on land’s shore. In a moment they were opening to the twisted visages of the creatures waiting to emerge into this world, but she quickly searched for Adam’s face amongst them until she found it next to her, reaching a hand toward him instinctively as he looked for her. “I’m here,” she answered, the tail end of a cough finishing the words for her as she covered her mouth, pulling her sleeve away to find fresh blood amongst the dried bits of it. Her first thought was to check his injuries as she usually did during a quiet spell of their demonic endeavors. “Everything in one piece?” she asked, already trying to scoot closer so she might try and take a look. 

Adam stirred again at Nell’s voice. Bloodshot eyes opened. Adam’s gaze was unfocused at first, as if he were looking at some other world entirely. But his broken fingers found Nell’s outstretched hand and that physical presence seemed to anchor him. The red-rimmed brown of his eyes eventually found Nell’s face. 

“Uh more or less,” he rasped, a weak attempt at a smile stark against a livid canvas of bruises and lacerations down his face and neck. 

Adam had been conditioned to quietly endure suffering and even agony if it was necessary to preserve humanity’s destiny. But spiritual wounds that’d sapped his Hunter powers have become all the more serious  in the sadism and darkness of this place. Day after day the cult’s rites wore Adam down physically as the tendrils of their master’s psychic  influence drilled down into the bedrock of Adam’s selfhood. Little by little, Adam felt himself giving ground inside. 

Adam struggled to sit up, but broken ribs protested so much that he abandoned the attempt. He himself fall back against the fleshy softness of the not-quite-stone floor. 

Adam adjusted his head as the now literally blue-veined marble throbbed with cardiac warmth against his temple.

“How’re you holding up?”

Nell cradled Adam’s broken fingers gingerly, thankful for the grounding effect his touch had, but reminding herself not to squeeze his hand in reassurance for fear of making things worse. A pinpoint of frustration surfaced in her stomach, wishing for what wasn’t the first time that she could mend bones as well as she closed up flesh wounds. “I guess I can’t ask for more,” she managed to say while matching his half-hearted attempt at levity. “Actually that’s a lie. I can and will ask for more, but I know it’s not gonna do anything.” As she spoke she reached her free hand towards the gashes she could see making a jagged and broken path across his neck, beginning the work of magically willing them shut, scabs beginning to form where open wounds had been before. It wasn’t anything as useful as healing fingers or ribs, but it at least made her feel like she could provide some relief, no matter how small. 

“I’m not super sure if I’m just lucky enough to see two of you- or if there’s actually some doppelganger who’s decided to give up the long con and just lay right next to you.” Who said you couldn’t mix potential impending doom with a bit of flirtation? Despite everything, she was determined to keep things light for a moment longer, hoping it might somehow hide the truth of their shared misery. When she’d finished with the gashes on his neck, Nell tried to lower herself closer to the ground to begin work elsewhere, but it seemed her noodle-like ams had other plans when they gave out halfway through her descent. She landed roughly next to Adam, and a grunt of pain paired with a gasped curse of “Fuck,” worked its way through her lips. 

Sometimes Nell thought about what it might be like to give in. To fully immerse herself in the whisperings of the walls inside this mansion, and let herself be truly taken into the fold. It would stop then, wouldn’t it? The pain she watched Adam go through far too often. Her own injuries, and the constant ache in her body she couldn’t seem to shake since joining up. Fighting had always been second nature to her, as if she’d been born with a stubbornness that made it impossible for her to give up no matter how far ahead or behind she might be. There’d never been any exception to that rule, and yet here she was— doing her best to keep herself semi-vertical and thinking about how the easy way out was looking more and more appealing every day. If she were being honest it wasn’t just about making sure she and Adam were safe. There was a space for here whether she wanted to face that truth or not, a place where her talents would be embraced rather than shunned or cast out. This was a coven that wanted her, not one that had turned their backs to the witch. “You know...do you think he’d settle for just...one of us?” she asked quietly as she lay next to Adam, her voice barely above a whisper as if she were worried that Ma’al might be listening at this very moment. “Like if I just hung out here with the cult and really gave it my all- maybe you could go keep working on getting your strength back and stuff. It might not even be so terrible.”

“Shouldn’t use up your power like that Nell…” Adam rasped even as pain became more manageable and the clammy numbness of blood loss stopped crawling up his body. Adam may not understand magic, but he intuited that everything Nell spent on him was strength she didn’t have to save herself later. This forces in this place were looking for any chink in their armor and Adam swallowed down guilt that Nell was leaving herself vulnerable to keep him from sinking. 

Adam’s gaze was drawn to the walls and ceiling as alien forms protrude into this reality. Spined proboscises stabbed blindly. Mouths with multiple interior rings of saw-blade teeth punctured outward like bladed xylophones before folding back in on themselves. Tendrils slick with acid fumbled around for organic matter to dissolve and absorb. Flowery blooms opened to lash out with hungry stigma while even stranger orifices extended luminous filaments or branching nerve clusters in search of fresh lifeforce to drink. Some of the faces pressing in through the walls were even vaguely humanoid, just with eye-sockets and too many mouths in all the wrong places. The stone and wood of the mansions structure buckled, like a dam about to give way before the tide. There was a taut tension in the air, as if reality itself was straining under some vast weight. 

Adam looked into that wall of horrors for longer than was safe, and found his mind wandering dangerously as something weaved insidious thoughts in Adam’s own inner voice. 

Why did Adam fight his true nature? He’d had always been addicted to the wrong things, craved the fucking, fighting, and killing like a drug instead of being pure and purposeful. Sure, he’d shackled himself with a code, hoping pious bullshit some dead martyrs had come up centuries ago could make him something more than just an adrenaline junkie that got his rocks off from killing. Adam had been a good little soldier, dutifully risking his life to save people who never even know he existed. 

But look at you now, Adam had told Adam. Broken, repressed, and bleeding out while those normie motherfuckers just keep slaughtering each other in rich mens’ wars. Admit it, your mission is pointless. You were made into a weapon for a cause that is already lost.

Adam looked at the woman who’ve risked everything to follow him in here. 

Shouldn’t he just be free? Free to fuck, fight, and kill without guilt. Why not take his strength back, and use it how he liked? It was his life wasn’t it? What claim did others have on it? Why was he afraid of what he wanted? 

‘Didn’t Nell deserve to be loved by a real man, not someone’s else’s wind-up soldier?’ asked a quiet voice that knew all Adam’s deepest insecurities. 

Adam put a small and feeble pressure on Nell’s hand, bloodshot eyes alive with forbidden thoughts as they looked at her with the wrong kind of hope. “I dunno but…” 

“I’m an oathbreaker and you're an exile,” the fallen Hunter pointed out softly. “Maybe like, this place we could just…,” Adam didn’t finish the question, but raised torn eyebrows to Nell as if trusting she understood what he was asking. 

“I want to,” Nell insisted stubbornly, not pausing in her work of closing up every wound she managed to find on Adam. By the time she reached the end of her efforts the black spots in her vision had widened, and a part of her was thankful for the way they blocked out the terrors of the surrounding walls. It was easier not to get caught up in the unsettling yet mesmerizing shifts that the twisted images went through when you couldn’t see half of them. She tried to wait until the world had stopped swimming to begin on the cuts decorating her skin that were bleeding a little too much for comfort, not all that keen on passing out here and now. It was taking the majority of her strength to make sure she didn’t slip into something of a forced sleep, her body practically begging for rest and a chance to recuperate the magic she’d spent while she swayed where she sat, forcing herself to sit upright, and hoping that would be enough to ensure she stayed conscious. 

Despite Nell’s best efforts, her head swam with the visions on the walls, and for a moment she could have sworn she saw her own face among them. The bones of her cheeks looked sharper, harder than the reflection she saw in the mirror, but there was a confidence that couldn’t help but be alluring, a promise of power and the ability to ensure that no one would ever make a victim of her again. She could make them afraid if she really wanted to. Most normies were already there when it came to witches. Surely it wouldn’t take all that much to rake others into a similar boat? And if they were afraid, there’d be no one to lop off the heads of sisters in clearings in the forest like a knife through butter, or trap Nell beneath a Ring while brain biters stole bits of her she never thought possible to lose. What was stopping her? The judgment of others? The fragile and paper-thin concept of right and wrong? Was it wrong to want to protect herself? Wasn’t releasing the demons within the walls of the mansion the perfect way to achieve such a thing? No doubt a town that was razed would be one that wouldn’t lift a finger against her or the ones she cared about.

It was the press of Adam’s hand in her’s that made her realize she’d lost track of time somewhere in the middle of her wanderings, and her fingers pressed lightly against his own while she blinked herself back to this plane of existence. A mirthless chuckle fell from her, because she knew he was right. An oathbreaker and an exile. The world didn't want them, so why should they want the world in return? But as her vision cleared and her black eyes searched Adam’s, there was the smallest reminder somewhere in the back of her head. They’d come here for a reason, right? She hadn’t wanted Adam to fall. But was it really falling? Focusing on the man in front of her, her brows furrowed, a frown claiming her lips while she spoke. “We...that’s not why we came here...was it?” What if they’d both secretly hoped to be taken into the cult? Perhaps Ma’al had simply awakened a part of them that was already present. No- there was a promise she was meant to be keeping. A promise to the hunter that she wouldn’t let him go under, because that wasn’t something he’d wanted. “That’s not why we came here,” she said with more certainty this time around even as another voice within her tried to poke holes in the words. “You...want that? To stay here?”

Adam knew Nell was right, that wasn’t what they’d come here. Something was leading them astray.

But the walls breathed, bulging and distorting inward as multitudinous alien things strained against the skin of the world. The bleeding painting on the walls asked Adam if that was true. 

Hadn’t he already been astray? Was really it so bad to realize you were lost?

“Only if you’ll stay with me,” he murmured.  

Let me set you free. It was the slithering voice of Kevin, and the words the dream-being had uttered within the caves of the catacombs that echoed through Nell’s mind as Adam made his admission. Even then Nell had nearly given in to the promise of peace and the sheer relief of simply letting go and giving up. She’d barely managed to shake free of the tempting offer when it was a stranger making it, but now that it was the familiar and comforting features of Adam that was making the proposal she found the words all the more intoxicating— certain that warmth and safety would be found on the other side of them. “I want to stay with you,” she said while reaching out her free hand to place it along the side of Adam’s face, thumb resting upon his cheek as she weighed the gravity of her words. This was one of the only things she was certain of these days- that Adam was one of the more stable pieces of her life, and she was more than willing to follow where he went. So many people had left in the last few months, other magnets that had kept her carefully balanced between one another. Winston, Bea, Blanche, and now Jared. They’d gone the ways they’d needed to one by one, and though Nell didn’t resent them in the least it was undeniable that their departure had left her adrift. So if Adam wanted to find the peace they deserved here amongst the cult, and so did she...what was there to stop them? “I’ll stay with you, and we can just be here together.” Away from the world that was determined to throw whatever pain it could their way.

Hey Ma’al,

It's me, Adam. 

Guess it's about that time?

If I do this, let you in...there’s one condition 

Soft spring sun refracted through townhouse windows, golden rays playing across the kitchen. 

“So anyway,” Adam said, trying not to get dish-soap on his jersey as he put plates in the washer. “Dad said Winn and Mr. Woods might be coming over later to help fix the roof...”

Sunflowers swayed in the warm wind outside the window, the nostalgic golden haze of the afternoon casting golden petals stark against their black centers. Light glinted off the harbor bay and the commercial bustle of the Sink District as tourists poured in from ferries to peruse shops and Spring Festival stalls. 

Adam turned to look across the rooms with gentle brown eyes that’d never beheld violence beyond a locker room scuffle. He ran an unscarred hand through his hair and gave Nell a lopsided grin. “Hey...Nell? What’re you thinking about?”

Nell had been watching the gentle arc of the sunflowers as the breeze played with them, more than pleased that they’d grown so beautifully in the past year and already thinking about what she might plant next. “Hmm?” came her questioning hum, head turning towards Adam with a look of chagrin at being caught staring into space. The light of golden hour played over her unmarred skin, the only lasting signs of imperfection being the dirt under her nails from the garden, and the roughness of her finger pads. “Well I was definitely listening religiously,” came her knee-jerk reaction of a tease. But as she took in the perfectness of Adam’s grin and the sun lighting his hair her own smile claimed her lips, softening in the slightest. “Nothing. Nothing, really.” Her mind was at peace, finally serene with a lack of problems to solve and shadows of witch-killers to fear in the night. “Just thinking about how I’m...happy.” She took a few steps towards him, beginning to close the space that had found its way between them. “Happy here with you.”

[reverseblackholeofwords]

Memory Lane

(So... this is Definitely the last teaser! I solemnly swear not to reveal all the good stuff! But again, if you have non-spoiler-y questions I will be happy to answer them or just gush about how much fun its been to write this with @rubbersoles19, who - have I mentioned - is the best? So creative? Seriously. Okay, done gushing now, back to our regularly-scheduled YouTube-related nonsense...)

    The interior of Freddy’s was even more revolting than the outside. The checkered floors were littered with all manner of dirt and grime while the walls were streaked with stains of unknown origins. Streamers and deflated party balloons hung limp from the rotting, moldy ceiling tiles that sagged with the weight of the rain that had managed to leak through over the years. Nate pulled a flashlight from his bag and swept its beam over the entryway and both hallways that led off to either side of them.

    Nothing moved but the dust through the air and the cockroaches that skittered along the floors and walls. Stephanie pulled the neck of her t-shirt up over her mouth and took Nate’s elbow from behind. “Matthew?”

    No reply came aside from her own, faint echo.

    Nate gave his head a single, weary shake. “He won’t hear you.”

    She looked up at him, but in the oppressive darkness of this hallway, she could barely make out the line of his jaw among the shadows. “What? Why not?”

    “Because if he’s here,” Nate muttered, “he’ll be in the secret backroom near the security office. Assuming it hasn’t collapsed in the last six years.”

    “S-secret backroom?” Stephanie squeaked, staying as close to Nate as she possibly could without actually riding on his back. “How do you know all this?”

    “I told you.” Nate swallowed. “Matt and I hunted this guy down before.”

    The hallway opened up into the large, main party room. Nate took a slow, aching breath as he surveyed it all, the tables scattered around, the posters peeling off the walls, the carousel in the corner with the animal eyes watching them as they walked past. The stage was empty, the curtains ripped and weighed down by all the dust and cobwebs they collected over the years.

    But Nate blinked, and it all changed. He blinked, and the stage lights came on, the room filled with music, and the faded colors became bright and blinding and garish once again. Three massive animatronics - a bear, a rabbit, and a chicken -  moved in clipped, mechanical motions on the wooden stage under the glow of several spotlights, and Nate could hear the children laughing, singing, screaming just behind him.

    Nate stumbled back a step, and the vision faded just as quickly as it had come. He rubbed his eyes and looked around again. But it was really gone, all gone. Stephanie squeezed his arm. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

    “‘m fine,” he muttered. “It’s not as bad as I thought it would be. Come on.” Nate pressed on with Stephanie still clinging to him, until he found a door leading to the back of the restaurant, an “Employees Only” sign nailed in place. Nate set his jaw, forced the door open, and staggered into the hallway beyond. It was all too familiar, but he was close, so close. He jogged the rest of the way to the security office as his heart began to drum out a quick pace in his ears.

    One push at the door let him know that this wasn’t going to be easy, so he handed off the flashlight to Steph and put all his weight into one swift kick. The door burst open with a swirl of dust, the musk of rot spilling over them in a fresh wave. Stephanie gagged and waved a hand in front of her face. “Oh, that’s disgusting!”

    “Yeah, almost like it’s been sealed all this time…” Nate ignored the stench and pushed his way inside. It was just how he remembered it, more or less, and devoid of his brother.

    The old dented filing cabinets, the corkboard of children’s drawings, the desk covered in filth and yellow papers - and it all rushed back to him, the sounds of computers humming and the telltale phone ringing and children screaming in the distance - but he didn’t come here for the merry little trip down memory lane. He shook the illusions from his head and looked back towards Stephanie as the monitor on the old security desk flickered to life with the face of a little girl framed in the screen.

    Ignoring it, Nate slid past Stephanie and followed the hallway to the very end where he pressed his hands to the bare wall. “It’s here somewhere, if I could just…” His hands smoothed over the surface until he found the chink in the drywall that he was searching for. “Got it.”

    Stephanie shone the light on the wall. “What are you looking for exactly?”

    He stood back. “After the first round of killings, every restaurant in the chain sealed up their old employee closets. They’re not on the security cameras, so… it was the perfect place, you know. But the older buildings, like this one, still have them, you just have to be a little bit creative to get inside…” Nate knocked on the wall and smiled when he heard the echo behind it.

    He readied himself for another kick just as Steph cried out, “Are you really sure about--?” But it was too late. He broke through the drywall chunk by chunk, pulling it aside until he could see through into the other room. Another cloud of toxic air rolled out of the hole, and even Nate gagged at the smell.

    Rotting flesh, it tended to linger.

    But he continued to pull away bits and pieces of the wall until he could fit through if he sucked in and ducked his head. Then he reached a hand out to Stephanie. “The flashlight,” and when she gave it to him, he drew his gun and squeezed inside...

[iesnoth]

Four Times Artemis Tries to Convince Holly to go with him to Mars and the One Time he Didn’t

The First Time | The Third Time

The Second Time

The second time was during Artemis’s bimonthly check-up. This month they met on Fowl estate, now the Sunny Times Farming Community. Artemis was the only Fowl left living in the ancestral home: his parents thought he stayed behind to make sure their new tenants adhered to their eco-friendly mission statement, his friends thought he had too much history in the house to leave. Now Holly suspected his attachment had less to do with the manor, and more to do with the rocket ship in the barn.

To be fair, he didn’t live in the manor all the time: his laboratory had long since been moved, and he wasn’t one for community living. When he wasn’t sleeping on the makeshift bunk in the barn (pre-clone Artemis would never, Holly thought), he spent the night at Butler’s seaside cottage. Today she flew into the aforementioned barn, not unshielding until the strangely pneumatic doors closed behind her.

“Commodore!” Artemis’s greeting was muffled by wherever he was inside the ship. Though the design was distinctly Artemis, a dark grey color palette highlighted with gold, she saw elements of fairy engineering in the spacecraft. She wasn’t sure Artemis could invent anything without the People’s influence anymore; he was a part of them now.

And he’s leaving, she thought.

He slid out from some secret place under the craft. He wore a bespoke suit, though divested of his jacket, and the sleeves on the black button down were rolled up to the elbow. She wondered if the genius considered this “work clothes.”

“You know the drill,” she said, pretending she somehow hadn’t seen the spaceship and focusing on retrieving a swab and vial from her hip satchel.

“Right on to business then,” he said with an air of teasing.

She propelled herself up with her wings so they were at eye level. “Open up.”

He obliged, and she swabbed the inside of his cheek, then stoppered the swab in the vial. She pocketed it and withdrew an electronic syringe the size and length of her pinkie. She held out a hand, and Artemis placed his hand in her open palm.

“Any problems since our last meeting?” she asked.

“Do you mean the Netherlands?” He was prying.

She pretended not to notice. “I mean two months ago. Have there been any changes?”

He raised one eyebrow. “No.” She pushed the button on the end of the syringe and a needle popped out, stole a few drops of blood from his hand, then retreated, sealing the tube shut behind it.

“No sudden loss of energy, or insomnia?” Blue sparks danced over the tiny pinprick. She didn’t have to heal such a small wound, but she always did.

“My energy levels are fine, and I have no more insomnia than I’ve ever had.” He held up his newly healed hand. “And before you ask, my appetite has been consistent with no strange cravings, no mood swings, no phantom pains, and no growth spurts or increased aging. But you’d know all that if you’d learn to read the diagnostics on the side of that syringe.”

She rolled her eyes, making a great show of putting the syringe away without looking at it before dropping to the ground.

He caught her gaze and smiled like he was letting her in on a secret. “Come, Commodore. Let me give you a tour.”

Holly huffed. She shouldn’t encourage him— after all, didn’t she know what her answer had to be? But she was curious, and at the very least she could trade any information she gleaned about the ship to Foaly for upgrades in her tech.

Artemis waited for her at the threshold, his expression guarded. Taking a steadying breath, she jogged over to catch up.

The interior of the ship matched the exterior: sleek and utilitarian, though the colors inside were a cool, calming blue. Artemis had probably done research on what colors put people at ease, an asset for space travel.

“This is the galley,” he said, “and the central hub of the ship. The bridge is here,” he opened a door in the nose of the craft. There were few buttons, but the dash was a span of black plasma screens which Holly recognized from the holo-displays in Foaly’s center of operations. There were four ergonomic chairs in the bridge: the captain’s and co-captain’s chairs, each with their own steering column, and two on either side of these chairs, so all four  were arranged in an arc. She noticed each seat was large enough to house Butler’s bulk, but had adjustable height and seatbelt for a fairy passenger.

“I assume you see the influences I took from the People,” he said, running his hands over the dormant dash. “I also took some inspiration from the sci-fi films Myles has become smitten with. He actually helped design this room, and the laboratory.”

“You’ve told your family about this?” Holly asked as they moved on.

Artemis pursed his lips before he spoke. “I’ve told Butler.”

“And he’s OK with this?”

He shrugged. “He’s coming with me. And he’s very excited about this:” he opened a pneumatic sliding door to an exercise room. It housed an elliptical and other resistance-based equipment, since anything relying on weight would be moot in the zero gravity of space. “It will be imperative for all the crew to exercise daily in order to prevent muscle atrophy in the vacuum of space,” he explained. “Butler greatly anticipates me having to use a gym for once.”

“Crew?” Holly repeated, passing up the chance to take a jab at the young man’s less than impressive physique. “Who else is coming besides you and Butler?”

He actually looked hurt, and she wondered if she’d pushed her avoidance of his invitation too far. “If you’re going to continue to ignore the obvious,” he said, his voice clipped, “I’ve invited No.1 to come along. After his exploits on the moon, I thought this to be a natural expansion of his studies. He’s conferring with Qwan about whether they could do without him for so long. I also plan on inviting Juliet, if she ever comes home from the mystery assignment Butler won’t tell me about.”

Each of the four living compartments had an upright bed attached to the wall, a porthole, and a tiny, adjustable desk which could be accessed from the bed. If it could be called a bed. Soft, cream-colored, and puffy, they looked like cocoons. Under the zipper and layers of down were straps on the inside to keep the sleeper in place, as well as a control panel to adjust the firmness of the mattress and tightness of the straps. These space explorers would travel in comfort.

“Why only four cubicles, if you’re anticipating five?”

He smiled down at her. “I’m not anticipating five. I assumed someone would say no, and I haven’t invited everyone at once.”

Based on the series of events as he’d told them to her, he’d asked her first (excluding Butler). She wanted to be flattered, but her heart hurt.

“Artemis, I can’t go.”

His carefully maintained smile shrank. “Because of your career?”

“Don’t say it like I prioritize climbing some corporate ladder,” she said, turning away from the cubicles and back toward the galley. “And yes, it is my career. It’s my life, Artemis. I couldn’t live in space! Where would I perform the Ritual?”

“We could bring a store of acorns,” he suggested. “You could plant them on an asteroid: maybe burying them on a foreign planet would grant you different powers.”

“This isn’t one of Myles’s sci-fi movies, Artemis.”

“No, it’s better,” he argued. He crouched down to her level. She hated when he did that. It made her feel condescended to, and she hated looking him in the eyes when they fought. “Anything is possible out there,” he waved to the ceiling with one hand. “We could discover new worlds, meet new species, challenge the very fundamentals of science! We could change the universe for the better.”

She placed a hand on his left cheek, her thumb tracing under his left eye. It was blue now, forever reminding her of the friend she’d lost, then regained.

“I’d like to think I’m doing that now,” she countered. “In Haven, protecting others.”

Artemis stared into her eyes for a moment, searching for answers or perhaps for a chink in her resolve. Finally, he stood, breaking her contact. “We still have the physical tests to complete before you have to return home,” he said.

Holly followed him out, eyes on his feet as he tiptoed through the thin walkway that was a comfortable width for her. She paused at the entrance of the ship as he strode the distance of the barn, walking away from her with a long gait she’d struggle to keep up with on foot. Was she losing him again?