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tommyspeakycap · 3 years

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Painted Roses

jordan henderson x reader

word count - 2k I think

jordan takes you back to the place it all began as you expand your life together.

second part to Rose Garden

4 years to the date.

The country house with the long gravel road that lead up to the huge red brick cottage. The owner passed away over a year ago and their family, to Jordan’s utter shock, weren’t interested in maintaining the beautiful home as the wedding venue it had existed as in the past. The second he heard it was up for sale, he placed an offer and had the keys in the space of two weeks.

“Jordan where are we going?”

“You’ll see.” He promises, giving your hand a gentle squeeze where it sat on top of your knee. The blindfold is making you sweat more than you already were. “I can’t see anything.” You note pointedly with a roll of your eyes behind the blindfold. Jordan chuckles heartily with what you can imagine in your mind is his signature smile, all white teeth and crinkled eyes. “You’ll love it,” he says through that smile, “I promise.” His hand pats your knee again as a silence falls between you.

Gravel crunches beneath the wheels of his fancy black Mercedes as the smell of cut grass and fresh flowers enters your nose and makes you grin subconsciously in a way you barely even notice. Jordan catches sight of that out the corner of his eye and his heart grows with joy in his chest. The slow, careful turn of his car, paired with the sound of his hands sliding along the leather of the wheel alert you to his parking. He does so with ease and you hear the keys jangling as he shuts off the engine.

“Wait here,” he instructs, climbing out his side with the door thrown shut behind him. He’s round at your side of the car before you have a chance to think up a cheeky retort. He’s gentle as he always is when he helps you out of the car carefully, wrapping one arm around your waist so you don’t fall. Admittedly, it doesn’t work very well because the ground beneath is so incredibly uneven, so when he gets to that first smooth grey cement step, he opts to simply scoop you up into his arms with ease.

“Okay,” he begins, placing you down as you feel the smooth material covering your eyes loosening and slipping from your face. His hands replace it for only a moment as he presses a kiss to the side of your head from behind you. “Open.”

You do as told and tears spring in place of his hands to blur your vision.

It’s beautiful.

It was that Victorian style country home that once acted as a wedding venue, redecorated to a minimum. “Wanted it to look nice for you, but so that you can give it your touch. You know better than me.” He admits sheepishly with a pink tint to his cheeks. You beam at him tearily, hands clasped together in sheer joy. “God Jordan, you shouldn’t have!” You exclaim, tears bleeding over your lash line. You knew how expensive these types of homes were, never mind ones so big with such history to them. It hadn’t even made much of a dent for Jordan really. He had more money than either of you could ever have spent and he likes to remind you of that to ensure you know full and well his gentle spoiling of you is not a hardship for him. He actively loves to do it.

“Take it as an anniversary present.” He shrugs, trying to fight at the smile that was tugging his lips. The warmth of your hug and the tears seeping through his white shirt was all a welcome to him no matter how hot it was outside. He could not wait to come home to this house, be welcomed home by you and hopefully some littler mixtures of you and him with your eyes and smile. “Makes my present look a little rubbish now,” you jest, making him chuckle heartily.

The house needed a fair bit of work. New flooring, new carpets, your furniture from home would do just fine but you reckon Jordan will be all for new stuff for a new home. A few new coats of paint and nice clear out, but all in it was still absolutely gorgeous.

“There is one room I really wanted to show you though, if that’s okay?” He asks, keeping his eyes trained down on the floor. You furrow your brows, but nod your head. “I gotta grab something from the car first though?” You hum, detangling your hand from his, “And pee.”

He tilts his head like a curious puppy. “Again? You went right before we left?” He queries. You shrug your shoulders indifferently. “Since when do you question a woman’s toilet habits at that point in the month, Henderson?” You poke with a blush and a light giggle. He chuckles with you and holds up his hands in defeat, but the second your out of eye and earshot his shoulders fall and a sigh bursts out his lips. He wouldn’t let it show to you right now his disappointment. You hadn’t been trying long, but it was enough for him to be in the longing stage. Longing to see your swollen belly, longing to feel those tiny kicks against his hands and then hold his brand new baby for the first time, spend all those nights wide awake wishing for nothing but sleep while he cradled them through to the morning. You said it would happen when it happened, but it still ached with every negative test. Hearing you say you were on your period hurt a little more than he had anticipated, but he’s still heart set on showing what he had done with the short time he was able to keep this new home a secret.

You return with your handbag and take his hand. He is instinctive in those soft movements of his thumb over the back of your hand. It’s something he always does to sooth both you and him.

“So this is the master bedroom and I know it’s not quite good yet but I thought-“

“Jordan it’s beautiful,” you cut him off, your hand drifting out of his as you step in slowly. Being cautious of dust sheets and some tools, you walk into the massive room. You’d never been in a bedroom that big and it had blown you away. The huge bed, still with plastic attacked and tags on the mattress. The en-suite bathroom is marble worktops, one of those huge bathtubs and a walk in shower updated to a beautiful mixture of modernity and it’s antique homage. Tears are found again. The window gives a perfect view out the back of the house, rolling fields worth of garden space, loosely fenced in for acres into the distance. There’s a pond on the land a little to the left, not far at all that leads off towards the beginning of the hidden Rose Garden where you met Jordan 4 years ago today. All of that owned and shared by just you and the man you love. “Bloody hell, it’s so magnificent Jordan. I literally have no words.”

He beams shyly almost, “That’s how I feel about you.” He mumbles softly, almost too quiet for you to hear, like he didn’t want you to. “What’s through here?” You call behind you as he trails after you on anxious legs. You carry on through the very short pathway attached to the master bedroom that had some extra storage space. “Well uh..I haven’t finished that so maybe we should just an-“

“Oh my god.”

Jordan rubs nervously at the back of his throat as he enters into the connecting room behind you. His eyes take you in immediately, studying your features carefully. Your hands are clasped over your mouth with slow tears sliding down over your rosy cheeks. Your eyes are afire with love and happiness. “I know it’s weird but-“

“It’s perfect, Jordan.” You throw your arms around his neck, his arms finding you immediately as he buries his head into your shoulder.

It’s the only room with a new carpet yet. It’s soft beneath your shoes, a plush cream colour to match a white wall. The window on the back wall gives the same fantastic view you have in the master room. There’s a white crib pushed against the wall furthest from you with a mobile of twinkling toys dangling above and a baby changing table a little away from the top end of the crib stocked full of pampers and baby cream. In the right corner of the room just by the window is a white wooden rocking chair next to a little book shelf with baby books that had a couple plush teddies and a photo of you and Jordan 4 years ago sitting atop it. The other side corner is decked out with two beanbag seats, a soft baby mat and a bundle of all sorts of soft toys.

“Left that wall blank ‘cause I remember that day you told me you’d always wanted to paint it like the sky.” He recounts, pointing his finger at the wall that the crib was situated next to, making your head whip towards him. He had such a fantastic memory even for the little things you said, just like that. You barely even remember it, spoken under the stars as you’d fallen asleep on his shoulder. It gives you no doubt about having kids with him, the thought of him remembering your babies favourite little treats or ineffective toddler secrets makes your heart soar with pride and joy. “Look closer at that.” He turns you round so your facing that wall again, the one with the little cosy corner.

Painted on the wall intricately above it is that rose arbor your stood underneath when he first laid his eyes on you. Where he first had that dance with you, where he told you he wanted to see you again. Where you snuck into when it was late, dark and only lit by those same fairly lights so he could tell you he loved you for the first time all those years ago. The roses are painted in perfect colour, careful and precise in the way they hung around you for that first ever dance you shared together. It’s so beautiful and so lifelike you that get lost in it, reliving the moment your world came together. Every time you sit there, it’ll be like sitting under real thing when you can’t take the baby out there.

“Well this makes my present a little more fitting, then.” You sniffle, letting Jordan swipe the tears gently off your cheeks with the pads of his thumbs in a slow, loving motion. “What do you mean?” He asks, “I told you not to get me anything.” He crossed his arms over his chest as you rifle through your bag. “Okay okay, here. Open this.”

You hand over a small gift bag, one stuffed with tissue paper he has to tear through as you sit your bag down and wait, watching him with wide and watery eyes. He pulls out first the tiny little wad of fabric and places the gift bag on top of the white wooden dresser, carefully unravelling the rolled up clothes. “That’s bloody adorable.” He breathes out, trying to keep the tears he has inside his eyes to no avail. You wrap your arm around his back, rubbing his tight shoulders softly. “Look at the back.” You encourage, his eyes meet yours then look back to the tiny clothes.

HENDERSON

With a little picture taped carefully to the bottom that he peels off with shaky, tentative fingers. “No way!” He booms, jumping back from you in shock. He looks down at the picture, up at you, back down at the picture, then up at you again with tears slipping over his cheeks. “But you said-“

“It was a surprise!” You squeal back as he swoops forward and scoops you into his arms, spinning you around in glee. “So no food poising? And no period?” He giggled out like a schoolgirl in shock. You shake your head. “Morning sickness and just a diversion. We’re having a baby!”

“We’re having a baby!” He repeats, louder. His words bounce of the walls that can barely contain the happiness inside of them. Threatening to burst at the seams as it fills beyond belief. This room, though incomplete, is perfect. Because you are in it together. Here, together in each other’s arms sharing in joy just like you’ve both shared in pain, hurt, love, happiness, nerves and everything else along the way. Head on, together.

“And this,” Jordan holds up the little football strip with his name printed across the back, his england appointed number proudly underneath, “This is perfect. You,” he pauses, leaning forward to capture your lips in his, “Are perfect.” His hands wander down to your stomach, placed gently over where his pea sized baby currently exists, growing and feeding on the love he intends to drown them in just like he does to you, “Both of you…perfect.”

It is perfect, really. Your love is. Even when it isn’t, it is. When he’s gone too long and you can’t see him because of a pandemic; the effort is made, emotions are shared. He tells you he misses you and his ego is never too big for its space in your relationship. When the world is against him or when fate turns against you both, it’s in each other’s arms that you find solace even if space is needed first. There’s an understanding of the love you have. It’s special. The kind that only a lucky few seem to find these days, a one people can look at and spot from a mile away. It’s beautiful, it’s own space taking entity that makes you both target to significant teasing from friends and family alike. It’s perfect.

Even when you fight over what blue is better to represent the sky just because your pregnant and too hormonal to admit he’d found the right colour before you did. Even when he coats you in paint that ends in an all out paint war, thankful you both removed all the furniture before painting. Even when you sob as your body changes, with pregnant emotions skewing your mind and making you question whether he’ll ever be attracted to you again, he’ll remind you that he’s never been more attracted to you than now. Housing his child, taking the aches, the pains and the changes like a true champ while he can do nothing but rub your feet and buy you ridiculous quantities of Solero ice creams. He’ll remind you in more ways that one just how perfect you are to him. Love by it’s very nature is as messy as that paint fight. It’s up and down and all over the place all the time. But the kind of love that you and Jordan have is a special that doesn’t waver, doesn’t dull or dim or change through time.

If anything, each day he loves you more. Even if he was convinced it wasn’t possible. But then it just was. Seeing you red in the face with sweat dripping over your forehead and tears leaking from your squeezed shut eyes as your screams echo through the room. All he could do was coax and coach, trying to tell you how proud of you he was. Even when you screamed that you despised him, he laughed and told you to squeeze his hand a little harder. It hurt, but that was nothing compared to the pain that you were enduring from multiple areas of your body as that baby ripped through you to make her grand entrance to the world, kicking and screaming just like the fighter her mother was. He thought his heart might burst with the amount of love he has, surely that’s as good as it gets?

No. No, it gets better still.

Everyday it’s better. Better when he gets to watch that woman that he loves so much sing to his tiny baby daughter, rocking in that chair under the painted rose arbor as she feeds from you. The most beautiful, natural thing in the world and he is enthralled by it. Watching you giggle at her she coos up at you. Placing her down in the crib beneath the gentle jingling of the cloud themed mobile next to the pale, sky blue coloured wall, blossoms falling, trickling down through clouds from a painted blossom tree on the wall and rose petals in variations of pink and red along the bottom of the crib. Roses and rose petals just like the ones that surrounded you on the day you danced with each other in under the trees of the garden that summer night. Roses like the ones you stood under to profess your love for one another. Roses, like the ones he took a knee beside, beneath and with one in his hand to give to you as he asked for your hand. Roses like you would stand beneath with one pinned to the breast of his suit to say the vows that would tie you in law to one another and to give you his name. Roses like the ones painted on the far wall, still fresh when you shared the news of that baby girl’s existence. Roses that were such an important symbol of the love you shared, pure and beautiful, sometimes painful but always worth the fight. Those roses painted on that crib with space for just one word carved into the wood.

Rose.

Your own beautiful little Rose.

#jordan henderson #jordan henderson imagines #jordan henderson imagine #jordan henderson x reader #england national team imagine #england national team #footie fics #footballer fics #football fics

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hometoursandotherstuff · 4 years

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Lara loves gold and has gold-leafed a lot of surfaces in the early 1800s UK cottage she shares with her husband Stuart. Their home is unique, vibrant, and creative. I do like the gold on the fireplace surround- it really makes it stand out.

Lara loves the history of her home- it used to be an ale house. How cool is that?

It needed extensive repair and was in a ’70s time warp with lots of dark wood cladding and orange / yellow woodwork.

Lara says, "Due to all the renovating our budget was seriously tight so we had to do much of the work ourselves and get really creative with the decor and furniture sourcing. I’ve tried to balance high-street items with secondhand vintage furniture, some of which I’ve painted or upcycled to fit in with my style. I’ve bought a lot from eBay, Facebook, charity shops, and garage sales."

They especially loved uncovering old features like blocked up fireplaces in the living room and bedroom as well as original paneled doors.

Lara figured out a number of ways to achieve the looks she wanted on a small budget- she paints and upcycles secondhand furniture, and makes things when she can’t afford to pay someone to make them for her.

They made this concrete dining table.

Their style is eclectic, bold, colorful, and creative with Victorian and vintage touches.

The old white tiles got some geometric stencils.

An interesting paint technique is on this wall.

They saved a lot of money by making the balustrade on the stairs, themselves. They used bamboo, then gave the walls an exotic flair.

Using the master bedroom as an example, Lara says, “If you can’t afford what you really want, get creative and try to find a way to get the look without the budget.”

The theme from the hall carries into the bedroom.

"For example an all dark opulent room can look beautiful but if it’s a high energy practical area like a kitchen, it may not work for you. Just like a really bright bedroom may not be calming for you."

The guest bedroom, with a bed made of free wood pallets is lovely.

Lara turned it into a four poster with a fancy gold headboard.

With plants and a copper-leafed vintage tub, the bath is a sanctuary.

They used a vintage dresser as a sink vanity.

This spare room became Lara’s dressing room.

The yard is outfitted with wood pallet furniture and colorful big pillows.

https://www.apartmenttherapy.com/gold-leaf-artist-lara-bezzina-house-tour-36785495

#DIY decor #thrifted decor #flea market style #long post

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thrillridesz · 4 years

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black magic ▫ sangyeon

➳ pairing: best friend!sangyeon x fem!reader ➳ genre: fluff, magic!au ➳ warnings/rating: PG ➳ word count: 2.7k ➳ requested?: no

a/n: this is written as a birthday special for tbz’s best leader sangyeon! happy sangyeon day everyone ^^ this story is also inspired by little mix’s ‘black magic’. This is unedited as of now and I finished this real quick so I’m sorry if it isn’t up to standard!

“Thanks for the surprise, I really appreciated it.”

The night was young as the luminous moon hung high in the dark sky, casting a soft, white glow on the earth below. A cool, night breeze whipped gently against your cheeks while you strolled the quiet streets with Sangyeon, a tranquil silence in the air safe for the soft scraping sounds of the fallen autumn leaves against the gravel ground as it got caught in the wind. Wrapped up tightly in your coat, you felt a sense of warmth spread across your chest, a warmth more cosy than anything else.

“It’s no problem! It’s your birthday, it had to be perfect.” You replied, shooting him a bright smile as you stuffed your hands into your coat pockets.

Sangyeon grinned, his eyes crinkling into crescents.

“It was, don’t worry. Not gonna lie though, I didn’t think it was Eric in that bear costume even for a second. You guys really scared me right there.”

Your laugh rang through the night as his smile grew wider.

“Well, it was a pretty impromptu idea! It was literally on sale for like 10 bucks, we just had to get it,” you threw your hands up in defense as Sangyeon chuckled softly, his breath coming out in white puffs from the cold.

“Always on the hunt for good deals, y/n. Always.”

“Of course! Though since you’re my best friend, I’m usually willing to pay just a little bit more.” You replied thoughtfully, tapping your chin as if deep in thought.

The two of you have been friends ever since you could walk. For the longest time, it was just the two of you against the rest of the world. When you got bullied by the other kids in the courtyard in second grade, it had been Sangyeon who stuck by you and defended you from them even if it meant he was to take some of the punches in your place. Likewise when Sangyeon had been dangerously close to repeating a year in eleventh grade, you had persisted in staying by his side to make sure he studied and understood everything the teachers’ had to teach. All through middle school and high school, the both of you have been thick as thieves. Whatever you did, he did as well and whatever he did, you did too. Things like spending Halloween and coordinating outfits, going to school and studying for exams… The two of you were each others’ constants and if anyone was to ever look up the term ‘best friends’ in the dictionary, they would no doubt find both your names in there.

What sort of ‘best friend’ would you be not to at least fork out a few extra dollars for the sake of an amazing birthday for the one and only Lee Sangyeon?

You didn’t notice the slight frown that crossed Sangyeon’s face which he quickly replaced with a soft smile but the look in his eyes were hardened and detached.

“Right.”

“Wait, what’s that?”

You stopped dead in your track, squinting as you pointed into a distance. Before Sangyeon could reply, you grabbed onto his hand, pulling him behind you while you made your way over. The colour in his cheeks darkened as he scratched at the back of his neck awkwardly, peering at you shyly. You were too engrossed in staring at the display in front of you to notice him, your nose practically touching the glass panel.

“Black Occult?” You mumbled under your breath, your eyebrows furrowing together.

“What’s going on?”

You turned to Sangyeon, a look of confusion etched in your face.

“You don’t find this weird?”

“What about it?”

“This was never here.”

At that, Sangyeon narrowed his eyes as he surveyed the store’s exterior. Wrinkling his nose, you saw the belated realisation dawn upon him.

“Oh, right. Didn’t this used to be an arcade?”

You rolled your eyes.

“You’re so dense sometimes, it’s unbelievable.”

“Can I help you guys?”

The two of you whipped around to see a certain pink haired boy standing with his arms akimbo at the entrance, staring at the both of you. His eyes were blue, almost unnaturally so, and he was clad in just about the most colourful suit you’ve ever seen anyone don on. It felt like an assault to your sights, with all the neon colours yet somehow there was such a mysterious aura to him. In a way, it felt like there was an almost mystical vibe that you got from him that made you inclined to think that he wasn’t in any way human.

“W-We… Oh, we’re sorry. We didn’t know you were open.” Sangyeon replied and you could hear a slight tremble in his voice. He definitely felt the same.

“Are you guys looking to purchase anything?” The scowl on the boy’s face disappeared as his eyes widened.

“Um…”

“Excellent! Please, come on in. I was wondering why you guys were standing outside acting all weird but I didn’t realise you guys wanted to come in. It’s this goddamn black glass, isn’t it? I’ve told Haknyeon so many times we should change it. Makes it so hard to look in, I swear.” He rambled on, holding the door open with a wide grin on his face.

“Come on in! Feel free to look around. If you need anything, I’ll be here. Just call my name, Chanhee.”

You and Sangyeon exchanged a look as if hesitating to enter but one look at Chanhee’s enthusiastic expression prompted you to see foot into the store. Seeing that you were going in, Sangyeon shrugged as he followed suit.

The moment you entered the store, the overwhelming scent of lilies and peaches hit you with a pang while the dim lighting made it difficult to navigate even within the store. Yet once your eyes adjusted to the dimness in the room, you couldn’t help but marvel at the oddities that surrounded you.

On the wooden shelves attached to the wall, were rows and rows of oddly coloured liquid, too bright or too unnaturally coloured to have come from a source of nature. Several sprigs of unknown herbs hung on the walls, tied into bundles by string while on another side, candles of all shapes, sizes and scents lined the table. Well-polished crystals were arranged meticulously on an old mahogany coffee table near the counter and a particularly interesting looking bird flitted around in a wrought Victorian-style iron birdcage. It was small with a white beak and purple and yellow feathers with its wings flapping so fast, you could barely see it moving. You have never seen a bird like that before and although you started towards it, something else caught your eye entirely.

Picking up a small bottle, you inspected the glowing golden liquid in it, Tilting it in your hand, the viscosity of the mixture and the velvety look it had was almost mesmerising to stare at. As you turned it over, you leaned in to read the faded label on it.

“Love potion.” You said aloud, causing Sangyeon who had been looking at a bunch of tarot cards to look up at you.

“Ah, yes! One of our bestsellers that is!” Chanhee exclaimed, his eyes shining with joy and excitement. “Guaranteed to work! It’s only 15 dollars.”

“Why would you need anything like that?” Sangyeon scoffed, folding his arms across his chest as his biceps bulged ever so slightly.

“You never know… I just thought it looked pretty.”

Somehow, you couldn’t stop staring at it. It was as if it was whispering your name to ‘just buy it’. Then again, it could really just be the impulsive shopper in you but there was something so alluring and magnetic about it that you just felt like you had to have it in your possession. It was like letting a child go lose in a candy shop and finally seeing that one lollipop with the most beautiful swirls and crazy colours that just screamed flavour. You didn’t exactly care even if it wasn’t an actual potion, it just looked so aesthetic that you had to buy it.

“I’ll have it!”

Sangyeon looked at you as if you had just sprouted horns on your head as you handed over a dollar bill over to Chanhee who accepted it readily.

“Surely, you don’t actually believe that it’s a love potion.” He blurted out much to the disgruntlement of Chanhee who shot a deathly glare at him.

“It is! It’s been tried and tested. It works, okay?” He said with an air of haughtiness which Sangyeon grumbled at and instantly, Chanhee knew. He should have known earlier in all honesty, from the way he had seen the man stare at you. A slow smile began to spread across his face.

Interesting.

As Chanhee watched the two of you leave the store with Sangyeon still rambling on about how you ‘just wasted 15 bucks for nothing’, he leaned into his chair contentedly. With a snap of his fingers, a cosy glass of grape wine materialised in his hands and with a sip, he sighed.

“Darling didn’t even need a love potion.”

“I can’t believe you actually bought it.” Sangyeon said, his voice still carrying a tone of disbelief.

“Look at it though, isn’t it pretty? I mean even if it isn’t actually a love potion, it’s nice to look at.” You said, still looking at the glowing liquid in the tiny bottle. Slotting in the key and entering the shared apartment the two of you shared with Younghoon, a childhood friend to the both of you and Hyunjae, a mutual friend from university. Since Younghoon was away in Spain with his girlfriend, Bea, it was really only Hyunjae in the house who you found clad in a dinosaur onesie as he lounged in front of the television with a big bowl of buttered popcorn in his lap.

“Oh, you guys are back. I was wondering where you guys went after the party.”

“We were… A little caught up.” Sangyeon said slowly, casting you a knowing glance which you avoided.

“Figures. You guys left earlier than I did.”

“Because you were busy fraternising with anyone you can possibly bring home, which I can see you’ve failed.” You joked and Hyunjae tossed a pillow at you, with a scowl on his face.

“Ugh, get out of my way.”

You laughed out loud as you set the bottle on the kitchen tabletop, causing him to turn to look. When he did, his eyes widened almost comically large as he leapt to his feet.

“What’s that?” He shuffled over quickly with a look of awe.

“Some stupid love potion thing,” Sangyeon replied curtly before you could even open your mouth to say anything. You turned to him with a frown at which he merely shrugged off carelessly as he preoccupied himself in rummaging through the refrigerator for a late night snack.

Taking the bottle from you, Hyunjae held it up against the light, his dark eyes shining with overflowing curiosity and doubt. The light reflected off the smooth,clear glass, making the gold liquid inside it look even more luminous and even wispy with the liquid swirling almost in slow motion no matter how you look at it. You have never seen anything like it and judging from Hyunjae’s expression, neither has he.

“Looks interesting.” He declared after a moment of inspection as Sangyeon turned to him in disbelief.

“Not you too. That guy definitely ripped y/n off. Seriously, y/n.” He tsked, sauntering over and snatching the bottle from Hyunjae.

“Doesn’t seem like anything special. A love potion? In this day and age? I don’t buy it for a second.” There was disdain in his eyes as he pursed his lips in disgust. Popping open the bottle, a sweet scent of tangerines and pineapples rapidly permeated the small apartment and maybe it was just you but you thought you felt your heart flutter just a little. A smile made its way onto your lips quite unconsciously and a tiny jolt of electricity shook you in the most delightful way possible.

Could it be…?

You lifted your gaze to see Sangyeon stare at the bottle in his hand with a startled look on his face, his mouth slightly ajar and you knew that he had felt the exact same thing. Though that look of surprise disappeared just as quickly as it came and his expression hardened.

“That’s a lot of artificial flavouring for one bottle.” He clenched his jaw as his grip on the glass bottle tightened and you could see the veins protruding ever so slightly from his forearm.

You narrowed your eyes.

“If you’re just going to whine, then give it back to me. Just don’t look at it.”

As you leaned forward, Sangyeon took a step back.

“Why? Are you going to try giving that to someone?”

Raising an eyebrow, you regarded him with suspicion.

“Sure, why not? There’s a really cute guy in my statistics class, even if it doesn’t work - which I’m pretty sure it doesn’t so don’t worry - it’s still worth a shot.”

You barely noticed the flash of disappointment in Sangyeon’s eyes and how his shoulders sagged ever so slightly as you ripped it from his hands. Yet before you could cap it back, he grabbed it back so hastily that you didn’t even have time to react. Throwing his head back, you and Hyunjae could only watch in shocked silence as you gulped down almost half the bottle.

Wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt, he shot Hyunjae a piercing glare as the latter let out a wolf whistle, his eyes filled with mirth and genuine adoration.

“Damn. That was... Ironic.”

You didn't say anything except stare at Sangyeon and a moment passed without anything out of the ordinary happening. There was no burst of sparkles or anything growing out from anyone’s body, nothing crazy at all.

Huh. So maybe it was actually a hoax.

“That should be enough proof,” he said in an ‘I told you so’ tone which you rolled your eyes at. “That's some nice potion though or whatever you wanna call it.”

“Really? Let me have a taste.”

Reaching over, Hyunjae took a sip and hummed merrily.

“Oh dang, this is amazing. It’s like an orange smoothie except a million times better.”

Lifting his head, he turned to look at you and what you saw made you almost stumble back in shock. The colour of his eyes held a faint flash of pink before they returned to normal but when they did, they no longer held the playfulness and casual air that Hyunjae always wore but rather, they were filled with such intense passion and affection. It was like looking into the eyes of someone who was extremely, completely, slap me silly and deeply...

In love.

“Have I ever told you how pretty you look? I know I’ve never said this but... I think I love you,” Hyunjae said in a low, soft voice as he reached out to hold your hands in his.

“I...I...” You spluttered at a complete loss of words, wringing your hands frantically.

At that, Sangyeon swivelled around to stare at the two of you.

He could only watch as Hyunjae lifted his hand to gently brush your hair away from your face as his other hand reached up to cup your face.

“How could I not have notice- Hey!”

Grabbing him by the collar from behind, Hyunjae practically flew back as Sangyeon pulled him away with a disapproving frown on his face. There was a deep frown etched onto his face, his eyes crinkling as he looked at the latter with an almost irritated expression. Though somehow, you could detect a faint hint of fear in his demeanour. In a way, the uneven and volatile energy radiated so strongly off him that it was hard not to see it in any other way.

Was Sangyeon perhaps jealous?

No. It couldn’t be, he was your best friend. Furthermore, how did the potion work on Hyunjae but not Sangyeon? Unless...

You let out a soft gasp as the realisation dawns upon you. It seemed as if Sangyeon may have come to the same realisation almost as soon as you did because he turned to you with such an expression of sheer panic, the sound of his heart pounding so loudly you could hear it.

The potion didn’t work because he was already in love with you.

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snowgoldwaylon · 3 years

Text

New House Headcannon with Lawrence Sims!

This man doesn't get enough love or recognition in this fandom. I love him, he has such an awesome personality and sense of humor! So enjoy this sugar sweet Headcannon!

• You both were married, and still living in a cramped apartment in the city after a year of the marriage life.

• You both talked over dinner that it was time for a house!

• You both made good money, so why not?

• Plus, you were thinking about possibly having a child. 👀

• So you both went browsing on the market, you traveled for hours looking at various houses.

• You definitely didn't want any neighbors. You knew that you both liked to have family game night with Park, Adler, Lazar, Mason, Woods, Bell, and Husdon.

• And with Woods, that mf always got loud. He was naturally loud!

• Plus you wanted space for your animals to run. You wanted open field so you could pretty up the yard, and decorate to your hearts desire.

• You had spent hours in the truck. You traveled with a realtor so she could walk through and explain things to you.

• After 4 hours in the car, you all agreed to meeting again tomorrow for a tour around the rural country side for more vacant houses.

• That was, until you saw a huge, grass overrun, gorgeous, mysterious, Victorian mansion sitting far back into the country side with a long driveway.

• "Wait, what about that house? Is it for sale?" You asked. The agent nodded and pulled her book out.

• "It is! But, by the way the property is and the condition of the house, it's practically being given away." She confirmed.

• "Can we look at it? It's gorgeous and has peaked my interest!" You said.

• "Of course we can. Pull up there, Mr. Sims."

• So Sims pulled up the long driveway, and stopped when he got under the car shelter in front of the glass front doors.

• You quickly got out, and craned your head so you could see the top of the huge, white, mysterious house.

• "Lawrence, it's beautiful. I really can't stop looking at it."

• "I know Y/N it's breathtaking. Let's take a look around, and we'll go from there!"

• You looked at all 5 rooms, and the two large bathrooms. It was so stunning, you couldn't let it go.

• But, the house definitely needed work. It needed a new roof, pipes, plumbing, insulation, and it needed a heating and cooling system put in all together.

• You talked with Lawrence, and he was onboard with buying it, and fixing it up. Now, all you needed to know was pricing.

• "What are we looking at in price, Mrs. Red?" You asked.

• "Well, in my notes here, with the significant amount of damage already done to it, we are looking at about $30,000. But with the funds you have, that will be no problem to pay it off within just a year."

• You and Sims both looked at eachother for a moment, and looked back at her.

• In perfect unison, you both smiled and said "We'll take it."

• You both signed the lease, locked up and went home. You quickly called the boys for the news!

• Within a few months, you all had spent every weekend going there, fixing it to make it liveable so further renovation could continue.

• Everyone helped. The safehouse crew were excellent workers, and very excited for you both.

• The first time you pulled up to the house, they all were in awe.

• "Holy shit, that things almost the size of the Lubayanka building!" Adler exclaimed.

• After a month, a whole new pipe system was put in, bedrooms were fixed, and central air was added.

• That meant you could finally move in!

• For the rest of that summer, you put blood, sweat, and tears into that house, making it a home.

• With the brilliant mind of Helen Park, floor plans were layed for a 4 car garage, and a humongous inground swimming pool.

• The construction was nothing after a while. The gang really did a good job, and helped make the house look as beautiful as it once did.

• You created a victorian looking pond in the front yard. It was layed in concrete, and painted with blue paint.

• One day, after everyone went home, you stepped out front to admire the beautiful sunset at your new house for the first time.

• The sunset was deep Orange, and a bright blueish-purple. It reflected so nice off the white color of the house.

• Lawrence stepped out to find you. He came up behind you and wrapped his arms around you.

• "This is so perfect, Lawrence. We are so lucky. Nothing can get better than this!"

• Lawrence kissed the back of your neck, and pulled you tighter. His world was perfect.

#black ops cold war #cold war #lawrence sims

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banditthewriter · 5 years

Text

Get Out Alive - Billy Russo

Here we have the Halloween fic that I’ve been working on all month and then FORGOT TO POST! Like a dumbass. But anyways! Here we go.

Warning: Violence, stressful situations, more violence.

Tags are at the bottom. Let me know if you would like to be added to one of my tag lists!

*gif is mine*

Enjoy!

*****

The envelope was golden, your name and addressed penned in an elegant script in black. It was mixed in with your water bill and a reminder of your yearly gyno appointment. Both of those were tossed onto the coffee table before you turned the golden envelope over.

A red wax seal held it shut. The insignia was a skull. You carefully pulled on the ribbon tab to open the envelope. Inside was a glossy black index card.

As you toed off your heels, you read over the invitation.

Y/N Y/L/N,

You are cordially invited to a dinner at the Wellman's Manor on All Hallow's Eve.

Following the dinner there will be a mystery guest and an announcement of great magnitude. Your presence has been requested.

The invitation held no signature, just the address to the old Wellman's Manor, a note about it being a black tie affair, and the time you should arrive. You read it twice just in case you'd missed something.

Jesus. This was almost too good to be true. You pulled your phone out of your purse and dialed your best friend as you headed down the hall and into your bedroom.

"Hey Janine, do you remember me telling you that someone was refurbishing the old Wellman's Manor?"

"I love when you start halfway into a conversation," Janine grumbled, then laughed immediately afterward. "Of course, you could barely contain yourself and wondered if they were going to open up for tours."

"Well apparently they are opening up for something. I got an invitation to a dinner there. There's going to be a mystery guest and some big announcement."

Janine made the appropriate oohs and aahs as you told her about it, but you knew it was for your benefit. She didn't have your interest in the history of that house.

"It's on Halloween. Do you realize how creepy that is? Isn't this the 150th anniversary of the murders?"

It was, actually. And that was part of the draw, to be completely honest. Who didn't love a house with a murderous past? And the many tales of ghostly visions over the years.

"This is just the distraction I need right now," you said with a sigh as you settled onto the edge of your bed.

Work was a disaster, your family was driving your crazy, and your love life was a train wreck. The only thing you had was your cat and Janine.

"Just be careful Y/N," Janine warned from a distance, your mind already working on an outfit for the dinner, "I don't want you to get in over your head."

"Of course, definitely not."

------

The dress was stellar. It fit you just right, the lacy black material folded over the black satin to give waves and extra length. You tugged on a dressy overcoat and buckled into your shoes.

Everything was perfect. Your hair was styled, your make up was subdued but looked good. You had painted your nails black with some silver glitter at the top. All in all, you looked like you were going to a very fancy funeral.

You grabbed your clutch. The clock showed that it had just turned five thirty when there was a honk outside.

Your ride was right on time.

The driver had opened the door to the backseat by time you got out there. You smiled and thanked him, but he didn't react.

Odd.

Whoever it was that put together the dinner had spared no expense. They had sent a car that had champagne in the back. You didn't touch it, wanting to be completely aware of every moment you were in the house.

It was about twenty minutes to the Manor, so you sat back and fiddled with your phone. Janine had asked you to stay in touch with her so you sent her a picture of you in the town car.

You decided to do a little research into the company that held the lease on the property. You'd seen their name in the paper a few times when the sale first happened. Oddly enough you hadn't seen anything about it being open to the public, but maybe that's what this was about.

You'd entered your name into a raffle to win a piece of the original furniture of the house. Maybe that was tied into this.

The company didn't have much to go on except that they restored historical landmarks to their formal glory. As you clicked to see a list of their previous work, your phone refused to load.

You knew you had unlimited data so it shouldn't be that. Instead of worrying about it, you put your phone into your clutch.

Right on time too. As you did, the car went around a curve and the Wellman's Manor was visible. It was massive, three stories and an unknown number of rooms. It was a Gothic Victorian mansion rather than a Manor, but the Wellman family had another larger home in the south somewhere.

Well they used to have one. This was the home where the entire family and their party guests were killed. It was a well known piece of history in these parts.

The driver stopped in front of the long set of stairs that led to the porch. He came around and opened the door for you, his hand gesturing up the stairs.

As you started up them, the car pulled away. You wanted to ask him where you needed to go, but you figured someone else would be there.

You went to the porch first, your eyes wide as you took it all in. It was beautiful. There were sculptures instead of columns.

At the door, you tried to large handle, but the door didn't budge. In the middle of either door was a dragon's head with a knocker in its mouth. You used that to knock on the door.

Moments later, the door opened up. A man bowed at you before he led you in.

He was also silent as he took your jacket and placed it in a coat room off the foyer. Then he led you into a sitting room where you saw a large group of people waiting.

And you recognized some of them.

That was Matt Murdock and Foggy Nelson. And was that… yeah, Frank Castle. There was a woman with him that had her back to you, so you weren't sure who it was.

In the corner was that PI, what was her name... Jessica Jones. She's wasn't wearing a dress, because that would have been terrifying. And she was still wearing a leather jacket. She was with a blonde woman you didn't recognize, but she was dressed in a red gown that made you envious of her body.

There were a few others people you didn't recognize, but you weren't the only one that came alone.

With nothing else to do, you moved over to Matt and Foggy. Foggy touched Matt's arm to let him know someone was coming up behind them.

"Hey Y/N, welcome to the murder house," he greeted with a grin.

"This is amazing. I still can't believe I'm here. And you boys look dapper," you complimented after you shook both of their hands.

"Foggy keeps telling me my tie doesn't match my suit," Matt said with a smirk, his eyes unmoving behind his red tinted glasses.

You rolled your eyes at Foggy's snickers.

"It's fine, but it's a little crooked. Here, can I?"

With Matt's nod, you reached up to fix the knot. While you worked on it, the door opened and let in another guest.

Hopefully you didn't tighten the tie too much in your shock. Here you were about to enjoy a wonderful meal for the first time in a long time and in walks the man that broke your heart.

What was Billy Russo doing here?

His eyes scanned over the room. You weren't sure they rested on you for more than a second before he moved over to where Frank was standing with… that was journalist Karen Page.

Well okay then.

"Friend of yours?"

You lowered your hands and shot Foggy a reproachful look. He grinned and cleared his throat.

"Why don't you get her a drink instead of making fun of her?"

You squeezed Matt's arm in appreciation as Foggy walked away with a quick apologetic look. You tried not to look over to where Billy was, but you couldn't help it.

He looked… amazing. His hair was pushed back, his facial hair professionally trimmed. His tux was obviously tailored to him.

"It's the ex, isn't it? The one you told us about?"

Thankfully Foggy got there just at the right time to hand you a glass of wine. You took a long sip before you answered Matt's question.

"Yes, that's the one," you offered faux jovially before you took another drink from your glass. "You guys mind if I stick with you tonight?"

"Do we mind a very attractive woman—you can't see her but she's really attractive—hanging out with us in a Gothic murder house? Hm, let me think."

Matt nudged his friend with a laugh.

"You're welcome to stick with us. Wouldn't have it any other way."

You were grateful that at least someone in this group was someone you were friends with. You weren't sure you could handle it if Billy was here and you were alone.

Especially when he looked that good.

As you started to wonder who else would be joining the group, a man came into the room wearing a black suit and black gloves. He wasn't dressed like the man who had let you in, so he must have worked for the company that bought the Manor.

"Welcome, welcome to Wellman's Manor. If you all will follow me, we will have a quick tour before dinner."

A quick tour? You were excited thinking that meant you would see the whole Manor but you soon learned it just meant the first floor. And not even all of it, if you were remembering the layout correctly.

The group was led through the library and an office, plus a room that housed paintings and plants. The kitchen was visible from the hallway, but he didn't go that direction.

The man, who still hadn't introduced himself, detailed the restoration process of the house. He ignored any questions about the house or who he was. His focus was solely on what he was saying.

It almost sounded scripted.

You led Matt around with your arm linked through his. You would whisper to him to describe what was being discussed and sometimes made off the cuff comments about your tour guide. More than one of them made him laugh.

Near the back of the group was Billy, Frank, and Karen. You'd made eye contact with him once and had immediately turned away, whispering to Matt about something or other to distract yourself.

You almost wished this night would go faster.

"Here we have the dining room. Please find the seat with your name."

It seemed that people who had come here together were separated. Foggy was next to a blond man whose fingers kept twitching and a black man with a frown. Matt was on an end with Jessica Jones beside him. She at least seemed to know Matt so you weren't worried about him being by myself.

Not that you were very worried about him anyways.

Then you walked around until you found your name tag. As you pulled out your chair, you froze when you saw who was sitting down beside you.

Billy. Shit. Could this night get any worse?

On your other side was the blond man with twitchy fingers. At least you were near Foggy.

On Billy's other side was the blonde who had come with Jessica. You realized it was Trish Walker, the radio personality. She was even more beautiful than her billboards. And the two of them side by side looked like a couple from a magazine. It was a little sickening honestly.

The man rang a bell at the front of the room and the doors that must have led to the kitchen opened up. One by one servers came into the room. They placed silver trays in front of each of you, uncovering them to show a side salad and soup.

“Enjoy,” he said before he made his way out of the door you all had come in through.

It was quiet for a while before people finally started to eat. Then there was a slow rise in the noise level as people started talking to each other.

Your eyes cut over to Billy, wondering if he was already talking to the beautiful and successful Trish Walker. Instead he was looking at you.

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” he said conversationally as he picked up his fork to start in on his salad.

“I could say the same,” you said as you looked back down to your own food. “I didn’t even know you knew anything about this house.”

You didn’t remind him that you talked about it all the time when the two of you’d been together. Instead you simply left it at that. Whatever Billy might have said in response was ignored in favor of the man at your other side who decided you were a better conversationalist than Foggy.

The man on your left was named Benjamin Poindexter—”Call me Dex,”—a former Army vet who had recently stepped down from the FBI. When you told him about your job, you kept it simple because you knew he’d know what it entailed.

“I work for the CSU in New York City.”

“No shit, really? We probably crossed paths at some point. Although,” he added with a grin in your direction, “I think I’d remember you.”

You felt heat rise to your cheeks as you looked away for a moment. He was attractive, funny, and interested in you. Maybe this wasn’t going to be such a bad evening after all.

The rest of the courses were brought in one by one. Dessert was an array of different types of sweets, each one more decadent than the last. It was a meal fit for royalty. Or at the very least for famous people. Your hours usually meant you didn't have time to cook for yourself so it was nice to get something not out of a paper bag or a ziploc.

You continued talking to Dex for most of the meal. Both of you had similar stories and a similar sense of humor so it was an easy conversation. Not as easy was catching glimpses of Billy deep in conversation with Trish Walker.

It shouldn't matter who he talked to. It had already been six months since the last time you'd seen him; you highly doubted he'd been a monk in that time frame.

No, he was more than welcome to chat up the beautiful radio star. He could go home with her for all you cared.

Maybe you'd give Dex your number. Keeping in touch wouldn't be a bad idea.

Conversations around the table varied from different subjects. The most common was the news that a prisoner transfer bus with almost two dozen of the most violent offenders in the state had gone missing.

No one believed it was an accident. You and Dex had some theories, but nothing would be able to be proven until the investigation continued.

Once the plates had been cleared, one of the servers gestured to the large doors you all had entered through. Realizing this meant it was time to get up, you started to rise when your chair was pulled out for you.

"Thank you," you told Dex, ignoring Billy's look as you stood up and turned towards your dinner companion. "Shall we?"

The whole group followed the server into what could only be referred to as a screening room. There was a large projector like screen on the wall as well as cabinets and shelves of movies and television shows.

You could live happily in that room.

Everyone either took seats around the room or stayed standing. You gravitated to Matt and Foggy, Dex not far behind.

"Think this has something to do with the mystery guest and the announcement?"

You shrugged in response to Foggy's question. His guess was as good as yours.

The lights went down in the room, causing all of you to look around for the source. But before anyone could pinpoint it, the projector screen came to life.

The man who had given a quick tour of the first floor was seen on the screen. He was dressed the same, but there was something in his eyes as he looked into the camera. It was like he could see you all.

"I hope you enjoyed your meal. It was a perfect recreation of the last meal that was eaten in this house before the tragedy of that night, one hundred and fifty years ago." The man dusted off his coat and looked at the camera again. "You were all asked here for a reason. You showed an interest in this house or the family who owned it. Some of the interest was professional, some personal, but it all meant the same thing. That the tragedy that fell upon this house all that time ago was a mockery. A tourist trap."

And unease settled among you and the other guests. This man seemed a little unhinged.

"It has been one hundred and fifty years to the day since the tragedy and I have taken it upon myself to get the revenge that we were sorely refused. Tonight, all of you are in danger."

That got everyone's attention. The raised voices were quieted by the man's next words.

"If you survive the night, you will be released, but survival is not guaranteed. The servers in the kitchen are prisoners from some of the worst prisons in the state. You might have heard about an ill-fated transfer."

A hush fell over the room. All of you had just been talking about that. If it was true, there were some very horrible men in the house.

"Well then let's just leave," someone said, but the man on the screen turned towards the voice.

As if he could hear and see you all.

"The doors are high tech, locked. Not even the most powerful of you will be able to bust through them. And the windows are made of an unbreakable glass."

That meant you were all locked in the house? With murderers? Your mind started to work overdrive as someone else posed a question.

"So what's stopping us from calling for help? Or from just barricading ourselves into this room until you release us?"

The man smiled, but there was something detached about the movement. Like he was anything but pleased.

"None of your phones will have service. As for why you wouldn't want to just stick together, well, obviously one of you is a murderer as well."

All of you looked around at the other guests, trying to gauge reactions to that. You had no idea who might be the murderer. Although you noticed most people looking at Frank Castle.

"No, not Mr Castle, that's too obvious."

It was Karen Page who spoke up next.

"So there's a murderer in here. If they try anything, there's more of us. They wouldn't stand a chance."

She had a point. If you all could get to one room that was easily defended from the prisoners, then you could wait it out. He said that you'd all be released if you survived the night. That meant just a few hours until–

"Oh, one more thing. Hidden around the house, very well hidden, is a vial. One for each of you. In this vial is an antidote to the poison that was in your food. And depending on the person and how much you have eaten, you might not make it until sunrise."

The room exploded, everyone yelling over each other as they demanded an explanation from the man on the screen. Now his grin stretched over his lips as he stared down at the room, please by the reaction he was receiving.

"Survive until sunrise and you will be released and given the antidote if you haven't already found one. Otherwise you can join the Wellman family and their guests in the afterlife."

The screen went dark, pitching the room into sudden blackness. Then the lights came on.

Frank and Billy moved first, barricading the door that the group had walked through to begin with. The rest of the group realized what they were doing and followed suit, barricading the other two doors.

It left the group of you trapped and alone. And up against the clock.

"What's the plan here? Stay locked up until we die from being poisoned? Hope that he keeps his word and let's us out in the morning?"

"We don't even know if we were really poisoned," Trish pointed out as she smoothed down her dress.

Matt turned to face you, moving his hand so that you stepped closer. He leaned in close and took a deep breath.

"There's something there," he said as he pulled away, turning to face the room, "I can smell the difference. At the very least, Y/N is poisoned."

The people in the room that were in the know of how Matt could tell all swore under their breaths. Slowly people approached Matt to be checked. And the people who were not in the know were told that he had a heightened sense of smell because he was blind.

Technically it wasn't a lie.

All of you were poisoned, just as he had said. And poisons reacted differently with some people. Not everyone would be able to hold off until the morning, just like the man had said.

"What if we throw it up?" That came from Dex who looked around the room before he met your eyes. "We could get most of it out of our system, right?"

"The poison coming back up after being exposed to our stomach acid could cause more harm than good, especially without knowing what it is."

Shit. The room was in an uproar again. It was a verbal sparring match between going to try to find a way out, trying to find the antidotes, and staying in the room.

"Me, Bill, and Cage can go and try to find some of the vials. Rest of you stayed here and if someone tries to come in–"

Foggy was mumbling something about splitting up in horror movies, but it didn't last long. There was a loud crack that came from a door in the back of the room. Everyone turned in time for a second crack to resound from the back.

Someone was using an ax to break the lock on the door. There was a table in front of it, but it looked flimsy. Apparently they weren't sure if they believed that they were in danger when they blocked that table.

"Guess now we know it was true," Jessica grumbled before she grabbed a wooden chair. She shattered the thing over her knee and started distributing the legs and sides to be used as clubs.

Cage, as in Luke Cage, did the same with another chair before he handed out some makeshift clubs. Frank grabbed two heavy golden candlestick holders, one for Karen and one for you.

"What good is this stuff against an ax?"

Frank didn't have time to answer. The back door came flying open and a man stalked through the length of the room. It was the one who had driven you to the house. He swung his ax at Dex who had surged forward, knocking the man off balance. Next was Frank and he caught the edge of the ax against his temple.

The man with the ax turned and caught a glimpse of you. He smiled and pointed the ax at you before he started your way. Matt was coming up behind you, Luke and someone else telling you to get back.

You reacted on instinct. With as much strength as you could muster, you threw the candlestick holder at him. It bounced off his shoulder, slowing him down for a second as he winced. He was within feet of you as you tried to stumble backwards.

A dull thud echoed in the room before his body crumbled. Behind him was Billy, the leg of a chair held aloft like a baseball bat. There was even a little blood on the edge.

"Grab the ax," he told Frank in a low voice, "and find something for us to tie him up with. Unless you think we should just kill him."

Billy stepped almost as if he was going to help you up, but Foggy got there first.

"Jesus he was heading straight for you," Foggy breathed as he pulled you back some more.

"He was the guy that picked me up. That means he…" You hesitated, your eyes meeting Billy's. "He knows where I live."

If you all survived this and they weren't caught, he could come after you again. Billy merely looked at Frank who had just picked up the ax. Whatever silent communication passed between them, Frank shrugged his shoulder before he swung the ax down onto the man's neck.

"Jesus Christ," Trish yelled from nearby, "want to warn us before you do that shit?"

A man that you didn't recognize and you hadn't heard speak finally stepped up, his hand on the woman beside him. They both look scared shitless.

"We aren't staying here," the man explained as he dragged his wife towards the door that led out into a hallway. "This is sick. And it's not going to happen, it's not... "

The two of them disappeared out of the room despite almost all of you yelling for them to come back.

"They don't have any goddamn weapons and this guy having an ax means that the prisoners are armed. Talk about a fair fight," Dex said as he hoisted his chair leg onto his shoulder.

"Yeah, but not a lot of good being armed did you," Billy shot back as he made a show of wiping the blood off his chair leg on the back of the dead man's jacket. "I say we relocate, make sure the room isn't able to be breached, and then we follow Frank's plan. Get a few vials and wait it out."

There was a pretty even divide over who thought that was a good plan and who thought it was a bad one. You just wanted to get away from the dead body. It was part of your job, but in those cases, it wasn't a body you had watched be killed. Or someone who had almost killed you.

"Guys," Matt said in a careful voice, his face turning towards a wall, "there's gas being fed into this room. I can smell it. We need to get out of here."

That was a good enough reason for the rest of you. The group moved forward, with Frank and Billy in front and Dex and Luke at the back. Jessica was in the middle, her body poised for a fight. And Matt looked like he wished he was wearing his other suit.

The group of you moved from the screening room and down the hall. The kitchen was locked up. Frank tried to use the ax but it didn't even dent the door.

"Let's get settled somewhere first," Billy urged before the group started the move again.

The next room was a small library. The bigger one was upstairs, you knew that. The first door was blocked off with a bookshelf, hoping it was heavy enough to keep the door shut. Then once the room was cleared, they shut the door you all had just walked through.

"We shouldn't split up," Karen said as she went around checking behind books, either for a weapon or maybe even a vial of the antidote. "We're more vulnerable in groups."

"Yeah but we can't move a group of ten of us around the house looking for vials, we'll be like fish in a barrel."

You moved over to one of the shelves, ignoring the fight behind you. Once again the room was divided on what to do next. Instead of focusing on that, you focused on what else it meant.

Twelve people originally. Twelve people came to this house to enjoy themselves and have a dinner but then this? Now you were all in a fight for survival. The man and woman who left probably didn’t stand a chance against the prisoners.

This house was three stories tall with an unknown number of rooms. The man that built it had built in secret passages and trap doors as well as false rooms. He wanted it to be a maze.

A hand touched your shoulder and you jerked, unaware that anyone had been behind you. Matt removed his hand and gave you a small smile.

"I think the group is splitting up."

You looked around and sure enough, Jessica, Trish, and Luke were already gone. Dex too. Matt motioned to him and Foggy.

"We're gonna stick together. I'll hear if someone's coming."

You looked over to Billy, Frank, and Karen and bit your lip.

"The six of us should stick together," you said as you stepped away from the bookshelf. "Foggy and I can't do much defending and Matt is just one person. There's still what, twenty-three more prisoners?"

Karen and Frank were already nodding, not needing you to try to prove that it was a good idea. Billy gave you a look that you couldn't quite decipher.

"Plus she knows the layout the best. Could come in handy," Billy explained with a quick nod. "We're gonna try to find a few vials, maybe some weapons. Then we can come back down here until sunrise."

It was the best plan. You wished you had paid attention to figure out why the others left.

You were a little disappointed that Dex was gone.

You stuck close to Foggy and Matt, with Billy behind you. Karen and Frank were in front of you.

"Let's head up one floor," Frank said, eye contact with Billy to get the point across, "do some checks up there. Heads on a swivel right now."

Frank kept the ax close. Karen and Foggy had chair legs. Billy had a chair leg and a fireplace poker. When he noticed your attention, he handed the fireplace poker to you.

"Try not to stab anyone unless it's a prisoner," he said before he gave you a push to follow the others.

"I think we can agree to a truce for the night," you said as you followed the others down a hallway.

"Alright tour guide, where to first?"

You looked around to orient yourself, ignoring Frank's quip. The two of you hadn't interacted much when you and Billy were dating. That probably had something to do with the fact that you weren't really dating, you were just fucking with meals in between.

God, you'd been falling in love with him and he didn't even consider the two of you a serious relationship. And you found that out when he was out with someone else.

"The stairs on this side of the house lead first to a library and an office. There's some smaller closets I think. There also should be a storage room there too."

"Good enough for me," Frank said before he turned towards the stairs.

All of you made your way up the curved staircase. Just as your feet cleared the last stair with Matt at your side, you heard a ferocious yell in the distance followed by a loud thud. Then more thudding.

"Tell me that was Luke Cage making mincemeat out of someone," Foggy begged. Karen grabbed his hand and pulled him down the hall.

Not even halfway down the hall, Matt grabbed your arm and stilled. You turned to him, worried about what was wrong. His head was cocked, obviously listening to something else.

"Someone's in that room. Rapid heart rate, smells like sweat."

Billy reached for the handle, counting to three under his breath before he yanked the door open. Him and Matt sprang into action as another prisoner launched himself at the three of you from inside the closet.

While Matt did his usual martial arts styles, Billy seemed to just want to end the man. You knew Daredevil didn't kill, but Billy didn't have that hang up. And the two of them together worked pretty well.

"Y/N, watch out!"

You spun around just in time to see another prisoner darting your way. He came out of a room between where the others were and where you were, so they weren't close enough to stop him.

The fireplace poker in your hand felt heavy in your hand as you swung it out, but the man blocked it with something metal by the sound of the ringing in your ears.

Then your ass was on the ground, the man looming over you. The crowbar in the man's hands was pressed against your throat as he climbed on top of you.

You couldn't find the poker but, as your vision started to go blurry, you fell back on old self defense methods. Your thumbs went to his eye sockets, pressing as hard as you could. You also dug your nails into the side of his face to gain more leverage.

He let out a scream of pain, leaning up just enough for you to get a breath. You aimed a punch for his throat and when that didn't deter him, you aimed a punch for his kidneys. Your dress had your legs pinned but you put your feet flat and rolled, tipping the two of you to the side.

"Don't move," Frank called as he swung out, his ax catching the man on the back.

As he screamed at the ax cutting into his back, you crawled away from him. Frank continued to hack away and you rolled out of the strike zone.

"C'mere," a familiar voice said as you were lifted back onto your feet. "Shit, you okay?"

You nodded even as Billy tilted your face up to check your throat. It hurt to breathe a bit, but at least you could breathe.

Matt came up between the two of you, a smudge on his face. Blood. You winced as you looked between him and Billy.

"Guess you finished your guy off too?"

Billy released you and bent down to pick up something. It was the crowbar the man had used. He also picked up the fireplace poker you had dropped.

"If they are moving, don't swing, stab. Momentum will get that end through them," he said as he gestured to the end of the poker.

"Thanks for that," you said as you grabbed the poker from him.

You leaned against the wall and kicked off your heels. Then you frowned at your dress.

"You wouldn't happen to have your knife on you, would you?"

Billy raised his eyebrow before he pulled out a small knife. It wasn't his usual knife, but he usually had something on him. He held it out to you hilt first and you accepted it.

You cut through the lace first, then the satin underneath. You only cut off a few inches but it was enough to move around without tripping. Between that and your shoes off, you felt a little better.

Karen grabbed the knife from you and did the same thing. Afterwards she handed the knife back to Billy.

"Let's try this again," Frank said before the six of you started down the hall once more.

Foggy came to your side, letting Matt listen for more hidden prisoners. He looked around at the other four people and then leaned towards you.

"Who do you think the murderer is?"

You snorted as you gestured for Frank that the room nearby was the library by holding your hands like a book.

"I thought it was you," you joked as you knocked your shoulder into Foggy's. "But really I don't know. If he meant that there was someone capable of murder, there's too many to count. If he meant there was someone who had murdered and gotten away with it, there's still probably too many to count."

Foggy nodded as he hefted the chair leg he had been given.

"No offense but my money is on your boy the FBI agent," he said with a tense smile as you both approached the library door. "Something about him just made me uncomfortable."

He was very intense but you didn't get a dangerous vibe from him. Then again you were focused so much on ignoring Billy that maybe you missed those signs.

Speaking of Billy. He came up behind the two of you and shut the library door. There was another door on the far side that opened the room up to the other side of the house, but Frank shut that door.

Once both doors were blocked, you all looked around and the library. There was a maze of stacks blocking view of the back of the library.

"The vials could be hidden anywhere," Karen said as she lifted up a few knickknacks on a table.

"The prisoners too," Frank reminded before he looked at Matt. "What about it Red, hear anything?"

Matt strained his hearing before he shook his head.

"Six heart beats, just us."

You let out a small, petty laugh as you looked at Billy.

"Well look at that, guess you do have a heart," you quipped before you stormed off down through the stacks.

You weren't interested in his response.

There were more and more bookshelves the further into the room you went. The books were all different genres and languages, some newer and some obviously from when the house was first inhabited. There didn't seem to be any kind of shelving process as far as you could see.

You ran your fingers along the spine of the books of one shelf. It was eye level, the books older than the rest. Once again it wasn't in any sort of order.

Who would put a book that starts with V next to I?

You hesitated as your eyes moved to the next few books. A. L. S.

Vials. The order of the books spelled out vials!

You stepped back and started at the front of the shelf.

T. H. E. V. I. A. L. S. A. R. E. H. I. D. D. E. N. H. E. R. E.

Was it too easy? You looked around but to here wasn't anywhere to hide them. Then one by one you pulled the books down to check behind them. The back of the shelf was solid.

Was it a trick? Except…

The book that started with the H in here was heavy. Heavier than it looked. You opened the book and your eyes widened. A small vial was secreted in between the pages.

Carefully you plucked out the vial. Then you stepped over the books and headed to where you could hear voices.

"Just keep it Karen," Frank snapped as he pushed something small into her hand. Neither of them could see you yet. "I'm not fighting with you on this. I'm bigger so the poison will take longer."

There must have been a second vial in the room. You looked down at yours and then stepped into the light.

"Where did you find yours?"

They seemed surprised to see you, but not guilty. They weren't hiding that they'd found one. Karen pointed to a book that was appropriately named "Cures for Poisons".

"A little on the nose," Karen remarked as she tucked the vial into her cleavage. "And you?"

You ran your fingers over the spines of the books near you.

"The first letter in the title of the books spelled out a clue. So they aren't just hidden, it's a scavenger hunt?"

Matt and Foggy were next to find you three. They hadn't found anything but Matt did say he could hear someone on the other side of the wall.

"They weren't talking and didn't seem to be rushing. Couldn't get to them without going through the doors."

"We need to tear this room apart. We already found two vials, who knows how many are here?"

Seconds after he said that there was the sound of running out in the hall the six of you had just come through. The footsteps grew quieter and then you heard a louder set follow just a moment later.

"Shit," you breathed as you wrapped your arms around yourself. Then, "Where's Billy?"

"I'm right here," he said from the dark corner, a book in his hand, "just waiting for the next order."

All of you, minus Billy who seemed to just be along for the ride, decided to look through as many books as possible. You warned them to look at the titles and arrangement of the books. Clues could be anywhere.

Everyone scattered to different corners of the room except for you and Billy. You looked at the book in his hand. There wasn't a vial in it, but it looked like sketches.

"What is that?" He wouldn't have picked it up for no reason.

Billy turned the inside towards you.

"Richard Wellman, the architect of the house," he explained as he turned the book back towards him. "This is his journal. It talks about trap doors and hidden rooms all over the house."

You remembered that from your own research.

"They said he was insane," you explained as you turned away from Billy to look at the shelves. "The love of his life left him the day of their wedding and he never really recovered. He built this house as a distraction. People said it resembled the inside of his head."

Billy made a noise low in his throat at that.

"You uh, you always loved this place. Could recite the names of the people who died as if they were your friends." He shut the book and let it rest at his side. "It was part of the reason I entered into that raffle."

You were stunned silent. Then, with curiosity brimming, you began to question him on that. Only you didn't get the chance.

The floor rumbled as something gave way not far from where you were. There was a loud scream and a crash.

Billy went first, keeping you at his side as the two of you made your way around the shelves. In the middle of the floor was a circular hole. It was obviously made that way. If you looked hard enough, you could briefly make out the mechanisms that made up the trap door.

And then there was something else. In the middle of the floor down on the bottom level was Foggy. He wasn't moving.

"No," you cried as you moved forward, but Billy held you back.

"He hit a trap," Matt explained as he paced around the edge of the circle, side stepping Karen and Frank who arrived moments later. "Fell right through. I should have sensed it."

But how could he have? The trap looked to be a book that Foggy had pulled out that opened the trap door. There was no telling what could have triggered it until it happened.

"Is he–"

"No," Matt cut off Karen, shaking his head, "I can hear his heart. I think he hit his head. I can smell blood."

With Billy's help holding you steady, you peered through the trap door as best you could.

"It's one of the lower rooms. He can't stay down there by himself, one of the prisoners might–"

"I'll jump down," Matt said as he tugged off his glasses and then his jacket. "None of the prisoners will get past me."

Whether or not he'd give up his vow not to kill, you weren’t sure. As Matt got ready to drop down, Billy held out his crowbar.

"Might need something other than your right hook to take them on. Get somewhere safe and hole up. We'll be down there in no time."

You went over to Matt and pulled the vial out of your dress. You pressed it into his hand and kissed his cheek.

"Good luck. Be careful."

He gave you a nod before he dropped down through the trap door. He landed a little wobbly but then he was at Foggy's side. Once you heard Foggy's confused groan, you knew he was alright.

"Let's head to the office now," Frank said as he motioned away from the trap door. "Better to keep moving. Quicker we find these vials, quicker we can get back down there."

All of you agreed that that was the best plan and started towards the front of the library once more. You felt a hand press to the small of your back to help you ease around the large trap door in the middle of the floor. The touch made your heart speed up and you were glad that Matt wasn’t there to hear it.

You didn’t need anyone else knowing just how far gone you still were over Billy Russo. It wasn’t fair.

The four of you made it to the front of the library and looked between the doors. Frank then turned to you to get your opinion.

“That way,” you said with a gesture to the door you all had entered through, “will lead to the office, a storage room, maybe a bedroom, and then some stairs. This way leads to a few bedrooms and the other stairs.”

It was a tough decision because none of you really knew what was around the corner. There were murderous prisoners, albeit a few less than before, and trap doors. Were there more traps waiting for you all?

“I say we check the office. We found two vials in the library, so maybe there’s more clues in there,” Karen said as she looked around for confirmation.

Unable to think of a better idea, all of you decided to go back the way you had come. Frank and Billy moved the things that were blocking the door. Frank went out first, followed by you and Karen. Billy brought up the rear once more.

You all made it to the office without incident, but it wasn’t that far away. The inside looked as if someone had come through and flicked through a few things before they ran out in a hurry. Maybe whoever that was that you had heard being chased had been interrupted while looking for something.

Just like in the library, the door was blocked once the four of you were in there. The office was smaller so you thankfully didn’t need Matt’s capabilities to tell you if anyone was in there. But once the room was sealed off, you all started to look in different corners of the room for another vial.

There was a smear of blood on the wall near where you were looking through some books. The blood looked fresh.

Was it someone you knew?

“Don’t think about it,” Billy said as he crossed over to look through a desk nearby.

“Think about what?” At his look, you let out a huff and turned away from him. “Oh, you’re a mind reader now?”

“No, but I know you well enough to know what’s on your mind.”

There was a pain in your chest that you associated with Billy. If he knew what was on your mind, if he really knew you, he never would have broken your heart. He would have known that you were falling for him and he wouldn’t have gone out with other women. He wouldn’t have told you that you weren’t right for him. He wouldn’t have–

You stumbled a bit, your hand coming out to prop yourself up against the wall. The pain in your chest expanded a bit and you frowned. It felt almost like indigestion, not heartbreak. Was dinner causing a problem?

That reminded you of the secret ingredient. The poison might be getting to you.

“Y/N?”

You turned and caught Billy’s eye. He looked concerned as he took a step towards you, but you waved him off. You didn’t want to draw Frank or Karen’s attention right then. They didn’t need to worry about you being poisoned as the four of you fought for your lives.

You couldn’t let them think you were a liability.

“How long until sunrise? I just wanna know how long we have to get through this.”

Billy shrugged his shoulder as he went back to the desk.

“Seven twenty, give or take? It’s almost midnight now.”

Midnight? Where had the night gone? You had arrived at the manor at six. How was it possible that six hours had already passed? Although you were in the library for a while. And it had taken a long time for people to decide what to do once it was revealed that your sadistic host hadn’t been joking about any of it.

After about twenty minutes of looking, you all realized there weren’t any vials in the office. If there had been any to start with, they were gone now.

“Where to now?”

Once more the door was unblocked. Billy went first and you kept near to him, unable to stay away. You felt safe with him. It was something residual from your relationship, but how many times had he protected you tonight already? For whatever reason.

“Here,” you said as you pointed at a door.

Billy opened it slowly and checked around. It was supposed to be a storage room but it was just a wide hallway that connected this side of the house to the other. The two of you walked through the doorway and started across the hallway, you only a few steps behind Billy.

In the distance you heard a clock begin to chime. On the third chime, you heard a scream from the hallway behind you. You and Billy turned to see Karen pulling a knife from her side, the sickening thud of Frank using his ax on the prisoner who had attacked them.

“Karen!” You rushed forward back down the hallway to the door where she had stumbled out of sight. “Karen?”

You heard her say that she was okay on the eleventh chime. Then, before you got any further, the twelfth chime sounded. The moment it did, a large metal door slid down from the top of the door frame. It cut you off from Karen and Frank.

“No!” You slammed your fists against the metal, but it didn’t even rattle.

A loud sound echoed from the door, most likely Frank hitting the door with the ax. You thought you could hear his voice, a low rumble through the metal, but you couldn’t make out the words.

“It’s hopeless,” Billy said as he put his hand on your shoulder, “you’re not making it through that. Come on, maybe we can get back through one of the other rooms.”

“But Karen–” you began but Billy grabbed your wrists and turned you to face him.

“I know she was hurt, but she’s with Frankie. He’s not gonna let anything happen to her. And with those two together, I’m more worried about the prisoners. Now c’mon, let’s keep moving.”

At least you weren’t alone. You didn’t think you could do this alone.

You and Billy stayed close to each other as you came out into the other hallway. It was empty and neither of you could hear anything.

“We could go to the library, try to cross there,” Billy said as he looked down the way to the library.

“You blocked the door for this side,” you reminded him as you gestured with your fireplace poker. “And I’m confident that you and I wouldn’t be able to open the door alone.”

“Shit,” he breathed. Then he looked at you with a wry smile. “So what’s on this side again?”

The two of you started down the rest of the hallway towards what you were pretty sure was a bedroom.

Of course the thought of being alone in a bedroom with Billy was just about as terrifying as being stuck in a house with two dozen murderous escaped prisoners. You just wouldn’t say that to him.

But that did make you think of something else.

“You said that you entered the raffle because of me. What did you mean?”

Billy froze for a second before he opened the door. The room was empty so the two of you went in. He shut the door and leaned against it.

“You should have told me.”

That came out of nowhere. You turned to face Billy, both of your hands tight on the length of the poker you still held.

“Told you what? What are you talking about?”

He shook his head and looked away from you. When he looked back at you, you found yourself nearly sucked in by those dark eyes.

“I heard you that night. You were on the phone with your mom and you told her you were falling in love with me. But you should have told me.”

The poker fell to the floor and you jumped at the sound it made when it connected. You bent down to pick it up, using the moment to take a deep breath.

“Wait, so you heard me and you think I should have told you that I was falling for you, but… you cheated on me Billy.”

It was all too much. You were trapped in a murder house with your ex and he was talking about you falling for him. If you knew your night was going to be even half as bad as this, you would have torn that invitation to pieces.

“I didn’t… you said when we started to see each other that you didn’t know if you could be with a guy long term that was in such a dangerous line of work. I thought that meant we were going to be casual.”

Casual. You still had a box of the belongings he had left at your place. And he possibly had your belongings still. Including your favorite bra which you had left at his place.

“So we’re together, having sex and going on dates for almost a year, and you never thought to ask me what we were instead of just assuming and… and breaking my heart? You realize how crazy that sounds, right?”

Billy laughed and ran his free hand over his face. His knuckles were bruised and the cuff of his jacket was stained with blood.

“You didn’t want long term with me because of Anvil and I wasn’t going to just leave the company I created. I figured… figured you’d leave anyways. You falling for me wasn’t going to work if you resented what I did for a living.” Billy leaned back against the door, shaking his head. “I’ve never had this before Y/N. I’ve never wanted it before. But then all of a sudden I have you and then when I start to fall, I figured it was time for me to leave before I do something I regret.”

You let out a laugh. Your legs felt weak so you sank down on the bed. Was the weakness from the poison or just from Billy’s declaration? That he was falling for you at the same time that you were falling for him. And now here it was, six months later and you could barely be in his presence without remembering how it felt to be in his arms.

“I’m sorry. I’m truly sorry, but we both fucked up,” he said as he pushed away from the door, crossing over to sit on the bed beside you. “You should have told me how you felt and I shouldn’t have assumed anything. But it’s a little late to go back in time and do it over.”

That was the truth.

“And depending on how tonight goes, we might not get that chance anyways.”

You said it with a laugh, feeling a lead weight settle in your stomach as you finally admitted that you might not make it out of this house. Just as you started to shake your head, Billy grabbed your chin and made you face him.

“Don’t talk like that. Don’t talk like you’re not gonna get out of this house. We’re both getting out of here. And once we do, I’m going to take you to breakfast and then I’m going to take you to my place. After we sleep for forty eight hours, we’re gonna try again.”

It was the words that you had longed to hear. Well, not all of the words, but trying again? In the dark of night, you had dreamed about those words. You had wondered what it’d be like to hear them from Billy. An apology and the chance to try again?

All you had to do was survive.

You opened your mouth to say something but instead your teeth began to chatter. Billy raised one hand to press the back against your forehead and then cursed.

“You’re burning up,” he said as he tilted your head up to check your pupils.

“Which is odd because I’m so cold,” you said as you rubbed uselessly at your arms.

Billy pulled off his suit jacket and wrapped it around you. Then he swore and stood up, pacing a short distance in front of you.

“You gave the vial to Murdock and the poison is affecting you already. Fuck.”

If you were already having this many symptoms, you weren’t sure that you could make it to sunrise. Instead of saying that to Billy, because you were sure he already knew, you reached out and grabbed his wrist.

“Sit with me for a little bit? Then we can search the room for a vial.”

You weren’t giving up hope, you refused to do that. Billy nodded before he joined you back on the bed, his shoulder pressed against yours. He gently pulled you into his chest and you closed your eyes as you rested your head on his shoulder.

You’d almost forgotten how good it felt to be held by him.

After a little while of being held, you finally pulled away from Billy. The two of you looked around the room, but there weren’t many places things could be hidden. Once you were in agreement that there was nothing else in the room, Billy went back to the door. He gestured for you to wait as he opened the door and stepped into the hallway.

Almost immediately he swung his crowbar, the thing crashing into the top part of a prisoner who launched himself at Billy. The other man had a knife, a long blade that shone under the hallway lights. Billy surged forward with the crowbar again. He did something complicated when the man swung the knife out, his hand grabbing the wrist of the prisoner and twirling the two of them around. It gave him leverage and movement to plunge the knife into the man’s throat.

You looked away from the blood, but that didn’t stop you from hearing the man gurgle, choking on blood.

“You’re a crime scene tech,” Billy said as he stepped into your view, the bowie knife tucked under his belt, “you telling me you haven’t seen worse than that?”

You let out a helpless laugh as you twisted the fireplace poker in your hands.

“The crime is finished when I’m on scene,” you reminded him as you stepped around the feet of the man, careful not to look at the carnage, “not being committed.”

Billy kept you at his side, keeping his attention focused on the surroundings. The two of you cleared the next few rooms in much the same way but nothing was found.

As you walked down the hall, you stepped on something and heard a faint click. You barely had a moment to register the sound before you were being tackled to the floor. On your back with Billy pressed on top of you, you heard a rush of air above you. Your eyes peered over his shoulder to see that some sort of pick ax had swung down.

If Billy hadn’t tackled you, the ax would have gone into your chest.

“Thank you,” you breathed as you turned to catch Billy’s eyes.

He was staring down at you with a strange look in his eyes. You opened your mouth to ask if he was okay, but you didn’t have a chance. He leaned down and captured your lips in a kiss, his mouth moving along yours desperately. Your hand went to his neck to pull him in closer, desperate and ignoring the need to breathe. The way his tongue moved over yours and the feel of his hands on your body were better than you remembered.

Except you were on the floor in a house where people wanted to kill you. You pulled away with a laugh, your hand dropping to cover your eyes.

“What’s funny about this?”

You moved your hand to meet Billy’s eyes, seeing him grin down at you.

“Are you kidding? We’re being hunted by murderous escaped prisoners, we’re both poisoned, and we’re lying on the ground making out like teenagers. You realize if this was a horror movie, we’d both die right now?”

Billy laughed and leaned in to give you another quick kiss before he got off of you. He carefully helped you up and then handed you the poker that you had dropped.

The ax hung in the middle of the hallway. Billy grabbed the thing and pulled on the mechanism, shaking his head.

“It’s welded to the mechanism, can’t take it down.”

“Well where to next? Up to the third floor or back down to the first?”

Billy looked back down the long hall the two of you had moved through. Then he looked in the direction of the stairs.

“Let’s head up. What’s up there?”

“Bedrooms on all four sides. In the middle was a large room with paintings and statues. It was the architect’s favorite room.”

He checked the ground to see the trap you had stepped on so that he could identify if there was another one. He looked up at you and raised an eyebrow.

“I’m sure the architect’s favorite room has plenty of traps. We’ll avoid that if we can help it.”

The two of you went down the rest of the hall to the stairs, careful of where you stepped. You noticed more blood on the stairs but Billy once again told you not to think about it.

Up the stairs, the two of you made your way to the first room. It was more grand than the ones on the second floor. Both of you looked over the room just like the others, but there was nothing to be found. And then the next one. And the next one.

“It’ll take hours to search all these rooms,” Billy said as he looked down the hall. There were probably only three rooms left on this hall, but there were still three other halls of rooms. “We don’t have that kind of time.”

“Do you have plans or something? I’m pretty sure all we have is time,” you joked as you leaned against the wall, your hand going to your chest where you could feel your heart racing.

“You don’t have that kind of time,” Billy said, coming to your side and checking your pulse. “Where’s this room with the paintings? There has to be at least one vial in there.”

It would be a hidden door. You explained to Billy the general way it worked, that you’d press on one side and the other would open. Then both of you moved along the innermost wall to try to find the one that would be a hidden door.

There was a line on one of the walls that didn’t look natural. You followed it up and then stepped so that you were beside it. One hand on the wall, you used a little pressure. There was a click and then the wall seemed to swing open soundlessly.

Billy was at your side in an instant, knife raised as he entered the room first. Satisfied that at least there wasn’t someone lying in wait, you followed him.

The wall rushed closed behind the two of you, but it didn’t matter. You were frozen as you looked at the room. There were hundreds of portraits and statues in the room.

But that meant hundreds of chances to find a vial, so you weren’t discouraged.

“How long until sunrise?”

Billy looked at his watch and frowned.

“It’s almost three so we still have at least four more hours.”

Four hours. And with your symptoms progressing, you probably had half that.

“Let’s get started.”

The two of you stayed close to one another as you made your way through the first portraits. Some of them were just paintings, nothing special about them. A few swung around to reveal a different painting on the backside. One or two pulled out to reveal a hidden cabinet, but there wasn’t anything in any of the cabinets that you checked.

Billy stayed close to you for protection, but you thought it might also be for comfort. Now that the two of you were on the same page, you didn’t want to be separated from him either.

You’d spent six months hating him but you’d been wrong. While you wouldn’t be able to start where you had left off, you thought that starting over was a good possibility. And that kiss in the hallway told you what you already knew—you were still very attracted to Billy. And at least he seemed to still be attracted to you.

He had been falling for you. The thought made you giddy. He had been falling for you and while yes, what came next was stupid and could have been avoided if either of you had been able to talk about your feelings, but that wasn’t something you could change.

What’s done is done. But now you change what happens next.

Billy was inspecting a statue, his back to you as he looked it over. You watched his hands move to the base where he felt around for something.

“I think this might have a catch,” he said over his shoulder.

You opened your mouth to reply, but all you could do is gasp as a hand clapped around your mouth as you were yanked backwards. The portrait shut in front of you, separating you from the portrait room. Separating you from Billy.

You swung out wildly, the fireplace poker nearly catching the person who held you.

“Calm down, it’s just me,” a somewhat familiar voice said through a grimace, “it’s Dex.”

Dex? You settled down until he let you go. Once he did, you yanked yourself away from him and took a few steps back towards the hidden door you had just been pulled through. You could hear Billy banging on the portrait, trying to find a way in.

“What are you doing? Why–why did you take me?”

Dex scoffed as he gestured at you.

“You’re sick, the poison is getting to you. I noticed it earlier and knew I needed to get you alone. Get you away from him.”

Him? Get you away from Billy? You shook your head and turned to the portrait, your hands seeking out the mechanism to open it.

“Let me out of here Dex. Billy is probably terrified for me right now.”

You were sick and abducted; Billy would be beyond terrified and straight into furious. Something told you that he would tear this house down brick by brick to get you back, and his constant yells to bring you back supported that idea.

“He’s dangerous Y/N. You don’t know what he’s capable of.”

Except you did know. You’d known from the start, way before tonight. It had been the reason you’d been so unsure at first. He was a Marine, he ran a private security firm, he was skilled and yes, dangerous. But he wasn’t a danger to you. And while you could worry that something might happen to him one day, tonight proved that no one was safe.

And he had protected you tonight.

“I know what he’s capable of Dex, he’s my… boyfriend. We broke up but we’re together again. Now let me… out.”

You had turned around to face him to ask him to let you out, but you noticed that he was holding a vial in the air. Your chest hurt from the adrenaline and you were starting to have trouble breathing. You needed that vial.

“Can I…?”

You reached out for it, but Dex threw it onto the ground and let it shatter. You jumped back and your back thumped against the portrait.

“Why did you do that? You said you knew I’m sick. That could have cured me!”

He shook his head as he pulled something out from behind his back. It was a knife. He held it loosely at his side, not pointing it at you.

“You were nice and sweet. I thought you might be someone I could count on, someone I could get to know,” he said as he paced in the small room. He pointed his knife at the portrait he had pulled you from and shook his head harder, his eyes going a little wide. “He is dangerous. You shouldn’t be with him. He’s exactly the type of person that Rawlins meant to bring here. Not you, you shouldn’t be here.”

You had seen a few people have a nervous break, but this didn’t look like one. This was more like an unhinged person not hiding that they were unhinged. This was like seeing a completely different person wearing Dex’s face. It was…

Wait.

“Rawlins? Did you… the man that brought us here?”

Dex’s eyes were wide as he looked at you.

“Yeah, he told us his name before the tour. The guy that arranged this all.”

You thought about it again, playing it over in your head. You knew for a fact that the man hadn’t given his name because you had thought it was strange.

But there was something else that you remembered now. You started to walk in the opposite direction since Dex was coming closer to you.

“The papers said that the prison transfer was supposed to be guarded by the FBI, but that there had been an issue with car that was following the bus.” You swallowed as you held the fireplace poker a little tighter. “And you recently resigned from the FBI.”

Dex rotated the knife in his hand. And a grin started to spread over his lips.

“You’re clever. You could have made it through the night.”

He raised the knife up and started towards you. He only got two steps before the portrait slid open. Dex turned in an instant and threw his knife. You watched as the blade imbedded itself in Billy’s shoulder. Then Dex rushed towards Billy.

Billy had his own knife held up. As Dex threw himself forward at Billy, the knife was knocked out of Billy’s hand. Not like this, you told yourself as you watched the two men grapple.

And then you moved. You started to swing but you remembered Billy’s words. Instead you thrust it forward. The momentum of your movement plus Billy, who had seen you coming and had pushed Dex backwards, the tip of the poker speared through Dex’s back. He let out a scream and stumbled backwards, but Billy was on him in a fluid move. He pulled the knife from his shoulder and slid it across Dex’s throat, cutting the scream off at the source.

You looked away as the body hit the floor.

“Y/N? Y/N are you okay?” Hands were on your face as you were pulled out of the little hidden room. “Talk to me. Did he hurt you? Are you okay?”

You closed your eyes and leaned forward until your forehead could rest against Billy’s shoulder.

“I’m so dizzy and tired,” you admitted as you felt your body sag a bit. “He had a vial but he crushed it when… I guess when I picked you over him.”

Billy pulled away, but not far. He reached into his pocket and lifted something up for you to see. It was two vials of the antidote.

“Found them in the statue right before you were taken,” he said as he pressed one into your hand. “Come on, drink it. It might take time to kick in and we need to get somewhere safe until sunrise.”

You nodded and twisted off the cap. You held it up to your lips but froze as you thought about it.

“This man is twisted, messed up in the head. What if this isn’t a cure? What if it’s more poison?”

Billy nodded and unscrewed the top of the other vial. He raised it to you and you realized what he meant. Both of you would drink from the vials. Then either you would both be cured or you’d both die.

“This is some Romeo and Juliet shit,” you mumbled with a bit of a smile before both of you drained your vials.

Once that was done, both of you left the room with the portraits. Billy kept his knife and handed you the crowbar since you weren’t getting your poker back.

“Should we just hole up in one of these bedrooms until sunrise? For safety,” you added with a roll of your eyes as Billy grinned at you.

“Let’s get back downstairs. That’s where the others would have gone if they found vials. And we can check on Murdock and Nelson.”

He guided you down the hall and down the stairs. In the hallway on the second floor, you saw someone standing there. Except… they weren’t standing.

One of the prisoners had been pushed onto the pick ax that you had triggered. Either it had been triggered again or someone had impaled him there. Billy moved so that you were against the wall as the two of you moved past the body.

Further down the hallway you passed by the library doors. They were opened. Another prisoner was there with blood all over his face. It looked like his head had been crushed.

“Come on, one more floor,” Billy said as he guided you away.

Once on the first floor, Billy and you found more bodies. This time it included the bodies of the man and woman who had left the viewing room when you first found out that this was a trap. They hadn’t made it far it seemed.

It was your turn to guide Billy. He said to go back to the library on the first floor so you took him the quickest route. At one of the doors, you knocked and called out in a soft voice that it was you and Billy. No one answered and you tried the knob, but the door was blocked.

“What now?”

Before either of you had a chance to make a plan, you heard something scrape across the door. Billy moved to stand in front of you just in case, but the door swung open to reveal Frank.

“Jesus,” he said as he tugged you in first, then Billy, “we were starting to worry.”

As Billy and Frank put the bookcase back in front of the door, you looked around the room.

Karen was leaning against Foggy’s shoulder, her hand on her side. Matt was nearby, pacing. Trish, Luke, and Jessica were on couches nearby, all of them looking worse for wear.

Granted you probably didn’t look too good yourself. You were pretty sure you had blood splattered on your face.

“Where’s the blond guy? Anyone see him?”

Billy put his knife on the table before he wrapped his arm around your waist.

“He was the murderer. Sounded like the guy that brought us all here must have known him or paid him, I don’t know. But he’s been taken care of,” you added as you leaned your head against Billy’s shoulder.

“We have a few extra vials,” Jessica said as she pointed to them on the table nearby. “Trish took one within the first hour after we left and she’s fine now. Murdock said we’re all cured.”

You sagged even more in Billy’s shoulders. Matt came over and did his thing, smiling when he was sure that both of you were cured as well.

“At least that was true,” you said as you slumped into the couch with Billy on one side and Karen on the other. You checked her side and then grabbed Billy’s hand. “How long until sunrise?”

“Roughly an hour,” Frank said from where he was pacing. “Now we just gotta hope he didn’t lie about letting us out at sunrise.”

You didn’t think he was lying. But that did make you think of something else.

“What’s going to happen to us? We’ll have to tell the cops what happened here. Can we… will we go to jail?”

“For killing escaped prisoners who were trying to kill us while we were locked in a creepy mansion?” Trish scoffed and leaned against Jessica’s shoulder a bit. “I’d like to see them try.”

Billy tugged you against his chest a bit.

“Try to rest. I’ll keep you safe,” he whispered into your ear as you leaned against him.

And you knew he would.

------

There was what sounded a bit like a stampede right around when Billy said sunrise was there. Frank peered out through the door and confirmed what most of you suspected.

“Front door is open. Looks like all of the prisoners just took off.”

You all stepped out of the library and went towards the door. As the group got there, someone came out of the corner room right off the foyer.

“So you are the lucky survivors,” he grumbled, obviously dissatisfied that so many of you survived. “There are eleven vials of the antidote in case some of you didn’t get yours. And of course you’re all free to leave.”

“What’s to stop us from turning you in… Rawlins?”

The man turned to you with surprise in his eyes. Then he shook his head.

“I guess that explains why Dex isn’t here. I offered him a large amount of money if he survived the night. Guess I won’t have to pay up. And I’m not worried about you turning me in. They’ll never find me once you are all off the property. I’ll never spend a night in jail.”

Having the man’s full attention on you made you feel like your skin was crawling, but you stood up straighter. You had been scared for your life all night. You had faced death and come out into the sunlight. You weren’t going to be intimidated by this small man.

“You’re right. You’ll never spend a night in jail.”

Rawlins looked confused for a split second. But before he could spew any other bullshit, Billy snuck up behind him and rammed the bowie knife under his chin and up through his head. You looked away and closed your eyes, but you didn’t feel sick this time.

You felt safe.

“Someone find a phone and call the cops. Let’s get this over with.”

Arms wrapped around you. You turned and buried your face in Billy’s shoulder.

“So you said breakfast and then not letting me out of your sight for forty eight hours, right?”

Billy laughed and brushed his lips against your cheek.

“At least forty eight hours. Probably more.”

You smiled and tightened your hold on him. The events of the night before would haunt you for a long time, but if Billy was beside you? Well then you’d know you were safe.

“That sounds good to me.”

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somefantasticplace · 4 years

Text

MISTER AND MISTER

We asked comedians Vic and Bob the same questions in separate rooms. Then we compared their answers…

HERE for pictures.

What are the rules in your relationship? Is there a line that you'd never cross?

Vic: We've never needed to have rules - apart from who makes the tea next. We never speak to each other on the phone unless it's to say, 'I'm not coming in today,' or 'Will you bring some milk in?’ We have completely functional phone calls because we see each other every day. We live about 10 miles away from each other. We're very medieval in that we do all our writing with a pen and paper. Bob tends to hold the pen more and write things down more, but that's entirely down to my idleness. I have to do the drawings because his drawings are indecipherable.

Bob: If we don't want to work, we don't have to and we never make an issue of it. We never phone up and say, 'I'm really sorry, I've got to do this or that.' We just say, 'I'm not working today. See you tomorrow.' We're both quite unassertive, so there's no obvious dominance. It could be [why neither of them is the straight man]. We compromise - it's unspoken. We talk about most stuff, but not sexual things. I don't know why that is. You always imagine that everyone else does. If he's been out with a lass, I'll say 'So how did it go?' I don't really ask anything like, 'Did she have nice tits?'

Tell us a secret about the other.

Vic: He's got an anal dysfunction. Let's just say there's some kind of angle involved. He backfires.

Bob: He collects a percentage of his used condoms in a jar and keeps them. He does! Last time I saw it was in his house. So there you are!

What surprises can we expect in the new BBC TV series of Randall & Hopkirk (Deceased)?

Vic: I think the best bit is a very camp psychedelic episode, set in a big toy shop, with giant puppets and evil mannequins. it's got that late-60s Avengers feel. I fly through the air a lot. I was hurled down a corridor by a flaming man [no need to swear- ed]. No, he was on fire. It's always good working with Tom Baker. When we're together we camp it right up. He even gives me a kiss - it's quite full on and I wasn't expecting it. He was telling me something really close up and he finished off by grabbing hold of my face and going mwwwwwww. I was pretty startled. You don't think, 'Oh, he's a good kisser!' You think, 'What's he doing?'

Bob: There's one bit where we're in a jungle and Derek Jacobi is in a wheelchair with his face peeled off; Dervla Kirwan is on a sex machine (a punishment machine that gives women orgasms continually until they hate it); Emilia Fox is having a fight with a huge lady prison officer; and I'm being beaten up by two huge men. It's a lovely little tableau.

Hopkirk (Vic) is Randall's (Bob's) spectral minder. Who would you choose as your spirit guide?

Vic: Don Johnson from Miami Vice because he'd be suave. Or Michael Knight from Knight Rider. Or Peter Glaze [of Crackrjack]. He was quite short with little round specs and he'd look good if he appeared behind a bush in spectral form.

Bob: it would probably be quite good to have Jim [Vic's real name is Jim Moir]. He'd do anything you asked. I'd get him to spy on people and report back. I think he'd Iove it. I don't suppose he could carry a camcorder, but I'd like to see images from D-grade celebrities’ homes and Jim would be up for doing that. I'd send him to spy on Anthea and Grant. Could it be true that no one watched Anthea's show? I take no pleasure in that. I just couldn't believe her viewing figure was zero. You'd think Grant would have tuned in, though.

Who has the better sense of style?

Vic: Bob has his own particular sense of style, which I admire. He’s a very clean man, but he wears dirty clothes. I admire that because he pulls it off. He sometimes buys unsightly shoes and I'll say, ‘I think we should burn them.' I've burned a lot of clothing and taken photographs of it. I took a photograph of a pair of old woman's shoes on fire beneath a standing stone with a pool around the bottom. I had eight copies printed; I'm going to frame them and offer them out at Christmas.

Bob: I have no sense of style and I get a lot of abuse for it. But I'm beginning to think that I'm the more stylish man because I have no style. I don't buy anything. This is all bought for me by my girlfriend [points to his chunky sweater and scuffed jeans]. I hate male perfumes, male jewellers. I hate walking into a room and the first thing people see is your suit.

Vic/Jim has said: 'People can't seem to understand that Vic is just a character I play.' Are they two different people?

Vic: It just goes back to the fact that not many people can pronounce Moir [rhymes with lawyer]. I changed my name because I was only going to do one night - and I thought it was right for that night. 'Vic' is when I'm on TV.

Bob: I think Vic and Jim are one and the same.

Who would you least like to be chained to a radiator with?

Vic: Terry Waite. Or Donald Duck. I don't like the way he looks, I don't like the way he speaks. His attitude is all wrong. And his nephews! If they were chained as well I'd slit my throat. Eat them? I'm not sure anyone's ever eaten a cartoon yet.

Bob: Bubble from Big Brother. I'd probably irritate him - it wouldn't be a good mix. I think Vic would pick Bigfoot out of Bigfoot And 7he Hendersons - that big hairy thing.

You wake up one day to discover you are women. What kind of women would you be?

Vic: Probably much the same as the men that we are. Vaguely interesting. I don't think we'd be smart. Eclectic. I'd be wearing Victorian clothing, a high-necked, long, black dress, looking like a widow. Or Miss Havisham in Great Expectations. Dusty and dowdy.

Bob: I'd be the same as I am. I’d be a mummy. I’d be like Nigella Lawson, but anonymous. Jim, he would be like Ulrika.

Complete the following: I’d die if I ever had to… again.

Vic: …live.

Bob: I couldn’t face doing the conveyancing on a house again. I used to do that in another life.

How do you make your kids laugh?

Vic: Stupid walks, fart jokes – they always win. I can’t fart to order, but I can belch to order. Words always make kids laugh. You’ve got to get on their level and sing things like, ‘There’s a woman on a bike, wike, thike, nike, fike, like.’ They love it.

Bob: Repeating a non-word such as ‘uballah’ over and over, very loudly – that seems to get them going. Or walking like a monkey.

What would you never, ever lend the other?

Vic: My car [a Jaguar], as he’s always crashing cars. The interior of his car [a Lexus] is like a council tip. When we were filming, we had a boot sale and put everything from his car on a trestle table. There was cat litter, one shoe, a bra, plants, food, jam – everything you could possibly imagine - stashed away. He doesn't have his cars long. I'd say it takes him about an hour and a half to fill one and perhaps two hours to wreck it.

Bob: My dog and my cats. He'd be useless. He'd probably feed them the wrong stuff.

How do you know when he's down and how do you help him snap out of it?

Vic: I ring up Middlesbrough Football Club and tell them to pull their finger out. He doesn't know I do this. He gets into a terrible depression if they aren't doing very well, but that's the only time he does get depressed. He always cheers me up with his cheeky grin.

Bob: I don't bother, he's always down, so there's no worries.

Who has the better body?

Vic: My body is turning into what it was like as a young boy - there's nothing there really. Bob's is very manly - a big hairy chest, broad and brawny. I'm in pretty good shape. I do a lot of walking. But Bob's in better shape than he's ever been. He has this secretive world where he does a lot of digging. He moves gravel around and stuff like that.

Bob: We fluctuate. You'll see photo of him sixth months before and he'll be as trim as a tuppence. But at this moment in time, I might be able to top him. One thing Jim does is put weight on his face. If he's had a Christmas where he's scoffed and drank for a week, it all goes on his face.

If you could send the other on a course, what would it be?

Vic: Fly-fishing. I think he's got a secret wish to be a fisherman. We've been fishing about twice in 10 years. I think it's something he'd be into. I think he'd also benefit from learning how to draw. I would imagine his children can draw better than him.

Bob: An assertiveness training weekend. He came into work yesterday and said, 'The builders are after me for money.' I said, 'Have they done owt?' He says, 'Not that I can see.' So I said, 'It's very difficult, Jim, but when they phone up, if they haven't done the kitchen, the dining room and the bedroom, at least say, "Could you have the kitchen finished by five?" before you give them the cash.' He says 'Yeah, I'll try and get something out of them.' So he phones the builder and says, 'So you want some money? I'll put the cheque in the kitchen drawer.' He couldn't do it!

You’re in a room full of smart, beautiful women. Who do they gravitate towards?

Vic: Neither of us, I'm convinced. They'd probably turn their backs us. Maybe they'd gather around Bob first because they'd want to mother him and I think that's the first urge of a group of beautiful women in a room.

Bob. Jim. He's sassy. He's a single man and there's an air about him. You wouldn't notice me walking into a room.

Could you order for each other in restaurant?

Vic: Definitely. He'd have what you consider old person's food - tongue, potatoes and cabbage, and a steamed pudding with custard, with tea or a lager. If he chose for me, he'd go for something more obscure. If there was something odd on the menu, I'd try it.

Bob: Jim always has the most bizarre thing on the menu. He likes to try things. He'd order me potatoes.

If you were invisible for a day, where would you hang out?

Vic: Can I breathe underwater or be ethereal? I'd float over the capital and blow down chimneys and through windows at quite high speed. I wouldn't be that interested in spying on anyone. I might like to creep into a tiger's cage or maybe get inside an apple. I wouldn't find anything interesting in being a peeping Tom. I'd rather spy on a cat than a person.

Bob: I'm tempted to say at Grant and Anthea's again, but the truth, of course, is that I'd hang around wherever in 24 hours you'd see the most nude women.

How far would you go for friendship? Would you: a) lend him your underpants; b) give him your kidney; c) help him on the toilet?

Vic: a) I wouldn't want to wear his underpants. Have you seen the state of them? b) I'd give him my kidney, depending on how many I had spare on my plate. He'd enjoy it. c) I would help him on the toilet, yes, if I had to.

Bob: a) Yes, I'm sure I would. b) Can you survive with only one? I'd think about it. c) Yes, definitely.

What is the other's most irritating habit?

Vic: He would probably say blowing his nose on his clothing. But he quite often leaves some marmalade or something on the front seat of his car, so, when you get in, you really need to put a towel down first.

Bob: Not buying drinks.

What's the most endearing thing he's ever done?

Vic: Just being him really. He always makes me laugh. We're not present givers. We ignore Christmases and birthdays.

Bob: There's lots. He bought me a very rare record, which surprised me. It was an original copy of Free Live! He always looks after me. With the odd lives we have, we do have to look out for each other. It's one of the stabilising things about being in a double act. You can't start being poncey because you've got the other person with you. You can help each other out.

What scares you?

Vic: I've got a terrible fear of heights. Before I pass out, the sky comes in and I start ducking.

Bob: The thought of my children getting hurt. You see something on the telly and think, 'God, if that were them, I couldn't bear it.'

Do you go on holiday together?

Vic: We do. We've been off on our own a few times - we've been on motorcycling holidays, we've been camping. We're probably quite insular. We act like children.

Bob: On holiday, he's a bit too busy for me. He can't sit down. We're in a cafe and I just like watching people. He'll be saying, 'Have you finished your fag? Come on!'

If the partnership ended tomorrow, what would you both be good at?

Vic: I'd probably just paint pictures. I think he'd like being a gardener or maybe do up houses.

Bob: I'd like to be a gardener, if I was financially able to just garden. I can't act, so I wouldn't go down that line. Jim does it already, but I suppose he'd like to paint.

What sort of old people will you be?

Vic: I will sit in an old people's home, staring out of the window, listening to a distant Alsatian. I've often imagined myself sitting on a park bench with a dusty novel. And a bottle of milk. If they stop putting milk in bottles, I'll be cantankerous and lead the march to Trafalgar Square to reinstate bottles of milk. I'd imagine Bob would be very much the same, but he'd be sitting on a dusty chair with a bottle of milk watching the TV - anything that's on. He's a channel hopper.

Bob: Quite traditional, really: nice tweed suits, brogues, lonely. Together would be nice. We would probably be... [sighs at the inevitability] in a pub.

Former solicitor Bob Mortimer (42) was born only a few months and a few miles apart from Vic Reeves in Middlesbrough . They didn't meet until 1986 when Vic was performing at the Goldsmith's Tavern in London. Vic thought Bob was 'quite quiet' but it transpired he was eating a macaroon and didn't want to talk with his mouth full. Bob lives with his girlfriend Lisa Matthews and their children Harry (4) and Tom (3) in Kent .

Vic Reeves (42, James Roderick Moir to the Inland Revenue] lives in Kent with his wife Sarah (though they are separated) and their children, Alice (8), and Louis (4). It’s just down the road from Bob, at whose house they write every day. The two have had many series on TV including Shooting Stars, Families At War and Bang Bang It’s Reeves & Mortimer. Vic has also published a book of his paintings, sunboiledonions (Michael Joseph, £12.99).

Eve

Nov 2001

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kathrynethegreat · 5 years

Text

HANNIBAL’S HOUSE IN BUENOS AIRES (OR, THOMAS HARRIS GETS IN ONE LAST PIECE OF SYMBOLISM)

Have you ever wondered just where Hannibal Lecter and Clarice Starling wind up living once they reach Argentina? Thomas Harris is curiously specific about it, so it should be easy to track down if indeed it does exist, right?

First off, I want to note that another Hannibal Fan also did research to see if they could find Hannibal and Clarice’s home in Argentina. I read their work a couple of years ago and now can no longer find that post (I looked for three hours, I promise I tried - if anyone has seen this post/poster, let me know so I can give the appropriate link and credit)

Anyway - the original poster found Hannibal and Clarice’s house, and I was intrigued. I did my own research to see if I came to the same conclusion, and I did. I also have a friend in Buenos Aires who, conveniently enough is a tour guide specializing in the architecture of the area, so I consulted with her as well, and she too came to the same conclusion. But along the way, I found some other interesting information as well...I found out that the placement of their home is actually pretty symbolic - and also kind of funny. More on that at the end though...in the meantime, here is a little bit more info.

The novel tells us the following about where Hannibal and Clarice are located:

The Mercedes, windows down to let in the music from the dance clubs, purrs through the Recoleta District to the Avenida Alvear and disappears into the courtyard of an exquisite Baux Arts building near the French Embassy.

The photo above shows the Recoleta District in Buenos Aires. It is the most affluent area in the city, boasting art galleries, restaurants, cafes, world-class shopping, and beautiful French architecture. Originally the area was where the wealthy citizens of Buenos Aires built their mansions and palaces. Sadly, most of these beautiful buildings have been torn down in favor of modern apartment buildings. Of the palaces that were spared, most have been converted to Foreign embassies, clubs, and hotels. Only one of the old mansions remains a private residence.

The Avenida Alvear is one of the nicest streets in the Recoleta District and is probably the street in the district with the most palaces still intact. The street runs only six city blocks, at the end of which is the French Embassy. Clarice and Hanibal’s home - according to Harris - is on this street.

There are a few Palaces and Townhomes in this small area, but there are only three buildings that have a courtyard where a car could actually enter through - an important detail Harris gives us. These three buildings are all on the same city block, right next to one another. They are the Maguire House, The Park Hyatt Hotel and the Apostolic Nunciature.

APOSTOLIC NUNCIATURE - The Apostolic Nunciature of Argentina is essentially the Vatican Embassy. It is housed in what was once called the Fernández Anchorena Palace. It was commissioned by Juan Antonio Fernandez for his wife and was designed by Eduardo Le Monnier, a French/Argentine Architect. The Palace was completed in 1909 and was never lived in by Fernandez. It was the official residence of the President of Argentina Marcelo Torcuato de Alvear from where the street gets its name. The mansion was sold to Adelia Maria Hirilaos de Olmos, who bequeathed the Palace to the Holy See upon her death in 1949. It has been the location of the Apostolic Nunciature ever since. Its description could be considered a match for the home Harris describes...except for the fact that the building is very clearly already in use and not a private residence.

MAGUIRE HOUSE - In 1890, railway entrepreneur Alejandro Hume commissioned architect Carlos Ryder to build this late Victorian style home with bricks and materials imported from Scotland. In the late 1920s, the Palace was sold to the Duhau family. The lot was bigger then - comprising the area of the current house, as well as the lot where the Park Hyatt now resides. The home has been in the hands of the Dahau family ever since - now belonging to Susana Duhau, married to John Walter Maguire, hints its current name of “The Maguire House.” But here is where things get a little interesting. The Maguire House is creepy. Rarely is anyone seen going in or out. It’s a lovely style but in heavy contrast the French buildings around it. It is known locally as “Dracula’s Castle.” Though the house does have a courtyard and gate, since the house is late Victorian in style, it does not fit the description that Harris gives for Hannibal and Clarice’s home.

PARK HYATT - Originally the Palacio Duhau, this home was built by Alejandro Hume. It was a Tudor Revival home at the time. In the 1920s, it was sold to the Duhau Family (who owned the home next door) and the family commissioned architect Leon Dourge to design a new residence inspired by Le Val-Saint-Germain near Paris. The Duhau siblings mostly continued to live in the Hume/Maguire/Dracula house next door, and from 1976 until 2002 and the Palace was maintained - but not lived in. It is now the Park Hyatt Hotel. The hotel lot runs the full depth of a city block, and in order to add more rooms, the Park Hyatt built an additional “tower” behind the original palace. Guests can choose to stay in rooms in the original palace OR in the modern tower. This building fits Harris’ description perfectly, PLUS, it was for sale and empty when Harris was writing this book, and was for sale year when the novel takes place (the Impeachment scandal and the FBI’s 90s birthday sets the novel in 1998). So this is it - the only viable candidate for where Clarice and Hannibal would live.

So that’s it, they live at the Palacio Duhau. I’ve dug up some photos of the Palace. Bear in mind it’s filled with hotel furniture, but the floors, fireplaces, fixtures, etc are apparently original (Photos below).

So what’s the symbolism here? IMO, it’s just a really fantastic wink wink / joke to those in the know.

Hannibal and Clarice live between the Apostolic Nunciature and “Dracula’s Castle” Dracula represent damnation, and the Apostolic Nunciature represents the Vatican, the Pope, God’s representative on earth. Harris has placed Hannibal and Clarice between representations of Salvation and Damnation, between heaven and hell, between the ecclesiastical and the damned.

What’s more...

Christians drink the symbolic blood of the sinless Christ in order to gain eternal life in heaven (Generalization, but bear with me).

Dracula is a novel about a man who drinks literal human blood to gain eternal life on earth. Dracula is a perversion of the Eucharist.

What did Hannibal Lecter used to do? He used to eat human flesh.

Let’s just say, that the entire city block, comprising of those three houses - Dracula’s Castle, the Palacio Duhau and the Vatican Nunciature have A LOT of Eucharistic symbolism going on.

#hannibal #hannibal lecter #clarice starling #clannibal #argentina #silence of the lambs #thomas harris

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ask-de-writer · 4 years

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LOST TIME (part 1 of 3) A fantasy of Flocking Bay.

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LOST TIME

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

5556 words

written 2003

Reproduction in any form, physical, electronic or digital is prohibited without the express written consent of the author or proper copyright holder.

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Users of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights. They may reblog the story. They may use the characters or original characters in my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical compositions. I will allow those who do commission art works to charge for their images.

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It stands out even in the dark ... It shouldn’t. It’s just a house. A damned old house. Not even that old really, not for New England. It’s a two story salt-box style with an observation deck under a cupola at the peak. It is probably just the setting. Rusty old iron fence, gnarled elderly trees, unkempt lawn not quite out of control, windows that the neighborhood kids haven’t broken. It should be a witch’s house but it isn’t. It is mine. I just closed on it yesterday.

The kids are going to have a field day this time. I don’t like the daylight... been on night shift as far back as I can remember. That’s a longish way back. But I’m not a witch, nor vampire. Nothing exotic that I know of. I’m just one of those people (you probably know one or two) who don’t show their age. If you envy me, think again. YOU try to explain to a traffic cop why your ID has you pegged for seventy+ and you don’t look over twenty. I carry a copy of my fingerprint record from the military, because they can check that.

Funny part of it is, I really don’t have the slightest idea how old I am. Traumatic amnesia the doctors called it, during the war. The head wound was minor, they said.

That is a matter of opinion. It robbed me of my past, my name, my identity, my loves and hates but left my skills intact. I was an empty shell. I am still trying to find my past.

The name that I use comes from more or less modern myth. Vandervekken. The Flying Dutchman. Wandering Dutchman would be more accurate. He sails the seas off the Cape of Good Hope until Judgment Day. He can’t find his home either. I bought the house because it is the first place that I have seen in over fifty years where I want to stay. You explain it.

The rusty gate opened silently, thanks to the bit of oil that I put on the hinges. Going up the uneven walk, between the looming trees is an experience. The door lock is old-fashioned but still works smoothly. Covered furniture could have made ghosts to haunt the place, if I were superstitious or given to being easily frightened.

As I said, I like the night. I even enjoy things with a bit of a spooky atmosphere. I also like antiques and handcrafted things which is why, if I ever find out who did it, I will cheerfully throttle whatever philistine covered the finely inlaid hardwood parquetry floors with battleship gray paint.

Stripping and refinishing those floors was on my priority job list. Actually, I shouldn’t beef too much. Pointing out the problem got me a price reduction of nearly $2000 on an already underpriced house with all of its furniture as part of the deal. Estates can be wonderful when you are on a tight budget. Too bad that someone else had to die to create my good fortune.

As I pulled the dust covers from the furniture, I saw that my good fortune was been complete. It was all sturdy, hand-carved hardwood with Chinese silk brocade upholstery. The furniture alone was worth what I had paid for the house and contents. The tops of even the smallest hall tables were inlaid with rich veneers, ivory and mother of pearl. You couldn’t buy furniture like this any more. Besides the cost, the ivory in the inlays is no longer legal to obtain. I could get as much from the sale of just one or two pieces as I could from a year of writing if I could bring myself to part with any of this treasure. It just feels like the house would not be complete without it.

Whoever it was that had died and left this for me to have has whatever blessings it is in my power to bestow. The only wonder is that this place stayed on the market long enough for me to find it. Usually, deals like this get snapped up by the real-estate brokers before people like me ever see them.

When I got to the kitchen, I received another little jolt. I knew that it was fairly up to date, but some thoughtful soul had stocked the fridge and set out a bit of a snack for me. Just cookies and a glass for the milk, which was staying cold in the cooler. Thoughtful. I wondered who did it.

While munching on the cookies, I opened a few windows to air the place out a bit. Going out to my car, I saw that the flags of the walk needed leveling because of the weeds that grew up between them. I drove around to the alley behind the place, opened the garage and parked Lilitu, my classic pre-war Packard touring car. She looked right at home in there. Few, even of modern garages were big enough for her. I ferried my few personal goods up to the house. On my last trip, I saw a couple of wide-eyed kids looking over the back fence.

“Told ya, told ya so!” one of them chanted. “There’s somebody sneakin’ inta the ol’ Vekin place!”

“I wouldn’t call it sneaking, to move into your own place,” I answered as civilly as I could manage. “I just bought it. Why do you call it the Vekin place?”

“If ya ain’t sneakin’, why ya goin’ in the back way? An’ after dark, too?” she shot back. I could now see that they were a girl and a boy. She was obviously in charge.

“I like nights. I’m a writer, so I can keep any hours I like. Why is it the Vekin place?” I asked again.

“Dun’no - Crazy guy named Vekin used to live there,” she contradicted herself.

“Lot of folks tried to buy the place since then,” the boy piped in.

“But nobody ever stays,” the girl finished for him firmly.

“So, this is the neighborhood’s haunted house?” I inquired jovially.

“No,” was as far as the boy got.

“Its down the street, on t’other side,” she cut in.

“I looked at that one,” I said thoughtfully. “The old Victorian. Somebody’s broken out all the windows. Not like here. If the Vekin house is so bad, why hasn’t some kid chucked rocks at it?”

“‘Cause we’re not THAT crazy!” exclaimed The boy, getting out a whole thought. The girl gave him a push, and they ran off into the night.

I got up about noon, after the most restful night’s sleep that I’d had since the War. After my breakfast and a quiet tour of the place from attic to basement, I went out. My goal was the local newspaper. THE FLOCKING BAY VOICE was sprawled across the plate glass window in Old English style letters of gold leaf and black. Smaller letters proclaimed Est. 1841. I pushed open the door. My nose was assaulted by the multiple odors of printer’s ink, paper and grease. The VOICE occupied one large room. An elderly web press crouched at the back of the space, behind several rolls of newsprint. Cubicles made offices in the middle of the room. An old oak counter that had once seen duty as a bar had several signs suspended over it on thin chains. They read ‘submissions’, ‘advertisements’, ‘subscriptions’, ‘billing’.

There was a bell on the counter. Some wag had put a sign on it, “Please ring bell, it won’t help but it will give you something to do.” I gave myself something to do, energetically, a few times.

A trim little blond lady answered the bell’s summons. She wore a green eyeshade and a pin on her sweater announced, ‘Lois Martin - cook, bottle washer & EDITOR in CHIEF.’ “What can I do for you, today?” she asked.

“I came to see what I can find out about the Vekin place,” I answered, trying not to stare at her.

“Just a moment, I’ll get the file out of the morgue. I was going to get it anyway. Somebody went and bought the place again.”

“Wait a minute,” I protested. “Someone buys a house and that makes news in Flocking Bay? This town must be even quieter than it looks.”

“Oh,” she retorted, “it can get downright interesting around here when the old Vekin place sells. You’ll see.” She disappeared among the cubicles and I heard her feet clattering down a flight of stairs. I heard a file drawer creak and slide, then slam shut. It wasn’t long before she reappeared, a rather fat file clutched in her hand.

“If you’d like, we can have lunch over at Mike’s Soda Shop,” she proposed. “He makes decent submarine sandwiches and real ice-cream sodas.”

“Well ... ” I pretended to hesitate, “I haven’t been invited out by a beautiful blond in a long time, so, yes.”

“I hope that I haven’t just made a fool of myself,” she remarked, laying aside the eyeshade. “You are Mr. Vandervekken aren’t you? The man who just bought the place?”

“Too true,” I said.

“Then I’ll make it an interview and deduct it from my taxes,” she smiled.

“You make enough to pay taxes?” I asked, looking back as we crossed the street.

“I have hidden assets. The paper is a tax shelter.” She opened the door of Mike’s and ushered me in.

As I was seating her, I just couldn’t help blurting out, “Your assets seem to be pretty obvious.”

She grinned, “Go ahead and stare. I don’t mind. If I did, I wouldn’t wear a snug sweater and put my pin just here.” She pointed, then added, “Looking at it will keep you off your guard while I ask my questions.”

“OK, Ms. Martin, but let me look at the file first. You can order for me. You know the food here,” I said, reaching for the file.

“Lois,” she replied, “call me Lois, everyone else does.” Then she hollered to the man behind the counter, “Oh, Mike! Two butterscotch sodas and a big turkey sub! Divide it in half!”

“How did you know that I liked butterscotch?” I asked. “It’s not that common a preference these days.”

“I just had a hunch, that’s all. You looked like another butterscotch type person.”

I was leafing through the file on the rather beat-up table while we waited. I couldn’t resist snorting with amusement at the name of the house’s builder. Capt. Von Der Vekin. The house had been built in 1894 by the Capt. and his elusive son, Charles. Nobody had ever seen Charles until he came into town, on April 1st, 1900, to report his father’s demise and burial on the property. He ordered a headstone hewn of the local limestone. Charles had returned from WW I with honors and lived quietly, claiming to be a writer, though nobody ever saw any of his work in print. When asked, all that he would say was ‘Pseudonyms are great for privacy’. He was not so lucky when he volunteered to assist the French resistance in 1939. He never came home.

Next==>

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#LOST TIME #Part 1 of 3 #Flocking Bay #Written by De Writer

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therealprincesszeanah · 5 years

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My Decade in Books

I was tagged by @the-forest-library to outline my decade in books! It will be rough because I have been very hit or miss in tracking my reading throughout the years, but I will do my best. I can't remember how to make this a read more, so I apologize in advace for mobile users. If anyone reads through this bless you.

2010: A year of great highs and some serious lows. I was still in high school so I was plagued by the books from required reading lists, such as The Alchemist, Of Mice and Men, and Lord of the Flies. I also read The Lovely Bones at the behest of a friend, which I still regret because it was so awful and weird. But 2010 was also the year I read A Thousand Splendid Suns, and Pride and Prejudice for the first time! If I recall though, I did not actually finish Pride and Prejudice at this time because I was reading it for a book report and there wasn't time to read the last 40 pages or so and get the assignment done. I still loved it though. A Thousand Splendid Suns was an instant favorite and if I recall was my go-to response to "What's your favorite book" for the next couple of years. I also spent a summer reading Sarah Dessen books which is an eternal mood.

2011: Still in high school and still being required to read books that just Aren't Good, like The Scarlett Letter and The Dante Club. BUT this year the required reading had some great treasures! I read To Kill a Mockingbird for the first time, as well as Night by Elie Wiesel. In the summer I picked up one of the more "popular" books that came out that year from the library called Heart of the Matter by Emily Griffith and it was so dumb that I was pretty much turned off of contemporary adult lit for a good bit. I read a couple more duds that summer at the recommendation of a friend (The Penny by Joyce Meyer and Love Walked In by Maria Des Los Santos). This was also the year I read The Epic of Gilgamesh out loud to my brother (his choice 🤷🏼‍♀️) on our annual roadtrip to North Carolina.

2012: The year I devoured the entirety of The Hunger Games. I remeber borrowing them all from various friends at school and reading them late into the night each time, taking like 2 or 3 days total on each. The required high school reading list this year was still terrible, with The Awakening and As I Lay Dying making an appearance. This was the year I read Macbeth though and to this day that is still my favorite Shakespeare play. We also read The Posionwood Bible which I remember having a love-hate relationship with. It's one of the few books I want to go back to and see if I'll like it more now that I'm not being forced to read it. This summer was the summer me and two of my best friends at the time read The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society aloud to each other. To this day we still call one of my friends Clovis, after one the characters in that book. Another instant favorite. That summer my brother also attempted to start a book club, so we all read Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter (his choice again) which I shockingly remember enjoying. Another book I surprisingly liked that year was One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, which I had to read for a group project.

2013: This was a GREAT year of reading. The required reading list had some duds as always (The Master Buidler by Henrik Isben and Waiting for Godot by Samuel Beckett), but this year we read The Crucible which I LOVED. We also read Heda Gabler (Isben) which I actually did NOT like, but for the associated project my friends and I wrote a song about the play, then filmed and edited an entire music video in the span of like three days. So that was definitely a highlight. That summer I read a couple more duds, The Graceling by Kristin Cashore and Go Ask Alice, which I had picked up at a garage sale for a quarter. I also read Hosseini's newest book that came out the previous year, and while it wasn't on par with A Thousand Splendid Suns, it was still good. After that I really started LIVING. I read The Help (and cried), I read Anne of Green Gables for the first time (and cried), I read Mere Christianity by C.S. Lewis, and then ended the year with the most beautiful book, The Book Thief. I got it for Christmas and read it every second I had on our annual trip to North Carolina. I finished it in the car ride home and sobbed, much to the concern of my dad and brother.

2014: This is where my reading takes a serious nose dive as this spans the semesters in college where I was transitioning from majoring in pre-vet science into majoring in English. I read Twelfth Night in my first English Lit class in college, as well as Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, some Chaucer, and 2/3 of Evelina by Frances Burney, which I absolutely loved but time didn't permit me to finish this one until years later. That spring break I borrowed and read The Fault In Our Stars. That summer I borrowed and read The Kite Runner (still think A Thousand Splendid Suns is Hosseini's best work). I vaguely remember being in a World Literature class the fall semester of this year and reading The Tempest, and The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock (which I LOVED), but I don't remember much else from that class. I thiiink this is also the year I reread Harry Potter during the summer, but I don't remember. I know I reread the series in college, it's just all such a blur now 🤷🏼‍♀️

2015: The Fault In Our Stars the previous year put me on a serious John Green kick in the start of 2015. I read Papertowns on my flight home from my spring break trip to NY. Later that year I borrowed An Abundance of Katherines from a friend and which pretty much turned me off of John Green forever. I took my first American Lit class in college this year and realized I just don't like much American Lit. We read Fight Club, A Streetcar Named Desire, Summer by Edith Warton, Tender is the Night and the Adventures of Huckleberry Finn and I liked approximately zero of them. This year was the BEST year though because it was also the year I took a class just about the Brontë sisters. We read Jane Eyre (my third time at this point, I think. Always a favorite), Wuthering Heights (hated it) and The Tenant of Wildfell Hall (an absolute DELIGHT. Became one of my all-time favorites and my go-to recommendation for a couple of years). I ended the year reading a couple of quick, fun, cozy books during the holidays: Where'd You Go Bernadette and The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe (my first time and I absolutely loved it).

2016: This year had a BUNCH of lows, but there were a few standout stars. After a much needed schedule change at the beginning of the year, I ended up in another American Lit class which further my disdain for the subject. We read Typee by Hermamn Melville (snoozefest), My Ántonia by Willa Cather, half of some book by Keruac I think (so boring and uninspiring I don't even remember anything besides that I hated it and it had a red cover) and Go Tell it on the Mountain by James Baldwin. We did also read a collection of short stories by Flannery O'Connor and that was actually enjoyable, so there's hope for me and American authors yet. This was the year I also had my absolute FAVORITE professor for a Victorian Lit class. The theme was Scandal and Outrage or something like that so we read Alice and Wonderland, Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, and (most unfortunately) Tess of the D'ubervilles by Thomas Hardy. To be fair, at this time I actually probably only read like half of it due to all my other course work this semester, but it just was Not Good. The only high point from my lit classes this year was The Importance of Being Earnest by Oscar Wilde. An absolute treasure. That summer was a summer of duds. I read Harry Potter and The Cursed Child (truly cursed), Eleanor and Park by Rainbow Rowell (just didn't really connect with the characters), and the absolure WORST BOOK Me Before You by Jojo Moyes. I'm not sure a book had ever made me as upset, or rage induced as this book did, but to this day I am still so mad I wasted time with it. I spent a lot of the year sloughing through a book I borrowed from the family I babysit for called The Myserious Benedict Society. I didn't finish it until the next year, but it took me forever to get through. The only other highlight of this year was reading Ender's Game aloud to my husband. That book took me by surprise in a great way. I did not expect to love it as much as I did. We also read the sequel this year, Speaker For the Dead, which although very different from Ender's Game was still good in its own rite.

2017: This year is when things really start picking up for me again. Toward the end of college, I was feeling very burnt out and uninspried by reading (probably because all of the lows the previous year). I rounded out my degree in one last lit class (another American Lit class of ALL classes), but since it was early American Lit, I actually did enjoy it a bit more. We read Native creation myths, Lousia May Alcott short stories, some Whitman and other authors from that movement and then rounded out the semester with Uncle Tom's Cabin. That summer after graduation was when I decided to work my through every book on my bookshelf, which was a pivotal turning point for me because I began to be excited about reading again. That summer I reread Little Women for the first time in years and absolutely LOVED it. I spent the rest of the year with Jane Austen, reading Persausion, Sense and Sensibility and Pride and Prejudice. This was also the year I started reading Harry Potter to my husband (his first time reading the series!).

2018: My bookshelf goal still continues. This year I revisited the Brontë sisters, finally read Evelina in it's entirety (LOVED IT), revisted Sarah Dessen in the summer (for the first time since high school), and revisted some childhood classics (The Tale of Despereaux and The Tiger Rising by Kate DiCamillo, as well as the BFG by Rold Dahl). I reread the Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society in preparation for the Netflix movie and finished two Harry Potter books with my husband. I ended the year with Little Men (so sweet 😭) and A Christmas Carol.

2019: I finally finished the first shelf (of three) of my bookcase. I spent almost half of my year in The Count of Monte Cristo and what a wondeful half year that was. Such a great story! I gave two haunts from required read past another chance: Scarlett Letter and Tess of the D'ubervilles. I was not a fan. I read three books by a local author from my childhood and The Outsiders. I finished the year returning to A Thousand Splendid Suns and was again taken away by how moving and beautiful it was. Also finished The Goblet of Fire with my husband during our annual trip to North Carolina.

Something I really enjoyed about this was not only seeing the ebbs and flows of my reading throughout the years, but seeing the common threads throughout the last decade. Road trips, certain books that kept coming up, friends and family I shared books with. This was a really fun thing to do for me so thank you Mable for tagging me! I don't have any one else to tag, but I highly encourage you to do it! It's so fun to see how books shaped the past 10 years. Tag me if you do. 💓

#my decade in books #book asks #me #seriously I LOVED doing this #I do apologize for the length #i got carried away in the MEMORIES

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honeylikewords · 5 years

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That was perfect!! I love Vampire Eddie. How about Santi or Poe moves into a haunted house and they can see ghosts?

I am so glad you enjoy Vampire Eddie! He’s a real sweetheart! For this prompt, I decided to go with Santi being able to see ghosts, and this one took FOREVER to write, for some reason, and I’m still not perfectly content with it. It is kinda hard to write a ghost-human romance, after all, but I hope this is a good opener; I feel like it’ll be a fun AU to explore once I have more of the groundwork in place!

So, without further ado, please enjoy!

Something most people don’t know about Santi is that he is, in fact, very into architecture. He always has been. In fact, before signing up for the military, he’d considered becoming an architect himself, when he was young and in love with reading books about great works of architecture. But no one who had served with him would know this about him; after all, most of Santi’s military friends didn’t especially care about things like architecture, so he never brought it up.

He let his friends dominate the conversation with blabber about which celebrity they’d rather take to bed or about what guns they liked most or about what beer was best, and was fine to just nod along, keeping his interests to himself. He knew there was a time and a place to talk about his hobbies, and that his friends, while close to him, wouldn’t really care that much, so he didn’t feel like wasting his breath.

Still, after all he’d gone through in the service and after, he was tired of living an incomplete life. Once he got back to the States, he wanted to be more himself, so he did what he’d always dreamed of doing: he bought a beautiful old Victorian mansion, one he’d seen online as being for sale out in Connecticut. He loved the architecture of these older homes, and had always dreamed of living in one for himself; master of a home with swooping, graceful staircases, high, vaulted ceilings, and wide, lovely windows. He’d researched the house online and fallen in love with its gingerbread beauty: the laced windows, the cupolas and spanning porches, the skillful carving of the lattice. It was a dream of intricate little details that made architecture such a fascination of his, and it was elegant and beautiful, a home steeped in history.

After placing a few calls to local realtors about the place, he set aside a portion of his money from the work he’d done and bought the house, packed up all his things, and moved to a quiet, sleepy little town in Connecticut.

The day he arrived, moving trucks parked all around the massive driveway, he stood in the foyer of his new home, hands on his hips, grinning into the massive space before him. Sure, it was a touch dusty-- he’d been told no one had lived personally in the home for many years, but that it was well-maintained and fully up to code-- but he was nothing if not a hard worker, and he’d have the place ship-shape in no time.

As he stood in the foyer, surveying his estate, he could swear that he thought he heard... humming. A woman’s voice, humming a tune he didn’t know but felt he’d heard somewhere before. Santi looked around; there were no female movers on the team. He tried to hear the voice again, but when he listened closer, he heard nothing but the clatter and grunt of the movers.

Shrugging the anomaly off as outside noise, possibly from a passerby on the street, Santi went out to help the movers unload the trucks and bring the goods into his home, and spend the rest of the day bringing in boxes. His help meant the work was over faster, and, soon enough, after the final boxes had been set inside and all the tips had been dispersed to the workers, Santi was alone and free to look around the house.

The home had come fully furnished, still stocked with original furniture from its heyday in the Victorian era. Gramophones, high-backed chairs, tortoiseshell lamps, shelves of books, butterflies pinned under glass; a beautiful museum of treasures, all for him to explore. He wondered to himself about who the owners had been to leave this all behind, but he found himself more intrigued by just the exploration itself than by getting bogged down in too many details.

Santi moved from room to room, running his hands over the dark, wooden paneling, his eyes traveling from object to object. On the wall hung little samplers and embroidery hoops with delicate designs sewn in, alongside oil paintings; landscapes, portraits of firm-looking men adorned in military regalia and of stern-seeming women in tight-laced dresses, all pallid and austere. There were tables crowded with books and glass-domed clocks, cloche-covered specimens of taxidermy. There were rooms with doors that stuck in their frames, pushing open with a pop, a creak, and a flume of dust, revealing to him beds and chairs draped in white cloth. He marveled at the oddness of it all, and wondered where he would fit into it, now that it was his to have.

As Santi was about to try and pry open the door to the kitchen, he heard something. A familiar, faint sound, wafting to him from a different room. It was the humming from before, but it sounded nearer, clearer. It was unmuffled by the chaos of the movers, and Santi furrowed his brow, listening to it.

He was certain it was a woman’s voice, and felt a chill run through him at the thought that there was someone in his home without his knowledge or permission. He tried to brush off the thought; perhaps there was another one of those gramophones elsewhere in the house, and it had been bumped by a mover, and was now playing a recording of a woman’s hums. Santi attempted to comfort himself with the thought as he began to walk towards the place he heard the song issuing from, but the nearer he drew, the more certain he was that the voice was not recorded, but live, present, and close to him.

He came up to the door he heard the song coming from and pressed his ear to it, holding in his breath. Indeed, he could hear the music, the humming, coming from directly behind it. Swallowing, Santi gathered his courage, and pushed the door open.

Stepping into a room he quickly concluded was the house’s attached solarium Santi found something he was entirely unprepared for. It was no stuffed fox, no dour portrait, no dusty old grand piano. No, it was something Santi would never have imagined he’d discover waiting for him in these walls.

It was a woman.

She was sitting on a chaise lounge, on the far side of the solarium, near the window, sewing an embroidery hoop. The woman, who seemed to be somewhere around his own age, was wearing a very odd, full-length, heavy-looking dress, her hair pushed up into a bun. When the door closed behind him, she looked up from her hoop, humming stopped, startling him.

Santi felt the instincts of a soldier pass over him, tension rising inside him, threat assessment thoughts running through his head, but he tried to calm down; she seemed harmless, right? She was just sewing, which was not all that threatening, despite the oddness of her being a stranger who was sitting in his supposedly vacant house.

The two stared at each other for a few seconds. Santi broke the silence first.

“Can I... help you?,” he offered modestly.

She squinted at him, then set her hoop aside, looking left and right. Seeing no one else in the room, she pointed at herself, silently asking him if he was talking to her. Santi nodded and pointed at her, too.

“Yes, you, miss,” Santi clarified. “I believe you’re in my house.”

“You can see me?”

At this, Santi was puzzled. Of course he could see her; it wasn’t like she was invisible, or at all attempting to hide. She was being quite obvious, between the relaxed posture, the sewing, and the large, atypical dress, and, of course, the humming. He wondered if she was ill in some way or if he’d need to call someone; perhaps a local theatre troupe had lost a member.

In this moment of musing, she stood up from the lounge, setting aside the hoop, and wandered over to him, circling him and eyeing him curiously. He followed her gaze, turning in time with her, as if locked in a dance. As she studied him, he studied her; she was beautiful, he found. Her skin seemed to glow, trapping light in it, and her features were lovely, complemented by the color of dress she wore. As she moved, she seemed to float, and Santi found himself entranced. He was taken aback by the unexpected beauty of this unexpected intruder. When she stopped circling him, the woman met his eye firmly and frowned, breaking his reverie.

“You don’t look like a spiritualist,” she spoke.

“I... excuse me?”

“Nor do you look especially psychic,” she added, stepping further towards him, almost within the circle of what Santi considered his personal space. Naturally, he stepped backward, and she frowned further.

He attempted to make an offer to her.

“I don’t know who you are, but if you need me to call someone for you--”

“And you’re certainly not a shade yourself,” the woman interrupted, reaching out a hand to touch him. Santi tried to recoil, but her hand brushed his shoulder--

And passed right through.

Chilled to the bone, Santi was frozen in place.

His blood froze in place. His eyes stared at her, pointed and yet blank, his mind spinning around violently to try and reconcile what he’d seen and felt with what he had known all his life to be true.

People don’t just faze through people. This he knew to be true.

He didn’t understand.

“Hm. No, you’re all in one piece,” concluded the woman, retracting her hand and crossing her arms. “And you can see me? Odd.”

“You--”

Santi stammered, blinking rapidly. Words failed to bridge the gap between his brain and his mouth, and he merely dumbly gaped, face clenching as it tried to find the right expression. Anger? Confusion? Pain? He had no idea.

“Mm. Oh, yes.” She seemed to realize he was in shock and gave him a gentle smile, eyes sympathetic. “I see. You didn’t realize the house is haunted.”

“...Ghosts aren’t real,” he blurted out heavily.

“Afraid we are.”

Part of Santi desperately wanted to faint. He thought it’d be only appropriate-- isn’t that what people did when confronted with ghosts?-- but, sadly, he had too strong a constitution. Instead, he swallowed thickly, then wandered over the chaise lounge he’d seen her on, collapsing onto the seat and tiredly resting his face in his hands. It was the closest he could come to fainting.

He groaned miserably.

“I realize this must be stressful,” started the woman, who knelt in front of him and looked up with concern. “But there’s really nothing to be afraid of.”

After a few seconds of processing, Santi’s mind latched on to a memory, to a thread of logic, of something, anything, and forced out a response: Goddamnit, his mind hissed. Of all the houses in all the world...

“I’m not afraid,” Santi mumbled. “I’m annoyed.”

“...Pardon?”

“I am annoyed,” he repeated.

“...Why?”

“Because when I was fifteen I told my abuela that ghosts aren’t real, and it made her cry, and now I’m the jackass that made my abuela cry and I wasn’t even right about what I said!”

There was a pause.

He didn’t know why his mind had gone there. But it had. And this was all his brain had been able to remember on the topic of ghosts, so that was where he was at, emotionally.

“I’m...sorry?”

The woman’s voice came out tinny, as if she wasn’t sure if she should be sympathetic, confused, or amused.

Santi just continued to hold his head in his hands.

This silent, oxymoronic moment stretched for a good few more seconds before Santi drew in a deep breath and sat up slightly, meeting the woman’s gaze with steely, exhausted eyes.

“Are you some sort of...” Santi trailed off, circling the air with his finger loosely to convey something he’d lost the words for. “Hallucination? Maybe a mover dropped a box on my head and I’m in a coma, dreaming this.”

“Well... that’d be hard to verify, wouldn’t it?” The woman said, standing up before sitting by his side on the chaise lounge.

At his side, she looked down at her hands and fidgeted with her fingers, seemingly deep in thought. When she looked back over at Santi, she shrugged.

“What would help you prove I’m real?”

Santi thought for a moment, shifting in his seat to sit up straighter. He cast a glance at the almost-not-quite-semi-transparent-if-he-squinted woman at his side, then raised his hand, pushing it, palm outward, towards her.

She understood what he wanted without him saying it, and extended her own hand. Their digits hovered near one another for a moment, and then each of them, of their own accord, moved forward the final inch, their palms meeting.

The palms did not rest on top of one another, but hers rather passed through his, fusing into one mass. Her fingers passed through his wrist, and the sight of it sent him shivering, anticipating pain, but receiving only a brush of chill. Santi stared at the unity of their hands, feeling the strange, unearthly sensation of touching her.

His hand felt frigid, like it was submerged in ice water, yet like it was being kissed by a gentle spring breeze, both warm and cool, damp with the promise of rain, dry with the assurance of sun. Somehow, deep in the cold, he also felt a warmth; fleeting, but still there. She was not at all solid, but passing through her was like passing through a deep fog or fine mist, gaseous and permeable. Santi had never felt anything like it.

After a few heartbeats, the woman removed her hand from his, and though the cold had felt sharp, he hadn’t felt any physical pain, and he found that the loss of contact felt, somehow, painfully lonely.

Once they parted, the two sat looking at each other for a long span of seconds, each seeming to silently measure the other, to interpret what had just passed between them. He noticed that she had lovely eyes, unclouded and clear. He didn’t know how to feel about that, nor about how to feel that he definitely thought she was very, very beautiful.

Part of his mind wondered what it would be like to kiss a ghost.

Suddenly embarrassed and uncomfortable, Santi stood up, breaking their eye contact, which made the woman at his side jump a little. As he began to walk away, she called after him.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m going to make a phone call.”

Stopping in the doorway, he turned back to look at her, a distant, tentative smile hovering on his lips.

“I’m going to apologize to my abuela. Even if this is all a dream, I think it’d be nice to talk to her.”

As he entered the foyer and pulled out his phone, sitting on the steps, he saw the spectral woman walk into the hallway and stand a respectful distance from him. She gave him a kind smile, one that reached all the way into her eyes, and it strangely comforted him as he listened to the dial tone, waiting for his grandmother to pick up.

Santi watched the woman, a mire of emotions swirling around his tired head. She watched him back. Somehow, he did not feel particularly afraid, which surprised Santi; he always believed that meeting a ghost would be terrifying. Yet, here one was, and instead, he found her rather... sweet-seeming.

When Santi’s grandmother picked up, excitedly greeting him in rapid Spanish, the woman took her cue and left the room, giving Santi a last wave as she faded into a darkened parlor. He watched her go, curious and confused, and then turned his attention to speaking to his grandmother, smiling to himself at the sound of her warm, familiar voice.

“Tuve el sueño más extraño, abuela,” Santi murmured, smiling distantly.

Santi could not predict the future. He had no idea what would happen next. But, somehow, sitting on those stairs, listening to his grandmother’s happy voice asking him about his dream, he felt like he’d be alright. He’d learn to live with this ghost, or this dream, and he’d be alright.

Maybe he’d even learn to like it.

Or love it.

Who knew?

He’d just have to wait and see.

Besides, he thought to himself, even if the box had dropped on him and he was in a coma, Santi suspected there were worse places to be than in a beautiful house with a very beautiful ghostly roommate.

#some notes: 1. this is terrible #2. i agonized over it for too long #3. it's just too long and tells nothing of anything #4. i saw someone else write a poe/ghost person fic and was like 'oh shit theyre gonna think im copying'#even though i only saw that post TODAY and ive been attempting to write this since this anon arrived #which was daaaays ago #also this just SUCKS and im annoyed by how poorly it came out #long post #gif warning #santiago garcia #Do Not Read This If You Know What's Good For You #messages

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