#Attic Room or Cellar Door

[vaguekiwi]

Attic Room or Cellar Door

Read on Ao3

Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust.

A horrific fire destroys Peter's home, and he finds himself alone to sort through the remains. But then Tony — his ex-husband — shows up to help. Tony is left to assuage his irate ex, Peter is left to wonder at Tony's motives, and both of them must grapple with the circumstances of their breakup — admitting to truths they'd rather forget.

[inky-duchess]

Fantasy Guide to A Great House (19th-20th Century) - Anatomy of the House

When we think of the Victorians, the grand old Gilded Age or the Edwardians, we all think of those big mansions and manors where some of our favourite stories take place. But what did a great house look like?

Layout

All great houses are different and some, being built in different eras, may adhere to different styles. But the layout of certain rooms usually stayed somewhat the same.

The highest floors including the attic were reserved the children's rooms/nursery and the servants quarters.

The next floor would be reserved for bedrooms. On the first/ground floor, there will be the dining room, drawing room, library etc.

The basement/cellar would be where the kitchens and other food related rooms would be. Servants halls and boot rooms may also be down here too along scullery, where sometimes a maid would clean.

Rooms used by Servants

Boot Room: The Boot Room is where the valets, ladies maids, hallboys and sometimes footmen clean off shoes and certain items of clothing.

Kitchen: The Kitchen was usually either in the basement or the first floor of the house, connected to a garden where the house's vegetables were grown.

Butler's Pantry: A butler's pantry was where the serving items are stored. This is where the silver is cleaned, stored and counted. The butler would keep the wine log and other account books here. The butler and footmen would use this room.

Pantry: The Pantry would be connected to the kitchen. It is a room where the kitchens stock (food and beverages) would be kept.

Larder: The larder was cool area in the kitchen or a room connected to it where food is stored. Raw meat was often left here before cooking but pastry, milk, cooked meat, bread and butter can also be stored here.

Servants Hall: The Servant's Hall was where the staff ate their meals and spent their down time. They would write letters, take tea, sew and darn clothes. The servants Hall would usually have a fireplace, a large table for meals, be where the servant's cutlery and plates would be kept and where the bell board hung. (these bells were the way servants where summoned)

Wine Cellar: The wine cellar was where the wine was melt, usually in the basement. Only the butler would be permitted down there and everything would be catalogued by him too.

Butler's/Housekeeper's sitting rooms: In some houses, both the butler and the housekeeper had sitting rooms/offices downstairs. This was were they held meetings with staff, took their tea and dealt with accounts.

Scullery: The scullery was were the cleaning equipment was cleaned and stored. The scullery may even also double as a bedroom for the scullery maid.

Servery: The Servery connected to the dinning room. It was where the wine was left before the butler carried it out to be served. Some of the food would be delivered here to be carried out as well.

Servant's Sleeping Quarters: All servants excepting perhaps the kitchen maid and outside staff slept in the attics. Men and unmarried women would be kept at seperate sides of the house with the interconnecting doors locked and bolted every night by the butler and housekeeper. If the quarters were small, some servants may have to share rooms. Servants' bathrooms and washrooms would also be up there, supplied with hot water from the kitchens.

Rooms used by the Family

Dining room: The dining room was where the family ate their breakfast, lunch and dinner. It was also where the gentlemen took their after dinner drink before joking the ladies in the drawing room.

Drawing room: The Drawing Room was sort of a living/sitting room. It was mainly used in the evenings after dinner where the ladies would take their tea and coffee before being joined by the men. It could also be used for tea by the ladies during the day. The drawing room was seen as more of a women's room but any of the family could use it. The drawing room was a formal room but could also be used for more casual activities.

Library: The library is of course where the books are kept. The family would use this room for writing letters, reading, doing business with tenants and taking tea in the afternoons.

Bedrooms: The bedrooms would take up most of the upper floors. The unmarried women would sleep in one wing with bachelors at the furthest wing away. Married couples often had adjoining rooms with their own bedrooms in each and equipped with a boudoir or a sitting room.

Nursery: Was where the children slept, usually all together until old enough to move into bedrooms. They would be attended to be nannies and nursemaids round the clock.

Study: The study was a sort of home office where family could do paperwork, chill and write letters.

Dressing room: Dressing Rooms where usually attached to bedrooms where the family would be dressed and their clothes would be stored. The valets and ladies maids would have control of the room.

Hall: The hall was where large parties would gather for dancing or music or to be greeted before parties.

Furnishings and Decor

Most of these Great Houses were inherited which means, they came with a lot of other people's crap. Ornaments from anniversaries, paintings bought on holiday, furniture picked out by newly weds, all of it comes with the house. So most of the time everything seems rather cluttered.

As for Servant's Quarters, most of the furnishings may have been donated by the family as gifts. Most servants' halls would have a portrait of the sovereign or sometimes a religious figure to install a sense of morality into them.

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Redone 1872 Victorian in San Francisco, CA. As you can see it must've been brick b/c of the corner stones, but it's been sided and painted gray with purple trim. I don't mind that. 4bds, 6ba, 5,158 sq ft, $4.995m. What do you think?

The side hall entrance. I love that they used a darker floor for authenticity. That's the original front door. The stairs are intact, I like the runner. Not sure about the stone tile on the wall, though. The original molding has been painted gray.

The sitting room is entirely gray, but original. Love the fireplace.

Magnificent classical art on the ceiling, framed in gold crown molding.

In the second, matching sitting room, there's a little more color. There's a bar shelf in the corner with a nice zebra background.

And, look at this. The mural continues in this room. So far, I love it.

Oh, wow. They took some walls down and made a huge dining room/kitchen. I love the chandelier.

I don't know how I feel about this. I don't care for the upper cabinets. They did a brick wall, but why didn't they use used brick, so it looks old.

Next to it, they did a family room. I decided. I don't like it. Way too modern, and they changed the whole floor plan.

The powder room is gorgeous, but it's not Victorian looking.

This is one of my favorite wallpaper patterns, but they do have it w/people as well as monkeys, which may have been more appropriate for a Victorian. Well, at least they saved the railing.

What is with these people and stone walls? I like the light fixture. Looks like there should've been a fireplace where the dresser is.

Renovated bath. Wood painted black, but original. I like the sink. The silver paper I like, but not for this house.

Very modern looking closet.

This bedroom is good. Dark floor, original closets and fireplace.

This bath is beautiful, but super-modern. The only Victorian touch is the door.

Love the architectural features here.

Small, authentic bedroom.

The finished attic. Note the ceiling w/the artwork. Very modern, but it's the attic, so I'll give it a pass.

Modern shower room.

Down in the basement, there's a bright, modern wine cellar.

Family room and office or craft room.

Basement bedroom suite. Nice tile and I like the sink.

The yard is basically a patio. I don't like that it's so open to a main street.

https://www.zillow.com/homes/956-S-Van-Ness-Ave-San-Francisco,-CA-94110_rb/15145720_zpid/?

[girlactionfigure]

THURSDAY HERO: Franciszka Halamajowa

Chana and Moshe Malc were traditional Jews living in Sokal, Poland (modern-day Ukraine) with their two young children when the Nazis occupied their town in 1941. Immediately, local residents were emboldened to persecute their Jewish neighbors and violent attacks became common. A squalid, overcrowded Jewish ghetto was established in 1942 and the Malcs were taken from their home and forced to live there.

The Germans began rounding people up, a thousand at a time, and sending them from the ghetto to death camps. Frantically, the Malcs found an attic where six-year-old Chaim Malc could hide, and then Chana, Moshe and their toddler Lifsha, growing desperate, took refuge in a dank cellar with 30 other Jews. They were able to rescue Chaim from his solitary hiding place and bring him to the cellar, but unfortunately Lifsha wouldn’t stop crying. Tragically, a Jew who was forced by the Nazis to search for hidden Jews heard Lifsha’s wails and took her from her family and handed her over to a German soldier, making sure that the other Jews in the cellar wouldn’t be discovered.

Devastated by the loss of their precious daughter and aware that their own days in the ghetto were numbered, the Malcs knew their best chance of survival was to find a place to hide outside the ghetto. They managed to sneak out, but where could they go? They knew one Polish woman, Franciszka Halamajowa, and with nowhere else to turn, they went to her home and pleaded for help. Chaim Malc later explained how the family knew Franciszka. “You never know when you do a favor for someone what it will bring eventually. In 1936, my father and grandfather were traveling with a horse and wagon and they stopped for a woman who was waiting at the side of the road with a lot of parcels – this was how they met Franciszka.”

A kind-hearted woman who was grateful for the Malcs’ help several years before, Franciszka and her young adult daughter Helena warmly welcomed the Jewish family into their humble home. They furnished a small attic room above the pigsty for the Malcs and provided for all their needs. Franciszka’s son Wilmus helped them procure extra food and supplies for the hidden Jews. Franciszka and her family were fully aware of the risks they incurred by secretly sheltering the Malc family; the penalty for hiding Jews was execution on the spot. Franciszka was a devout Catholic who believed that God put the Malcs in her life so that she could help them. 

Soon, members of the extended Malc family also moved into Franciszka’s cramped attic, including Moshe’s mother, sisters and niece. A few months after that, Moshe’s brother Shmelke joined them, along with the four-person Kindler family, bringing the total of attic dwellers to thirteen. They had to keep quiet, and spent the long days praying, writing, and playing chess. Moshe Malc kept a diary in Yiddish, his native tongue. Amazingly, young Chaim later said, “There were high spirits in the hideout in the attic.”

Dr. Kindler was an experienced local physician who provided medical care when needed to the thirteen people in the tiny attic. Sadly, Chaya-Dvora Malc, Moshe’s sister, died of typhus and was buried under the apple tree in Franciszka’s yard. Dr. Kindler’s medical acumen prevented anybody else from getting sick, and in fact saved their lives in another way. Franciszka’s neighbors found out about the hidden Jews and threatened to report them to the Gestapo. In exchange for free medical care from Dr. Kindler, the neighbors kept their mouths shut. Meanwhile, the Polish residents of Sokal were abandoning the city because of the fear of enemy attacks. 

After the Jews had been safely hidden for twenty months, Franciszka was devastated when Nazis suddenly turned up at her front door. They didn’t know about the hidden Jews; they were there to build radar equipment on the roof of Franciszka’s home. Certain that the end was near, the Jews actually contemplated committing mass suicide rather than be sent to a Nazi death camp. Miraculously, the Germans suddenly abandoned the project – perhaps because the Russian army was closing in on Sokal. 

One month later, the city was liberated and for the first time in almost two years, the Malcs and Kindlers went outside. They were surprised to learn that Franciszka had actually hidden three more Jews inside her home, and they helped her cook meals and do laundry for the Malcs and Kindlers. Chaim later remembered the monumental day of liberation. “We emerged on a sunny day in July. We could hardly talk or walk. I was eight years old.” The thirteen Jews hidden by Franciszka were among only 30 of Sokal’s 6000 Jews to survive the war.

The Malcs went from Sokal to a Displaced Persons camp in Germany, where they had another son, Nathan, and then they immigrated to the United States. Franciszka never told anybody about her brave actions during the war, and went to her grave as an unknown hero. In 1984, Franciszka (posthumously) and Helena were honored as Righteous Among the Nations by Israeli Holocaust Memorial Yad Vashem.

Moshe Malc’s diary survived the war to become a family treasure. Sixty-four years after they were liberated, Moshe’s granddaughter Judy Maltz made a feature-length documentary about Franciszka Halamajowa, the brave and pious Polish woman who saved three Jewish families. The movie is called “No 4 Street of Our Lady” – Franciszka’s address. It wasn’t until after the movie came out that Franciszka’s own grandchildren learned the extent of what she did.

For saving 16 Jews from the Nazis, we honor Franciszka Halamajowa as this week’s Thursday Hero.

[gremlin-girly]

Flufftober Day 13

@flufftober

Prompt(s): Attic, Cellar, Hidden Room

Title: Attic

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x gn!Reader

Tags/warnings: FLUFF, Arachnophobia, implied smut at the very end (but I did write with the intention of just kisses!), retching/vomiting/nausea mentioned, literally as scared as you could possibly imagine, crying, panicking, comfort, friends to lovers (ig?)

Summary: You haven't cleared out your attic in a long time and rope in Bucky to help you; not expecting to be scared out of your wits.

Word count: 2k

A/N: This is one of 3 fics I had for this prompt. They will get linked here and on the Masterlist once they've been edited. Can you tell I'm arachnophobic? I'm so scared of spiders it's untrue (and I may have or may not have experienced the retching from fear hahaha) - Love, Grem x

Attic | Cellar | Hidden Room

Prev | Next | Masterlist

Your attic had not been cleared out in years. The accumulation of stuff and things was now too much and you knew you needed to sort through memories, keepsakes and – let’s be real – shit you no longer needed. So, you enlisted the help of your roughest, toughest, friend to help you along; Bucky Barnes.

Although he usually preferred holding onto memorabilia, he knew how to keep you on task, unlike Steve who would simply melt at your puppy dog eyes. No. You needed Bucky to help you be strong.

And you needed him to stand guard to protect you from anything that might move in the attic.

You weren’t necessarily squeamish, but one big reason you had opted to ignore the growing mass of stuff-and-things was spiders. Attics , especially old ones like yours, held untold horrors of gigantic eight-legged fiends that 100000% would attack you if given the chance.

Maybe poison you.

And eat you.

Maybe.

Regardless of whether the fear was justified or not, the fear remained and Bucky was the only one you felt would adequately protect you from such a creature. Even if you had never seen said fiends in your house thus far.

You made Bucky go into the attic first. There were two reasons for this. The first was if there were any spiders lying in wait as the attic door popped open, they would get him first and you could run. The second was so that you could subtly appreciate his strong build from the other end of the landing.

“Doll, why are you standing so far away?” Bucky had queried after opening the hatch and turning on the attic light. He was turning to look at you with a raised brow, utterly confused as you tentatively stepped closer to the ladder.

“Just in case you fell,” you lie, your nerves shot. “Wouldn’t want to get crushed.”

Bucky chuckles. “So you’d not cushion my fall? That’s nice to know.”

He crawls up the ladder and you follow closely behind, racing up the steps quickly before you chicken out. You and Bucky pull boxes and make chit chat about memories linked to your boxes and share stories about growing up. Soon, you’ve relaxed enough to actually begin enjoying the time you’re spending with Bucky.

“Thanks for helping me,” you say, smiling over at him as you open the next box.

“It’s no problem, doll.” Bucky smiles back, filling up another bag of stuff for charity. “But I don’t know why you couldn’t get up here yourself?”

You hesitate for a moment, wondering if you should say anything about your irrational fear of spiders, but decide against it.

“Just wanted the company, is all.” It’s a half truth, you like having Bucky around. Well, a lot more than just like. But it’s a can of worms you aren’t willing to open with him yet.

Bucky seems satisfied with your answer and hums in response. A comfortable silence settles as you both work, sorting through your stuff-and-things, dust pluming and giving a stuffy air to the warm attic. Your eyes occasionally rake over Bucky and your thoughts begin to walk in circles. You were grateful for his friendship, his help and his kindness. You only wished you could pluck up enough courage to ask him out on a date – without the worry that it would jeopardise your friendship. You also didn’t want to embarrass yourself if you’d read too much into the spared glances and giggles you both shared.

You stuck your arm into the black bag before you, mindlessly repeating the same conversation with yourself when you felt something on your arm. You frown and try to peer into the bag. The sticker on the side read winter clothes so it must have been a finger of a glove or a-

It moved.

You freeze. No. You were imagining things. It was totally a glove. Your hand is balled into a tight fist in the bag, lost between layers of scarves and jumpers, but there is definitely something moving against your forearm.

Bucky looks over at you concerned. Super soldier hearing means he can not only hear the sound of your stuttered breathing ; he can also hear your heart racing so erratically that he thought you would pass out. Bucky watches as you stay still and you whisper his name so quietly he almost misses it.

“Yeah doll? You okay?”

You turn to look at him slowly and Bucky’s concern grows exponentially when he sees tears in your eyes. You shake your head, slowly. He takes a step towards you, making the floor board creak loudly. The vibration of the floorboard makes the thing against your arm wriggle further and you let out a hushed sob.

What had you said about not embarrassing yourself in front of Bucky?

Your lip quivers and tears spill from your eyes as you look at him, seeing his confused and concerned expression. Words die in your throat and you just nod and your arm. Bucky's blue eyes drift downwards following your arm into the black bag. He doesn’t see anything at first and was about to ask if this was some sort of prank. However, as bad luck would have it, very long, very hairy legs appear at your elbow.

“Jesus Christ,” Bucky mutters, staring wide eyed. You’re too busy having an existential crisis to care but if you weren’t you’d probably throw something at him.

“Please,” you choke out hoarsely refusing to look down at your arm. You felt nauseous. Maybe you’d pass out. Or throw up.... or both.

Bucky looked at you and then back down to your arm where four pairs of eyes blinked up at him.

“I’ll need a cup.”

“Fuck you and your cup!” You hiss angrily. “You have a metal arm. Just pick him up and throw him out.”

Bucky looks at you dumbfounded, as if you’ve suggested something utterly disgusting, then realisation dawns and he flexes his metal hand. “Oh, yeah.”

The spider moves a little higher, long fuzzy legs tickling the crease in your elbow as it feels its way up your arm slowly. It’s enough to make you heave. If being freaked out by a spider wouldn’t embarrass you in front of Bucky, vomiting from fear would. Your retching seems to snap Bucky out of his stupor of forgetting he does in fact, have a metal arm to deal with the spider. Bucky watches as your shoulder violently move as you retch again, harder this time, and listens to your staggered breathing as you attempt to stay in control.

He reaches over with his metal palm up, placing it gently against your bicep. The vibranium was luke-warm against your flushed skin. You were already breaking a sweat from anxiety mixed with the tepid dry heat of the attic and wished for once his arm was cool to bring some relief.

“Just stay still, doll.” Bucky instructs softly, waiting for the perfect moment as the spider makes its way into Bucky’s palm. You bite back a venomous quip, clamping your mouth shut instead. Once the spider is nestled in his palm, Bucky reels back and throws it across the attic. The spider lands in the cushioned yellow foam between the floorboards, re-orienting itself briefly, before scuttling awkwardly into a crevice.

Bucky would have turned back to you to comfort you but there was an empty space where you once stood. Upon feeling the spider and Bucky’s hand leave your arm, you had practically thrown yourself from the attic. You didn’t even know if you took the ladder or jumped. You were too pre-occupied crying on your bed, trying desperately to calm down.

Bucky appears at your bedroom door with a gentle knock and a soft smile as your wiping your eyes, breathing finally evening out enough with only a few hiccups of sobs.

“Sorry,” you say thickly, sniffing pitifully. “And thanks for getting rid of it.”

Bucky shrugs and comes closer to you, sitting next to you on the bed. “He was pretty damn big, gave me a fright too.”

The thought of the spider scaring Bucky too makes you smile over at him. You sniff again and realise you must look crazy; crying and hyperventilating over a spider touching you. You shiver at the thought and try to quell a wave of nausea. You rub the arm the spider was on subconsciously, your mind tricking you into thinking that something is on you again.

Bucky seems to take notice because he places his flesh hand over yours to stop you rubbing your arm too hard. You look over at him again and notice his eyes are looking into yours with a knowing kindness that makes your heart stutter.

“You don’t need to be sorry.” He says firmly and then, quieter, he asks, “Is that why you wanted me here?”

You nod. “I... I don’t do well with spiders.”

“I can see that,” Bucky grins and you shoot him a glare. But it’s half hearted and you falter into a chuckle. You rub at your eyes again, removing the last of the tears.

“I just wanted to make sure I didn’t pass out if I saw one. And I like your company so... two birds.” You shrug sheepishly and Bucky nudges your shoulder with his playfully.

“Well, congrats doll. You didn’t pass out. And...” He trails for a moment, deciding on what to say. “I like your company too.”

You feel your cheeks go a little pink but say nothing. You take a deep breath and exhale a long  exhaustive, lung-emptying breath, body finally letting go of the adrenaline. However, it all kicks up again when you feel Bucky inch closer to wrap his arm around you in an incredibly awkward, yet incredibly comforting side hug. He pulls you close and you're squished against his shoulder as he rests his chin on your head. Your face heats and you don’t know where to put your newly sweaty palms other than onto your jeans. Finally, you breathe and it’s like a switch flips. You relax entirely in Bucky’s embrace and lean your head into his shoulder, mumbling thanks.

You head vibrates as Bucky’s chest rumbles with a chuckle. “No worries doll. But maybe we cut the sorting short for today, huh? You made good progress.”

You beam proudly, even though he can’t see it. “Yeah. I think so. We were only up there for about two hours."

You hum thoughtfully, breathing in the scent of his aftershave. "So, uh, do you want to watch a movie or something? I’d feel bad that you came all the way here to help.”

“Sure. I’d like that.”

But he doesn’t move.

And neither do you.

You don’t really know how long you sit together, breathing in the smell of him, slotting under him as if you were always meant to. It isn’t  until you sigh as your eyes flutter closed that you feel Bucky’s head move. His nose brushes the your crown and he inhales the scent of your shampoo and ever so gently presses his lips against your hair.  You shift, unsure of how to react, and that makes Bucky stiffen with the realisation he’d just kissed your head on autopilot. Your cheeks flush – as do his. Yet you both remain silent for a few more moments.

“Bucky?” you call out quietly.

“Yeah, doll?”

Another pause.

“Do that again.”

He hesitates but complies.

And continues to comply every time you command it, eventually kissing all the way down to your cheeks, hovering at your lips. With one last command, he meets your eyes briefly before they flutter closed and your lips meet.

Neither of you watch the movie until, much, much later and even then you’re both too wrapped up in one another to care. That day was the first of many good days to come.

Who'd have thought you would be thankful to a spider for bringing you and Bucky together?

[ckret2]

I believe I remember a post you wrote once, as an answer to an ask maybe, where you mentioned that you forgot not everyone has a clear mental map of the Mystery Shack's layout as you do, and some people were confused about what floors existed and how you were writing characters coming from where. I wanted to check the post again since iirc you explained or described some stuff in there, but I can't find it >_< I was mostly wondering, does the Mystery Shack have a basement that isn't connected to the elevator, and is this where Ford's room is, or is it in the ground floor? I feel like I see people treat the shack like it has 3 floors completely separate from everything the elevator leads to but I might also just be confused

i'm not gonna put the effort into digging that post back up but you're in luck because the basements weren't addressed in that post so it wouldn't have helped anyway!!!

Yes, the Mystery Shack DOES have another room that appears to be a basement, separate from THE basement with the elevator where the portal is! We see it in Bottomless Pit:

We never see how this room connects to the rest of the shack so we can't guarantee that it's underground. But the concrete-looking floor, plain cracked walls, bare bulb, exposed pipes, utilitarian hot water heater & washing machine, and very high window all scream "basement."

I personally call this room "the cellar" to distinguish it from THE basement.

We never fully see the wall that would be to Soos's left, so we aren't SURE that there's no additional doors down there, but there's no evidence of any.

As to where Ford's room is, it depends on which of Ford's rooms you mean. If you mean Ford's room as in the one that was revealed in The Last Mabelcorn, it's part of the elevator basement levels:

But you probably don't mean that one since we see them taking the elevator down to it.

If you mean the one revealed in Carpet Diem, it's somewhere in the main house:

Both the room itself and the hallway outside the room have normal large windows, preventing the room from being underground; and the room has a tilted ceiling with sunbeams coming through, indicating it's directly under the roof.

A complication: we don't know where the staircase on the left goes and there's no sensible place to put it based on what we do know about the house's layout. But that's the case with several locations in the house.

Based on the map we have of the house, this room is likely the "study." Notice that the shape of the hall leading to the room (dead ending against an outer wall) and the fact that there's a hall on the side of it lines up with the study's location; even if the staircase doesn't lol.

The reason a lot of people headcanon the shack has three stories is because the first floor's fully accounted for with these blueprints, (the three unlabeled rooms are the entryway, kitchen, and office), there's nothing in the attic but an open floor and the kids' room, and yet there's multiple rooms we have no location for (Stan's bedroom, the storage room the wax figures were found in, ANY of the bathrooms). The doylist explanation is that the showrunners wanted the shack to be a little magical with a confusing layout (up until they dropped these blueprints) so it doesn't always make internal sense; but if you want a watsonian explanation for where those rooms were, "second floor" is the easiest.

[phoenixs-fandoms-and-writings]

Saving You

Fandom: Harry Potter (fuck JKR)

Pairing: Poly!Marauders/GN!reader

Plot: you’ve been taken by the Death Eaters. Even though you’ve been trying to break out from your attic cage, you haven’t been able to break free until one day, you see three familiar faces coming towards the house.

Notes: I don’t agree with JKR and her views or beliefs.

This was inspired by @flufftober 2024’s day 13 prompt: attic, cellar, hidden room.

Flufftober 2024 Masterlist - General Masterlist

I do not give permission to anyone to repost or translate any of my stories. I also do not give anyone permission to feed my stories through AI or to be posted to any third party website or app. If anyone sees any of my work posted anywhere but here or my AO3 (simplyreflected), then it has been posted without permission.

Read on AO3 here.

You don’t know how long you’d been in the attic of this house. You couldn’t figure out why they didn’t shove you into the dungeon. That seemed more like what Death Eaters did.

But up here, you had a window, but even though you had been told that it was unbreakable, thanks to their charms, you still tried.

You hadn’t tried breaking the window yet today, but maybe you didn’t have to. Coming towards the house were three figures that were familiar to you; Sirius Black, James Potter and Remus Lupin. You thought one of them had looked up and saw you, but you couldn’t tell since they kept walking.

When they were out of your line of sight, you started screaming, “HELP! I’M UP HERE! HELP! PLEASE HELP ME! DON’T LEAVE ME HERE!”

Finally, you heard banging on the other side and when you shut up, hoping that it was one of them, you heard James’ voice, “Get away from the door!”

You moved away and told him, “done that, now what?”

Next thing you knew, the door was halfway across the room and for the first time, you saw James walk in. You ran up to him, hugging him, “thank you, Jamie.”

“You’re welcome,” he pulled you back to look at you before leaning down to kiss you. “Go on a date with me?”

“Yes,” you hugged him again and there you stayed until the other two walked in.

“You don’t need to worry about them anymore, dove,” Remus told you, before he kissed you. When you pulled back, you were confused, but Sirius pulled you in for a kiss. The other two coming in from behind you - James kissing your neck and Remus kissing the top of your head, before kissing Sirius’ neck.

When Sirius pulled back, you saw him stare at you and James with complete lust. “Go on a date with all of us, darling, please? We want you to be ours.”

James stopped kissing your neck and kissed your cheek.

“Yes, I’d love to be yours. To be with all of you,” you looked around the room, moving more into James, “but can we please get out of here?”

“Oh, most definitely,” Remus said as he led all of you out. And you never once saw any of the Death Eaters who had been holding you, but you didn’t care, you finally had your guys.

[viking-raider]

Salt in Our Wounds - Chapter II

Summary-> You've brought the unconscious and injured man into your home. Now, you and Edmund attempt to get him medical attention, while figuring out who he is, and what side he's on.

Pairing-> Gus March-Phillipps/Reader

Word Count-> 4.8k

Chapters-> I

Warnings-> PG: Blood, Language, Infidelity, Fluff, Medical Treatment

Inspiration-> Since my favorite demon, @littlefreya, asked so nicely. The one and only Chaos Major, Gus March-Phillipps.

Author’s Note-> I hope you enjoy! Line divider by @FIREFLY-GRAPHICS!

-> If you would like to get notifications for my writing! Just follow my Tag List blog, @VIKING-RAIDER-TAGLIST as well as my @VIKING-RAIDER-LIBRARY and turn on the notifications for it! It’s that easy!’

“What are we going to tell Papa, Edmund?” You whispered, looking at him suddenly.

Edmund pushed his jaw forward and rubbed his palms over the steering wheel. “You just leave that to me, Peanut.” He replied, hitting the village round-a-bout. “I'll talk to him. What we need to worry about is how we're going to get his bullet wound treated.”

“Oh, no!” You gasped, feeling ridiculous for forgetting that.

“Relax.” Edmund cooed, turning onto your street. “I might have someone in mind, who could help us and keep their mouth shut.” He said, parking against your curb, instead of his.

“Who?” You frowned, blinking at him.

“Old man Tremblay.” He said, killing the engine. “He used to be the village's doctor, before his son-in-law, Thomas, took over for him. They both hate the Germans. So, I might be able to talk to Dr. Tremblay about coming over to the house. I'll say we need him to look at Pops. No offense to Thomas, but he's more comfortable with the old man, which is true. Once he's here, I'll explain the situation to him.”

“If he doesn't help us?” You asked, chewing on your lip, worried.

“Then, we'll wing it.” He huffed, shoving his door open and getting out.

“Wing it.” You sighed, your hands trembling. “Right. Wing it.” You gulped, getting out and meeting your brother at the tailgate. “What end are we picking up first?” You asked, quietly.

“I'll grab his top end.” Edmund replied, casually. “No need for you to drop the poor bastard on his head. He's got enough issues.” He sighed, climbing into the truck. “We all do.” He mumbled under his breath. “Go, open the front door.” He said, jerking his head towards your modest cottage.

“Fair.” You replied, scurrying over and pushing the door open. “Papa, me and Edmund are bringing something in! Don't close the door, please!” You called inside, before rushing back to the truck, helping Edmund with your load.

You slide him half off the truck, enabling you to wrap your arms around his knees and calves, before Edmund managed the rest. Shuffling across the sidewalk and turning, so Edmund went in first, you stepped over the threshold into the cottage, feeling the heat of the fire your father had roaring in the grate.

“What in God's sake are you two bringing in!” Your father griped from the sitting room, where he occupied his favorite armchair.

“I'll explain in a minute, Pops!” Edmund wheezed back, kicking open the door to the cellar. “You go down first.” He bid you with a jerk of his chin. “Your side vision is better than mine, so you hopefully won't stubble down the stairs, while looking over your shoulder.”

“That's fine.” You nodded, turning so you could carefully go down the narrow steps into the dark basement below.

It was slow and cumbersome, but you and Edmund made it to the bottom. You sat your package down and unwrapped him. There were no windows into the basement, so there wasn't a need to hide or conceal him anymore.

“We can't lay him on the floor, Edmund.” You hissed at him, quietly.

“We're not, silly!” He growled back, shaking his head. “Pops has a camp bed up in the attic. Go, get it and bring it down here. We'll set it up in the cellar, he can lay on it.”

Nodding, you went back upstairs, peeking at your father as you came up, but found, to your relief, he had dozed off. Going upstairs and down the hallway, you reached up for a cord hanging from the ceiling and pulled it, revealing a hidden, folded ladder, leading up to the half attic. It took a few minutes for you to finally find the folded up, military green and canvas, camp bed. Once you were back in the basement with it, Edmund had the cellar door open and was waiting for you. He put the bed together like an expert, having gone on countless camping trips with it over his life.

“That should do it.” He sighed, wiping his face. “Let's get him in it, then I'll go talk to Dr. Tremblay.”

“All right.” You sighed back. “He doesn't seem to be bleeding as much.” You commented, once he was resting in the bed.

“Seems so.” Edmund agreed, narrowing his eyes at the wound in the dim lighting. “Whether or not it's a good or bad sign is yet to be determined.”

“Then, you should hurry and get the doctor.” You urged him, brow creasing gently as you looked up at him.

“I'm going. I'm going.” He defended, holding his hands up. “Can't a man take a breather?” He asked, wide eyed.

You reached out and took Edmund's hand. “I'm sorry. I'm just-”

“I know, Peanut.” Edmund interrupted, shaking his head at you. “You have a heart worth more than gold, itself.” He said softly, bending to kiss the top of your head. “With luck, I'll be back soon with Dr. Tremblay.” He called, heading out.

“You hear that?” You said, looking at the man. “We're going to get you looked after. You'll be right as rain again soon.” You smiled at him, though you weren't sure why. “How about I grab you a blanket?” You continued to babble at him. “You might get blood on it though.” You frowned, biting the corner of your lip, but scurried upstairs for a blanket and pillow anyway.

“What's that for, Peanut?” Your father asked, still half dozing.

“Oh, I just thought the basement spirit would like something comfortable to nap with.” You answered, pausing at the basement door, smirking over at him, knowing he wasn't listening.

“That's nice of you, love.” He slurred, head lolling forward.

You chuckled, continuing on. “Well, my father now thinks the basement is haunted.” You quipped, lightly spreading the blanket over your new housemate, then gently tucked the pillow under his head, noticing how sweaty his unruly, but short, curls were. “You've caught a fever.” You cooed, turning your hand to delicately rest it on his damp forehead. “Thankfully, it's cool down here.” You said, using the cuff of your blouse to dab at his sweaty brow.

“I'll be right back.” You hurried back upstairs, to the kitchen.

You grabbed a bowl from the cabinet and a dish towel from its hanger. Tossing the towel over your shoulder, you filled the bowl halfway with water and turned to the ice box and chipped ice from it, dropping some into the bowl. You made two trips between the upstairs and the cellar, taking a chair down there, before taking down the chilled water, so you had something to sit on as you gingerly dabbed his flushed forehead and face.

“Well, whoever you are.” You said, balancing the bowl in your lap. “It's a right mess this is.” You chuckled, before introducing yourself, feeling silly just sitting there in the silence. “I hope you're on our side or Edmund is going to have us both shot.”

Some of the heat in his skin cooled as you lightly draped the folded dish towel over his forehead, making you relieved to see him not so flushed.

You heard the door upstairs creak open and the floorboards overhead groan as heavy feet strode and shuffled over them. “That must be Edmund with Dr. Tremblay.” You commented, looking up at the dusty ceiling. “I should go up and check on them.” You said, standing up, setting the now warm bowl of water in your place on the chair.

“Edmund?” You called softly, appearing in the kitchen, where he was standing with a short, gray haired man, dressed in a wrinkled, brown three piece suit.

“Sshh.” He hushed you, casting an eye towards the sitting room and waved you closer. “As I was saying, Dr. Tremblay, I've brought you here not for my father, but for another matter entirely.” He continued, his voice low so as not to disturb your father.

Dr. Tremblay's bushy brows drew closer together, reminding you of a caterpillar. “Is that so?” He hummed, bringing his arthritic hand up to his chin. “Then, what was it you summoned me here for?”

Edmund's eyes twitched to yours for a moment, you nodded at him and he looked back to the good doctor. “I know you have no love for our occupiers, Dr. Tremblay, like I, myself, don't.”

“Ha!” He laughed, his head tipping back as he grinned. “Fripouilles!” He spat, with no small amount of venom.

“I agree, sir.” Edmund chuckled, smirking. “But, to the heart of the matter. My dear sister here, on her daily morning walk along the beach found something—someone, washed ashore.” He explained, his voice calm and steady, revealing no emotion or opinion. “We're sure he's of our morals. But he's been injured.”

“Injured?” Dr. Tremblay frowned, narrowing his ordinarily kind, but currently and understandably suspicious, brown eyes at him. “Injured how? Show me.”

“I would rather tell you.” Edmund answered, biting his lip. “In case, you wish not to have any further dealings in this matter.”

“Nonsense!” Tremblay huffed, waving his hand dismissively at the two of you. “Let me see this man.”

Edmund didn't move for a moment, before nodding and leading him down the basement stairs. “He was shot in the side.” He explained, entering the cellar, where your guest laid.

“I discovered he'd developed a fever.” You spoke up from the door. “So, I applied a cool compress to his skin.”

“That was a good thing.” Dr. Tremblay answered, distractedly, folding back the blanket and resting his hands on the man's injured side. “Has he regained consciousness at any time?”

“No.” Edmund replied, shaking his head and looking at you.

“He hasn't.” You confirmed, nervously.

Dr. Tremblay pulled a pair of wired spectacles out of the inside pocket of his suit jacket, before untucking the shirt from the unconscious man's trousers, for a clearer view, and began fussing around the wound. “Help me turn him on his side, Edmund.” He bid, waving your brother over. “Yes, good. Very good.” He nodded, examining his back. “The bullet went clean through to the other side.” He said, indicating the exit area, just above his hip.

“Then, why is he still comatose?” You asked, concerned.

“He may have struck his head on something, while in the water.” He answered, allowing Edmund to rest him on his back, before moving up to his head and gently working his fingers through his curls, feeling for any bumps or soft spots on his scalp. “Ah, just here.” He smiled, finding a faint knot at the back, just behind his left ear.

“Well, get my bag from upstairs. I'll treat him.” Tremblay sighed at Edmund. “Are you squeamish, young lady?” He asked, while he pulled the chair closer to the bed and sat down.

You thought of the Patrol Officer for a split second, before answering him. “No, sir. I am not.”

“Very good.” He said, crooking a finger at you. “You'll be taking care of this, when I'm not here to check on him.” He informed you, bluntly.

“That's fine.” You gulped, biting your lip and moving to stand beside him. “What will I need to do?”

“The dressing on both the entry and exit wounds will need to be changed.” He explained to you, calmly. “You'll make sure there's no sign of infection or the stitches I need to put in place have not come untied. As well as keep them clean.”

You nodded your head, somewhat apprehensive at the thought of doing all of this, but knew there was no other option, if you wanted to keep this man alive.

“You were correct in assuming he has a fever.” Dr. Tremblay said, lifting the damp towel and laying his hand on the man's forehead, feeling the heat there. “It's possible there's an infection in his wound from his time in the water.” He replaced the towel and looked up at Edmund as he rejoined the two of you, holding Tremblay's black, large and leather doctor's bag.

“I will show you how to give him penicillin shots.” He told you, taking his bag and setting it down between his feet.

“You mean with a needle?” You squeaked, startled, looking over at Edmund.

“Certainly not with a glass, mon chéri.” Tremblay chuckled, grinning at the contents of his bag.

The seasoned doctor removed an emerald, glass bottle of liquid antiseptic, a small package of silk sutures with a wickedly sharp needle, a tiny vial of a clear substance and a glass syringe. He laid them out on a small space on the bed, turning his attention back to the angry looking entry wound.

“Do you have any hand towels you could part with?” He asked, looking up at you. “It will help me clean these wounds.”

“Yes, of course.” You nodded, darting back upstairs and grabbing a couple of the dish towels you had that were in sad condition, bringing them back down as Edmund was wrestling an old nightstand into the room.

“Give him something to put his instruments on.” He explained to your expression.

“Ah.” You nodded, understanding.

Everything set up, you watched closely as Dr. Tremblay drew the milky antibiotic through into the syringe, pushing up the plunger slightly to remove any air, then set it aside and studied his patient for a moment, before letting out a sigh that sounded as if he was inconvenienced.

“We must remove his trousers.” He said, tapping his foot.

“Why?” Edmund blurted out, brows going up with surprised shock.

“So I may administer the shot to him.” Tremblay replied, with an air of impatience.

“Well!” Edmund started to protest.

“Men!” You huffed, shaking your head.

“Don't you dare!” He snapped at you, watching as you moved around the good doctor and removed the blanket you had laid over the injured man, but you ignored him.

First, untying his boots and dropping them at the foot of the bed, then reached up and unbuttoned his suspenders, followed by the button of his trousers.

“What if he's not wearing an undergarment?” Your brother protested further.

“Then, we will be finding out presently, brother.” You replied, shooting him a look as you tugged the zipper down, much to your relief finding the hint of white and blue striped shorts. “See, you're fretting for nothing.” You said, tugging the rough wool pants down off his surprisingly thick thighs.

“Possibly of questionable allegiance, but properly dressed.” You quipped, folding them.

“Watch closely, mon chéri.” Tremblay hummed and picked the syringe back up, with a practiced hand, squeezed the muscle at the top of his thigh and injected him, slowly pushing down the plunger. “That is how it is done.” He said, looking up at you.

“It seems simple enough.” You answered, attempting to appear confident in your ability to replicate it.

“Very good.” He nodded, turning his bespeckled eyes to the bullet wound on the man's abdomen.

Grabbing one of the hand towels you set on the table, he poured antiseptic on it and pressed it to the wound, eliciting one of the first major reactions out of your beached stranger with the stinging liquid to the open and bleeding puncture. He whined, brows drawing together as he shook his head, sluggishly lifting his hand. You moved back around to the head of the bed, hushing him gently and picking up the now wilted towel as it slipped from his forehead. You caressed his damp curls off his forehead and temple, attempting to offer some semblance of comfort as Dr. Tremblay continued to disinfect his wound and the area around it.

“You're all right.” You whispered to him, quietly. “We're just trying to help you.” You tried to explain to him, not sure if he could hear you or not. “You're safe here with us.” You mumbled, watching Tremblay set the cloth aside to pick up the needle and thread, you unconsciously took the man's limp hand in yours and hugged it to your chest.

“Is there no more light to be had in this room, Edmund!” Tremblay asked, leaning forward to stare at the wound in the dusky light of the single, naked bulb overhead.

“I may be able to find you a lantern.” Edmund replied, turning back into the basement and rummaged around the items, until he found an oil lamp. He shook it gently, hearing what oil that was left inside slosh about. “I found it!” He called out, before going upstairs, setting that lamp on the kitchen counter and crossing into the sitting room, where the once roaring fire was, but now only flickered.

He took one of the fire sticks from the holder bolted to the brick that made up the fireplace and lit it with one of the remaining flames. Carefully carrying it back to the lamp, Edmund lit its soaked wick and blew the fire stick out, before tossing it into the sink.

“Here.” Edmund sighed, setting the lamp down on the table. “I hope it's enough.”

“Yes, yes.” The doctor nodded, satisfied.

With all he needed, Tremblay squinted and made the first pick of the needle. The patient huffed, his stomach muscles flexing in response, but it didn't deter Dr. Tremblay in the slightest as he continued. You stroked his forearm and squeezed his hand, watching with an uneasy stomach as the old doctor made smooth sutures. Those sutures placed, Edmund helped roll him onto his side, so the wound on his lower back could be likewise treated with antiseptic and stitched closed.

“I will come back in a day or two, to check on his wound and ensure the fever has broken. Give him the next shot in the morning.” Tremblay said, arranging his bag and closing it. “Should he grow worse in that time, send for me.”

“We will.” You answered, staring down at him, concerned with the flush to his face.

Edmund showed the kind doctor back upstairs, while you gently tended to your sick house guest. Carefully pulling down his shirt and covering him back up, as not to leave him only laying in the camp bed in a long sleeved shirt and his boxers. Picking up the basin of water, you carried it back upstairs and dumped it out in the sink, refilling it with fresh water and a little ice, before taking it back to the cellar, resting it on the table. Dipping the folded cloth in the chilled water and ringing it out, then gently pressing it to his flushed and bearded cheeks wiping away the droplets of blossoming sweat at his brow.

“He's going to need some nursing.” You said, hearing your brother coming back.

“I can see that.” Edmund replied, folding his arms and leaning against the door frame.

“Is there any prospect of finding him a more comfortable bed?” You asked Edmund, looking the camp bed over, how it dipped under his weight, the only support were the ties that kept the canvas middle secure to the frame.

He narrowed his eyes at you. “Between both houses, while Willa and I have a guest bed, that he's not welcome to, for obvious reasons. We don't have a bed to spare.” He told you, but saw the glint in your eye. “I could piece something for him.” He continued, stopping you from asking the question that was on the tip of your tongue. “Topping it with the mattress from my spare bed.”

“That would be better for him, I think.” You said, worried about the safety of the sutures on his back.

“Well, for now, it'll have to wait until tomorrow.” Edmund sighed, scratching the underside of his jaw. “It's your turn to make dinner tonight, by the way.” He reminded you, watching you fuss with the stranger as if he was someone you knew.

“I remember, brother.” You replied, catching the edge in his voice. “I got a good bit of minced beef from Remi last afternoon, with some Swedes.” You told him, dipping the cloth in the cool basin, then lightly laid it over the resting man's forehead. “Juliette told me a recipe yesterday as well. It's called Beef Loaf.” You stood, planting your hands on your hips and massaging the small of your back, sore from so much bending.

“I thought we would try it tonight.” You said, turning towards him, with a lifted brow.

“Sounds interesting.” He answered, cocking a brow back at you. “You should get to it.” He added, looking at his watch. “Supper starts in two hours. You know how the Major is, when dinner isn't prompt.”

You chuckled softly, nodding. “Yes, I do.” You replied, casting your eyes down to your soiled skirt. “But, I should change first. If he sees me like this, he'll likely ask questions.”

“Very true.” Edmund nodded, squinting at your skirt and just making out the stains. “Off you trot, then. I'll stay with our friend for a little while, in case he wakes.” He sighed, pushing off the door frame towards the chair. “You mind popping over to my place and grabbing my sketch pad, after you're finished freshening up? I need to make some figures on the shelves I'm putting down here.”

“Of course.” You nodded, picking the basin. “Do you have another lantern or oil? So you have more light to work by?”

“I believe so.” He frowned, slouching in the chair. “Willa can find them.”

Nodding again, you left back upstairs, setting the bowl in the sink and headed up to your bedroom. Sighing, you unbuttoned your skirt and let it slip in a puddle around your ankles, before stepping out of it and opened your little closet. Reaching blindly in for a fresh skirt, pulling out a wool, black and green, plaid skirt and slipped it on. Smoothing your hands over the garment, you hurried outside and to Edmund and Willa's home across the street, knocking lightly as you pushed the door open.

“Willa!” You called out for your sister-in-law, looking about for the slight brunette. “Lila!” You shouted, crossing to the back of the house, where they had a small garden, finding your sister-in-law there. She sat at a small table, slightly sideways in her chair, as she held one of her Debs Rose-Tips between her slender fingers, her eyes staring off over the garden wall.

“Willa.” You hailed, stepping out onto the patio.

Head jerking as she startled and taking a deep breath, Willa blinked several times and looked around at you. “Oh, it's you.” She sighed, rolling her hazel eyes. “What do you want?”

“I came for Edmund's sketch book. I also wanted to know if you had a lantern or lantern oil?” You explained to her, ignoring her look of annoyance at being bothered in whatever she was doing.

“Fine.” Willa huffed, standing up and heading inside, you following after her.

Willa opened a closet in the living room, removing a lantern and a bottle of oil, handing them over to you, before finding Edmund's sketch pad and his graphite pencil in the kitchen, motioning to them. “Will my husband need anything else?” She asked, with an air of almost callousness.

“I should think not.” You answered, taking the book and pencil up. “I'll have dinner ready soon.” You informed her, juggling all of your items. “If you're going to grace us with your presence.” You added, with an edge of your own.

“I'll think about it.” She answered, lifting an arched brow at you.

“Right, I'll have Edmund get you, when it's finished.” You said, turning for the door. “If not, I'll make you a plate.”

You were gently turning out the mixture of mince meat, dry breadcrumbs, fine onion, an egg, a pinch of salt and a can of cream of mushroom into your four by eight loaf pan, when your brother came tromping up the basement stairs.

��You'll wake the dead with all that noise, Captain.” You quipped, lightly patting the meat concoction into shape in the pan.

“That I will.” Edmund chuckled, moving to stand beside you, peeking over your shoulder to see in the baking pan. “Is that the beef loaf?” He asked, giving it a questionable brow lift.

“It is.” You nodded, sighing at it, praying you had mixed it all properly. “Now, it's supposed to cook for an hour.”

“Well, hopefully it'll look prettier by then.” Edmund chuckled, smirking at you, then brought up his sketch pad. “I finished up the drawing for the shelves down there. What do you think?” He asked, cocking his head at the dark lines.

Opening the blazing oven and grabbing the pan in a thick towel, you paused for a moment to give your brother's picture a look. “They look good, Eddie.” You told him, smiling encouragingly, bending to slide the pan onto the middle rack and shut the door. “How are we to open and close the secret door you've made there?” You asked, pointing it out, careful not to touch it so you didn't smudge the graphite.

“The lock is magnetic.” He replied, pointing it out in the sketch. “We'll put something on the shelf that'll connect to it, so when it's moved, the mechanism is tripped and the door swings up.”

“That's pretty incredible.” You grinned, enchanted by the whole thing.

“It shouldn't take me more than two days to build.” Edmund said, sounding as confident as he could as he examined the drawing a bit more, slowly turning away to head over to the kitchen table, seating himself to refine it a bit more.

“What are we building?” Your father's voice asked as he made careful steps coming down stairs.

You and Edmund exchanged a quick glance at each other and you turned away to mind the violet and dusky yellow Swedes that sat boiling in a pot of salted water top of the stove. There was a lump in your throat, waiting to hear what excuse Edmund was going to give your father for the changes downstairs in the basement. Neither of you really worried about him going down there, he struggled with stairs because of his advancing arthritis, choosing to sleep in his armchair in the sitting room most nights and only making the arduous journey upstairs to his bedroom when he needed to change his clothes or shower.

However any change to the house, seen or unseen, would draw his attention.

“I'm going to build some shelves against the cellar wall, in the basement, for her.” Edmund replied, calmly, making an adjustment to his plans. “So she can tidy things up a bit down there.”

“And what of the cellar?” Mael asked, shuffling over to his chair.

“We haven't used it once for anything since we lived here, Pops.” He chuckled, smirking at the old man's back. “Might as well close it up.”

Mael made a sound as he lowered himself into his chair, something between a dismissive grunt and a stiff groan. “Very well.” He sighed, settling himself and tossing his knitted blanket over his lap. “If it makes Peanut happy.”

You chucked, smiling. “It does, Papa.” You assured him, draining the water out of the Swedes pot and looking over your shoulder at Edmund, who winked at you.

Mashing the Swedes and getting them nice and creamy, you set them aside and checked the Beef Loaf. Opening the oven door and filling the space with a rather mouthwatering aroma, but the dish still needed a few more minutes to cook, so you shut door and started pulling down plates, setting them on the stove to warm up.

“Dinner will be ready soon.” You announced to Edmund and your father. “Do you want to see if Willa is joining us?” You asked Edmund, biting the corner of your lip.

Edmund took a deep breath, setting his pencil down and rubbed at the smudged graphite dust on his fingers for a moment. “I think we both know the answer to that, sister.” He mumbled, a hardness coming to his eyes.

“I suppose.” You whispered back, heart sore for him. “I'll make a plate for her.”

“Best bet.” He sighed, pushing his chair back and standing, moving over to the sink to wash his hands.

[cosmicobubisi]

Cosmic's Whump vs Flufftober: Day 13

familial curse / Attic, Cellar, Hidden Room

After the initial upset, it turned out not to be so bad living here, Yuu thought.

Living in a creaky old mansion had its downsides- shopping was annoying, though Yuu was able to outsource it. Cleaning, they could also outsource, although they felt bad when they weren’t pulling their own weight.

The staff for a house of this size was extraordinarily small, but it was balanced out by the fact that only the shadowy, unseen master lived here as a resident. So that still left Yuu, as the manager of this house, to figure how to make repairs and fix things.

Building up their initial reservoir of knowledge had been difficult, but Yuu felt stronger and more self-reliant now that they were able to cut, sandpaper, paint and varnish their own doors, or figure out a whole meal from little else than the catch of the day and an orange.

It was the thought of meals that took up a lot of Yuu’s mind nowadays.

Ever since that fateful day, when the master of the house, Tsunotaro, had sent up word from Lilia that he’d found the rosemary and chives made the roast pheasant dish they’d had served delectable, Yuu had sough to capture that joy that had crept into Lilia’s voice when he’s relayed the message.

Most of the servants had a grim sort of pallor to them, or at least they he when Yuu had begun to work there. Nowadays, they didn’t all look so bad, but Yuu was still under the impression that expressions of happiness in association with the master were something of a small treasure.

Yuu hadn’t had to guess for long, though, because that very master had visited that night.

Shaking off those thoughts, Yuu reviewed the meal they had planned for tonight. Hearty, warm and plentiful, their creamy-chunky potato soup, to be served with crunchy and savory bits of toasted bread, as well as a few sprigs of fresh vegetables Yuu had plucked from the budding garden they’d been working on, and had made the best they could.

The presence of the master permeated through all of the walls of the formerly drafty house.

When they'd first gotten here, Yuu had thought there was nothing but his presence in this desolate house, stirring the dust with a lazy finger, and tickling the noses of the sparse staff.

But, as Yuu had boarded up holes, swept up the mess, arranged furniture, and hung curtains, the true spirit of the house had come to life, as if it had been dormant prior to their arrival.

The winds blew harsher now, the first time winter had returned since they'd come here, but the house no longer rattled with every gust. Instead, it stood firm, protecting the fires that slept within, and allowing its inhabitants to stay warmth.

Yuu could walk around and feel the strong heart of the house beating under the floorboards with them. It felt like a crazy thought, but Yuu was sure it was true.

As the potatoes simmered, one of the other servants opened the kitchen door.

"Hey, Yuu?" Ace, a hire Yuu had made to help around the house whom they'd grown surprisingly close to, was sticking his neck into the kitchen.

"What's up?" they said, sprinkling in a bit of salt for flavor. The potato soup was good, but Yuu was going for fantastic.

"Do you know where we'd have a flathead screwdriver?" he asked.

That was, in fact, something Malleus knew well. "There should be one in the toolbox in the cleaning closet. but check with Silver first, because he has a habit of taking it and putting it down in the sitting room."

"Thanks!" Ace slapped the doorframe and ran off, and Yuu turned their attention back to the soup.

They got an idea, and tried to banish it as soon as it came.

Biting their lip, Yuu grabbed flour, yeast, and a mixing bowl, and quickly stirred together dough for biscuits.

With one eye on the burbling pot of potatoey goodness, Yuu quickly got a batch of biscuits in the oven as the kitchen filled with the delightful scent of cozy, autumnal food.

Lowering the heat on the pot, Yuu kept stirring until the biscuits were almost done. Then, they quickly ladled out the appropriate number of portions, at least one on a silver tray that would be delivered to Tsunotaro.

The rest of them had been given permission to eat in the main dining hall. so long as there was no one else to be hosted that night. The ranks of the servants had grown quite a bit, and they all liked to eat with each other nowadays.

As a warm, buttery, and faintly burning smell overtook the kitchen, Yuu scrambled to get the stove to turn off and serve each bowl of soup with a nice, warm biscuit.

Yuu wiped the sweat off their brow, the heat of the kitchen getting to them, and dashed off to serve the food.

That night, Yuu was finishing up a few scribbles in their notebook, cross-legged as they sat in the fading candlelight of their desk.

Yuu yawned, wiping the tears of exhaustion from their eyes. They were ready to go to bed, when the shadow at their door appeared.

They could hardly contain the gasp that threatened to spill out of their lips, but the surprise was impossible to hide.

It was him. Though rarely seen and hardly visible, Yuu didn't need to see the horns curling off the top of his head to know it was him, in their hearts.

They stood there, staring at each other for a few moments.

"Hello," he said, in a low tone. "I... I wanted to tell you that the soup was delicious."

Yuu didn't say anything at first. "Thank you," they finally replied.

They stood there, staring at each other as their shadows crawled up the walls of their room.

"You know," they said, rising from their chair. "You haven't come by."

"I know," he replied. "I have been somewhat busy."

"You haven't done anything else, either," they said in a contemplative tone, approaching him more.

He usually stuck to door frames and corners, the darkest shadows of any room. Yuu had taken this to mean that Tsunotaro didn't like it when they got too close.

Right now, however, he wasn't backing up.

"I-"

"Do you not like me?" they asked, in the slightest bit of a mocking tone.

"It's not that," he insisted.

"Then... what is it? You haven't made a move in all these months," they pouted.

Tsunotaro scoffed lightly. Yuu was only inches from where they thought his chest was.

They tried to stare at his eyes, meet his piercing gaze, but Tsunotaro's eyes flicked away quickly.

The last of the candlewick gave out, and Yuu felt someone grabbing their arms, bring them in for a kiss, and shove them back into their room.

[mothmothm0th]

an invention that is safe to create

Buttonbush had fun at the farmer's market! Fresh produce! Foreign streetfood! Fellow dolls darting about! Plenty to awawa about! But now it was on its way home. Buttonbush couldn't wait to see Miss again! Miss had been working on something sure to be amazing and clever for days now. She hadn't been eating too much. That was typical of her when she got into something exciting. But surely she would love the panini Buttonbush chose for her! Buttonbush knew what Miss enjoys!

No one was there to welcome Buttonbush home. Not even her fellow dolls were there! Usually, Snowdrop would be doing preliminary research for Miss, or perhaps Jessamine would be doing the dishes. Baneberry had a habit of sitting on the bottom stair like a silly kitty cat. The fact that the cottage was empty meant Miss' project must be at a critical juncture. And that meant Miss needed food, badly!

Quickly, though not hastily, Buttonbush put away its groceries. Gosh, the pantry and the fridge felt so barren before Buttonbush's intervention. Even emptier than when it left for the market! Though, the fridge had only had a half-empty jar of mayo so perhaps it was exaggerating. Still! Even the mayo was gone!

With just the panini in its basket, Buttonbush climbed down to the cellar. Dank airs and low light was how Miss liked it. Her cottage had two floors and an attic aboveground but below it was a sprawling mess of tunnels and chambers. A rhizome, Miss called it! Many of the tunnels led to a dead end. Sometimes, Miss joked about luring one of her amicable enemies down a tunnel and laying down a brick wall behind them. Or maybe she had already done that. Several of the tunnels were blocked off by brick walls! Not all of them. Some just had an unfinished feel to them.

But the winding tunnel Buttonbush walked down was neither blocked off or unfinished. No, it led to a set of doors. And behind them, another set! Buttonbush made sure to close the first doors before it opened the second. A light gust of oxygen, hydrogen, and assorted gasses from foreign realities welcomed it to Miss' newest workshop. Buttonbush needed to take gentle steps now. The path sloped downwards and Miss had decided not to waste her dolls' time tiling it. Smart of her! Once, a patch of ground had challenged Baneberry to debate the ethics of floors. Poor doll. It still wore Miss' floaty spell charm sometimes to avoid having to touch the ground. If the Walpurgis Council learned of Miss' use of strange spaces, they would frown! One time, a nice maker had come 'round to talk to Buttonbush and Jessamine about it but neither doll told him. Miss was just that good! She had used alternate methods to remake herself, after all.

Soon, the tunnel opened up to a large chamber. Buttonbush hadn't actually been here before. It was neither a familiar or an assistant engineer, and Miss generally visited upstairs for meals, so Buttonbush had no need to come visit. Thus, you can imagine its shock when it saw the room was dominated by a massive wooden construction. Thick branches or perhaps roots had seemingly grown in a wicker-like pattern into a cage around a floating orb made of... was that teak? Branches jutted out like giant spikes. Buttonbush wasn't quite sure what the thin ribbons that seemed caught in the teak orb's rotational currents were but they reminded it of fungal hyphae. Oh, but there was Miss, covered in dirt and half-dried mud, sniffing the air. She could explain! Hello Miss!

"Buttonbush my saviour, I shall savour the savoury treat you have brought me. Your savoir-faire is most..." Miss scratched the base of her antennae. "Salient. That shall have to work." Buttonbush couldn't help but giggle. "Say, my sacred darling, you look ever so fascinated by my sable contraption. Shall I satiate your curiosity? A light seance before we activate it."

"Buttonbush would love to listen to Miss explain her work! Buttonbush loves listening to Miss," Buttonbush said. It paused for a moment and continued: "Even when Miss has been reading her rhyming dictionary."

Miss' laugh straddled the line between a cackle and a giggle. "Worry not, worrywort. My work is nearly done. I shan't need use warding speech any further."

Warding speech. Buttonbush had heard Baneberry talk about it. Sometime about avoiding predictability, to keep strange spaces strange. Mundanity led to stagnation, and stagnation made Miss' magicks worse. But Miss always spoke a little strangely. Buttonbush couldn't tell the difference between her regular and warding speech.

Miss whistled, beckoned her dolls to her. Buttonbush snapped back to reality as Baneberry, Jessamine, Foxglove, and Snowdrop wandered to them from whichever dark nooks Buttonbush had overlooked. All ball-joints on deck! Jessamine's pretty porcelain dripped oil-like sap, and Snowdrop with her fully articulated face seemed exhausted. Foxglove seemed to practically vibrate with excitement. Baneberry, floating like a carnival balloon, struggled to hold Foxglove's hand.

Miss clapped her hands. "Now then! It is time for framing and naming! Buttonbush!" Miss pointed at Buttonbush, who clutched its basket tighter. "I believe this is your first time! Thus, I shall explain." One finger in the air. "The framing and naming is the final step in strange magicks. Look to the machine. It is a structure in motion, yet the motion is undefined, lacking in Purpose." Buttonbush felt sorry for the wicker and the orb. "This is vital! For only at the end, when the physical shape is prepared, ought one grant it Purpose.

"Hark, machine! For thine thorns shall puncture the veil between This and That! Through you shall flow in the airs of thought and feeling. Thus I define thee." The air felt electric around Buttonbush. "Woven wood, hear me! Arrange your paths so that you may judge thoughtful airs. This shall be your purpose." Buttonbush heard little sounds reminiscent of those sorting algorithm videos Snowdrop had been listening. "Dearest ribbons. You shall flutter, and through your flutter you shall weave for each airy judgement its appropriate doom. Thus you shall be." In an instant, each gossamer ribbon began moving in strange and complex patterns. Yet, Buttonbush could tell, these patterns were empty for now. "And hey, eyes up, you orb. You shall be a portal. A seed that grows inward and strangeward. Guide these doomful thoughts through your rhizome to their rightful minds. Infect the thoughts of wrongdoers!" Buttonbush's head spun. It was glad its Purpose lacked the ability to do wrong.

"And thus, you are framed." Miss was out of breath! She fell to one knee! Buttonbush rushed to her side. Miss shook her head. "No no, dearest. I shall be fine."

"But Miss!"

"I shall be fine," Miss repeated. She rose to her feet again. Her lips were stretched to their limits by a slightly concerning grin. "I'm so close. So close. Finally, I shall have constructed a solution to bullying."

Buttonbush tilted its head. This was about bullying? It knew Miss had been a victim of bullying in her school years. As had Snowdrop, come to think of it. And Baneberry! Jessamine never spoke of such matters but Buttonbush could tell it was hiding things.

"You'll see, Button dearest." Miss cackled, turned her attentions back to her invention. "Hear me now, o contraption mine. For while each part of thee knows its means, now I shall imbue thee with the gestalt of ends. Permit I weave a tale." Miss cleared her throat. "Each and every day, people bully those they deem weaker than them. Each day, their victims' psyches are damaged. The airs I shall have thee pluck from the realm of thought are these painful feelings and the motivations which caused them. These you shall organise and categorise. For each pain, you shall weave a salveful dream. For each perpetrator, you shall conjure a vivid nightmare. These dreams none shall forget, and in rememberance shall one and all realise means to a kinder and happier future. This is your Purpose. A center of pain and healing, the heart of revelation. Thus your name shall be..."

Miss paused, as if waiting for a realisation. It seemed to evade her. She turned to her dolls and motioned towards herself frantically. She needed their ideas! Snowdrop spoke first, bringing up a book she had read; a cautionary tale about the construction of a machine one might indeed call a 'center of pain'. Baneberry laughed to the point of hiccups. Jessamine emoted like a character from its favourite MMO. Miss seemed tired. She turned to Buttonbush, seemingly holding her breath so as to not name the machine the sound of an exhale.

Buttonbush hemmed and hawed. It was bad at names! But it liked the word 'contraption'. So this was a contraption for... thoughts? Dreams? Nightmares... Something something Contraption. It was supposed to make lives better. Hm... perhaps...

"So it's like, a thing that makes dreams into therapy? Like a Dream Therapy Contraption?" Buttonbush said. It wasn't sure. Not one bit. It was silly of Miss to not have a name in mind but perhaps she needed to keep her options open while working on her project. Stagnation and such. But Miss seemed to like it. Maybe that was just relief.

"Thus I name thee, the Dream Therapy Contraption," Miss proclaimed. In an instant, the machine, the Contraption, whirred into life. And as it did, the chamber seemed to stabilise. Buttonbush had already gotten used to how the air here smelled but as it inhaled normal air again, it realised how it had missed it.

Oh, but Miss was not doing so good. Foxglove was already helping prop her up. So resourceful of it. It nodded at Jessamine to get Miss' other side. It wasn't the first time they had served as Miss' crutches. Baneberry floated off ahead of them; to prepare Miss' bed, surely. Snowdrop in turn began collecting tools and grimoires. It just left Buttonbush and its basket, and...

Oh, the panini!

[pinesfamilyguidetotheweird]

Gravity Falls Headcanon: Mystery Shack Layout

This is the kind of stuff that makes me lose sleep/braincells over.

The Mystery Shack itself is an anomaly, I feel. A lot of the time, its interior is bigger than what the exterior shows. Of course, these inconsistencies are kinda commonplace in Western animation (heck, it even happens in Bluey) and are sometimes changed to fit a perspective or scene.

Me, a gal who worries/overthinks too darn much, is incredibly bothered by this…And I really shouldn’t be. I think the Mystery Shack was meant to be like this for the sake of weirdness.

Still though…

I want to do my own little headcanon about the Mystery Shack.

First and foremost, there won’t be a 100% accuracy for the reasons above. This is my take on it. Also, while the Gravity Falls Wiki doesn’t show or imply that there is a second floor before the attic, I will add a second floor because…the shack has one helluva to it. Why won’t it have a second floor? There are other things too, but I’ll get to them when I get to them.

I am also trying to make visual aids too, via Google Slides. Not sure if they’ll get the point across. If you see a dot, that’s for scale. The dot is a person…not sure if it is the right size for it though…

Some would be obvious, others would probably be different from your own views.

First off…this place is massive! Wow…

Attic

I wanted to start at the tippy-top.

So, here is the attic floor that leads to the room that acts as Dipper and Mabel’s room. There is an alcove space next to the door and a loft area above the alcove.

----------------------------------------

Second Floor

I realized that the idea of extra rooms on this floor makes the plot/conflict of Carpet Diem moot. Then again…I feel that the plot/conflict was kinda filler-y (outside of the twins being siblings). The only point of interest is the reveal of Ford’s room and his glasses.

Plus, some sources seem to point that Ford’s room was on the first floor, but the way the Pines looked up when Soos made his discovery made it seem like the room was on a floor above…at least to me.

---------------------------------------

First Floor

The only consistent thing about the Mystery Shack is the kitchen, living room, and gift shop.

Also, did you know that there is a cellar beneath the gift shop? I didn’t either until I looked at screenshots! Speaking of...

---------------------------------------

Cellar/Basement (B1)

In most places, the laundry equipment is in the basement.

I decided to place the storage room here because 1) the cement flooring and 2) the window. The size of the window is usually for basements/cellars.

There are two basement entries: One below the stairs to the second floor and another that leads to the elevator in the storage room.

As for the elevator, I estimated it to be in the storage room, but Stan made a new wall around the elevator to keep the secret. I'd imagine that the wall isn't there anymore.

---------------------------------------

B2

I do think that there are more rooms here for other research purposes. I’m not entirely sure if I want to add more rooms, but I guess it depends on the story I write.

---------------------------------------

B3

Not much to say here, except for the obvious that the Portal room might have a new purpose.

[dragonpyre]

For where the kids hide their stuff: the Clocktower would be a good spot for most things because that’s basically just Barbara’s domain. Hiding stuff under bed boards, in closets, in the attic, and in the wine cellar that *doesn’t* lead to the bat cave also work.

Barbara and Dick, when they’re old enough, probably set up a safe house near Bruce.

After Tim joins, well, the whole of Drake Manor is available. They could wall off whole rooms in the underused Guest/Service wings. Janet and Jack wouldn’t notice when they were alive because they’d be gone 11/12 months of the year.

Okay so here's how it'll go. The kids start with floorboards and closets, cuz why would Bruce look there? That's Alfred's job (and of course Alfred knows).

Then Tim joins. And suddenly they have a whole ass mansion to use right next door.

And then they discover that the Belfry is 1) way more centralized to Gotham than the rich people neighborhood they live in, and 2) it's dope af. Also doordash delivers there. This is the most important factor

[hometoursandotherstuff]

I don't normally like farmhouses, but efschetely changed my mind when she sent this one. It's very well done. This is a 1990 modern farmhouse in Pittsburgh, PA. It has 5bds, 5ba, and is $1.79M.

Open the pretty front barn doors. I like the tree in the corner.

The architectural details are wonderful- the ceiling, stone fireplace and wood accents.

There's a lovely balcony and a walkway across the width of the room.

I don't know how it could've been built in the 90s, look at the floor. Maybe they used the date that it was renovated, not built, or the floor is architectural salvage.

Huge kitchen, but it's so cute. I like the finish on the giant island and the colorful backsplash by the stove.

I like the shelving tucked in there.

Large casual dining area with doors to the deck.

And, the open concept area has a family room, as they usually do.

I don't know what this is, a pantry with a kitchen? It's an extra kitchen.

Twin facing stairs to the 2nd level.

Large primary bedroom with a vaulted ceiling and doors to a private terrace.

Walk-in closet/dressing room.

The en-suite bath is spacious.

This is either a great bedroom for an avid reader or it could make a nice library.

Finished attic has a TV room and an office area.

Now, we're on the ground floor and there's another family room.

There's an exercise area in this corner.

Plus, a wine cellar.

Oh, my, a library! Wow, I didn't expect this.

There's lots of land- 6 acres. Here, they have a lovely container garden with a table & chairs.

This is so nice by the fire pit.

Large deck on the house.

The very large property has a lot of beautiful trees and privacy.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/700-Bending-Oak-Ln-Pittsburgh-PA-15238/11487678_zpid/

[thebrickinbrick]

Foot to Foot, Part Two

Enjolras, not seeing Marius among those who had taken refuge in the wine-shop, had the same idea. But they had reached a moment when each man has not the time to meditate on his own death. Enjolras fixed the bar across the door, and bolted it, and double-locked it with key and chain, while those outside were battering furiously at it, the soldiers with the butts of their muskets, the sappers with their axes. The assailants were grouped about that door. The siege of the wine-shop was now beginning.

The soldiers, we will observe, were full of wrath.

The death of the artillery-sergeant had enraged them, and then, a still more melancholy circumstance. During the few hours which had preceded the attack, it had been reported among them that the insurgents were mutilating their prisoners, and that there was the headless body of a soldier in the wine-shop. This sort of fatal rumor is the usual accompaniment of civil wars, and it was a false report of this kind which, later on, produced the catastrophe of the Rue Transnonain.

When the door was barricaded, Enjolras said to the others:

“Let us sell our lives dearly.”

Then he approached the table on which lay Mabeuf and Gavroche. Beneath the black cloth two straight and rigid forms were visible, one large, the other small, and the two faces were vaguely outlined beneath the cold folds of the shroud. A hand projected from beneath the winding sheet and hung near the floor. It was that of the old man.

Enjolras bent down and kissed that venerable hand, just as he had kissed his brow on the preceding evening.

These were the only two kisses which he had bestowed in the course of his life.

Let us abridge the tale. The barricade had fought like a gate of Thebes; the wine-shop fought like a house of Saragossa. These resistances are dogged. No quarter. No flag of truce possible. Men are willing to die, provided their opponent will kill them.

When Suchet says:—“Capitulate,”—Palafox replies: “After the war with cannon, the war with knives.” Nothing was lacking in the capture by assault of the Hucheloup wine-shop; neither paving-stones raining from the windows and the roof on the besiegers and exasperating the soldiers by crushing them horribly, nor shots fired from the attic-windows and the cellar, nor the fury of attack, nor, finally, when the door yielded, the frenzied madness of extermination. The assailants, rushing into the wine-shop, their feet entangled in the panels of the door which had been beaten in and flung on the ground, found not a single combatant there. The spiral staircase, hewn asunder with the axe, lay in the middle of the tap-room, a few wounded men were just breathing their last,

every one who was not killed was on the first floor, and from there, through the hole in the ceiling, which had formed the entrance of the stairs, a terrific fire burst forth. It was the last of their cartridges.

When they were exhausted, when these formidable men on the point of death had no longer either powder or ball, each grasped in his hands two of the bottles which Enjolras had reserved, and of which we have spoken, and held the scaling party in check with these frightfully fragile clubs. They were bottles of aquafortis.

We relate these gloomy incidents of carnage as they occurred. The besieged man, alas! converts everything into a weapon. Greek fire did not disgrace Archimedes, boiling pitch did not disgrace Bayard. All war is a thing of terror, and there is no choice in it. The musketry of the besiegers, though confined and embarrassed by being directed from below upwards, was deadly. The rim of the hole in the ceiling was speedily surrounded by heads of the slain, whence dripped long, red and smoking streams, the uproar was indescribable; a close and burning smoke almost produced night over this combat. Words are lacking to express horror when it has reached this pitch. There were no longer men in this conflict, which was now infernal. They were no longer giants matched with colossi. It resembled Milton and Dante rather than Homer. Demons attacked, spectres resisted.

It was heroism become monstrous.

[fancyfeathers]

(Again for some reason this only showed up in my email, thank god for email I guess @zainiscompletelydone333 )

The Games We Play of Dust and Ash (Yandere Moriarty the Patriot Masterlist)

Okay this is so cute 🥰

But I’m going to lead with the second idea here for a reason

I definitely think William would educate his darling when he had enough free time to do so, but since he is a mathematics professor that would be much of the curriculum. Then Louis probably would help her improve her reading and writing skills because she probably does know how to read a little bit because of programs at the ballet and names in the dressing room to sort out their belongings. I’m just imagining the two of them when Liam is busy and Louis is free, then just sitting in the library or drawing room next to each other reading more advanced literature before Louis goes and breaks down what’s happening after each page and what certain words mean. This would probably go until Louis went to go make dinner and she would go up to her little studio William had made for her…

Now Albert’s darling may be a bit lonely, she was the first one there and honestly to spend the day with only Louis, and maybe sometimes on rare occasions Sebastian, James, and Fred when they aren’t busy, it gets lonely after a long time. The empty feeling of the halls of the house, the locked doors like the offices of her own husband and her brother in law which she only ever sees the men of the house enter. She doesn’t know the things Albert has done and he would like to keep it that way.

She could go out by herself after all she is a married woman so she wouldn’t need a chaperone-

No no, Albert wouldn’t like that, he would worry about her.

So often times she takes to exploring the house, finding ways to get into rooms that maybe perhaps she shouldn’t be in, besides William’s and Albert’s offices of course, but more like the attic, the cellar, the storage rooms, and even might sneak out to the garden or maybe the stables to see the horses out there. She would soon find every little thing she could about the house itself that she could.

But soon the boredom just had no end.

Then when looking over the rooms for the hundredth time, she peaks into one of them, it had been closed off for a while but when she turns the door handle it’s unlocked, and it’s appears to be a dance studio, like the one she learned how to ballroom dance in when she young. There is a piano in the corner, a small box that holds papers of sheet music next to it and honestly she can’t help herself. She sits down at the piano and takes out one of songs, it’s Ludwig van Beethoven's Sonata No. 23, known as the Appassionata, also one of the songs she used to play with her own sister before she got married and came to live with Albert and then their parents died-

Best not to think about that right now

She dusts off the unused keys and begins to play and the music echoes throughout the house, reaching the ears of Louis who just smiles and William’s darling who is all alone…

The door creaks open and Albert’s darling jumps up, nearly knocking the piano bench over and startling them both.

“I-I am sorry… this is your space isn’t it? I should go-“

“No, it’s fine… could you keep playing?”

After a moment she nods and sits back down at the bench and pays the spot next to her for the other to sit down. The song is carried throughout the house once again and both of them are just absorbed in the music, forgetting about everything else for a moment.

Then everything falls silent as she finishes playing and the song ends and her hands slip from the piano to her lap.

“You know Albert and I actually met at the ballet, you used to work there right?”

“Oh… yes I did but- nevermind. Actually would it be okay if I asked you something?”

“Of course, I guess we are technically sisters in law and-“

“Do you know how your parents died?”

She stops for a second, she doesn’t actually know how, Albert just told her after she had woken up one morning that they had passed away in the night…

It was odd really, both of them dying on the same night, she had never thought about it before. She did not exactly have loving parents by any stretch of imagination but they were still her parents and she was sad when they passed but more worried about her younger sister who is now off living with a family friend, a widowed noble woman and a friend of the queen.

“I… I don’t actually know… but why does that matter-“

“Your husband is not the man you think he is, neither is mine or Louis for that matter, you need to be careful-“

Her whispered tone is cut off my a knock at the door, both of them look up to see the faces of their husbands, just returning from work. Albert is the first to walk over, pressing a kiss to his wife’s forehead as she tries to hide the almost terrified look on her face. William watches as his own darling stands up, to leave the other couple alone to go off with her own husband. William wraps a hand around her waist as they walk off to the library to do the last of her lessons for the day before dinner.

“Louis told us that she was playing the piano right before we got home, seems like you two are getting along.”

“I think so… or I hope so at least…”

After all it’s better to have a friend than only your psychopathic husband for company.

[ckret2]

Editing's going faster now. Here's chapter three of The Mystery Shack Takes Human Bill Cipher Prisoner. (Real title TBD.) Edited 7/31/2024 for TBOB compatibility!

####

In the middle of the night, Ford knocked on the attic door: "Eye check!"

Mabel and Dipper groaned.

"No complaining! This is for everyone's safety." Ford opened the attic door. "This will be the last one before Stanley and I take over guard duty, you can get some uninterrupted sleep then."

Mabel squinted up at Ford's flashlight with her blanket pulled up to her nose. Dipper groggily sat up as Ford inspected his eyes, but then he snatched the flashlight. "You too."

"Good thinking, Dipper. I know I'm me, but the rest of you shouldn't take my word for it." Ford crouched by the bed and let Dipper shine the flashlight in his eyes.

"Okay, clear." Dipper handed it back.

Mabel yawned. "What if Bill got colored contacts? We wouldn't be able to tell he's in someone's head, right?"

Ford froze halfway out the attic doorway. "Nobody go back to sleep! I need to do another eye check!"

The entire household groaned.

####

Once Soos reassured the Pines that Bill was "Still sleeping like a creepy, tied-up baby," he and Melody went to bed as Stan and Ford took over guard duty.

Usually, the cellar was one of the least interesting rooms in the shack. A water heater, a washing machine, storage for some old furniture and electronics. But when Stan and Ford opened the cellar doors, the first thing Ford's flashlight beam fell on was the body of Bill's puppet, face covered in a cloud of hair, curled up small on the bare mattress at the bottom of the stairs. The bright yellow and purple in the dull room was as shocking as a scream.

Ford quickly turned his flashlight off. He stood stock still on the top step.

Stan locked the doors behind them. "So, uh. Do you wanna just... stay up here?" 

Ford nodded stiffly. "That seems wise. It keeps us between him and the only exit." 

"Yeah. Smart thinking." 

They sat on the stairs together.

Even with the flashlight off, Ford couldn't stop seeing the figure curled up below—invisible in the dark but nevertheless vividly, dreadfully imagined. It changed the room, transforming it into a tomb. The walls seemed to tilt in on the unconscious, unseen silhouette, forcing Ford and Stan toward the thing that wanted them dead.

Ford tried to remind himself of how he'd seen Bill last fall, when his family had found Bill's book and laughed over his pathetic attempts to wheedle them into helping: as a dying has-been, a dimming light. It was harder to cling to that dismissiveness in the same room as Bill. From this close, Ford felt like the thing he was in the presence of was less like a light bulb about to burn out and more like a neutron star about to collapse into a black hole.

After about fifteen minutes, Ford was on the verge of being driven insane by his own heartbeat pounding in his ears (and was "We'll Meet Again" playing in his head for the first time in over half a year because Bill put it there or because he was thinking about Bill?) when the cellar's silence was interrupted by a soft shuffling-creaking on the mattress below.

Ford elbowed Stan. Stan snorted and started awake. "Huh—what—?"

"Shh!"

There was more shuffling—then a gasp that turned into a sharp, strangled scream.

Stan and Ford simultaneously put a hand on each other's shoulders to keep each other from doing anything rash.

For several seconds, there was nothing but heavy, shaky breathing; it steadied; and a high, fearful, feminine voice called out, "Wh... where am I? Am I tied up? What happened? What—"

Ford turned his flashlight on. The person on the mattress flinched, blinking heavily at the sudden light. "Hello? Wh-who are you? How did I get here, what do you want with me?"

"All right, calm down," Ford said brusquely. "Tell me, what do you remember?"

"I..." The person on the mattress frowned in concentration. "It's a blur. The last thing I remember is... is... a book about a golden triangle?"

Ford exchanged a glance with Stan. "What did the triangle do?"

"I think he offered me some kind of bargain? After that, I'm not sure... I think I remember sleepwalking—"

"That was Hebrew," Ford said. "You speak fluent Hebrew?"

The person below blinked. "Jewish school?"

Stan snorted.

"Fine," Ford said. "Where are you from?"

"You mean, before all this? Arizona—I'm from Sedona—how far am I from home—?"

"And," Ford said, "that was Latin." Stan wheezed.

Open mouth. Shut mouth. Open. "I... majored in classical studies—"

"Give it up, Bill."

The expression of innocent fear melted away into a tired, almost bored look. "Ha. All right, I'm too tired to talk my way out of this one." Bill's natural voice wasn't much deeper than the affected one he'd put on, but it sounded somehow harsher. "It was worth a shot." He struggled in his restraints to roll over. "Turn off the light, would ya? My head's killing me."

"Leave it on," Stan said.

Without looking at them, Bill said, "I can make my voice very annoying."

Stan said, "Leave it on, and I'll get a sock and duct tape."

Ford turned off the flashlight.

When Bill had been unconscious, he'd been a vague, undefined threat. The dark seemed different now. Less frightening. Knowing Bill was awake made it easier to remember what he was:

A pest. A nuisance. A pain in the keister.

Stan quietly pantomimed chucking something at Bill's head, then muttered under his breath, "I don't know why he's tired. He's almost got a full night's sleep."

"I don't know if he's ever controlled a human body for this long," Ford said. "Much less been magically trapped in one by a unicorn belt. Maybe prolonged psychic puppetry drains his energy—"

"Or maybe he's a wimp," Stan cut in. "That's what I was going for, I'm suggesting he's a wimp."

Ford snorted quietly. "Or he's a wimp."

There was no sound from below. Either Bill had already fallen back asleep, or he was doing a darn good job of pretending he had. For a moment, Stan and Ford remained silent, listening.

Then Ford stood, unlocked the door, and quietly left.

####

There was a clatter at the attic window. Dipper and Mabel both bolted upright, fully alert—they'd never quite gotten back to sleep—and exchanged a terrified look.

There was a second sharp tap. They scrambled out of bed, peered out the window—and then flung it open. "Wendy!"

Wendy froze in the middle of winding up to throw another stone. "Hey! Dipper, Mabel! I couldn't sleep, I was worried about you guys. Is your secret weird paranormal thing over?"

Dipper and Mabel leaned out of the window. They were wearing pajamas and matching tin foil hats.

Wendy stared at them. "I'm... taking that as a no." She bit her lip to keep from laughing. "You guys look exhausted."

Mabel groaned. "It's been keeping us up all night. It's impossible to lay down with tin foil on your head?"

"And we've been getting checked on every couple hours," Dipper said.

"Plus it might not be safe to sleep!"

"And—" Dipper grimaced. "And we can't even talk about it until it's over..."

"Okay, yeah, got it," Wendy said. "Secret family business, it's cool. Just—tell me you guys are safe? I don't want you to get eaten by a T-Rex-nado or something before we get to hang this summer."

Were they safe? They exchanged a look. Mabel tilted her head and shrugged uncertainly. Dipper said, "The threat... is... securely contained."

That time, Wendy did burst out laughing. "Okay! I'll accept that. I already told Soos, but—call me if you need backup, all right?"

Mabel stuck a thumbs up out the window. "You got it!"

"Thanks, Wendy."

"I'll see you in the morning if the Mystery Shack's open," Wendy said. "If not... I dunno, my day'll be free, maybe we can do something? If you don't have to deal with the contained threat."

"Yeah, that sounds great," Mabel said. "I'm gonna see Grenda and Candy sometime tomorrow, buuut I don't think Dipperhas anything planned—"

Dipper kicked her ankle. She kicked his back, grinning.

"Awesome. See you tomorrow, then."

When Wendy had biked away, Dipper said, "You're not gonna spend all summer teasing me about last summer's crush, are you?"

"Nooo, I'm not, I promise! But I had to get one in." Mabel laughed and flopped heavily on her bed. The old mattress springs wheezed. "Besides! I know your heart belongs to that girl at the judo club who likes you."

"Mabel, I don't—" Dipper paused. "Do you really think Kelsey likes me?"

Mabel laughed again. "Good night, Dipper."

Dipper shut the window. They both got back in bed, slid under their covers, and stared at the ceiling. And stared at the ceiling. And stared at the ceiling.

"Pssst. Dipper."

"What is it?"

"I can't sleep. Can you?"

A heavy sigh. "No." Voice low, as if afraid they could be heard all the way from the cellar, Dipper said, "I just keep wondering—did we really trap him in that tourist before he escaped? Or did he escape as soon as he fainted?"

Mabel kicked off her covers, sat up, and turned to face Dipper, hugging her knees. "Actually, I think we did trap him. I... kinda think Bill can't escape?"

Dipper sat up as well. "What do you mean?"

"The last time we saw him, he was stuck in that weird fleshy book or something, right? And he was trying to get our blood, not to shake the book's hand or something."

"Books don't have hands."

"You could draw a hand on one! I'm saying what if he used all that blood to make a body or something?" Mabel asked. "Remember how I wrestled him when he was you? Your body was really, really cold. Like, dead-cold. But when I was drawing on Bill's face, his skin felt..."

"... Normal." Dipper had spent six hours tackling Bill. When he'd been trying grip Bill's arms and ankles so he couldn't flail free, Dipper hadn't noticed anything unusual about Bill's body—but not noticing anything unusual was unusual, wasn't it?

"Yeah. Normal. So—what if he's not controlling somebody? What if he, I dunno, used somebody's blood to magically turn into a human or something? Like a unicorn."

"Unicorns don't do that."

"Unicorns can turn into humans if a wizard helps! That's not the point. The point is..." Mabel struggled to put her mountain of emotions into words, and finally, simply finished, "...what if he's just a human now?"

They both had to sit with the suggestion, waiting to see if it filled them with relief or dread. A human was less powerful than whatever Bill had been; but in some way, the human body shielded Bill, too, making it impossible to properly confront and defeat him.

"What if his human body is like a Trojan horse?" Dipper asked. "And this was all a big trick, and he's just—waiting inside it? For one of the remaining micro-rifts to the Nightmare Realm to widen, or for somebody to finish some ritual with his book, or—or the perfect moment to return to his real body?"

Mabel hugged her knees a little tighter. "But if he could leave the body any time he wants, do you think he'd just wait?"

"He was patient enough to wait billions of years to get into our universe."

"I don't think that counts. He would've gotten here sooner if anybody else made a working portal, right?"

"Then... I don't know."

That was just it. They didn't know.

They didn't want to talk about the dread pooling in their stomachs and creeping up the backs of their necks. They didn't want to talk about their anger—the injustice that he was back, that this wasn't over, that even after he died he just kept finding new ways to harass them, that another summer was going to be overshadowed by him.

But if they weren't talking about that, what else could they talk about? It was all they could think about. For a moment, they just sat together in silence.

Which was when they heard Ford yelp in alarm.

####

Soos had answered the knock on his bedroom door holding a baseball bat.

Ford drew back, hands raised. "Soos, it's me! What's this for?"

"Sorry. It's been a crazy night. I keep having dreams about the Roman Senate assassinating Bill? Like, Julius Caesar, except he's a triangle?" Soos put the bat down. "Anyway, what's up? Is it time for another eye check?"

"Yes, but that's not the main reason I'm here."

Still in bed, Melody groaned, "Are all these really necessary?"

Soos had to use his fingers to hold his eyes open for Ford's flashlight. "'Fraid so. Bill's really good at taking over people. He's got Dipper, he's got Ford... One time he got me! That doesn't really count though, it was in a dream. Not my dream, Stan's. Also, he didn't exactly take over me—?"

"All right, you're clean." Ford looked at Melody, decided that since he'd had confirmation that Bill was still in the body in the cellar it might be a little too rude to examine a half-asleep young woman in bed, and offered the flashlight to Soos so he could check his fiancée instead. "What I really came up here to say is that Bill woke up. Now we know he's still in that body."

("Melody, have I told you lately that you have really pretty eyes?" "Awww, Soos.")

Ford cleared his throat. "Stan's 'friends' are waiting. Time to gag him and go."

Soos's expression hardened. (It wasn't terribly intimidating.) "I'll get the sock and duct tape."

Melody rubbed the spots from her eyes. "Are you up for this? You've got a long drive, and you've been up all night looking at everybody's eyes."

"I've lost more sleep than this thanks to Bill," Ford said wryly. "I'll be fine."

"You're sure? If you need someone to help drive..."

"Melody, you're an angel for helping as much as you have. Especially when none of this is your problem yet." Even though she occasionally spent the night with Soos, she wouldn't be moving into the shack until after the wedding and honeymoon, which they'd scheduled for after the summer tourist rush. She shouldn't have to worry about the shack's crises outside of work hours. "And I know you have reservations about—how we're handling this."  

Melody shrugged ruefully. "I mean—I don't like that you've got the demon triangle in your cellar, but Soos says you're some kind of insane space wizard and an expert on this stuff, so..." In the dim light, she flashed Ford a strained smile. "Just—I guess—tell me if there's anything else I can do to help prevent the apocalypse." 

Insane space wizard. Ford hoped that was a compliment. "Just hold down the fort while we're moving Bill. Thank you."

####

Dipper and Mabel pulled their ears away from the attic door. Dipper whispered, "Anything could go wrong while they're moving Bill. Do you think we should...?"

"Pfff!" Mabel rolled her eyes. "C'mon bro, is that even a question?"

Wordlessly, they put on their backpacks—already packed—and pulled sweaters on over their pajamas, and tiptoed downstairs with their shoes in their hands.

####

Ford inspected Stan's eyes again before he said, "Soos will be down in a minute."

Stan blinked the lights out of his eyes. "You'd better not keep doing that while I'm driving." He shut the cellar door so that if Bill woke back up, he couldn't listen in on their plans to relocate him.

"You're not going to drive. I am."

"Come on! It's my car!"

"It's night, you have cataracts, and you already fell asleep during guard duty."

"I wasn't asleep, I was resting my eyes!"

"In the dark?" Ford asked. "Would you prefer Soos or me to drive?"

Stan grumbled and crossed his arms, but decided he wasn't going to win this fight. He nudged Ford and changed the topic. "Now, that Latin was all Greek to me—but is it just me, or is his Hebrew better than yours?"

He was saying it to be annoying. Ford knew he was trying to be annoying. It worked. Ford was annoyed. "Well—of course he's better. He's probably been speaking it three thousand years. And his accent's probably just as old."

"Ah, excuses. Bet his Latin's better, too."

He was doing it on purpose. He was doing it on purpose. "You wouldn't know Latin from Latvian!"

"This isn't about me." Stan gave Ford his most annoying grin. "Hey—when did you pick up Latin, anyway?"

At least he wasn't teasing anymore. "I took it for an undergrad foreign language requirement."

"You just couldn't go for something useful that living people speak, huh?"

"On the contrary, Latin's been enormously useful in my study of weirdness. It's very popular with sorcerers and occultists alike," Ford said. "And it got us out of that bar brawl in Atlantis, didn't it?"

"That gobbledygook was Latin? I thought it was some kind of mermaid language. Or Italian," Stan said. "Good job going to the only college in the world teaching Conversational Latin, I guess."

Ford grimaced. "Actually... I only learned to read and write Latin at Backupsmore. The reason I can speak it... is Bill."

"Oh," Stan said. "Right."

An uncomfortable silence settled over them, the way it always did when Stan asked where'd you pick up—? or how'd you learn about—? and Ford had to say Bill. It was an answer that demanded more questions that Stan didn't really want to ask and Ford didn't really want to answer. Usually, when Ford said Bill, Stan changed the topic.

Ford didn't mind avoiding it. Sure, Stan already knew the most humiliating parts of Ford's history with Bill. How he had waxed poetic—called Bill divine, a deity, blessed, a miracle, a muse—been inspired to draw sunrises and sunbeams and constellations and nebulas because a mere drawing of an eye in a triangle couldn't convey the all-encompassing awe Ford's muse filled him with; how Ford had blindly trusted Bill with his body and mind; how he'd really thought that monster was his best friend. So it wasn't as though Ford had anything left to hide. Talking about Bill wasn't shameful anymore.

It was just... painful. It was hard to talk about just how enraptured Ford had been by an interdimensional grifter. Hard to talk about how nothing else had enraptured him so much since. All that for a two-dimensional two-bit con artist who'd been slumming it in the lawless no man's land between civilized dimensions, now chained up on a dingy mattress in Ford's cellar. Nothing sparkled quite like fool's gold.

But—it was also impossible to ignore a topic that was sleeping just a flight of stairs away. Stan shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his gaze on the weeds sprouting in the shack's parking lot. "So," he said, and Ford nearly flinched. "How are... uh..." Stan cleared his throat and tried again. "You good?"

Ah, the famed emotional sensitivity of Pines men. Ford tried to think of a way to express the tumult of negative emotions that running into Bill again had reawakened. "Eh." He made a so-so gesture with a hand. (He'd always been better at expressing himself in writing.) "I'm not as surprised as I wish I was. As soon as his book showed up, we knew this was possible."

Stan nodded. "I always kinda thought you were waiting for this." (Had Ford been waiting for it?) "You weren't... expecting it, right?"

"Wh—? No! Of course not! It just stands to reason—an indestructible book by a professional con artist, it only has to fall in the hands of one person ready to be manipulated—that doesn't mean I wanted—"

"Whoa, easy Sixer. I'm not accusing you of anything, I'm just... you know—checking in." Stan put a reassuring hand on Ford's shoulder. "You're the one who's called yourself a recovering Cipherholic, gotta make sure my brother's not falling off the wagon."

Ford supposed that was warranted. He couldn't deny that even now, he didn't fully trust himself around Bill. "There's no risk of that." Especially not with Stan looking out for him.

"You sure? Not interested in asking him about the secrets of the universe?"

"Absolutely not."

"Maybe some time travel kung fu tips so you can go for your black belt?"

"As I recall, Bill claimed he was self taught," Ford said, with a tone of faint disapproval. "If I'm going to ask anybody for advice on time travel combat, I think it should be Dipper and Mabel." He could feel himself relaxing a tiny bit. It didn't make the whole situation better, but it was reassuring to remind himself that even with Bill right there, Ford wanted neither to follow him until the end of time nor to hunt him to the ends of the earth. "I just want to get rid of him."

Stan paused. "Yeah." His hand dropped from Ford's shoulder and he crossed his arms. "You and me both."

####

Apparently Bill really had fallen back asleep that fast, because he didn't stir as the Pines and Soos gagged him and carried him into the back of Stan's car. Soos sat in the back with the prisoner and his baseball bat, and Ford and Stan silently envied him for not having to turn his back on Bill. The car pulled away from the Mystery Shack with its headlights off.

Moments later, Dipper and Mabel followed on bikes.

####

(If you enjoyed, I'd appreciate a comment!)