#malcolm's little paper houses

[pixelins]

thinkin’ about the quiet kindness & care in trinkets & treasures x 

[whispereons]

Oracle!Reader Part 19

Masterlist - Part 1, Part 18, Part 20

Warning! This chapter has child abuse, neglect, racism/classism and other sensitive topics! This is a imposter sagau so expect these things frequently. Attention! This chapter is extra long as it deals with Y/N's past and present. But I don't want to force a backstory that you guys might not want. Therefore you can read and choose what part of the backstory you want to be 'canon' for your Y/N. Whether be all, parts or none of it. It's your choice.

Your earliest memory was of a hospital. A vase of dying daisies, a child-sized bedding and a window slightly cracked to let in the night breeze were the only things you remember from that day.

A nurse gently knocked before walking in without looking up from the papers in his hands. 

"How are you feeling today Y/N? I hope you aren't suffering from nightma-Oh! You're awake!"

The brief exclamation from the startled nurse pieced you in that you weren't supposed to be awake. Or maybe, you haven't been awake for a long time?

Dry cracked lips wheeze out your small plea. "W-Water…" Coming back to himself, the nurse adhered to your request and brought the cup to your lips.

It was a cool relief to your aching throat and the first thing you asked him was.

"Who's Y/N?"

That cup of water and clinically clean blanket was the comfort you had during the next flurry of events.

That day, laying in a bed on the pediatric floor of a hospital, you learned that your parents were dead.

An accident that would have presumably traumatized you had little to no effect on your psyche. When the doctor asked you what happened you didn't have an answer.

You didn't have an answer for most of their questions either. After a series of fruitless questions the doctor and psychiatrist called in, settled on the diagnosis 'Retrograde Amnesia'.

Being stuck in a medically induced coma, you had to relearn how to walk along with other basic info. The photo of your parents, friends and house went ignored on your bedside. Why should you care about people and places you didn't remember? It's not like you were going to go back.

Most of the hospital staff gossiped in poorly concealed whispers as your nurse, Malcohm, walked with you around the floor. It was all the same thing.

"That child's poor parents, to not even be remembered by the one thing left behind."

It didn't bother you much but Malcohm always shooed them away with a scowl. He was kind to you, from helping you remember your name, to remembering what your parents' names were. 

It's not like you didn't remember that you had a name or that you had parents. But all the memories you had of them were gone. All your past experiences were gone too. 

The doctors were relieved to see that your memory loss was only applied to everything before the accident and not after it too. A date to be discharged was decided and a stoic man came to greet you. 

There was no warmth or care in his voice as he introduced himself as Mr. Castio. Not a drop of sympathy as he explained that you would be attending your parent's funeral. That your relatives would be there too, to discuss who would be willing to take you in. All you could do was stare at the newly replaced daisies and nod silently. 

If there was one thing you had relearned during your time at the hospital, it was that adults were to be obeyed. With a sad goodbye to Malcolm, you trailed behind Mr. Castio into the shiny black car.

You sat in the first row dressed in traditional and simple black clothing. Multiple people came up to you apologizing for your 'loss'. With a soft nod, you thanked them and they left satisfied. Mr. Castio had already advised you to not bother explaining the situation.

All your relatives spoke fondly of your parents until it came time to name anything they liked about your parents. The whole room went silent before little hesitant whispers floated around the room.

Seems you weren't the only one that couldn't remember.

The silence only got more unbearable once the topic of who you would be going with came up. Older adults volunteering younger family members while they vehemently denied the position. 

It was only after one uncle asked what would happen to your parents inheritance that greedy stares bombarded you. Picking at the stray fabric of the cushion, you ignored them all.

Mr. Castio clarified that the money would be untouched until you turned eighteen. Immediately, everyone looked away. No one wanted to raise a seven year old to adulthood without any immediate compensation. 

The funeral ended with your parents being incinerated. No one took the urns. It made you wonder why none of your grandparents showed up.

By the end of the day it was your aunt who agreed to foster you. Mr. Castio brought you to your parents house to collect your belongings. 

The house was clean and in order but the slight dust showed that it hasn't had a visitor in a while. Entering your room, you noticed how plain it was. Not a single toy, drawing or other personal object in sight. 

It unnerved you enough that you packed quick enough to not stay any longer. Curiosity poked at you to find out what kind of parents you had but you were more concerned on what your aunt is like.

She had a son and a husband you haven't met during the months you lived there. Her son was rude but never gave you any personal trouble. It was more common for him to throw a tantrum over one thing or another then bother you.

It wasn't an ideal life, but you weren't miserable. You ate three meals, had a bed and had supplies for school. Everything is fine, life is fine.

That thought was repeated as you sat in school with paper being thrown at the back of your head. The teacher ignored the behavior and your aunt repeatedly told you to not cause trouble. Even as you ate a different meal then your cousin and slept in the cramped closet-like room.

It was fine.

Until it wasn't.

A broken picture frame laid on the ground between you and your cousin, the ball he was playing with rolled to the opposite side of the room. When your aunt walked in, he cried and blamed you for it, saying that he told you not to play indoors.

This wasn't your fault and you said as much, but no matter what you said she just shook her head. You laid in bed with an empty stomach as your cousin’s words echoed in your ears.

"You shouldn't have tried to snitch on me."

School got worse with your cousin instigating more bullying against you. The house got tense as your cousin put all his energy into making you miserable. Day after day your aunt looked more and more stressed.

You still couldn't understand why he kept picking on you. There were no plans of revenge or fights, you relatively stayed neutral and passive. Life wasn't fine but you would have stayed like that until you overheard a conversation.

"-yeah, I'm only getting that much money for fostering Y/N. Shitty, right?"

Inelligle sounds came from the telephone in your Aunt's hand as she stored her jewelry. 

"If only my son would stop taking it. He already fights so much with Y/N and I just punish Y/N because a parent should always take their child's side. That child should have just passed away with their parents if they wanted to cause trouble."

Silently, you left back to the closet with the makeshift bed. Staring at the ceiling, you slowly accepted the reality of your situation.

Her wishing you to be dead alongside your parents wasn't the issue. What mattered was that she didn't care about the truth. She knew it was your cousin who started every problem and punished you because you weren’t her kid. 

That night, sleep didn't reach you as you spiraled into plans of vengeance. 

There was no sadness or shock on your face when you eavesdropped on her phone call with Mr. Castio. You merely noted the date that Mr. Castio would pick you up from your Aunts. You always had a feeling she would give you up, it just took longer than expected.

She and your cousin left to go celebrate whatever made-up achievement he lied about. Leaving you, an eight year old, home alone to your devices. If you ignored the list of chores you had to clean for ‘provoking your cousin into hitting you’, of course.

The house was cleaned to perfection when your aunt returned. The door creaked as she peeked in to see you dusting off the bookshelf in the guest room. She left satisfied as you set a book back on the shelf, covering a broken lock.

That night she told you to pack everything as Mr. Castio would be coming the next day. You simply nodded and left the room as your cousin laughed. You smiled too when he began asking what would happen to the money as your Aunt shushed him furiously.

Breakfast was cold as usual the next day, the mocking jeers your cousin spouted rolled off you with no reaction. Rolling his eyes at your ‘tough act’, your cousin scoffed before opening his lips to spout whatever snarky remark he had. Until the door to your Aunt’s room slammed open. She stormed in and whispered-yelled to him while pulling his ear.

You didn't have to hear to know what was said. All you heard next was-

"I didn't take the money!"

She's too mad to shush him and yells back. "Then who did?!" 

He stutters as he glances around the room. His eyes lock onto your stoic face with a frustrated expression.

"It was Y/N, they took it, they took the money!" He points at you as faux tears bubble up, his pathetic little sniffles only earn an annoyed sigh from his mother.

"What money?" You ask, tilting your head. Wide eyed, you stare at them both innocently, confusion emitting from your being all the while.

Mouth agape, your cousin looks back to his mother as she pinches the spot between her eyebrows.  "You're grounded until I get back all the money I lost, or until you return it." 

He tries to argue more but the ring of the doorbell interrupts the argument. Mr. Castio is let in and he merely motions you to follow him. Your aunt leaves the room with more wrinkles than she came in with.

With no goodbye, you grab your bag and walk to the door. Pausing you glance back at your cousin, a wide smirk is clear on your face. His eyes widen as realization sets in but there's nothing more that can be done as you close the door. 

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

The sun breaks dawn as a quill scratches against rough paper. The ink is used in elegant strokes as Violetgrass is grounded and packaged. Yellow-slitted eyes read it over once more before folding it and writing the recipient on the exterior. 

Pearly white scales glint with the ray of the sun as the snake is woken up gently. Sleepily, she loops around and climbs the outreach hand to hang around the owner's neck.

"It's merely daybreak, who could be needing medicine so dearly?"

"A fever could kill, you know that as well as I do, Changsheng." A smooth, melodic voice comes from the snake-eyed man as he stands from his desk and walks toward the cabinets. The letter is put into one cabinet and another is opened to obtain an opened vial of medication.

"Herbalist Gui stayed the night to take care of this particular patient so I'll give them the last of the medication so he can go home."

Glasses perched and viridian hair tied up, Baizhu walks into the back room and knocks softly. A tired looking Gui startles as a child sleeps on the bed. Her father is slumped on the bed as he sleeps soundly, his eye bags comparable to Gui's from his many nights spent worrying over his daughter.

"Go home Gui and have a proper rest. This should be the last medication she needs, her fever has lasted over the past few days but she's stable."

"Thank you Dr. Baizhu, I'll get going now. Let me just grab my belongings."

Gui stands from the small stool and ambles around the room quietly to not wake the patient. Baizhu stands at the bedside and pours the medication into an infuser.

A low fire begins to burn as the medication is properly prepared. Soon enough, Gui leaves the room as Baizhu brings the cup to the girl's lips for her to drink. It goes down smoothly and Baizhu turns to retrieve any supplements to aid her when-

"Dr. Baizhu, there's an emergency!"

Gui bangs the door open with a troubled look as the girl stirs and her father wakes up with a start. Baizhu smiles at the father as he takes long strides towards Gui.

Gui wouldn't react this strongly unless there's a real emergency. Baizhu has worked with him long enough to tell when something is out of Gui's expertise or life threatening. 

"I'll need to step out for a while to deal with this. Please keep watching Yiran, I can assure you that she's past any dangerous stages Mr. Kuan."

Kuan nods his head sleepily and stays in his seat as Baizhu walks out the room. The door closes and Baizhu follows Gui as he asks "What's the situation?"

Gui speaks as fast as he can while walking toward the pharmacy entrance. "Qiqi was missing most of the night, which isn't abnormal, but she's at the front desk crying inconsolable while carrying a person on her back. They're bleeding out heavily and I saw multiple cuts, bruises and arrows in their body."

"I'm sorry to ask this from you but please prepare the treatment room. Once you do so, I can take care of them as Qiqi runs the front. If anything, I'll close the front until the patient is stable."

Gui nods before turning back as Baizhu steps into the threshold of the front. His eyes scan the room and quickly spot Qiqi and the patient she's holding.

Qiqi stands frozen in place as she grips you on her back. Tears roll down her cheeks without stopping, a stark contrast to her blank expression. Baizhu walks closer and kneels down to her level as his eyes dart over your unconscious body.

"Qiqi, I need you to follow me while carrying them. Can you do that?"

"Dr. Bai… Dr. Bai, they need herbs. Dr. Bai, Dr. Bai…"

Qiqi stares past him as if she doesn't register his words. Baizhu recognized the name 'Dr. Bai' easily as her name for him when she was still learning to remember.

Changsheng lifts her head as she hisses in a cooing way. "Qiqi, you want to save them, correct? We have the herbs but you need to bring this patient to the treatment room."

Baizhu reaches toward the zombie child and carefully wipes away her tears. “There’s no need to worry Qiqi, just do as Changsheng says. Remember I love you most.” 

Qiqi nods but she doesn’t stop crying much to Baizhu’s surprise. Deciding to leave that for another time, he slowly walks to the treatment room passing by an exhausted Gui who sends a worried glance at you. 

“Don’t worry about it Gui, injured patients aren’t the most frequent but I have plenty of experience caring for them. Just go home and rest.” With a sigh, Gui leaves as Qiqi stands next to the clean bed. 

You’re quickly transferred to the bed and positioned to lay on your side for a proper inspection. “You should stay outside. Qiqi. I’ll let you see them when I’m done.” Not looking back, Baizhu changes his gloves before gingerly touching the bloody wounds. Bits and pieces of scrap can be felt inside the injuries under his fingers making him frown.

“There’s quite a range of injuries on them. Not counting the bruising and cuts, there are some deep stab wounds.” Changsheng comments from her perch as she stares down at the zombie.

“Their calves have been pierced too, it’s cold to the touch with elemental traces. Someone used a cryo vision on them. Their back isn’t straight and their breathing is harsh, I’m suspecting some broken bones. They must be identified soon so I can heal them.”

As he pulls his hands away, a small metal arrow tip falls out onto the floor. “That one has hydro elemental energy, different then the cryo one earlier. Two assailants means double the bleeding.”

“Baizhu! That can be dealt with afterwards, look at their head!” Changsheng’s sudden hiss pulls Baizhu’s attention to the area in question. The pillow your head is laying has begun to be stained red as a puddle forms. Blood dribbles out of your cracked lips as your breathing becomes strained.

Dendro glows at the tips of Baizhu’s fingertips as he carefully trails his fingers across the wounds. “Changsheng, they don’t have much time left. Their qi is perfectly balanced so I’ll only need to transfer some lifeforce. That head injury is the most pressing injury but I’ll spare some power to temporarily block the bleeding.”

The puncture wounds shine a soft green and the blood on your loose, shoddy bandages slow down. A pained gasp breaks free from your lips at the accident brush against your cracked spine.

Baizhu and Changsheng both peer down at your head, your matted hair knotting from the blood makes him grimace. “Their skull met with great impact but it’s not fatal.”

“Not yet, at least.”

“This mask needs to be removed for proper circulation and examination. More injuries may be hiding beneath it.” Baizhu speaks absentmindedly as he changes gloves and begins to reach toward the bloody mask on your face.

Your eyes snap open, making Baizhu freeze in surprise until you push him with enough force causing him to stumble. Changsheng hisses in retaliation as Baizhu steadies himself.

You stumble off the bed with a sway as blood rolls down your forehead. With glossy eyes and cracked lips you speak slowly. "Don't… touch it…"

Baizhu and Changsheng share a worried look at each other before focusing on you. Taking a step closer, Baizhu raises his empty hands in an act to calm you.

"Now, now, I'm just trying to help you. That mask is obstructing my care and can cause a serious problem."

"I… said… NO TOUCHING!" Your arm flails to the side, knocking over objects and causing a loud crash. 

An animalistic yell rises out of your hoarse throat while your limbs swing around in agitation. Baizhu keeps a safe distance away as he watches you.

"This enraged fool will be the cause of their own death!" Changsheng yells over the sounds of vials and glasses crashing.

Baizhu doesn't respond as he stares at you, your every movement is carefully noted under watchful yellow eyes. 

Your pupils blown wide, trembling body, and strange movements weren't lining up with a simple blood loss excuse.

A small hand tugs his pant leg as your rampage slows to an end. Baizhu looks down at the red rimmed pink eyes of the zombie child.

"What is it, Qiqi? Do you have something that can help them?"

Changsheng keeps a watchful eye on your exhausted body as your endless mumbles of refusal continue. Your bag in Qiqi's hands is handed over to Baizhu without a word.

"Is this theirs?" A single nod before she steps away to stare at you with a seemingly worried frown.

Baizhu opens the bag to find it completely empty. Not a single speck of dust or dirt can be seen in it unlike your dirty, ripped clothes. But before he closes it, he spots a tag on the inside of it.

'Property of Y/N L/N'

With that new information, he sets the bag down on a farther table and looks back to you. You stand trembling next to the bed as pieces of broken objects litter the ground. With slumped shoulders and eyes threatening to roll back, your voice cracks with every mumble.

"Don't take it off. Can't take it off.. Won't let you take it off…"

"Y/N? Is that your name?"

No reaction comes from you. He tries again. "Y/N, can you hear me? Can you understand me?"

Again nothing, not a twitch, not a flinch or even a slow in your mumbles. With a tired sigh Baizhu makes up his mind.

"Changsheng we have no other choice, I'll knock them out so be prepared to share my life force with them during the struggle."

"No."

Baizhu looks down at the snake in slight surprise, Changsheng speaks in a wary voice.

"For whatever reason, Teyvat is reaching out to me in warning. Don't take off the mask, keep it on and heal what you can."

Baizhu spares one more glance before sighing. "If that's really what you believe then we will do things your way. Perhaps Y/N's body is stuck in a fear response and may actually kill me."

Baizhu carefully steps past the shards and approaches you with a gentle smile. "Qiqi clean up the mess, lest our patient injure themselves on it. As for you Y/N, you can relax. I will not take off your mask, you are safe here."

Immediately your eyes roll back and you collapse to the ground. Baizhu was swift enough to catch you before any injury but your reaction was enough to cause him grief.

"Qiqi, as soon as you are done, manage the front for me. This will take a long while."

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

Change was something you grew used to during your childhood. You changed schools, caretakers, friends and homes long enough to know the process by heart.

Adapting was another thing you were good at. Shady houses with out of control classmates and unending fights meant that it was a dangerous place. That you had to stay low and be on edge constantly. Everything you owned had to fit in your locked bag or else you would find it missing the next morning.

It was a bit easier in the city where most were working class. Making friends would be too much trouble and fairly fruitless. You were content to stay invisible and deal with any problems outside of public view. Some students just didn't know how to describe you, some were too fearful of what they accidentally saw to say anything about you.

The most and least stressful was the rare times you ended up with a rich family. On one hand every student knew you as an orphan but at the same time, rich kids loved to feel like heroes. All you had to do was play the weak and kind student. Nearly every student flocked to be your guardian angel as you showered them with compliments.

You never lacked lies and stories to tell but you also never stayed in one spot for longer than a few months. Each time Mr. Castio got more and more fed up with you. From a stoic disappointment to a quiet rage filled with belittlement. 

It was at 12 years old that you got fostered by your third wealthy family. They already had children, a daughter your age and a son who was barely three. You already knew that you would be their designated babysitter.

After a month of living there, you began to truly enjoy it. There was no mistreatment, obvious favoritism, a nice allowance, and even your own room. Even though you held no love for them, you followed your foster parents requests with no trouble.

Cleaning, babysitting, organization, yard work, sewing and more spontaneous jobs. Not only did they give you a bonus for the work, they also let you buy stuff with it when you asked. 

You didn't need to be constantly catered to like their daughter, you were just happy to sleep without fear of getting robbed, an empty stomach or bruised skin.

After a while you began to realize just how much you depended on them. It worried you, you agonized endlessly about getting attached and abandoned. You worked harder at school, gave in to their request full of smiles and got along with their children swimmingly.

The longer you stayed and obeyed, the larger the possibility of them adopting you or at least fostering you till adulthood became. 

But, you really should have known better. You’ve gone through it so many times, yet it seemed you still didn’t learn your lesson on who you can trust. The only person who truly had your back was always going to be yourself.

A normal day, a nice lunch and a polite request to do the dishes, something you were happy to oblige in. The sponge absorbed the soap and water letting you wash the dishes with ease. The chore is second nature to you.

 Their daughter was out of the house, probably hanging out at a friend's house. Their son was with them in the dining room as their chatter reached your ears clearly.

“I’m so glad we got lucky to foster such a kind child.”

“As am I. They work hard, get along well with everyone, and help us around the house without complaint.”

Their praise was something you were still struggling to get used to. But it made you happy nonetheless. You couldn’t seem to shake the feeling that it was an exaggeration or a lie no matter how many times you chided yourself.

“That’s true, I never expected a kid with that upbringing could be so smart.”

“What child wouldn’t do well with us taking care of them? They struggled a bit at first but they seem to realize what a good deed we did with fostering one of their kind.”

The water running down your fingers felt colder, almost like ice was traveling through your veins. Was that really what they said? Did you hear them correctly? You held onto some semblance of hope that they weren’t speaking about you like that. But the longer you listened, the smaller your hopes shrunk as your doubts grew.

They spoke about you as if you were a pet. Due to what? Being an orphan? The class difference? Your race? Your gender? Or was it just you? All their past compliments and words that seemed innocent are thrust into a new light. One full of demeaning words hiding as kindness.

The dishes in your hands become like dynamite. Just one drop and it’ll set off a whole chain of events where you can tell them off. To scream insults and obscenities from feeling tricked. Yell at them exactly how you feel, how angry it made you to be spoken as if less than human. As if less than them. 

Instead, you set the clean dish onto the drying rack. A deep breath is taken and then two more. Impartial rationality is focused on as your wounded heart is shoved away.

You have a good home, you aren’t being abused. Taken advantage of? Yes, but you get paid for it. This isn’t a family, it’s a job. It’s the best foster family you’ve had by far. They were wealthy and if you played your cards right, you could graduate from this upper class school and get a good job. 

It’s a good deal. It’s the best deal someone like you will ever get. You should be grateful, you don’t need their affection, love or attention. You just need to survive long enough to support yourself. You shouldn’t ruin a good thing.

Those words play on repeat as the last dish is set on the drying rack. The sink is turned off before you grip the counter tightly. Water is drained down the sink as you tell yourself that you’re just angry. Your blurry vision is just from anger, you remind yourself over and over again.

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

A strong stench of iron permeated the room as skilled hands continued to work on your body. Blood splatters stained Baizhu’s clothes, sweat on his temple as he carefully traced the wounds with Dendro glowing on the tips of his fingers. Life force was continuously given to you as Changsheng stabilized Baizhu’s weakening body.

With the most pressing injuries taken care of, Baizhu examined your bloodstained back. The broken and fractured bones there were the next in line to be treated. Grabbing a pair of scissors from the bedside, he raised them to the midline of your clothes.

“The blood is keeping the clothes stuck to their body. We don’t have time to pull the clothes off carefully.” The small mumbles left Baizhu as he concentrated on not accidentally nicking your skin. 

Once done, he set the scissors aside and pulled the remains of your clothes off. A clean wet cloth is gently used to clean the blood off as your skin becomes visible. Simultaneous gasps leave the contracted pair as the cloth is dropped.

“Those scars! Baizhu, this isn’t a mere coincidence anymore. This person is much too similar to The Creator. Those scars are exactly as described in the scriptures.” Changsheng’s frantic hissing doesn’t reach Baizhu as he stares sternly at the marks in question.

His lips part hesitantly as his eyes never leave your body. “We should leave it be….”

“And what reason may that be?” Baizhu reaches an ungloved hand to thumb the old and faded scars as chills run down his spine.

“While it may be true that they are suspiciously similar to the Creator, there is more to this situation. The most widespread theory on why their blood is gold is that their blood is supplied with pure elemental energy and oxygen unlike everyone else that simply wields elemental energy. Even inhuman beings don’t have elemental energy coursing through their veins.”

Baizhu focuses his attention back on your bones as Dendro is summoned by his vision again. Changsheng rests herself with a tense posture as she waits for Baizhu to continue.

“Y/N is bleeding red and naturally absorbs my Dendro seamlessly. Furthermore, the scars on them have a strange aura on them.” Changsheng gives a look to Baizhu silently conveying her theory.

He shakes his head in response and clarifies. “It’s not god remains, but it’s similar. If god remains are like a natural poison and plague on a body, then this aura is the cure. The best way to describe this is that they are god cores. I believe it’s connected to the reason their qi is perfectly balanced despite the situation.”

Changsheng settles down at Baizhu's words as she watches him continue to care for you. Your breathing hitches as your bones are healed and snapped back into place. A low wail is all that can leave your throat.

“So Y/N is something in the middle? Will you really care for them even if it means taking care of a potential imposter?”

A heavy silence follows the question as Baizhu’s natural smile softens. The medical supplies that were used during all these hours litter the room in a mess. His gold eyes stare down at your pale, trembling body. 

“Yes, I will. They are still a patient that was brought to me. If they truly are an imposter then the Millelith can deal with them after they’ve healed properly here.”

Baizhu cleans his hands and changes gloves once again as he examines the remaining wounds on your body. Smiling down at Changsheng, he speaks smoothly “Shall we begin the final stage of their treatment?” 

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

Middle school reaches its end and the summer before high school came. You had passed with a high grade from your many long nights spent awake. Long days spent babysitting their son while upkeeping the chores while their daughter played leisurely. 

You felt proud of yourself to pass with those grades while dealing with them. As the months went by, your foster parents felt less and less of the need to treat you the same as their children. At the end of the day, they still paid you so everything was fine.

Summer was reaching its end and you were creating a list of items you would need for the new school. Halfway through, a soft knock on your door broke your focus. Your foster parents stepped in and asked you to join them in the living room.

Swallowing down your nerves, you nodded and followed them. Were they planning on giving you up? So close to the new school year?

The moment you sat down, they dropped the metaphorical bomb. "We want you to stay back this year and go to high school next year instead."

That wasn't so bad right? You just need to wait another year to start high school. It's not like you could be thrown out at 18 with no high school diploma, left to fend for yourself after giving up a year of school for them.

It's safe to say that you reacted badly to the news. Every 'Why?' was given a half hearted answer that changed constantly, and when you put your foot down and said no, something about them shifted, as if a curtain had been lifted or a coin had been flipped.

The once kind and gentle gleam in their eyes dulled into something akin to annoyance. As if you were doused with cold water, the atmosphere became tense and you just knew that you messed up. You, who had been so careful to stay on good terms and always abide by their request, was looked upon with coldness. 

“A child like you should not be giving us this disrespectful attitude.”

“We’ve clothed you, fed you, provided everything in that room. And it’s now with this single request that you’re rejecting us this harshly?”

The lecture goes on and on. Told how grateful, how sorry, how happy you should be. Cruelty laced every word has their arrogant figures towered over you. There was no chance for you to speak up, the helplessness you felt only pushed you down further.

At the end you were sent to your room with the date of your ‘fostering’ decided. The suitcase you took out and began to neatly fill felt foreign. You truly believed that you would be staying here until your 18th birthday. With the room bare and your eyes puffy, you tried to sleep.

Thoughts of what you should have done came to you in waves. You should have just accepted it. Even if only as a facade and found some way to prevent them from alerting the school in time. You wouldn’t have lost anything, if only you weren’t so stupid.

Tears spring up and it’s wiped away harshly as more replace it. Bitten lips begin to bleed as you hold back any embarrassing sobs that crawl up your throat. It’s only as footsteps are heard outside your room that you freeze.

Eyes wide you listen to the conversation as the sadness turns to bitterness. The bitterness wraps around your heart and squeezes as you learn the truth behind the matter. Their precious daughter had failed her grade and they just couldn’t let their child be upstaged. 

Teeth grinding, you sit up from your bed and begin to dig through the stash of objects you’ve found throughout your time in this household. A plan forms in your mind that all depends on what opportunity is given to you.

Your ex-foster parents announced a dinner to be held at a fancy restaurant and dropped the responsibility of watching over their son on you. Their daughter cheers happily at the sound of her favorite restaurant being chosen as you go to your room. Curled up in the bed, you try to ignore the stabbing pain in your heart.

The door slowly opens as the house goes quiet, their son toddlers to your bed with wide worried eyes. Chubby fingers pat your cheek softly “Are you okay? You sad?” The broken sentences are cute as he stares at you sadly.

Sitting up, you pet his head and smile at him. Your eyes are a strange swirl of emotions as you reassure him of your well being. The next sentence is a familiar one, just with different intentions than all the times you’ve asked before.

“Do you wanna play a game of hide and seek?” The smile on his face is so bright that you almost feel bad for your actions. 

Mr. Castio picks you up the next day, your ex-foster family waves goodbye to you as you enter the car. Their son cries and begs his parents to stop you as they soothe him calmly. Their daughter is the first to leave as you close the car door.

“How could you fuck up such a good deal?” The harsh words are spoken easily now that privacy is ensured. Wrinkles are as clear as his scowl as he drives away and out of the neighborhood. 

“I got you to be fostered in a family like this, and you couldn’t just go along with what they asked? I never had much expectations for you, but did the amnesia take away your brain too? Actually, you were probably born this way.”

Curling your knees into your chest, you try to ignore his demeaning words. Round two of being treated like a worthless child began as you endured the long car ride. The more he spoke, the more you shook.

“-really. Making my life harder than it has to be. All because you couldn’t shut your damn trap. Is your useless pride worth more then-”

“Why don’t you shut the fuck up instead?!” That was all it took for the loud argument between you both to begin. You had already tried to play nice with one set of arrogant adults, why should you deal with another?

A pained smirk crawled onto your face as you cursed Mr. Castio out who didn’t hesitate to dish it back. Whether it was being nice and submissive or being rude and blunt, both had the same outcomes.

You sincerely hoped that your ex-foster family would enjoy the gifts you left for them to find. 

The drugs you had placed in the nightstand for the strict and uptight breadwinner to find. The photographs of the breadwinners affair you printed and left for the house spouse to find in the cupboard. And finally the positive pregnancy test you set in the liquor cabinet that they never failed to open at dinner time.

By all means, their ‘perfect’ family should fall apart, it was just a shame you couldn’t see the fall out yourself… It didn’t stop the unease and slight guilt you felt for their son who had truly done nothing to you. It’s not like your actions would have too much of an effect on him right? You, you weren’t wrong.

Right?

At the lack of insults, Mr. Castio stopped his verbal abuse. Deep in thought, you stared out the window as the scenery passed by. Where you would go next was not known but it was all right. You would find a way to survive, you always did. 

You had to.

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

Calloused hands smoothened the blanket on your semi-healed body as Baizhu ignored the exhaustion setting in. The sun was high in the sky as the afternoon lull began to set in. Qiqi opened the door slowly as she peeked in, her eyes trained on your bandaged form.

“Dr. Baizhu, is it done?” Her hesitant voice was answered with a smooth smile and a calm voice. “It is, but Y/N needs their rest. You’ve been tense since you brought them in at dawn, that’s not good for you. Go to the courtyard and practice your arithmetics.”

Qiqi gives a small nod before walking away. With a sigh, Baizhu cleans up the remaining mess from the long treatment. “You’re exhausted, Baizhu. Stop acting tough and get some rest.”

Changsheng’s snotty but caring tone is clear to Baizhu as he walks out of the treatment room. “I’ll instruct Qiqi to gather some more herbs once she’s done. Before I can rest, I’ll need to check up on the counter. Gui should have arrived an hour ago.”

Opening the door, Baizhu is greeted with the sight of Gui giving a farewell to the last customer. At the sight of the doctor, Gui perks up in interest. “How is that patient? Did they make it?”

“Thankfully they did, but they’ll need to stay here a few days for the more severe injuries. I believe their name is Y/N, so address them by that name until we can ask them ourselves..”

Gui nods in response as Baizhu looks through what herbs they still had to use. Different prescriptions come to mind as he filters what information he knows of Y/N. What could trigger an allergic reaction, what medicine could have been consumed beforehand? What prescription is affordable without having too many side effects?

Those thoughts consumed his mind as Qiqi returned and he mindlessly instructed her on what herbs to gather according to the prescription of his choosing. Gui leaves deeper into the pharmacy as Baizhu finishes and stores the medical file safely.

Did you have any means to pay the treatment or follow up prescriptions? Any family to contact for visiting and support? You wouldn’t be the first patient to have no one to rely on but Baizhu still couldn’t shake off the feeling of something more going on with you. 

It was quite perplexing that he, who took great care to focus on being the best physician and on his own contract, was so drawn in by you. With a tired sigh, Baizhu pushed up his glasses as Changsheng raised her head to look behind him.

A knock on the doorframe only urged him to turn around and look at the unexpected visitor. With weary and suspicious eyes Baizhu stared straight ahead, “Is there something I can help you with?”

Lips curled into an ambiguous smile and with a polished voice, the visitor replies.  “I hope so, do you happen to have a patient wearing a mask?”

This chapter was fun to write, what writer doesn't like giving a trunk ton of trauma on their protagonist? I get 18 years to configure to my liking, what did anyone expect? But as always you don't need to consider this your Y/N's backstory. In truth I won't have you think back to these memories much as you have moved on from that past. You have for a long time. This is just the 'canonical' explanation as quite a few of you seemed to like my version of Y/N. Which makes me very happy! My editor approved of this idea, and edited it quickly enough for me to pump it out. I deal with the heavy work and don't need to do the annoying work! Also feel free to ask if anything was confusing. One last thing, after I got rid of the spam/porn bots I saw that I reached 1k followers! That's pretty amazing but I'm not sure if a special should be done or not. And if so, what should I do?

Taglist: Check Masterlist for more details but everyone is welcome to join it!

@vvyeislazzy, @nikqi, @the-dumber-scaramouche, @etherisy, @yourlocalstranger123, @ra404, @iruiji, @goldenglow149, @haru-tofuu, @lsleepysimpl, @bebobeboben, @yuyuzi-ling, @amidst-the-tempest, @resident-cryptid, @mxd1zzy, @mochicurls21, @nervouseaglelover, @thedevioussmirk, @yumuramma, @kwqsla, @undecidingfate, @ehjane, @game-savvy, @akiramirae, @liansh3ng, @fluffy-koalala, @formacoon, @sxftiebee, @khxii-i, @ursinaw, @chuuya-brainrot, @sweetbills, @kazuchaos, @snowfoxnix, @bluebelony, @shellofthewell, @pencil-of-ashes, @ghostlyintervention, @taiformaifoe, @goaudduck, @carminerin, @maddysflowers, @zenith-of-all-zenith, @crazydreamcat, @leafanonsforest, @grimreapersscythe, @leylanx, @sapphireknown, @help-whatdoimakemyusername, @zhonglisfruityass, @mer0n37, @victoria1676, @mochinessss, @sinnful-darling, @emilymikado, @pix-stuff, @esthelily, @luxie963, @emmbny, @millienolife @kbar1013, @xxblackroses623xx, @chxrlxtteee, @aludicpoet, @yandematic, @atrcclovsxoxo, @0lshadyl0, @esthelily, @t-rex-red, @ck123, @steadybreadbluebird, @118gremlin, @stratonia, @time-shardz, @farelady-fate, @valeriele3, @francisnyx, @byakuren100, @waveto-earth, @flyingpansaurus

[pr4ktical]

Please

Notes - After what happened with Cole and Greta, Brahms was all alone. You were at a bar with your friends while playing truth or dare. You get dared to go to the Heelshire home, alone. You stay there for a while, meeting Malcolm after a day there. You meet a porcelain doll when Malcolm leaves, sitting next to it is a clipboard with a paper on it. Little did you know, that would get you a little date later on...

“No one will escape me like she did.” Brahms had thought to himself as he stitched up the porcelain doll from the awful beating it had been through after Cole smashing it. “ No one will ever slip from my grasp like that again.” Brahms said to himself again, pushing and pulling the string on the doll with much more rigor than before. 

Due to the events of Greta escaping and his parents drowning themselves on their holiday, Brahms was all alone now. He didn’t know what to feel towards Greta. He became very attached to her, she was the first one to actually care for him. He shook it off and finished the porcelain doll. 

At night, he couldn’t sleep. He kept rethinking the previous night, how he could’ve stopped Greta. He regretted everything else besides killing Cole and drugging Malcolm. Oh, did I forget to mention that? Yeah, previously as Greta was escaping… actually you know what let's just go back to that night.

“Get back here.” Brahms growled, slowly moving towards Greta. “Don’t leave me.” He started crawling closer to her as she finally got the hatch open. As she started to flee, behind her she heard pounding. He was getting closer.. “You get back here!” Brahms had screamed at her as she fled out into the woods. As she was running she heard his voice behind her again, “If you leave I’ll kill him! I’ll kill him just like the others!” As she fled, Brahms crawled back into the room where Malcolm was. He pulled out something from his jean pocket, two pills. Malcolm was in and out of consciousness, he could see Brahms holding something in his hand. The next moment Brahms’ hand was close to his mouth, shoving the pills in his mouth and forcing him to swallow them. These pills were no ordinary pills, it had the possibility of making someone forget about the event that happened prior to taking it. Even though Brahms had been stuck in the walls since he was a kid, he learned what an average person learned on the daily. He knew about a lot of things, he was far from stupid.

Malcolm showed up many times still, bringing groceries to the house even though he could never find Greta. He thought that was odd, but shrugged it off and left the groceries on the front step. Every time he brought them, the previous order always disappeared so he thought that Greta was avoiding him for some reason. 

It was a friday night, you and some friends had gone out onto the town. You weren’t drunk, though some of the others were a bit. You ended up in a bar, and somehow got roped into truth or dare. You and your friends had rules, you always had to tell the truth and you always had to do the dares. It was your friend, Tracy’s turn. She looked around at her options at the table and landed on you. At first she whispered to a couple friends around her, then turned back to you while smiling, wickedly. “Truth or dare?” she asked, crossing her arms in front of you. You obviously knew that she had something in store for you either way, but you didn’t wanna seem like a pussy so you went for it. “Dare.” you stared back at her, mocking her as you crossed your arms just like she did. She whispered to the friends around her again, then turned back to you again, “You have to move out of the apartment.” She smiled at you. ‘ God dammit.’ you had thought to yourself. You knew you hated her, you knew that she was obviously a fake friend but you still stuck with her. “What kind of dare is that Tracy?” You stood up and slammed your hands on the table. “Well, I mean you haven’t really been hitting the payment mark lately sooo…” Her boyfriend, Tony had added in. You turned to Tony, “Shut up, I’m not talking to you Tony.” You turned back to Tracy, “Where am I supposed to live?” You sat back down, crossing your arms. “Well, you could always go back to America!” She laughed, and soon everyone else was laughing. You couldn’t go back to America, You couldn’t go back. You had gotten a once in a lifetime opportunity here! “I mean.. You could always try to live in that abandoned mansion up the road..It’s free.” Tony said, interrupting your thoughts. You always had a bad feeling about that house, you had heard rumors about it being haunted, or how some nanny had escaped from an insane man who lived in the walls or something. You never really believed the rumor, you were desperate so you agreed. “Whatever.. But I need a ride there.”

You had arrived at the mansion with Tony, Tracy, and 4 other friends. You got out of the car, looking up to the top of the mansion, then back down. You turned around, thinking about your stuff back at the apartment. “Wait I need my-” you got cut off by the sound of the car speeding off and laughter. You rolled your eyes, ‘Fuck.. what am I gonna do now?? I’m gonna starve!’ you thought to yourself. You were only staying in Britain for the time being, you were here for a job position that you couldn’t have gotten back in the states.. You snapped yourself out of your own thoughts and headed for the door. You twisted the knob, and with no luck, it was locked. Of course it was locked, how stupid were you? You looked around the mansion, seeing that one of the windows was slightly open. You went over and climbed in.

Brahms had heard a big thud downstairs. After what happened a week prior and his big rule, ‘no guests allowed’ he was very curious, yet furious that someone dare come into his home uninvited. He quickly, yet quietly headed from his room to downstairs where you were. “Ugh, fuck that hurt.” You said, standing up from your fall and brushing yourself off. Brahms saw you and basically fell in love. He looked you up and down, you were wearing a white, cropped long sleeve shirt with a leather jacket on top of it, with tight, low rise flared jeans on. He loved the way that your jeans and shirt had hugged your figure perfectly.

You looked around, walking forward deeper into the house. “Fuck, this place is so eerie, yet… yet very pretty.” You walked around, exploring the whole place. You stumbled upon the kitchen, you looked around. ‘...is… is this fresh food…?’ You thought to yourself, rummaging around. You explored the house more, going upstairs and finding three different bedrooms. One seemed to be an older couples, as the sheets and clothes seemed like what an older couple would have. The second one just looked to be a guest bedroom, but the third one… ugh the third one gave you the creeps. It seemed to be a young child’s bedroom, you thought you saw a doll, but you shrugged it off. Once you were satisfied with your exploring, you felt yourself getting more drowsy. You headed to the guest bedroom and fell asleep.

You woke up to the beautiful sunshine shining down on you. Little did you know, someone else was watching you wake up. You stretched and flipped the sheets off your body. You rolled your eyes, forgetting where you were for a minute. You passed the child's room, seeing the door was cracked. You got freaked out, big time. You could’ve sworn you had closed it, but shrugged it off as it had been a long night. You walked downstairs and looked at the food in the kitchen, finding that all of this is fairly new. ‘Does someone actually live here? Oh fuck, what if they find out I’m here.. What do I do-’ Before you could go one with your rapid thoughts, you heard a knock at the door. You wanted to pass out at that moment. You made your way to the window, peeking out from the shades and seeing a fairly handsome man at the door holding… groceries? As he seemed to be walking away, you quickly walked to the door and opened it. He thought he heard something, glancing back to see you, then turning all the way back around. You got quickly frightened by this and started backing away and closing the door. “O-Wait!” The man had said to you, walking towards you. “Who- I mean, ahem.. Hi, names Malcolm, uh nice to meet you.” He had said, sticking his hand out for you to shake it. “H-Hi?” You said, slowly shaking his hand. “I don’t want this to come off in a weird way but uh, w-who are you?” He lowered his hand down, awkwardly smiling. “Oh- um.. I’m…y/n.. Does uh- do you live here or something, I’m sorry I-” You started to ramble, “No! I don’t live here, but what are you doing here?” He had asked you. You opened the door more, gesturing to him to come inside. He had grabbed the groceries and walked in. You tell Malcolm how you got into this situation. "Oh, I'm sorry those people sound like dicks. Well, I'm here because there was a family here named the Heelshires-" He had gone on about Brahms, the Heelshires, and Greta. You had been a little shocked, going back to that rumor about the nanny running away from an insane man but you didn’t know what to believe. 

You and Malcolm had a lovely conversation for a while, but Brahms had been watching, and getting jealous. He saw the way you laughed and blushed around Malcolm, you had only met him for this long. How could you have fallen in love already? Two times with two different people in his home. He got angry at himself for not killing him on the spot when Greta escaped. He went back to his room and tried to calm himself down.

“Do you have to go?” You whined out, blushing as you watched Malcolm leave. “Sorry dear, I have to get back to the shop” He stopped and stretched, “Gotta get more orders in.” He smiled and winked at you. You saw him get back into his car, you waved to him as you closed the door. You felt a crush coming on, you cursed yourself, you’ve only known him for a few hours! You couldn't have. You shook it off, heading back upstairs. You stopped in your tracks before you could get to your room. The third room's door was wide open now. You knew for sure you didn’t touch it earlier, and Malcolm was downstairs the whole time. You felt your skin crawl, but you being the curious cat you are, you slowly walked towards the door. You peeked in and saw a porcelain doll sitting there and facing the door with something next to it. You wanted to run as far and fast as you could at that moment, but ended up walking into the room. The doll was quite beautiful, you ran your finger along the cheek. You looked next to it, it was a list. Of what? Rules.

Brahms had specific rules that he needed. You felt some sort of obligation to do these rules, or something would happen. You checked the time on your watch, 5:30 pm. You grabbed the doll and headed down to the kitchen, putting it on the counter and making food for the both of you. The whole situation felt off to you. You sat and ate the sandwich you made. Now it was time for bedtime. You grabbed the doll and headed upstairs, you dressed it in its pj’s and tucked it in. You forgot about one specific rule, “10. Kiss Goodnight.” and boy did Brahms make you remember it. 

Brahms was waiting and watching for the pretty girl to come back and kiss the doll. That was always his favorite time during bedtime, so when you didn’t he felt very hurt but furious that you didn’t follow the rules. He watched as you went to bed, he slammed his hands on the walls and stomped around. He removed the barrier from his closet so that he could get the doll. He grabbed it and placed it right next to your door. He knocked as loud as he could, “Y/N…” he said in his childlike voice.

You woke up in a cold sweat, hearing a child's voice from beyond the door. ‘What the fuck, what the fuck!’ you thought to yourself, clutching your chest. “Y/N, please come out.” You heard, you shook your head and pulled the blanket up to your chest. You whispered to yourself, “Just a dream, just a dream…” You closed your eyes and calmed down. 

Brahms became more irritated that you didn’t come out. He stomped his foot, grabbed the doll and angrily put it in the bed again. He went to his room again, not closing the barrier all the way. 

You got up, and used the phone in the room. You called Malcolm, “pick up, pick up, pick up..” You heard a click on the other side, “Hello?” Malcolm said. “Oh my god, thank fuck.. Is there any chance that Brahms could be alive?” You asked, still staring at the door. “What? Have you-” You interrupted him, “I know, I know it’s stupid but really, but what about Greta? Why does the doll move and talk?” You told him, obviously very paranoid. “Well.. come to think of it there has been many speculations of him still being alive. I happen to think that as well. When Greta escaped, something or perhaps.. Someone was taking the groceries in.” He said, you started to freak out. “Thanks Malcolm, gotta go bye!” You hung up, walking towards your door. You opened it and peeked down, nothing was there. You walked to the dolls room, you felt some sort of way about this situation but you couldn’t quite place it. You being a sick fuck, kinda found this whole thing hot. You wanted to test the limits, if there really was a person living here there was only one way to find out.

You tucked in Brahms again and gave him a kiss. You closed the door and prepared yourself for this. You thought about Greta, her escaping and how he went insane over this. You pretended to grab your things and opened the door. To your luck, you were met with large footsteps behind you.

You saw a long arm reach around you, keeping the door shut. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath. This is who everyone is scared of, you are facing him right now. You turn around and are met with a porcelain mask, matching the doll's face. You looked at him, noticing every single feature about him. How his dark, curly brown hair had draped over the mask, how the tanktop he was wearing showed his chest, and how his body was very tense. For living in the walls for this long, he seemed like he showered and he had maintained his hair. “Don’t leave me y/n.. Please, I'll be a good boy.” You heard him whine, he didn’t have a childlike voice anymore. It was deep, piercing your core. You had built the courage to say, “Show me.” He was fairly surprised at your gestures, but he gladly did. He picked you up and slung you over his shoulder. He walked up the stairs to the guest room and threw you on the bed. He was so excited, ever since the very moment you stumbled in his home, he knew he didn’t just want you, he needed you. 

You took your jacket off and threw it to the ground. Brahms took off his cardigan and shirt then grabbed your face, leaning in for a kiss as he towered over you. You put a finger up to the lips on the mask. He opened his eyes, whining at you. “Brahms, I can’t kiss you with a mask on..” You said, looking at the lips then back into his eyes. He nodded, lifting the mask ever so slightly so that his lips were out. You could see the scars from his jawline, up but shook it off and grabbed his face and kissed him harshly. You could tell he has been waiting for this. The kiss quickly became heated, his hands wrapped around the back of your head as he pushed you deeper into the kiss. You could feel the raging erection from his jeans, threatening to bust open. He was the one to pull away, both of you gasping for air. He pulled down the mask again, covering his lips. You could tell that he was going feral, and you were too. 

“Touch me Brahms, please .” You whimpered into his ear, leaning back onto the bed and spreading your legs for him. He smiled and ripped off your jeans and your panties at the same time. You felt your hips buck, feeling the cold air blow on your naked cunt. Brahms noticed this, and took notes. He crouched down and blew onto your pussy, seeing you buck up and moan louder for him. He reached a hand to you, rubbing your clit in circles. “Mm! Please Brahms..” You cried out, gripping onto the sheets. "Cover your face for me, baby." He demanded softly, and you did. Covering your eyes with your forearm, he took off his mask fully, pressing his tongue flatly to your clit. He slowly started moving his tongue up and down, then quickly shoving a slender finger in your pussy. You screamed out, feeling yourself get light headed. He hooked his arms under your legs to hold you in place. He flicked his tongue up and down faster now, moving his side to side as fast as he could. You said his name over and over again like you were brainwashed. He shoved two fingers into your warmth, pumping them up and down as he ate you out like a starving man. You moved your hips along with him, feeling yourself getting closer and closer. “Brahms, s-such a g-good boy..” You choked out, reaching down to his head and pushing him deeper into your pussy. You feel your legs start to shake violently. “Mghm B-Brahms! I- I’m cumming!” He pulled off, fixing his mask. He scooped up your cum with two fingers and sat you up. “Open.” He put his fingers to your lips. You opened your mouth, looking up at him and sucking your mess off his fingers.

You took off your shirt and bra, and he took off his jeans and boxers, Both of you completely naked now. You could see his raging hard on much better now. You stood up and pointed for him to lay on the bed. He listened, laying down vertically. You climbed on top of him, face stopping at his cock. You smiled, then licked from base, to tip. His moans were intoxicating, you could tell he was very touch deprived. He melted into your touch as you stroked his cock. “Such a good boy, Brahmsy.” You said, feeling his hips buck into your hand. This man could kill someone, and yet he fell into your hands like putty. You smiled, putting his tip in your mouth. You swirled and sucked on it, looking up at him. You could see his neck getting bright red, if only you could see what he looked like under the damn mask.. He reached a hand to your hair, guiding along with your now bobbing head. After a while you pulled off and climbed on top of him. You smiled and lined up his cock with your cunt. He looked up at you with lust covered eyes, begging for it. You finally sank down and bottomed out, moaning into his ear. He propped himself up as he was still in you. You finally started moving, getting faster. He put his hands on your hips, guiding you. 

“Y/N… you feel so, so good..” He moaned, looking from your face, to his and your skin slapping against each other. Riding him up and down, you loved the way he looked up at you. When you finally got weak, he wrapped his arms around your waist and started to pound into you. “Please Brahms!” You moaned into his ear, digging your fingernails into his back. He loved the way you made your marks on him. He latched onto your neck and started sucking, going farther down to your nips. You never really got used to his size, and he knew that. That made him go crazy. He loved the way your tight cunt stretched over his big cock. He pulled out, knowing you both were close. 

He took the upper hand, moving you under him, and lifting your legs up. He smiled, he loved seeing your face contort as he pleasured you. He slammed his hips into you, not letting you get used to his size again. “Am I being a good boy for you, y/n?” He whined. Before you could answer, he pounded into you much faster. “Y-yes baby… you're such a good boy for me!” You moaned out, grasping onto his shoulders as you looked up to him, teary eyed but smiling. He made you hold your legs open still, as he reached a hand down to your clit and the other hand playing with your nipples. You felt yourself getting closer to the edge. Your legs started to shake, warning you. You could tell he was close too. He put his forehead on yours, then you looked down with furrowed brows and mouth agape, then back up. “Please, please, please! Mmm!” You moaned out, pulling his hair. “I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum, please Brahms, please!” You looked up at him. He quickened his hip pace, as well as he rubbed your clit quicker. “Mmm! I’m cumming!” You screamed out, as your back arched and your eyes rolled back into your head. Your whole body started to come down with a shaking orgasm. As Brahms fucked you through your orgasm, the sight of your body shaking made him get even closer. Brahms whined as he felt your tight pussy tighten around him even more, milking him for what he was worth. He came all over in your pussy, feeling his own legs shake against him. You both fell limp in the bed, smiling at eachother.

Brahms finally pulled out, you whimpered at the feeling of not being full anymore. You smiled at him as he laid next to you. You kissed him on the forehead, “So.. you’ll stay?” He asked, looking down. “I wasn’t gonna leave in the first place. But you have to promise to not hide anymore. I’ll take care of you, don’t worry baby.” You smile, cupping the mask in your hand. Brahms smiled, he finally had someone.

[sunlightmurdock]

The Odyssey | 0.2 | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

Previous | Next | Masterlist

Your time in Turin draws to a close, the journey to Lake Como is a little rocky.

warnings: enemies to lovers, power imbalance (professor / student relationship), age gap (22 / 33), will be smut, virgin reader, swearing, infidelity. warnings to be added on a chapter by chapter basis. 18+ minors dni

…

“Hi!” You breathe out, smiling for the first time since you had left home. Bradley observes just the one side of the conversation that he has access to, looking up every now and again — between spelling mistakes and unfounded comparisons — watching the sudden delight on your face. “No, yeah — it’s great.”

Your eyes meet Bradley’s, smile faltering for just a moment. Your lips press into a composed, soft smile. “I’m having a great time.

You just don’t want him to worry.

Malcolm has been worried. After meeting your father in the city for dinner yesterday and hearing how furious he is with you, Malcolm has been practically restless with worry. Not for your well-being on this trip, he knows that you’re tough and can stick it out. Just for your well-being once you’re home if you screw this up.

This is the last place that you would like to be having this conversation, sitting awkwardly on the arm of a chair and twirling a dusty cord around your index finger while your indignant professor sits three feet away, marking some Pre-Raphelite poetry essays as a favour for one of the English professors. Well, maybe it’s not a favour if he’s getting paid for it.

He’s got his papers sprawled out messily across the table in front of him, knees spread and his brows drawn together seriously.

Luke was too hyper for him to get his work done, and there’s no phone in your room. Once again, against your own wishes, you’re stuck together.

It’s raining outside, which has put a dampener on the plans of the other students. You had overheard them talking this afternoon about exploring the city, maybe hitting a few bars. Silently, you’re glad that it’s raining now. You hadn’t been invited. It’s already dark out, raindrops pouring across the giant windowpanes.

Back home, you would probably be sitting on the terrace at one of your friends’ parents’ houses, talking the night away. Gripping the plastic, dust-coated phone, you hold on to the only sense of familiarity you’ve got as Malcolm tells you about his day.

He sits there under that dim light, watching you, pretending that he isn’t. It’s more interesting than shitty essays anyway. Even if it pisses him off to watch your smile grow slowly as you giggle down the line to that little prick.

“No, I know,” You sigh longingly into the receiver, staring at a crack on the ceiling. It’s painted over but still there. There’s a water stain next to it. You purse your lips and then grin, “I just miss you.”

You don’t remember that night last winter. Probably don’t have a clue where your hero fiancé was that night either. Bradley remembers it distinctly. He remembers waking up at his desk at 3am. Campus was pitch black at night, there are just a few street lamps here and there. He was shivering through his coat, his nose pink and his breath visible in front of him.

He remembers seeing you sitting there in the snow, your head in your hands. Not shivering. He had walked over to you uncertainly, standing over you with a frown on his face. Begrudgingly asking you if you were alright. Then, you had looked up at him with mascara on your cheeks and a disconnect in your reaction times. At first, he had thought you were high. He had asked you again.

You had blinked slowly and told him you weren’t sure. 3am, in the middle of December. Sitting there in a party dress and drunk out of your mind. Your future husband had ditched you. You’ve still got no memory of being hauled into a passenger seat and being driven back to the address on your driving license. Puking on Bradley’s shoes and being carried through the halls of your childhood home while your mother apologized profusely behind him.

“Yeah,” You stretch your legs out in front of you, shoe resting against the edge of the coffee table. Bradley’s sneaker rests against the opposite end, tapping against the page of a discarded title page. You lift your gaze to look at him. “Everyone’s being really nice. Just like you said.”

Neither one of you says a single word to each other. He listens to you for two hours, talking to that asshole, and then watches you walk wordlessly up to your room for the night. He could have made a snide remark, or reminded you that you’re never going to pass if you spend this whole trip whining to your boyfriend. Instead, he finishes grading the essays and takes them back up to his room.

“Hey, Bradley.” Luke smiles at him from his bed, already working on journaling today’s events. Bradley gives him a nod of acknowledgement and tosses the papers down onto the desk. He’ll get the guy at the front desk to fax them back in the morning.

This part of the trip was always the most boring. It’s all about the cultural exchange at this point. The museums, the tourist traps, that kind of thing. He showers late, wakes up early and spends another day in another museum. He tugs your headset off of your ears, bumping his shoulder into yours as he tells you to pay attention to the guide.

Just like that, your two days in Turin are up and you’re being loaded onto a bus to the mountains and he’s wearing a crew neck that doesn’t fit him right and snapping his fingers at you. It’s got to be at least two sizes too big, hanging loosely on his already wide frame. “Hey, you, up front.”

You stare at him as you push the head set off of your ears.

“I don’t want you puking. You can sit between me and Paz.” Bradley tells you, pulling open the door to the van.

“I won’t get sick.” You frown at him.

“It’s nearly a three hour drive and we aren’t stopping. Just sit in the front.”

And that’s where the conversation ends. You’re stuck between them on the bench, shoulders pressed into theirs on either side and Pasquale apologizing every time he grazes your knee, which is every time he goes for the gears.

It’s bustling behind you, everyone talking about the days ahead and the trip to the lake. You shoot a quick glance down at your backpack by Bradley’s feet. Pride won’t let you check the itinerary in front of him. He might not notice, he isn’t paying much attention anyway.

Knees spread, arm resting against the open window, allowing wind to whip your hair into oblivion, too engrossed in his book to notice how much he’s making your eye twitch. You part your knees suddenly, knocking his briefly back onto his side of the bench, then crossing your legs.

He glances at you, then settles comfortably, spreading his knees further.

“What is your problem?”

Pasquale glances over at the two of you, pressing his lips into a thin line as the van crosses out of Turin, barely ten minutes into the journey.

“I don’t have a problem,” Bradley answers calmly, turning his attention back to his book, pretending like he can’t feel your glare burning into him. You turn in your seat. He ignores you more. “How’s your Latin coming along?”

Everyone in this van knows that you don’t know enough Latin to pass this class. Bradley knows that your father paid for you to have a private tutor before you came out here. He’s also confident that you couldn’t so much as tell him what ‘carpe diem’ means if you needed to.

You open your mouth to retaliate, quickly interrupted by Pasquale. “How about we play a game? — We could play I spy.” He turns his head and grins like it’ll soften either one of your sour moods. Bradley scoffs at the idea and turns back to his book. Pasquale’s hands flex around the wheel. “I spy with my little eye… something beginning with W.”

A silence fills the cab. It lingers heavily as your knee presses into Bradley’s, trying to force his out of your way. Almost long enough for Pasquale to start speaking again.

“Wheel.” Bradley answers finally.

It’s enough to have the short man on the other side of you whooping, grinning across at his old friend. “Yes! Excellent, Mr. Bradshaw. Your turn.”

Bradley turns his head and looks at you. It’s one of the rare occasions on this trip that he isn’t wearing sunglasses, and you can really see his eyes now. Dark, warm. Provocative in the sense that the mere look in his eyes makes you want to start arguing with him again.

“I spy something beginning with D.” Bradley decides, looking right at you. It’s clear that he’s insulting you, you just aren’t sure exactly how. Whipping your head around, you narrow your eyes at Pasquale, who shrinks in his seat.

“Discipula? — Student.” Pasquale tells you sheepishly.

Bradley lets out a dry chuckle as he turns back towards his book. “See? — Pasquale could pass my class.”

“You know, it’s usually a reflection of someone being a shitty teacher if half of the class fails every year.” You decide, throwing yourself back against the seat and folding your arms across your chest.

“What’s it a reflection of if someone’s attendance is even lower than their GPA?” Bradley asks without looking up. You could continue this back and forth, the bickering, for the entire three hour journey. You could tell him that your GPA, actually, is fine, and that it’s just his class that’s holding you back. But then, he spreads his knees further and the opportunity is just right there.

You close your hand into a loose fist, raise it and come down hard on the apex of his obnoxiously parted legs. Bradley grunts and almost hits the dashboard, collapsing forwards at the impact.

His hand grabs at his crotch, throbbing from the feeling. He stays there, folded forwards and breathing hard. Suddenly, he’s the one trying not to puke.

“Mr. Bradshaw, are you okay?” Pasquale asks gingerly. He shifts slightly in his seat. Closer to the door, further from you.

“Yeah.” Bradley strains, his head still between his knees as he cups at his injured manhood. He breathes hard, turning his head to stare at you. “What the fuck is the matter with you?”

Admittedly, it was an overreaction, but it’s too late to change it now.

Taking your time to cross one knee over the other and straighten up, keeping your jaw squared and your eyes ahead, gives you a little longer to come up with an answer. “I was just channeling Erinyes. Y’know, really embracing my studies.”

As much as he wants to keep complaining about the number you just did on his balls, Bradley’s momentarily quietened by the fact that you know who they are. He breathes hard, sitting back up and shifting in his seat.

“If you worked half as hard on studying as you did on that punch you might be something other than a trophy wife in the future.” He should have learned his lesson, but he’s still tormenting you. You whip around quickly and open your mouth to continue. Bradley stares back at you.

He should have said housewife. The academic in him as him lingering on that one stupid phrase. Trophy wife. He shouldn’t be telling you that you’re a prize. He shouldn’t be saying any of this to you, you shouldn’t be punching him in the balls — it’s all backwards. But, he has had girls throwing themselves at him since he started teaching, he has taught himself to be careful with his wording.

And then you come along and you get him so wound up that it all goes out the window.

“Maybe we should just listen to some music. Do you like Steely Dan?” Pasquale asks sheepishly.

The remaining three hours are in almost silence. The chatter continues on behind you, and it turns out that Pasquale has potentially every Steely Dan cassette that is available to buy in Northern Italy. The countryside passes you by, a vibrant green on an otherwise gloomy day.

It’s all motorway until you’re closer to the lake. You resent Bradley for not sitting you by the window so that you can see the trees, and the branching country roads. Instead, he’s the one who gets to appreciate the view. It feels like he can finally breathe when he’s this far away from home.

“Hey, Bradley, is that the lake?” Luke calls from the back.

“Yeah. That’s it.” Bradley turns his head and looks out over the water. This place is increasingly popular, for good reason. It’s a great spot, and there’s always someone worth talking to around here.

You sit forwards to look around him at the lake. Pleasantly blue, for lake water, nestled in the foothills of some beautiful mountains. You hit Bradley in the leg with your backpack and then sit up, leaning over him with your polaroid camera.

He winces as the flash catches his eye, leaning away from you, putting his stupidly large paw over the lens and shoving it away from himself. You shoot him a look and pull back to check the image, pleasantly surprised by what you’ve captured. Malcom would love this place.

The van stops and finally you’re out and standing on solid ground, not being squished between two men. You stretch your arms and look around for the dingiest hotel that you can see. Bradley strolls right ahead with his suitcase in his hand, headed for one that doesn’t look half bad.

Maybe things here won’t be as bad as they were in the city.

You struggle with your suitcase, dragging it in behind everyone. Bradley collects the keys and sits everyone down in the lobby like he had in Turin.

“If you hated your roommate, you can switch. I really don’t care. No same sex roomies, that’s it.”

Given your lack of friends in this god-forsaken place, you find yourself once again being handed a key to a room that you’ll be sharing with Robin. She doesn’t have a nice word to say about you and if she continues on the way that she is, you’re going to push her mattress out into that damn lake.

“Alright. It’s mid-day now. Do what you want, I’ll meet you all back here at six, sharp.” Bradley instructs, looking forwards to these six hours of alone time already.

“Um, Bradley— there’s nothing on the itinerary at six today?” Abigail piped up from behind you. You wouldn’t have known that.

“That’s right, we don’t have anything scheduled for tonight,” Bradley agrees with her, giving a small, curt, nod. He smiles. “I’m gonna take you guys to a party before we get started with the hard work tomorrow.”

Pasquale beams at your side. It takes him a second to notice the dubious way that you’re now staring across at him. He chuckles and then nudges you arm playfully.

“I love this part of the trip.” He tells you excitedly.

…

Tags:

@thedroneranger @batdanceq @wkndwlff @cassiemitchell @himbos-on-ice @bradshawseresinbabe @damrlova @fudge13 @xoxabs88xox @mak-32 @sihtricswife @callsignvenus @callsign-joyride @harper1666 @krismdavis @sheisanangell @thecitysgraveyard @cherrycola27 @bradshawsbaby

[agaypanic]

REQUESTS ARE OPEN!!! Could you write a girl next door kind of thing with Reese? Like reader moves in next door to the Wilkersons and initially they don’t get along but eventually he asks her out 🤭🤭

Being Reese's New Neighbor Headcanons

Masterlist

Request Something!

A/N: warning for underage drinking at the end

***

Reese almost immediately got on your nerves

While moving in, you saw him staring at you through his family’s window

But then again, you were a new neighbor, and his whole family was also watching the moving process

You didn’t think too much of that

It was a different moment that started your irritation

“Oh my god!” You screeched, jumping away from your window. The sound of breaking glass startled you out of the little organizing groove you were in, and you grew both scared and pissed as you realized that the broken glass was from your window.

You picked up the baseball that had rolled on the ground towards you, no doubt the cause of the incident. You looked out your window to see a boy your age, your neighbor, and probably the one who threw the ball. He moved an already broken piece of the fence that divided your properties to the side to get to your side.

“Hey.” He said, now at your window. You gripped the ball tight, angry about his nonchalance. “That’s my ball.”

“I figured.” You did your best not to sneer. You reached out the window to drop the baseball in his hand, quickly pulling back without cutting yourself on the broken glass.

“I’m Reese, by the way.”

“Y/n.”

He seemed like he was about to say something more, but you wouldn’t know because you shut your curtains and walked away, trying to figure out how to tell your parents that the house already had damages.

Despite trying to avoid him, you ended up having to spend a lot of time with Reese

You both walked to school

You shared a few classes together 

It felt like hell

“Hey, wait up!” You heard Reese yell behind you, and you immediately wanted to break into a sprint. More often than not, Reese would walk to school with you, much to your dismay. The two of you seemed to have a bit of a habit of sleeping in, so occasionally, you’d rush out of your houses at the same time and speedwalk to school. “Y/n, come on!”

“It’s not my fault you’re slow!” You shout back, staying at your brisk pace as you hear his thundering footsteps behind you.

“Oh, shut up!” He said when he finally caught up to you. You gave him a quick glance and snorted at how much of a mess he was. 

“You look like you just rolled out of bed.” It was true. Reese didn’t have time to gel up his hair today, so it was messy and had strands sticking out in every direction. His clothes looked like he had just thrown them on, not bothering to straighten anything out. And his backpack was zipped open, loose pieces of paper threatening to fly out.

“I feel like it.” He muttered, running his hands through his hair to try and make it look more neat. “Did we have any homework today?”

“We have homework every day, Reese.”

“Damn it! Can I copy off of you? Just this once?”

“No way, Reese.” You say, rolling your eyes. “And it’s not just ‘this once.’ You copy me like every other day.”

Having to hang out with Reese all the time makes you eventually warm up to each other

You start coming over to his house every now and then to help him with homework

You tell him it’s so he’ll stop copying your work, but that’s only half true

When you leave the house and forget to grab something for breakfast or lunch, Reese miraculously has some food for you in that mess of a bag of his

He says it’s because your complaints about being hungry annoy him, but that’s only half true

“Okay, now carry the two.” You instruct, watching Reese work on a math problem. You had slowly fallen into a routine of coming over to the Wilkerson’s to study and such. Malcolm was very grateful for you, because now that you would come over, Lois wouldn’t force him to help tutor his brother. “Good job, Reese.”

“Thanks.” He said, ears heating up a bit at the small praise. “Can we take a break now?”

“Yeah, sure.” You laughed at the slight whine in his voice, but you were glad to pause the study session. The two of you had been working for about an hour now, and your eyes needed a rest.

The two of you sat in silence for a bit. Then, feeling the familiar empty feeling in your stomach, you groaned. 

“What?” Reese asked, eyes snapping over to you.

“I’m so hungry.”

Reese rolled his eyes and grabbed his backpack. Wordlessly, he dug around for a bit before pulling out a sandwich and a small bag of chips and placing them on the desk in front of you. You grinned and opened the bag of chips. Instead of saying thanks, you offered him a chip. And instead of saying you’re welcome, he took it.

One night, the two of you were at a house party

The two of you had snuck out together

Looking at the time and seeing how late it was, a slightly drunk Reese stumbled around the house to find you

He found you in the kitchen, carefully pouring yourself another drink

You jolted at the sudden feeling of a hand gently clutching your arm but soon smiled brightly when you saw Reese beside you.

“Hey, Reese!” You squealed. It was safe to say that you were a bit tipsy. He smiled at your excitement before remembering why he was trying to find you in the first place. 

“Y/n, I think it’s time to go.” He almost had to yell over the music. But you heard him.

“Boo!” You pouted, bringing your newly filled cup to your lips. But Reese covered the top with his hand and took it out of your grasp, setting it on the counter. “Hey!”

“I’ll make it up to you later. Now come on.” 

Reese dragged you out of the house, and soon you were walking home together. You shivered a bit as a gust of wind hit you. Noticing, Reese let go of your hand to shrug off his jacket and put it over your shoulders.

“But then you’ll be cold.” You half-heartedly protested, wrapping the jacket tighter around you.

“I’m fine.” Reese shrugged.

You don’t know what came over you, but you grabbed Reese’s hand, interlocking your fingers with his. He looked slightly surprised at the action, but didn’t protest it.

Sooner than you hoped, you reached your houses. The two of you snuck along the fence dividing the properties and got to your window.

“Hey, Y/n?” Reese asked in a whisper as he helped open your bedroom window. “Do you maybe wanna, like, go out?”

You turned to him, confused.

“We are out.”

Even though he was trying to be quiet, Reese couldn’t help but laugh.

“No, I mean like a date.” You perked up at the word, surprised expression soon turning happy.

“Oh my gosh, I’d love to!” Your response was a bit too loud, so Reese shushed you. You giggled and spoke again in a whisper. “I’d love to.”

With dopey, drunk smiles on both of your faces, Reese helped you climb through your window and into your room. He was about to go through the broken fence and into his yard when you quietly called out his name.

“Your jacket.” You said, suddenly remembering that you were wearing the piece of clothing. You started to take it off when Reese stopped you.

“No, no, it’s fine.” He stared at you, eyes a little glassy. “It looks good on you.”

You suddenly yanked him by the collar of his shirt to bring him close enough to plant a kiss on his cheek.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Reese.”

***

Malcolm in the Middle Taglist: @rattilol

Reese Wilkerson Taglist: @hollymaybank @theogirlovermattheogirl

[halothenthehorns]

Chapter 2: The Ties that Bind

The Athena cabin was the most brightly lit in Camp.

Not Apollo's, whose kids spent to much of their time outdoors or they'd all kill each other. Their music got the best volume and audience down in the amphitheater anyways, and the others dispersed in the archery range or med bay or anywhere else they pleased, like flirting down at the lake. No, the sun god's cabin got the most warmth through the beautifully constructed windows, but the lights inside were rarely on.

The large gray cabin had every light in the house on, often times bright as the crack of dawn in the dead of night. Currently, with one lone occupant in its center. Her curly blonde hair was a tangled mess, her orange shirt was more wrinkled than her bloodshot eyes as she stared down at a test with a B- on it as if it held the answer to all her prayers.

The name at the top said Percy Jackson.

He'd kissed her goodnight with one of the proudest smiles she'd ever seen on his face. He'd been going on about mailing this to his mother and threatening Hermes himself if it didn't arrive, he didn't want to wait for winter break to end to show his mom.

It was just a mock test, they'd come to camp together that winter holiday teasing and laughing each other they wouldn't get anything done, but he'd sat dutifully beside her every day after training. She gave him the test verbally, and it turned out she'd found a very helpful way to encourage him to focus on his studies involving gummy worms.

She'd never seen him smile so bright when she swore on the Styx she hadn't curved the grade for him, that had been his work on that paper, and he'd looked at her and said, "maybe I should go back to slacking off," teasing and squeezing her hand. "I'm worried if this becomes a thing Wise Girl, you'll stop calling me Seaweed Brain."

"I wouldn't dream of it," she'd kissed him gently and promised they'd drive to New York to hand deliver it to his mother. They'd spend the whole drive bickering where they'd spend Christmas. With Sally and Paul, or here at Camp, or maybe even risk finally introducing Percy to her dad as her boyfriend...

There was a corkboard, books, maps, a full plate of food, and more books piled around her than even her mothers temples could imagine holding as she sat in the center. Her siblings must have been staying at the Big House or something after the last time she'd chucked her earrings like throwing stars at the door for Malcolm opening it with worried eyes on her. They were still embedded. Her gray eyes fractured as the fluttering of pages went unnoticed by her from where she'd hurled her last attempt to find an answer against the wall.

He hadn't shown up at breakfast, a worrying thing all its own...

Annabeth felt the presence of someone arriving, but she didn't take notice. If it was one of her siblings crawling through the window for their toothbrush or Chiron again to exchange plates of food and no new answers, they held nothing important for her.

His cabin had been spotless. His bed made, not a speck of dust in sight, the wrappers stacked in the bin rather than ringing it. Somebody had cleaned up.

She was alone again.

Don't do this to me, she wanted to scream in Zeus's face or the universe itself. Haven't I suffered enough?! Please, do not do this to me! I can't take anymore!

The best outcome was a quest, one so time sensitive he had to go before he could tell her, to save someone. The logical answer.

But she was only mortal. It had been to long. There was another solution to this.

He was dead.

Or he had abandoned her too.

When exactly panic had turned into reality he was just, gone, vanished into thin air had been no set point in time. She kept expecting the terror to fade, dull slightly, but it never did. It was always there, like she'd grown a second heartbeat, pulsing away no matter what little sleep her mind claimed from her brain's frantic searches before she snapped awake again in full panic.

Calling Sally had been the worst of it. The dead feeling she knew she could never resuscitate in herself no matter the outcome. Her last desperate chance he'd just taken off to see her alone, and the choking words to explain when his mother was as lost as she was.

Will Solace had threatened to carry her over his shoulder to the med bay and strap her down if he heard of this continuing, and she'd chucked her backpack at him, dislocating his shoulder last she heard.

She'd prayed to every single God, sobbed until she passed out for air into Grover's shoulder as he held her tight, but they were the wrong arms. Pleaded with her mother to give her another clue and she wouldn't fail her again. Demanded of Hera to take her instead if this was some punishment. Waded into the frigid December Long Island Sound up to her chest and begged for Poseidon's help, sacrificing her hat strung onto her beaded necklace into the still water.

There was just a moment. A warm flash. It had felt like a promise her sacrifice had been seen, but dismissed.

She'd stood there waiting until she was blue for more, Chiron had dragged her out kicking and screaming because it didn't vanish. Her most precious object only stayed floating on the surface. He put it on her nightstand for her where it stayed.

The clock on the wall kept ticking. Over seven days. In mere hours it would be one hundred and ninty-two hours. Every second was another moment for her world to fall apart beyond the scope of her putting any of it back together.

Chiron had been beside himself trying to comfort her, trying to get her to sleep and eat. Will had apparently gone missing too, but all she'd heard was that the wisest person at Camp didn't have an answer for her if more were on the way. She hoped she was next.

All she'd found at the Grand Canyon were angry storm spirits as lost as her, empty and chasing their own tails...

Her dreams were a worse torment than being awake. She never knew if the awful pain she kept seeing Percy in was real or her imagination. The whispers of her mother's voice that things were wrong and out of place, like missing chess pieces on a board. She'd felt a presence snatch her away, she'd felt the distaste in that flying sensation and knew it must be Hera, showing her a vision, that a boy with one shoe would be her answer- there had been a fraction of a second, where she'd stopped in a room and looked right at Percy before it all went black.

"Annabeth Chase."

The use of her last name speared something in her, the last dregs of her sanity she'd been clinging to. She was on her feet with her dagger drawn to sever ties with anyone on this mortal world who dared imply she had anywhere to go back to.

"Artemis!"

She sat delicately on a stack of discarded books over Tartarus's many entrances, the number of which people could accidentally fall into much larger than Annabeth had anticipated.

The goddess of the moon and hunt had the same sad, soulful silver eyes as when she'd taken the burden of the sky away from her.

"Thalia," Annabeth's voice came up as her last breath, her knees trembled. "Is, is she..." of course. Of course this had happened. She'd begged for her sister's help that first day and Thalia had sworn she'd find him, slashing the Mist connection with vengeful eyes practically before Annabeth had finished explaining to get started. Now her patron goddess was here to tell her Thalia was dead in the search too-

"My Lueatinent is safe," Artemis said evenly, but there was a tick to her mouth. The kind of anger that a goddess could use to level natural disasters if she didn't smooth out her features again. "I can take you to her, and the one you seek, Percy Jackson."

There was no sense of movement. Annabeth's knife was embedded into the floor point first, she was on her knees in front of her savior once more as she spoke without hesitation, "I swear on the Styx, I'll do anything to help. What do you need?"

No god did anything without wanting something in return. She would pay that price.

There was a rumble of thunder in the distance, and her cold eyes turned warm as she smiled and stroked her hair. Artemis reached for her hand and Annabeth blindly took it without care of what came next. "That answer will suffice."

...

They interrupted the Titan of the Ocean and the Titan of Fresh Water and Nourishment having dinner.

Annabeth landed on the kale chips and heard the disturbing crunch under her rump while Artemis delicately plucked a shrimp out of her loose, brown hair.

The canyon like room was so dark Annabeth couldn't see the walls, the mosaic tiles were grimy and the floor had more tread it in than her favorite book. There was an empty chandelier hanging on by a single bolt above her head threatening to give out any moment with empty candle holders and dripping diamonds. The ceiling's white marble was so structurally unsound not even the best job involving duct tape would fix it. The one decoration that stood the test of time was an enormous, lovely stained glass window above the arched door. The happy couple gazing into each other's eyes in every shade of blue and green. It glowed as the only source of light.

Oceanus's bursting sigh caused it to quiver in its frame and one of the mottled chairs to collapse out of sight from her perch on the center of the long table. "Listening to Kronos really was the worst decision of my existence," he said as he stabbed at his salad. "Those kids don't go five minutes without disrupting my peace, now we can't get through dinner without gods popping in on us?"

"Artemis, it is lovely to see you again," but Tethy's smile was strained even as she pulled out a clipboard and flipped to a new page. "Something we can help you with? Why have you brought this mortal."

Oceanus stared blearily at her like he was seeing her for the first time through the mirky swill. There were cobwebs swaying around on his bullhorns.

"I cannot stay long, my lady," she tipped her head respectfully, but there was still a tightness about her Annabeth wasn't used to seeing in how the gods carried themselves. It seemed as if she was concentrating on her every word. "Poseidon played a dangerous move interrupting Hera's plan," Artemis kept her childlike appearance, sitting smaller than Annabeth in her chair, her forehead only just visible from where Annabeth sat. Her voice carried power in the room. "I do not follow Zues's wishes, and I do not appreciate being kept out of the loop."

A silver fork leapt off the table and flew across the room into the darkness. There was an ominous blue glow of a fish Annabeth couldn't hope to identify coming to life and eating it before the light faded back away.

"My second greatest regret," one of Oceanus's crab claws jutting from his ear started tapping his temple. "Harboring these children has been nothing but a miserable headache! If we didn't share a domain I wouldn't even care to make peace, but the fight isn't worth another pain in my-"

"You have not just dishonored Poseidon," Artemis's voice stayed calm, but Annabeth was starting to wonder if she had better luck against the fish too at the danger in the air. Some of the other silverware was starting to gravitate towards the goddess, and she didn't want to know what Artemis would do with a butter knife. "Typhoon nearly destroyed Olympus, you did us all a disservice by attacking Poseidon's home and keeping his attention from the true battle."

"Poseidon's choice-" Tethys came to her husband's defense.

"Now listen here young godling," Oceanus's flower robes began swirling dangerously around him and Annabeth really wished she hadn't left her knife in her cabin.

"I have come to offer a solution," Artemis smoothly kept talking as if Annabeth's hair wasn't standing on end from the danger crackling in the room. Perhaps the goddess could meld all of the silver to her in defense. Annabeth didn't like her chances as much.

Silence, and then the two Titans finally seemed to remember to look at her.

"Me?" Annabeth squeaked.

"She is a natural leader, she will keep your charges calm. She should have been there in the beginning," Artemis's voice was laced with mercury, it was plain as her forehead she was still angry Thalia had been taken without her knowledge, but the slight rift of movement in her auburn hair meant she probably just crossed her ankles and smoothed her shirt before continuing. "I am offering her to be in your court now to keep the god's children in a more quiet peace."

Silence was her answer, Annabeth felt sweat break out on the back of her neck, but she jumped to her feet with confidence. Crumbs fell from the seat of her pants. Her empty hands wished to readjust the straps of her bag and twist up her cap, but she had nothing but her wits about her. The same she'd always had.

"I will not only do this," she promised, wishing she knew what in the god's grand scheming was going on she was promising to do, "but I will do you one better Lord Oceanus. I will design you a new home, an even better retirement home. With soundproof walls."

That got his attention. He finally stared directly at her, his fractured eyes like a tempest.

The Titan was unfathomably old, and tired. Whatever Kronos had promised him for his services, Annabeth had a feeling it had not come to pass.

"I thought you were already in that room," he finally said.

"No dear," Tethy's voice was still patient and calm, if just as strained as her husband's. "The two that are giving me insurance hell are still in there. I'm still on hold, and haven't gotten a single call back from my representative of claims!"

"Ah," he tapped his chin, or tried to, as he tapped one of the crab claws that tapped back like a strange miniature version of paddy cake. "On one condition Artemis. You must take one of them with you. If you're down here interrupting my dinner, than we may have even less time before the rest of the gods such as Hera herself figure out our ploy and I have been assured I will not be involved in that business. My hands are free of this mess once those kids finish their homework and are gone. Any extra soul is already pushing the boundaries."

"A fair trade I will see to myself," Artemis assured. "I have permission to enter your bathhouse?"

"Yes, yes," he waved, eyes still on Annabeth who mouthed bathhouse with dread. "I have your word mortal? On the River Styx? Soundproof walls?"

"With luxury recliners and the best earmuffs in immortal existence," Annabeth assured.

There was no other explanation before Armies jumped on the table and took her hand again, and the last glimpse she had of one of the first immortal beings was the couple exchanging hopeful smiles again like the picture behind them.

...

They were standing in an empty hallway on the cracked floor right in front of a door that had a massive hole through the middle. Inside was a circular room that gave her heart failure, it was in more disrepair than the room she'd just left, its structure hanging on by divine intervention.

There were people inside sitting on green couches and cushions. Strangely only one of them seemed to be talking, their voice coming to her a bit forced as if they were reading something rather than just speaking. She'd practiced enough speeches in the mirror from her many botched and rewritten battle plans to hear the difference in someone's voice.

That voice, she knew that voice...she'd heard it so many times in her life. Exhausted, strained, about to crack with stress, but forcing a smile like nothing was wrong. Happy, laughing, saying her name in every way possible-

Without another glance at the goddess, she pushed the door open as Percy said;

"So," Beckendorf said, "I'm guessing you don't want me to mention that little scene to Annabeth."

"Oh, gods," I muttered. "Don't even think about it."

"Tell Annabeth what?" Annabeth said from the doorway.

[muzaktomyears]

Secret life of the Beatles and the man who got them groupies and pot

Mal Evans was the Beatles’ fixer, roadie and confidant, but little is known about the man the Fab Four adored. Now a new book reveals all

For eight years, Malcolm “Mal” Evans was, in his way, as fundamental to the Beatles as Brian Epstein and George Martin. He was their long-time roadie and personal assistant, sometime lyricist, occasional performer and regular fixer at the height of the group’s fame and beyond.

Over the years he became friend and confidant — attending their weddings, fending off fans, procuring groupies, accompanying them on holiday, joining them on acid trips, going to India on their infamous pilgrimage to see the Maharishi Mahesh Yogi. But Mal’s dedication to the “boys” and his own desire for stardom took its toll, leading to the end of his marriage and his untimely death in January 1976.

Until now, Mal’s life remained shrouded in mystery. Drawing on hundreds of exclusive interviews and with full access to unpublished archives — including his personal diaries, manuscripts and memorabilia which for 12 years were forgotten in the basement of an American publishing house — this is the first complete portrait of a complicated figure at the heart of the Beatles’ story. Just when you thought there was nothing new to know about the Fab Four, here comes the extraordinary tale of one ordinary man right in the middle of it all.

AT 27, MAL HAD FIVE YEARS on John Lennon and Ringo Starr and even more on Paul McCartney, who had turned 20 in June 1961, and George Harrison, still a teenager at 19. Mal – was the odd man out in more ways than one. He held a real job, as a telecommunications engineer for the General Post Office, and he had a home and a family. With his wife, Lily, he lived in Liverpool’s Allerton district, where they were raising their 15-month-old son, Gary.

It was a simple twist of fate that landed Mal behind the wheel of the band’s Ford Thames van on a January day in 1962. Neil Aspinall, the Beatles’ road manager, had fallen ill with flu. He was hardly the only person felled during that severe winter. During the last week of December, a blizzard swept across England and Wales, leaving snow drifts of up to 20ft in its wake.

By the time Mal and the Beatles began the long drive to London, around midday on Monday, January 21, the van’s brakes had begun to slip. During the early leg of their journey, brakes didn’t really matter. But it was on the journey home that disaster struck in the middle of the night. As Mal drove along a quiet rural road, the windscreen “cracked with a terrible bang”, as he’d write later in his Post Office Engineering Union diary. With the windscreen splintered, Paul observed as Mal “put his hat backwards on his hand, punched the windscreen out completely and drove on”.

Mal was left to contend with the gale-force winds now pummelling the van’s interior. The bandmates gathered up stray caps and scarves and wrapped them about their beleaguered driver, who had pulled a paper bag over his head to battle the cold. “It was perishing,” John later recalled. “Mal had this paper bag over his head with just a big split in it for his eyes. He looked like a bank robber.” Meanwhile, John, Paul, George and Ringo huddled together in the rear of the van, sharing a bottle of whisky while stacked one atop the other to generate much needed warmth. “And when the one on the top got so cold it was like hypothermia was setting in,” Ringo recalled, “it was his turn to get on the bottom, and we’d warm each other up that way, and keep swigging the whisky.” It was, in Paul’s words, “a Beatle sandwich”.

All the while, Mal and the boys maintained a steady banter to stave off exhaustion. As the Big Freeze raged — swirling both inside and outside the van — the Beatles regularly pestered their driver about how much further they had to go. “[Two hundred] miles to go!” Mal would reply, referencing the approximate distance between Liverpool and London. In the years to come, “It became our own private joke, and ‘200 miles to go, Mal’ was heard whenever things were tough.”

DURING HIS YEARS WITH THE BAND, Mal discovered that the best way to avoid being ribbed by the boys was to be ready for virtually anything. To this end, he carried around with him an ever growing doctor’s bag to meet the Beatles’ every possible whim. It was swollen with musical instrument paraphernalia — plectrums, guitar strings and the like — along with household items such as aspirin, chewing gum, a torch, crisps, biscuits, tissues and cigarettes, of course. As the years went by, he had another piece of luggage, which he lovingly called his “dope bag”: a brown suede bag with an om sign prominently displayed, complete with freshly rolled joints.

This began after Bob Dylan dropped by their hotel in New York in 1964 during their first tour of North America. Not long after Dylan’s arrival, the Beatles offered their guest a sample from their motley collection of pills — Drinamyls and Preludin (both uppers), mostly. But Dylan wasn’t having it, instead suggesting “something a little more organic”. At first, Brian Epstein demurred, sensing the Beatles’ apprehension.

That’s when Dylan said, “But what about your song — the one about getting high?” At that, he began singing the middle eight from I Want to Hold Your Hand: “And when I touch you, I get high, I get high.”

John quickly interjected: “Those aren’t the words. It’s ‘I can’t hide, I can’t hide’.”

Ringo tried Dylan’s marijuana first. A few puffs from Dylan’s joint left him smiling and suddenly marvelling at the way the ceiling seemed to float down onto him. Soon, they were all stoned. George recalled that, “We were just legless, aching from laughter.” And for Paul especially, the Beatles’ first brush with the devil weed seemed not only mind-blowing, but a moment of great import. To him, it felt exactly like the kind of experience that should be captured for posterity. Having dutifully provided his roadie with a pencil and paper, Paul ordered him to, “Get it down, Mal, get it down!” Despite being quite stoned in his own right, Mal managed to record the Beatle’s most insightful thoughts. The next morning, Mal retrieved the musings, which boiled down to a single sentence: “There are seven levels,” his notes read. Roadie? Bodyguard? Fixer? Now Mal could add “amanuensis” to his evolving portfolio.

AS EARLY AS 1963, it was clear that there was an unusual zeal among Beatles fans, one unbounded by the conventional social behaviours of the day. “As if attacked by a virus that changed their moral standards, teenage girls wanted sex with the Beatles and they didn’t care how they got it,” wrote Tony Bramwell, Brian Epstein’s assistant. “When they tried to grab a live one, crawl through windows or hide in wardrobes, they were sorted out by Mal and Neil Aspinall like M&Ms, to be sampled and tasted first. Brian — who was puritanical where his protégés were concerned — would have had a fit had he only known, but he was kept totally in the dark.”

At its height, the stage and its environs would take on the look of a battle zone. “Unconscious teenagers were being dragged out of the audience,” Mal wrote, describing a gig in San Francisco in 1965, “and we hauled them on to the stage for safety. Some were in a terrible state, bruised, battered, cut and unconscious. Their clothing was torn and their hair dishevelled. We put them backstage, where the casualties mounted into the hundreds as the show went on. A chain of policemen organised to get them to the first aid centre.” At one critical juncture, a fan hurled a metal folding chair onstage. Eventually, the situation became simply too dangerous for the band to continue. “It’s no good,” Brian was told. “You’ll have to cut the show. Only one more song.”

As the casualties mounted, Mal prepared to usher the Beatles to safety. “Sobbing girls lay slumped against the walls or huddled in the corners,” he wrote, “and I caught a glimpse of Joan Baez trying to revive some of them with smelling salts. Every artist in the show was backstage helping out and trying to get the fainting youngsters back on their feet.”

When the concert mercifully ended, the Beatles dropped their instruments, ran from the stage and climbed into an enclosed freight truck to make their escape. Afterwards, “Pandemonium broke out in the auditorium,” Mal wrote, “and I thought the whole place was going to collapse around us. But somehow, the police managed to keep the tide at bay, all the exit doors were thrown open and people were hustled out. The scene behind them was of devastation, with seats overturned, people still trying to get onto the stage and more people fainting.”

By the next morning, the Beatles and their entourage were winging their way back to London. But the perils of the band’s second North American tour would not be so quickly forgotten. For his part, Brian Epstein would chalk up the chaos and violence to lax security. But it was more than that, Mal realised. He had long felt that there was a dark side to Beatlemania, that not all the attendant hysteria could be understood as the simple byproduct of fandom.

Meanwhile, as the tours mounted up, for Mal the sudden availability of sex, seemingly free from consequences, represented an irresistible bonanza. After a lifetime of self-doubt over body issues and inveterate shyness, he simply couldn’t control himself.

“Big Mal was a demon for sex,” Tony wrote. “His stamina would have been remarkable in a harem. In the flat, sooty back streets of Birmingham or Manchester, he was a stud straight from the Kama Sutra. Like sacrificial virgins, a lot of the girls willingly accepted that they would have to do it with Mal to get to John, Paul, George or Ringo, and Mal knew it.”

Years later, John would liken the Beatles tours to Fellini’s Satyricon, suggesting that their worldbeating jaunts were a fantasia of sexual decadence. Lloyd Ravenscroft, the Australian tour manager, confirmed that the band members “had girls in their room, yes. That was in the hands of Mal Evans, who was very good at picking the right girls. It was very discreet and well organised.”

Mal became “a suave and smooth procurer”, in the words of Larry Kane, a broadcast journalist who was embedded with the band on one of their US tours, “able to spot a target with incredible intuition. It was as though he could pick up on the scent of women who were willing. Only rarely did I see him alone in a hotel corridor. At least his flair for recruiting included an understanding of the difficulties the Beatles could face if any female companion was underage or wronged in any way. If one could get an Oscar for safely procuring women, Mal Evans would have received the lifetime achievement award.”

Back home, Mal’s reunions with Lil and Gary were tempered by the infrequency of his correspondence and by the odd scraps of paper his wife had discovered in his suitcase — addresses and telephone numbers, invariably written in a feminine hand, from the “pen pals” he would meet on the road. Mal brushed off their significance, but Lil knew better. “It used to break my heart,” she recalled.

By 1968 — a year in which he had tried in vain to remake himself as a record executive — Lily’s mistrust of her husband had reached a fever pitch. By this point, she wasn’t just finding “silly groupie letters” in his suitcase, but also the occasional stray pair of knickers and other telltale signs of infidelity. She recognised that Mal was being seduced by overwhelming forces, impulses with which she could hardly begin to compete. “One minute he would be in Hollywood,” she said. “The next day he’d be back here cleaning out the rabbit hutch.”

Mal had emerged as a celebrity in his own right, thanks to publications such as The Beatles Book. “It was OK for him,” Neil Aspinall recalled, “going out in front getting the instruments ready. Dead popular he was. As they cheered and shouted at him he talked to them and made jokes. He didn’t have to physically fight them off, once it started.”

All shook up: the Fab Four meet Elvis

ON THE NIGHT OF AUGUST 27, 1965, Mal and the boys met Elvis Presley at the King’s Bel Air mansion. The 30-year-old superstar was in town to shoot the film Paradise, Hawaiian Style.

Prior to his coveted meeting with the King, Mal spent time with Colonel Tom Parker at his Paramount Studios office, where the roadie was lavished with gifts, including a gold-plated cigarette lighter and, to his glee, a white bathrobe emblazoned with “Girls! Girls! Girls!”. Mal not only appreciated Parker’s generosity, but recognised that he possessed “one of the most astute showbiz brains in America”, adding that, “He has wrung every dollar he can out of the Elvis situation — and who can blame him?”

As Mal was lounging in the Colonel’s office that day, the telephone rang. “That was a news agency, Mal,” Parker said. “It looks as though word has got out about Elvis and the boys meeting tonight. There’s a story in the London Daily Mirror. Now Reuters wants confirmation.” At that moment, Mal’s heart froze. “For a moment, I thought Parker was going to call the whole thing off.”

But the Colonel wasn’t to be deterred. With the so-called Memphis Mafia — a group of Presley friends and employees who served and protected the King — at his beck and call, Elvis’s manager instigated a complex system by which they changed vehicles several times before arriving at Benedict Canyon. As the Colonel looked on, Mal, Neil Aspinall, the Beatles’ press agent Tony Barrow and the Beatles ducked into a black limo. “For once,” Mal later quipped, “John, George, Paul and Ringo were ready to leave on time, and they climbed into the waiting cars at the bungalow bang on the dot.” Shouting, “Roll ’em!” out of his car window, the Colonel’s vehicle snaked its way through Hollywood, the convoy followed by a police motorcycle unit. By 10pm, the motorcade had arrived at Elvis’s house at Perugia Way. Incredibly, the Colonel’s plan had worked.

Mal was beside himself, feeling a combination of reverence and utter shock. After being served a large Scotch and Coke by one of the King’s minions, Paul beckoned Mal to meet his idol in the flesh. “Presley turned, and we shook hands. ‘This is your number-one fan, El,’ said Paul. ‘And he’s with us.’” Mal was thunderstruck by the sound of the King’s “strangely quiet voice” as he said, “Sure pleased to meet you,” to the roadie.

As the evening progressed, Mal marvelled at Elvis’s luxurious home, with its well-stocked cocktail bar and lounge, its thickly carpeted rooms, and, in the den, a massive fireplace with a copper chimney disappearing into the ceiling at the centre of the room. “Pretty soon the record player was working full blast,” Mal wrote. “Elvis played a whole lot of albums, many of them the Beatles, but modestly, perhaps, did not play any of his own. The noise was terrific, the drinks were flowing, the talk was animated, and, as I say, it was just like being at home with the lads from Liverpool.”

Eventually, Elvis picked up a bass guitar that was plugged into an amp positioned near the television set. “He began to strum away on the thing, playing quite ably, but he insisted that he was only learning,” Mal wrote. “Keep practising, fella. You’ll get to the top yet,” Paul quipped. As Mal looked on, “the most fantastic impromptu unrecorded session of all time” ensued when “El found some guitars for John, George and Paul and a set of bongo drums for Ringo, and they began to make the place rock with an hour of improvised beat music. It was fabulous.”

“There was only one hitch during the little concert the boys put on,” Mal later reflected. Nobody had a plectrum. “Mal’s got a pick,” said Paul. “He’s always got picks. He carries them on holidays with him.” Crestfallen that he had neglected to bring his well-travelled doctor’s bag, along with its ready supply of guitar picks, Mal scurried to the kitchen, where he fashioned pieces of plastic cutlery into makeshift plectrums.

Ringo and Mal tried their hand at pool, losing four straight games to members of the Memphis Mafia, while, “John lost $9 at roulette with Colonel Parker and Brian Epstein, who had joined us on getting back from New York.” In one of Mal’s favourite memories of that night, John pretended to be a reporter.

“Once, when I was talking to El, sitting on a settee, John came screaming up to us and jabbed an imaginary microphone under El’s nose and began to fire off a string of meaningless questions — which I must say were a pretty accurate take-off of some of the daft things that interviewers ask at our own press conferences. ‘What are you going to do when the bubble bursts, Elvis?’ he asked. ‘What toothpaste do you use? What time do you go to bed? Do you like girls? Who’s your favourite artist?’ ‘Yeah, yeah,’ chuckled El. ‘I’ve heard ’em all before.’”

Escaping from guns and a mob in Manila

ON THE MORNING OF JULY 3, 1966, the Beatles and their entourage left for the Philippines by way of Hong Kong. “Manila was our next port of call on our way back to England,” Mal later remembered, “and it was here, for the first time in my life, I was to experience real fear.” As it turned out, things were cockeyed from the outset. After attending their usual post-arrival press conference, John, Paul, George and Ringo were hustled out of a rear entrance and taken to the harbour, where they were ushered aboard a motor yacht.

“It was really humid, it was Mosquito City,” George reported, “and we were all sweating and frightened. For the first time ever in our Beatle existence, we were cut off from Neil, Mal and Brian Epstein. There was not one of them around, and not only that, but we had a whole row of cops with guns lining the deck around this cabin that we were in on the boat. We were really gloomy, very brought down by the whole thing.”

Things would get worse. After Brian succeeded in securing the Beatles’ return to the mainland, they ensconced themselves in the opulent Manila Hotel for the night. What the members of the band’s entourage didn’t know was that the Beatles had received an invitation from Philippine president Ferdinand Marcos and First Lady Imelda Marcos requesting their appearance at Malacanang Palace at 11 o’clock the next morning. Only, Brian and the Beatles never laid eyes on it. After an incident in America, at the British embassy in Washington, in February 1964, when the band felt they had been snubbed by upper class, titled guests, official requests for the Beatles’ presence were routinely ignored. Instead, the group went about their business in Manila, performing the first of two shows for 35,000 spectators at José Rizal Memorial Stadium and another audience of 50,000 later that same day.

For the moment, the band and their entourage hadn’t felt any blowback from having snubbed the First Lady, save for scathing news reports on Filipino TV. That night, the promoter arranged for a lavish party at the hotel, with numerous prostitutes on hand to cater to the boys’ needs. On the morning of July 5, Mal began to sense trouble when a pistolpacking member of the promoter’s staff requested autographed pictures of the Beatles. “I was in the middle of explaining that I had given away most of the photographs,” Mal wrote, “keeping a few for the plane crew on the way home, when I was cut short by the same gentleman brandishing a gun in my face and repeating the demand. I couldn’t give them to him fast enough. This was the prelude to a morning of terror.”

Mal could feel the tension rising as he sought out a truck to transport the luggage and gear to the airport. “The feeling in the air was that nobody wanted to be associated with us,” he wrote. “On arriving at the airport, I was informed by the police on duty that I couldn’t park near the airline gate, but in the normal parking area like ordinary people. Their attitude being, ‘Who do you think you are?’” When the band and their entourage arrived at the airport, Mal discovered that no one would help them, save for the KLM airline attendants, who processed their baggage.

Everything went to hell when they began making their way to the international lounge, only to be intercepted by a dozen Filipinos. “It was obvious that they were looking to cause trouble, and quite prepared to beat the hell out of us, because of the fiasco the previous evening with the First Lady,” Mal wrote. “They were standing on our toes, jabbing us with elbows, generally giving us a bad time, and the last thing we could do was hit back. Up to that point, they were just a nuisance and making us feel very uncomfortable. I would give my right arm for any of those boys, but under these circumstances, it was most inadvisable to retaliate in any way whatsoever.”

It was chauffeur Alf Bicknell who could no longer contain himself. Daring to strike back at the assailants, he was viciously attacked, ending up flat on the airport floor with a pair of cracked ribs. Despite his large size, Mal sustained numerous blows, as did Ringo, who was knocked down with a swift uppercut and crawled away as assailants kicked him. Things seemed to get worse as the group approached customs, where John and George were punched and kicked. Paul managed to avoid the brunt of the violence by sprinting ahead. Along with Alf, Brian suffered the most, sustaining a sprained ankle during the mêlée. At one point, Mal realised he was bleeding from his leg.

Mal would never forget the surrealness of walking across the tarmac after the violence they had experienced in the terminal. The ruffians were still in evidence, hurling insults and epithets as the Brits made their way to the waiting KLM plane. But the fans were there too, shouting, “We love you, Beatles!” and tossing bouquets of flowers at their feet.

Once on board the plane, Mal wrote, “We all gave a sigh of relief, thinking we were safe on neutral territory. We were all shaking, beads of fear running down our faces.” That’s when immigration officials boarded the plane, demanding that Mal and Tony Bramwell follow them back to the terminal.

In the immigration office, they found themselves once again at the whimsy of the mob, being jostled, pushed and shoved as officials demanded they fill out new immigration forms. As TV crews recorded their every move, the two struggled to complete the forms, their hands visibly shaking in terror. And then, just like that, they were being led back to the plane, once again experiencing a strange gauntlet of violence and insults on the one hand and the goodwill of the assembled Beatles fans on the other. After some 40 intense minutes away from their friends, Mal and Tony were back in their seats. “The last words we heard before the doors closed were, ‘We love you, Beatles,’” Mal wrote.

Mal Evans died on January 4, 1976. He was shot by the police in a California apartment as he brandished a rifle, having taken a suspected Valium overdose. His diaries and memorabilia lay on the floor next to him.

Extracted from Living the Beatles Legend by Kenneth Womack (Mudlark, £25), published on November 14. 

(source)

[dungeonofthedragon]

Your Favourite Book: the Game

Sometimes a good book leaves us with a hankering to spend more time in that world. Fanfiction only goes so far- here are ten titles that allow you to adventure with friends in the world of your favourite book!

Angel Mage by Garth Nix

This one doesn't have its own dedicated system, but the author himself ran a game in this world using the $6 rpg Flashing Blades! Given the book was inspired by The Three Musketeers, this makes perfect sense- although you'd need to modify the game a bit to include angel summoning.

Discworld Roleplaying Game by Phil Masters, Terry Pratchett and Steve Jackson Games

Cost: $20.00

I can imagine an entire campaign revolving around the Unseen University, or a one-shot about the antics of the Watch. This game runs on the popular GURPS system which, like many other games, uses only six-sided dice. You've probably got a bunch of those lying around at home already!

Dresden Files Accelerated by Evil Hat

Cost: $17.50

This game uses the lightweight Fate: Accelerated system, making it very easy to learn. Character creation is incredibly flexible- if you can think of a character or archetype within this setting, you can play it in this game.

Good Society: a Jane Austen rpg by Storybrewers Roleplaying

Cost: $23

Regency roleplaying at its finest. Long, longing glances, heartfelt letters and scandal! Also a good choice for fans of the Bridgerton series.

Rivers of London: The Roleplaying Game by Chaosium

Cost: $29.99

This game is pricier than some on this list, but at 400 pages it's well worth the cost. With just the one rulebook, and several free adventures (including at least one solo adventure!), after that initial investment it's very easy to get in there and get sleuthing.

The game uses the Basic Role-Playing system. If you're familiar with Call of Cthulhu or RuneQuest, you're well on your way to learning the rules!

Stormlight Archive RPG by Brotherwise Games

This game hasn't been released yet, but you can sign up here for a chance to be involved in beta testing!

The Kyme Summit by Malcolm Harbrow

Cost: $5

Change the particulars and you have yourself a perfect little Dune LARP you can complete in a single evening.

The Warren by Bully Pulpit Games

Cost: $12

Suitable for a single session or a multiple session adventure, this game lets you play out the survival horror that is Watership Down (from which I have never fully recovered.)

The Witcher: Pen and Paper RPG by R. Talsorian Games

Cost: $24.99

Be a witcher, bard, mage, or even a doctor! This game does a pretty good job of evoking the feel of the books (and the Netflix series too), but I've only read a free demo myself.

Thirsty Space Necromancers by Grahame (Understory Games)

Cost: None!

This supplement for Thirsty Sword Lesbians allows for narrative-focused adventures in the universe of The Locked Tomb. There are playbooks for necromancers of each of the nine houses, as well as a cavalier playbook.

If you don't already own the base game, you can pick up Thirsty Sword Lesbians here for $15 or nab a community copy for free!

[the-fiction-witch]

Not Here

Media - Pistol (Disney plus / FX) Character - Malcolm Mclaren Couple - Malcolm X Reader Reader - Y/n Rating - Cute Word Count - 700

I hummed to myself as I worked on dinner watching over my hand mixer for a moment when I heard the phone ring. I turned the mixer off and brushed my hands over my little black apron seeing the flour now covering it but it didn't get anything on my red skirt so I suppose that is the trade-off. I looked over to the purple rotary phone on the table beside the sofa and I glared a moment at Malcolm as he sat on the sofa feet on the coffee table, leather trousers against the sofa, with his green dance shirt and a beer in his hand, as he works on though some paperwork with one pile on his left and one on his write as he shifts through the papers he's already typed up.

"You going to get that?" I cocked my hip and my eyebrow given I was in the kitchen and he was next to the phone,

"Not my house…" he shrugged,

"No but you do live here," I answered as I came over,

"Not on the lease as far as the landlord is concerned I do not live here," He said, "Or the police, or the council, or Viv."

I rolled my eyes and put the phone to my ear, "Hello?"

"Is Malcolm there?" The voice asks clearly Sid,

I glanced at Malcolm and mouthed to him 'It's Sid'

he immediately shook his head,

"He's not here Sid,"

"Well when you see him tell him to call me back," He demanded before the phone hung up,

"What did you do to him?" I asked setting the phone back on the receiver,

"He thinks I owe him money," Malcolm sighed,

"Do you?"

"…I don't Viv does," he shrugged,

"Alright," I chuckled heading back to the kitchen and getting on with dinner for a while more until the phone rang again, I cleaned off my hands and glared at him but he didn't move so I went bathe over and picked up the phone, "hello?"

"Hiya Y/n," Steve smiled down the phone,

"Ohh Hi Steve," I smiled,

"Malcolm about?"

I glanced up at Malcolm and he shook his head 'I'm not here,' He mouthed, "No sorry Steve he's not here," I answered,

"Alright tell him to call me when he gets in,"

"I will do, bye." I smiled,

"Bye!" He called before hanging up so I set the phone down,

"What did you do?" I asked,

"He thinks I have his car keys,"

"Do you?"

"… Actually, no."

"Are you lying to me?"

"I promise I don't have his keys, I did throw them in a drain though,"

"Alright," I sighed going back to cooking dinner and setting it in the oven, I set my apron on the hook and headed into the living room sitting in the chair given he was taking up the whole sofa with his paperwork, "What are you up to anyway?"

"Editing,"

"Alright Malcolm," I chuckled,

I heard the phone so I sighed and got up grabbing the phone and sitting on the arm of the sofa petting his hair he smiled and rubbed his head against me like a happy cat getting pets,

"We're popular today,"

"You're popular today," As I put the phone to my ear, "Hello?" I asked,

"Where is he!" Viv yelled,

"Who Viv?" I asked and immediately I felt him freeze up,

"Malcolm! of course!"

I glanced at him and he shook his head and moved his hand in a line across his neck "I am not here."

"He's out at the moment," I lied,

"When he gets in tell him to call me Immediately!" she yelled before she hung up,

I put the phone down and glared, "What did you do?"

"I haven't-"

"Malcolm."

"… I keyed her car," he sighed putting a cigarette in his mouth and lighting it up,

"Alright," I sighed, "I am not being your alibi again," I warned kissing his cheek and heading into the kitchen to check on dinner,

"But you're so good as an alibi darling," He pouts,

"No Malcolm," I sighed,

"Fine, Love you!" he called,

"Telling me you love me does not convince me to be your alibi but I love your too,"

"Fine, but if you won't be my alibi you can't get mad if I get in trouble,"

"Yes I can. And will."

[bellaxgiornata]

Life Worth Living [Chapter Nine]

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Original Female Character

[You can find the full summary and chapter list for this series here]

Warnings/tags: 18+ for this series; contains fluff, angst, violence, PTSD, smut (Contains our beloved Defenders and lots of plot twists)

Word Count: 8.5k

a/n: So this is a long chapter! We get a Kilgrave flashback that might be rough to read (mention of sexual assault from when he was controlling Liv), and you also see more of Olivia's abilities and how they can help the Devil. Plus some sexual tension in this chapter! Feedback is always appreciated!

Sitting cross-legged on my couch, a large bowl of salad I’d made resting on my lap, I mindlessly stared at the television. I stabbed a piece of roasted cauliflower and arugula with my fork before bringing it to my mouth, staring straight ahead as I watched a rerun of a holiday baking show from last year. This round they were judging gingerbread cookies and I was internally wishing I had some myself.

Today had gone by slowly; Jessica was working a case for Luke, something she wouldn’t tell Malcolm or I much about. She’d been quiet all day after letting me know that she was on the case just so I wouldn’t worry that Kilgrave had gotten her. She’d also told me Trish had been radio silent ever since she’d taken a single tase and passed out when we’d tried to grab Kilgrave. So all I could do was go about my mundane life today; work, go on a brief run, shower, make dinner, and then hopefully soon have a restful sleep.

I hadn’t really heard from Matt either since we’d had dinner last night. I had texted him good luck with their trial this morning and he’d responded with a simple thank you, but that had been that. I tried not to think too much about it; I knew he’d told me the guy was probably going to walk free and that the man in the mask was going to have to hunt him down tonight in the hopes of getting some information. 

After I finished my dinner, I unloaded my dishwasher and refilled it with dirty dishes. I cleaned up the countertops and got myself a glass of water before meandering back to the couch. I stayed up watching another hour of holiday baking shows before eventually turning off the television and heading into my bedroom, sliding the door shut behind me as I went. I flipped off the light and found my way to my bed with the dim glow from the city drifting past the edges of my curtains.

Once in bed, I tugged the sheets up high towards my chin, shivering slightly at the cold mattress, before my eyes drifted shut.

°•°•°•°•°•°

The coffee sat half drunk in front of me. My mind felt fuzzy, almost like I’d come out of a haze. When I glanced up, Kilgrave was sitting on the opposite end of the outdoor bistro table. He was reading a newspaper, his own cup of coffee in one hand. When he caught me staring, he lowered the paper a fraction and smiled.

“Smile, little dove,” he told me. “You’re so much more beautiful with that smile on your face.”

I hesitated, wondering how I’d gotten here to this table on the back patio of this extravagant house. I wasn't even entirely sure where we were anymore: the U.S.? Spain? France? I could recall a few moments, images flashing in my mind, but they felt a little foggy and distant. Then I noticed the twitch of Kilgrave’s mouth, his head tilting more in my direction, his eyes narrowing slightly the longer I remained still.

I smiled wide, baring my teeth brightly at him. His expression changed from guarded to warm just as abruptly.

“Beautiful, little dove,” he told me. “Why don’t you come here and sit with me?” he asked.

My smile faltered for a moment; I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to curl up on his lap like a cat and feel his hands run along my skin, my hair, my mouth. 

The pill is wearing off…

As the thought passed through my mind, I stilled. He didn’t know, judging by the commands. Slowly, reluctantly, I rose and crossed the space towards him. He set the paper down and slid his chair back, gesturing towards his lap. Obediently, I sat. His hands began to run along my thighs as he leant in, breathing in the scent of my hair. 

“I missed this, little dove,” he breathed out. "I just wish we'd get back to you choosing to do this again already."

He pulled back, holding my gaze for a moment, eyeing me curiously as he tucked a strand of hair behind my ear.

“Kiss me,” he commanded.

I fought back the surge of disgust roiling in my stomach. Quickly I leaned in, brushing my lips against his before pulling back. His eyes narrowed as he frowned. 

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “Kiss me like you mean it,” he ordered me, his tone firm and commanding. “Like you’ll die if you don’t.”

Something sparked in my brain and I flew against him against my own will. My hands were gripping his neck tight, clinging to him as my mouth worked feverishly against his. One of his hands was roughly gripping the back of my head, holding me in place, while the other was sliding its way up my thigh.

No! No! I don’t want this! Stop touching me! Get off of me!

I could hear my own voice screaming in my head, but I couldn’t stop kissing him. I couldn’t get his hands off of me. I felt his fingertips rubbing over my jeans and a tear slipped unnoticed down my cheek.

I gasped a shuddering breath awake and realized a moment later I was being held, my arms pressed to my sides. Thrashing violently, I tried to break out of the grasp. I couldn’t see who was in my room, who’d pulled me up towards my headboard and was holding my arms so tightly to my sides. But I could still feel Kilgrave’s hands all over me, his mouth all over mine, his voice in my head. I fought harder against the solid form behind me, about to scream, when a voice called from just beside my ear.

“Relax, it’s just me. It’s Matt,” Matt whispered calmly, his chin hovering just above my shoulder. “I heard you having a nightmare. I–I slipped in to check on you. You left your window unlocked from the other night.”

Immediately I stopped fighting his hold, my breathing coming in sharp pants. I suddenly was aware of his muscled chest pressed flat against my back; he could probably feel the thundering of my heart against his own chest. His head dipped lower, the rasp of his stubble bristling against my cheek as he spoke in a whisper again.

"I'm sorry if this is out of line, and that I startled you," he told me, his voice a low, deep rumble–the Devil's. "I was on my way back into my apartment. I could hear your heart racing. You were crying," he said, gentle fingers sliding up my cheek to wipe away the wetness there. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay. I can leave, though."

He started to untangle his arms from my waist, pulling his chest away from me. I didn't know what came over me but I suddenly reached out, latching onto his hands with my own and quickly pulling him back against me, comforted by the warmth at my back. I briefly registered the hiss of pain he made but my panicked mind was just glad he was here.

"Stay," I said, my words a pleading whisper in the dark.

He locked his hands back around my waist, sighing lightly as he rested his chin against my shoulder, his head turned just enough so that his lips were brushing the bare skin of my neck. I leaned back into him, enjoying the comfort of his touch and the safety of his presence. My eyes drifted to the side and in the faint light peeking behind my curtains I could see the black mask lifted just up over his forehead. I released my grip on one of his hands and raised mine gently to his temple, brushing my fingertips lightly across his skin.

"Your mask isn't on," I whispered. 

He nuzzled against my neck, his lips grazing my skin so softly that a tingle of goosebumps rose along my bare arms. My eyes drifted shut at his touch; it stood in stark contrast to the feeling of another that had been on me in my dream just moments ago. 

"I didn't want to scare you, waking up to a masked man in black in your room," he told me. A breathy laugh left him. "Didn't work."

"It was more the waking up to being restrained," I said sheepishly. 

"I tried to wake you gently," he told me, "but you tried to hit me. You were screaming, so I tried to hold you. Was hoping…it would be comforting," he admitted before burrowing deeper against my neck. 

My hand slid further back, underneath his mask and into his hair, scratching his scalp lightly. I felt his lips part against my skin as he leaned forward into me.

"Thank you," I whispered to him. "I'm sorry for freaking out. I'm not used to having anyone around when I wake up, especially not when I have nightmares."

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked, his lips brushing along my skin with each word.

My hand paused in his hair and I tensed against his body. I opened my eyes and took him in; his face burrowed in my neck, the black mask pulled up to reveal a bit of mussed brown hair on his forehead, his strong arms clad in black secured tight around my waist, both of his large, warm hands splayed flat against my stomach, his muscled, powerful thighs pressed to the outside of mine in his dark pants. This was Matt–not Kilgrave–and his touch was gentle, caring, affectionate, wanted. 

"You don't have to," he whispered when I didn't answer for a while.

"It was about Kilgrave," I breathed out. "From when he had drugged me. When it was starting to wear off." My hand in his hair drifted quickly back down; both of my hands grasped the back of his and held tight. His fingers squeezed back. "He…he was…touching me…making me kiss him and I couldn't make myself stop. I didn't want to–"

"Hey, shh, it's okay," he said, shifting so his mouth was by my ear again. "You're here with me. You're safe. He's not here. He's not going to touch you."

I turned my head towards him, the movement grazing my lips against his so lightly I could barely feel it. He inhaled sharply at the gesture, arms tightening. He leaned forward in response, just a little, with his lips parted. His breath blew warm into my own parted lips, into my mouth. Slowly, I leaned forward and closed the miniscule distance, connecting our lips in a sweet, soft kiss. Our mouths moved carefully together, agonizingly, deliciously slow. I could taste the faint copper tang of his blood drifting into my own mouth. 

I twisted in his arms, inhaling deeply through my nose as I moved, turning myself towards him as our lips remained joined together. His grip loosened around my waist, allowing the movement. When we were chest to chest, I flung myself forward into the kiss, wrapping my arms tight around his neck and hungrily pulling him to me.

He broke from the kiss with an unexpected grunt of pain. I immediately pulled back, my arms dropping to my sides as I stiffened in front of him.

"Shit, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to," I apologized quickly.

"No," he said between a hiss of pain, "it's not you. The–the guy I was interrogating earlier hit me with a metal pipe a few times. Got in a few good hits."

"Shit," I cursed again, worry rising in me, "are you okay? Fuck, I should have asked," I grumbled angrily. 

I began to slide off the bed and Matt reached back out for me, his hand grasping in the empty air. 

"Where are you going?" he asked quickly.

"Turning on a light," I told him as I crossed the room, flipping on the switch. "So I can see how hurt you are."

"Sweetheart, I'm fine," he assured me.

My heart flipped at the word and I paused, hesitating by the door. With the light on I could see him sitting on my bed, back against the walnut headboard. His unmasked face was cocked to the side, his brows furrowed over his eyes. There was a light frown on his lips which were still wet and a little swollen from kissing me, and that thought alone made an ache grow deep within me. I swallowed hard and pushed the thought away, focusing on his injuries.

I headed back to the bed, climbing on and crawling between his legs, nudging them open further with my own. He complied, allowing more space for me to sit on my knees in front of him. 

He had a small cut on his cheek and another just above his lip. Part of the tight, black fabric on his chest was torn revealing a four inch long gash; it looked deep enough for stitches but not too deep for me to fix. My hands carefully reached out and lifted up the hem of his shirt, raising it slightly. There was a large, angry bruise covering his side that stretched across part of his very defined abs.

"If you wanted me to undress, you just had to ask," Matt teased lightly.

I rolled my eyes, ignoring the blush rising on my cheeks.

"You've got a few cuts. Some bad bruising," I told him. "I can help you with them, if you'd like."

He shook his head, reaching out on the bed and feeling for my hand. When he caught it, he brought it swiftly to his lips and gave my knuckles a light kiss. 

"I can stitch myself up later," he assured me. "And if I meditate I can heal faster."

Chewing my lip nervously, I stared at him for a moment. He'd lowered our intertwined hands to rest against my knee, his thumb dancing back and forth across my skin.

"I wasn't talking about…stitching," I told him awkwardly. His head tilted curiously to the side. "I told you once before that I can…heal minor injuries too. I can…help with some of these." I cleared my throat awkwardly. "I mean, if you'd like."

His lips pulled into a straight, pensive line for a moment. His eyes were focused somewhere near my shoulder and they looked deep in thought. 

"Will it hurt you?" he eventually asked.

"No, I know my limits," I told him. "I promise."

He nodded his head. "Okay," he agreed.

"You uh…you're going to need to take off your shirt," I told him, my voice wavering.

He pulled the tight black fabric up, wincing at the movement. It took him a moment, but with some help, we managed to get it off. I set the shirt off to the side and then turned back to Matt. 

And froze.

My heart began to race and I could feel the heat rising to my cheeks. His arms were even larger now that there wasn't fabric hiding them; defined muscle that led my eyes up towards his broad, strong shoulders. His chest and abs, though marked with scars, were so defined that his skin was pulled taut over the muscle and I could see every dip and crevice. I could feel my breath coming in fast just imagining him climbing on top of me on my bed, his arms tensed as he held his weight over me. 

"See something you like?" 

I blinked rapidly before turning my attention up towards his face. I swallowed hard, embarrassed. 

"Sorry," I mumbled weakly.

He smirked, licking his lips. "I'm not," he whispered low.

I cleared my throat and rolled my eyes yet again at him.

"Half your torso is covered in a giant bruise and you're literally bleeding on my bed," I told him. "Are you really going to try that right now?" 

He chuckled and shook his head. "No, I just really enjoy hearing your pulse race like that," he admitted. 

I focused back on his injuries, my attention turned to the cut on his cheek and above his lip. I reached out a hand tentatively and stopped with it hovering just over his face.

"So uhm, to do this I sort of have to–" I cleared my throat nervously, "–touch you. Just a–a heads up."

His mouth pulled back into a devilish grin, his eyes crinkling at the corners as his head cocked further to the side. I could feel him focusing in on me, that familiar prickle I got when he did returning. Briefly I wondered why I seemed to pick up on it sometimes, but Matt's voice pulled me back.

"You have my permission to touch me," he said, his tone inflicting a double meaning intentionally.

I swallowed hard, ignoring the way his words made me feel. Instead, I lightly laid my hand on his cheek and closed my eyes. Focusing, I mentally reached out towards Matt, searching for the injuries. I could feel the familiar vibrating in my head; it slid down the back of my neck and to my hand along with a flood of warmth. I heard Matt inhale gently when the tingling warmth reached his skin. I could feel the cells in his body speed up; energy surging through my fingertips straight to them as they began sealing the cut. It was only a few moments before I opened my eyes and saw the cuts had completely disappeared as if they'd never been there in the first place. Glancing up, I saw Matt's eyes had closed as well, a peaceful expression lingering on his face.

My attention turned down towards his bare chest where the deeper gash was. Gingerly I rested my fingertips over the cut, hearing a faint hiss of pain from Matt as my eyelids fluttered shut again. This time it was easier for me to reach out and find the injury, leading the energy from me towards his body, into his very cells where they instantly began healing the cut at an amazingly rapid pace. Because of the depth of the cut, this one took a bit longer than the two on his face, but Matt remained still, allowing me to work as only a soft, peaceful sigh blew slowly out of his mouth. 

When I opened my eyes again, the cut had also vanished, just like the ones on his face. My fingertips lightly traced across the skin where the bleeding wound had been just moments ago; Matt exhaled a soft noise at the gesture and I bit my lip, turning my attention farther down to his bruised abdomen and trying to ignore the heat between my thighs.

I slid my hand down across his right pectoral, dragging my fingers past the defined edges of each abdominal muscle before I softly pressed my hand against him, palm flat against a section of his bruise. My eyes drifted closed again, trying to reach out my focus.

"Bruising is more difficult," I mumbled to him, searching for the injury below the skin. "The damage from a cut is obvious, this takes more focus." I frowned, mentally scanning the bruise beneath my hand. "I can't…can't fully heal this, but I can help speed it up. It'll hurt less but…you should still let your body rest before…going back out."

Matt let out a low grunt of understanding as I fell silent again. I focused the energy into his body again, feeling the warm vibration centered on my palm now. We stayed like that for a few minutes in silence before I opened my eyes. The bruise looked less angry, but it was still there, covering a wide section of his body. I reluctantly dropped my hand to my lap, looking back up at Matt. His eyes were still closed and there was a faint smile on his mouth; his body had shifted forward, leaning in towards me. 

"Hopefully that uh…feels better," I murmured.

I watched as he lightly nodded his head, his eyes slowly opening and taking a moment to focus towards my cheek. The faint smile was still on his face.

"It does, thank you," he answered quietly. "How do you…do that? It felt like–like the sun on a summer day. Warm and almost–almost like my skin was vibrating."

I shrugged in response. "I don't really know. My mind can sort of reach out, link up to someone else's. It's like our consciousnesses communicate on a cellular level or something. Tells mine where the wound is, where something is wrong, and then I can sort of like…reach out? Transport some sort of energy that I'm able to manipulate. It speeds up the cell's ability in your body to heal." My eyes darted down to my hands in my lap, fidgeting. "It works the same way as me giving commands to people; my consciousness reaches out towards another and pushes thoughts or actions into theirs. I've never really understood it; I haven't used it much in a long time. I sort of–sort of tried to not use my powers ever since…Kilgrave," I admitted. "Just wanted to be normal."

"Hey," he called out gently, his hands searching for mine. I slid them towards his, letting him grab on and hold them tight. "There's nothing wrong with who you are," he continued. "You're not like him. You're a good person."

Part of my lip tugged up into a small smile. My head raised, turning my attention to Matt. He was staring at me so intensely it was like he could see me. I gave both his hands a quick squeeze before letting them go.

"You hungry?" I asked him, sliding back over to the edge of the bed. "Healing you sort of made me hungry."

Matt chuckled softly, shifting on the bed and following me off of it. He began pulling his shirt back on as he followed. 

"I'm not going to ask you to cook me food in the middle of the night," he replied.

I waved a hand at him even though he couldn't see the gesture. 

"Don't worry about it. I'm serious, healing you made me hungry and a little tired," I assured him. "And after that nightmare, I could use a few minutes before falling asleep."

I slid my bedroom door open and headed towards the kitchen, Matt followed closely behind.

"Eggs sound good," I mumbled as I opened my fridge and scanned the contents. "Still have some leftover diced vegetables I can throw in them." I looked at Matt over the top of the fridge door, one brow raised. "You hungry?"

He let out a deep sigh and then slowly nodded.

"Honestly I haven't really ate much today," he admitted, scratching the back of his neck. "Been sort of busy with the trial today. Then was out…for a bit this evening. As you can see."

"Alright, that settles it," I told him, leaning back into the fridge and pulling out the carton of eggs and the diced vegetables. "I'm going to make us some eggs, you can head back to your apartment and get changed into something…" I paused, eyeing his all black outfit, "less conspicuous. I’ll get started on the food. Sound good?"

Matt laughed a little before nodding his head. He wandered over to my window and pulled his mask down to cover his face. I began pulling out a pan and tossing the vegetables in with some olive oil as I saw him sliding the window open and slipping out into the night, shutting it behind himself. 

I spent the next few minutes focused on sautéing the vegetables and getting the eggs scrambled and ready to cook. In the background I had the food channel on again; some Thanksgiving cook off challenge was playing and I was only half listening to it. 

A light knock at the front door startled me momentarily before I set the spatula down and headed to the front door. I unlocked it and found Matt, clad in a black tee-shirt and dark gray sweatpants tucked into a pair of warm looking socks. I smiled and stepped aside.

“Come in, I’m almost done with the food,” I told him.

He stepped into the apartment and I locked up behind him before hurrying back to the kitchen. I poured the eggs into the pan to cook and was about to ask Matt if his night time activities had been successful when I suddenly felt a pair of warm hands grasp my hips. Matt’s warm body suddenly pressed entirely against the back of me as I continued to cook. His left hand slowly dragged its way from my hip up my back to my neck, where his fingers gently brushed my hair over my shoulder leaving the skin bare. I inhaled sharply when the stubble of his chin grazed me there as his left hand returned to my hip.

“Thank you for healing me,” he whispered, his face hovering just over my left shoulder, “and for making food. It smells good.”

My heart was racing in my chest again at the closeness; my breath starting to come in short, breathy pants that I was trying hard to conceal. 

“Well someone should probably–” I began, pausing to swallow hard when the fingers of his right hand slid just a fraction under my tee-shirt, brushing against my skin ever so slightly. I blinked hard and tried to focus on the food and not what Matt was doing to me. “Someone should probably make sure Hell’s Kitchen's favorite vigilante is fed and not bleeding out somewhere,” I said breathily.

I felt him shift against me, and then suddenly his lips were on the nape of my neck, planting a gentle kiss across the delicate skin. 

“Then I’m glad it’s you,” he murmured against my neck.

He nuzzled against the back of me, his fingers tightening against my waist, as he brushed his nose into my hair. 

“You always smell so good,” he whispered.

I turned the burner off on the stove; the eggs had finished cooking and I was going to lose my mind if Matt kept touching me like he was.

“Like peanut butter?” I joked.

He laughed a little, pulling his face away. “No, not usually.”

I turned towards him, his hands remaining in place on my hips as I did. I watched his smile grow now that I was facing him. Feeling like he deserved a little taste of his own medicine, I placed my hands against his abdomen, careful of the giant bruise I knew was there, and very slowly and intentionally slid both of them up towards his chest. 

How in the hell does his body feel like this? It’s not even fair.

Biting my lip, I glanced up towards his face to see the smile gone. Instead, his nostrils were flared and his jaw was clenched tightly, the muscles working visibly in his cheeks. I let my hands continue up, resting on his broad shoulders, momentarily digging my nails in lightly. A sharp exhale blew from his nose as his eyes darkened, his gaze somehow landing on my mouth. I smirked, sliding my hands up both sides of his neck, though the feel of his warm skin under my hands caused my own heart to stutter. Ignoring the thoughts threatening to rise to the forefront of my mind, I trailed both hands to the back of his neck where my hands slid up, gripping onto his hair. Using my grip on his hair, I gently pushed his head lower towards me; his face dipped down closer. I could feel his muscles stiffen underneath me as I rose onto my toes, reaching his face better. His eyes fluttered shut when my lips very faintly grazed his jaw, his own lips parting just a hair. Fighting back the urge to just kiss his tempting mouth, I lifted mine higher, very lightly grazing his skin along the way, and paused just at his left ear.

I leant in enough to just brush my lips along his ear as I whispered, “Food’s done.”

And then I released him, abruptly lowering to my feet and grinning at the pained look on his face.

“That was cruel,” he pointed out.

“Mmm, you know, you’ve been doing that to me nonstop,” I told him with a laugh. “It’s called karma. Now, I can make you up a plate if you want to sit on the couch?” I asked him. “Probably would be more comfortable for you than my bar stools with that giant bruise and that knot in your shoulders and back.”

His head tilted to the side as he asked, "Knot in my shoulders?"

"Yeah I uh…noticed it when I was healing you," I told him awkwardly. "Sore muscles are not something I can fix with my abilities, though." I waved a hand to shoo him quickly, feeling heat rise to my cheeks the longer he looked at me like that while my brain forced me to remember the feel of his bare chest under my hands. "Go get comfortable, I'll get you food."

He watched me silently for a moment before he nodded. "Thank you," he said softly before turning towards the living room.

I headed to the cabinet to pull out plates and cups as he headed towards the couch in the living room. As I turned back to the pan, piling eggs onto both plates, I called back over my shoulder, “You want water or orange juice? Cause that’s all I’ve got.”

 “Water is good, thank you,” he called back.

I smiled as I grabbed silverware out of a drawer before walking the plates to the living room. I handed Matt his before setting mine on the coffee table, telling Matt I’d grab water in a moment. I wandered back to the kitchen and filled up two cups before bringing them back and informing Matt where his was located before him. Then I plopped onto the couch, plate in hand, and curled my legs up under me. Beginning to eat, my eyes glanced back at the cooking show I had playing.

“In all seriousness, thank you for…all of this,” he said sincerely. “I’m not exactly used to anyone taking care of me.”

“Really, it’s no problem,” I told him. “Just happy to help. I’m really appreciative of the late night company. Makes me feel a little better.”

He turned towards me, a small smile on his lips. “I’m glad I can make you feel better, Olivia.” He took another bite of food and then quickly said, “This is really good by the way.”

“You’re just saying that so I make the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen some more late night snacks,” I teased.

He laughed and shook his head. “No, I’m being serious.”

“Well thank you,” I said. “Seems like high praise coming from a guy with heightened senses.”

“It is,” he teased me back.

We fell into a few minutes of silence as we continued to eat. My eyes drifted to the TV again as Matt was seemingly partially paying attention to it but clearly in thought.

“Did you find out what you needed to tonight?” I asked him after a while, breaking the silence.

“Yes, I did,” he answered, his tone darker than it had been all night. “I got a name. Wilson Fisk.”

I shook my head, spearing another egg on my plate. “Never heard of him before, but I also haven’t been here long.”

“I’ve never heard of him either,” Matt told me.

I swallowed the bite of food I was chewing, eyeing him carefully from the corner of my eye. “So that means more late night activities?”

“Yeah,” he said simply.

I nodded, chasing a chunk of red bell pepper around my plate with my fork. “Just uh…be careful, please?” I asked him hesitantly. “I’d…like you to stay breathing.”

Matt’s head inclined in my direction, his eyes focusing somewhere along my jaw. His mouth twitched a bit, as if he was thinking of how to respond. 

“I will,” he told me after a moment.

We finished the food in silence and I cleared both our plates before adding them to the dishwasher. As I turned towards the living room, I paused for a moment, enjoying the sight of Matt sitting there with one arm tossed over the back of the couch, relaxed, as if he belonged there. Exhaling a soft, shaky breath, I made my way back into the living room and towards the couch, about to return to my spot. I stopped in front of the couch before I sat, momentarily contemplating the space beside Matt. I bit the inside of my cheek nervously before shrugging–we’d already been kissing earlier, why couldn’t I sit next to him?

I took a step over and sat down beside him, smiling faintly when his arm on the back of the couch instantly lowered onto my shoulders, pulling me in closer towards him so my head was resting against his shoulder. I pulled my legs up underneath me and sighed contentedly. 

“I like this,” I whispered hesitantly.

His head turned a fraction towards me. “Like what?” he whispered back.

My arms slowly wrapped around him as I pulled myself a bit closer to his warm body. My hands rested along his lower back and his hip and I struggled not to focus on the solid feel of him beneath my hands yet again. Or the thought that snuck its way into my head telling me I shouldn't be doing this, not now with Kilgrave still somewhere out there.

“This,” I reiterated slowly, cautiously. “Sitting here, like this, with you.”

It was a moment before Matt said, “I like this, too.”

I smiled warmly as my attention returned to the television show. The contestants were making a turkey dish now.

“So no cheesy Christmas romance movie tonight?” Matt asked, catching my attention.

“No,” I said, laughing against his shoulder. “Not tonight. We just have some Thanksgiving cookoff. And honestly the potato dish that one guy made in the last round sounded really damn good.”

Matt’s chest vibrated beneath me with his chuckle. I felt his hand land on my head, softly running his fingers through my hair. My eyes slowly fell closed, reveling in the unfamiliar feeling of such a sweet touch. My body felt like it was melting against his on the couch with the way his fingertips lightly dragged across my scalp before sliding their way down my blonde strands. And then his hand rose and repeated the motion, deliberate and comforting with the way his fingertips gently touched me. A faint sigh left my traitorous mouth, but I was too relaxed to feel embarrassed at the moment.

“What’s your favorite Thanksgiving dish?” he suddenly asked.

My eyes immediately flew open, my stomach twisting at his question. My body stiffened as images of my cell at The Facility came back to me followed by many Thanksgivings spent heating up a frozen pizza, alone in my apartment in Alaska. A deep frown crossed my lips, my hands tightening into fists against him.

“I uhm…I’ve never had a Thanksgiving…before,” I admitted quietly. "Or anyone to celebrate with."

His hand paused for a moment in my hair before it resumed its ministrations. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “Maybe this year we’ll have to change that. Foggy, Karen, and I were thinking about getting together and doing something. If you’d like to join, I’m sure they’d love you to. I know I would.”

I tilted my head up towards him, taking in the serious expression on his face as he stared down at me. He had no idea what he was offering me–connection, friendship, acceptance, hope. Hope that things could be different here in New York for me.

“I’d like that. Thank you,” I whispered, voice thick with emotion.

He leaned forward and pressed a warm, affectionate kiss to my forehead before pulling back and smiling down at me.

“So, Murdock, what’s your favorite Thanksgiving dish then?” I asked abruptly, trying to change the topic and push my emotions back down.

“Well,” he began, “believe it or not my dad made a mean pumpkin pie when I was a kid.”

I laughed. “Did he now?”

“Yeah,” he said, smiling fondly as he stared off towards the television. “Unfortunately neither Foggy nor I can bake, so I haven’t had a good homemade pumpkin pie in a long time.”

I snuggled in tighter against him, grinning. “Maybe this year we’ll have to change that, too,” I told him.

I felt him lean over and place a kiss in my hair. He pulled back just a fraction and murmured, “I’d like that. Thank you.”

I could feel my heart begin racing in my chest at the feel of his lips against the top of my head. My eyes drifted closed again, relaxing into the feeling of safety with his strong, warm body beside me. I felt him shift slightly and heard the just barely audible grunt of discomfort. My eyes flew open and I pulled back, staring up at him for a moment, chewing my lip nervously.

"What?" he asked softly, his head turning towards me.

Fuck it.

I pulled away from him, noting the way his face fell and his eyebrows drew together in confusion. 

"What're you–"

"Turn," I ordered him firmly.

My hands landed on his left arm and shoulder, lightly tugging on him. He made a confused noise and I pulled against him harder. Eventually he shifted, grimacing a little. I slid my right leg up on the couch, maneuvering it between the back of the couch and the right side of his body, the front of him now facing the armrest. I carefully slid myself in behind him on the couch with him between my legs, the position similar to how he'd been with me when I'd woken up from my nightmare awhile ago. I tried hard to ignore how he felt with my thighs trapping him between me and his ass now just barely pressed against the front of me.

He turned back over his shoulder, brows still deeply furrowed in confusion as he looked back at me. Forcing myself to just be bold–and telling myself this was definitely not meant to be sexual–I carefully placed my hands flat against his upper back before sliding them up towards his shoulders. My hands began to knead the tight muscles in his shoulders. His reaction was almost immediate; a sound like a sigh and a moan blew roughly out of his mouth as he drooped forward into himself, shoulders slumping under my hands.

Swallowing hard, I quietly explained, "Your muscles are tight. I told you I noticed it earlier but I can't heal sore muscles with my abilities." 

My hands worked their way towards his neck, squeezing and working the tension out as they moved. His head dropped forward, chin to his chest, moaning faintly as my hands worked up his neck and the base of his skull.

"You don't–don't have to do that," he mumbled. 

"Like I said," I told him, my voice sounding breathless and not the light and joking tone I'd intended, "someone should make sure the neighborhood vigilante is taken care of."

My fingers continually worked up his neck, feeling him slacken under my touch as another low moan left him. His hands suddenly dropped down, each one landing on one of my knees and gently squeezing them. I bit my lip, fighting to focus on giving him a massage and working out his tense muscles, trying hard to pay attention to the food competition on the television and not the growing warm ache between my thighs. 

It wasn't working.

His hands tightened even further on my knees and I bit my lip harder. A sharp, shaky exhale blew out of my nose as my heart picked up its pace. Internally I willed it to stop, my attention turning towards the television as my hands focused back on his broad shoulders. They were in a dessert round now.

Just focus on the damn pie on TV, Olivia. Stop thinking about him between your legs.

My eyes clamped shut as I felt my arousal growing, knowing full well Matt would be even more aware of it than myself. I tried to exhale slowly as my hands slid down his shoulders, firmly working the muscles of his biceps. But then the image of Matt shirtless sitting on my bed earlier flashed through my mind and my breath caught in my throat. I felt Matt’s body tense under my hands and against the front of me. My grip tightened on his arms for a moment involuntarily before I quickly slid them back up to his shoulders and then to his upper back, trying to focus on massaging another part of him. His hands slid up just a fraction on both of my legs, his firm grip now on the upper part of my thighs just above my knee. I felt like I couldn't breathe.

You're dumb for lying to yourself and saying this wasn't sexual. He is LITERALLY between your legs and you're LITERALLY rubbing your hands all over his body.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

My eyes drifted up towards the ceiling, praying for my body to just calm down and stop betraying me to Matt. 

How is one man doing this to me?

I felt him suddenly sit up straight as if he'd abruptly recovered from some sort of trance the massage had relaxed him into. My eyes landed back on him and I felt him release my thighs from his hold. He glanced over his shoulder, his eyes landing on my chin. He swallowed hard a few times, his throat moving quite visibly with the movement. 

He cleared his throat quickly before speaking, his voice deep and husky as he did. "Thank you for…taking care of me tonight, Liv." My body shivered involuntarily at the sudden nickname. "I should probably let you sleep. It's late."

My hands stopped on his back and I slowly lowered them to my lap. 

"Yeah, okay," I agreed quietly, removing my legs from around him and scooting back on the couch. "It is late." 

He rose to his feet and nervously I rose to mine beside him, crossing my arms over my chest as if that could help cover the sound of my racing pulse.

"Thanks for…checking on me," I told him awkwardly. "...again."

His mouth pulled up at the corners in a smile. He reached out, briefly cupping my chin, his thumb grazing my bottom lip. My arms tightened around myself in anticipation of something, but he dropped his hand as a pained look crossed his face. 

We can't. Not with Kilgrave still out there. He knows that, too.

A dejected sigh left me as he turned and headed towards the front door. I followed behind him, unlocking it and opening it for him when we reached it. He stepped forward, pausing in the threshold. 

"Goodnight, Olivia," he whispered.

"Goodnight, Matt," I answered back.

And then he went into the hallway and headed to his apartment. I shut the door behind him, locking it. I ran my hands down my face a few times, trying to calm down. My body was still aroused, still reacting to everything about him tonight. 

With a huff I turned off the television and headed to my room. Sleep, that's what I needed. 

I crawled into my bed and tried to get comfortable. I tossed and turned in the sheets a few times, feeling restless and all too aware of the warm, needy ache between my thighs. I rolled to my side and closed my eyes tight in frustration, willing myself to relax. 

Matt's shirtless body flashed before my mind; the ripple of muscle I'd seen earlier–felt under my hands as I healed him. Massaged him. I bit my lip, unable to stop the curiosity that grew in me of what it would feel like to massage his bare chest and back under my hands. To hear what sounds he would make.

My hand had slid down into my underwear, between my thighs before I'd even realized. As my mind recalled that dark, hungry look on his face and the moans he had softly made as I massaged him, my hands continued to work inside myself, trying to find some release from the growing tension deep inside me. Briefly I thought I heard a loud bang from across the hall, but the image of Matt between my legs, his fingers inside of me, had me arching back into the sheets and moaning. 

I was panting hard, my breath loud in my empty bedroom as I continued to finger myself. I pictured Matt in his black outfit, the dark mask on his face obscuring everything but his mouth. And that mouth–that mouth between my thighs, his tongue warm and wet.

His name rolled from my lips, something between a curse and a moan all in one, as I felt myself finally release the tension that had been growing deep in me all night because of him. Another loud noise faintly registered in my mind as I came down, trying to catch my breath. When my mind was working again, I realized that I'd heard a few loud bangs from Matt's apartment. 

I swallowed hard, brow furrowing as my eyes glanced to my phone on the nightstand. Did I ignore it or did I check on him? Another loud bang from across the hall had me reaching for my phone, scanning my recent call list for his name. My finger hovered over it for a moment, trying to catch my breath and rid myself of the embarrassment of having just done that while thinking about him and then calling him after. I groaned staring at his name; maybe I was being stupid. He had to be fine.

What if someone attacked him in his apartment? Or he tripped and fell and hurt himself?

I pushed the contact, holding the phone to my ear as I ran my hands nervously through my hair. The phone rang five times and just as I was about to hang up, contemplating checking on him, he suddenly answered.

“Olivia?” he asked, confusion and something else mingled in his voice.

“I uh…” I began, closing my eyes and trying not to think about what I’d just been picturing. I could hear him breathing heavily through the phone. “Are you okay?” I blurted out. “I thought I heard…banging or something? I just…wanted to make sure you were okay?”

“I–I’m fine,” he panted out, his voice sounding strained. 

“You don’t…sound fine…” I told him. “You sound out of breath.”

He huffed something that sounded almost like a chuckle before he groaned over the line. I heard a light thud shortly after.

“You’re going to be the death of me, Olivia Allen,” he breathed out.

I swallowed hard, my brows knitting together at his words. “What?” I asked him.

“I tried…really I did,” he told me, his voice low and quick. “Normally I tune everything out, and I really tried but I…”

He paused and my brain was racing, trying to make sense of what he was saying. 

Tune everything out? What was he–oh. Oh shit.

My hand flew to my face in embarrassment, my cheeks flaming when I had understood. He’d heard me just now in my room, touching myself while thinking of him. Moaning his name . 

Shit fuck shit fuck shit fuck

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, “I tried not to but…it’s like I was so tuned in to you when I left that I couldn’t shake you from my senses. It’s like you overwhelmed me–your scent, your breath, the tossing and turning in your sheets. The…noises you were making after.” He inhaled sharply and my cheeks burned further. “Please say something,” he begged, his breath still coming in heavy.

I tried to bury my face in my hand further, tried to disappear, but I couldn’t. As if it wasn’t enough to know he could tell I was aroused–feel it, smell it, taste it–now he’d heard me.

“I…” I started, voice quiet as I shook my head. “I am…definitely embarrassed.”

“If it makes you feel better, you’re not alone,” he admitted. “Not the embarrassed part, but the uh… other part.”

“What?”

“You weren’t the only one who uh…needed a…” he paused, clearing his throat before he finished, “release.”

Did he just…admit that he’d gotten off to me? The warmth that had been flooding my cheeks suddenly flew farther south on my body at the information.

“That…was the banging?” I asked him hesitantly.

He cleared his throat again, his breathing sounding a bit more even. “Yeah, I uh…tried not to but I…couldn’t…”

“Oh,” I said, the word coming out more as a surprised sound.

“You’re probably upset with me now, for all of that,” he rambled on suddenly. “I’m sorry, it was wrong of me and I shouldn’t have–”

“No,” I said, cutting him off quickly and then wincing. “I mean,” I began, backpedaling a bit, “I’m definitely embarrassed that you uh…heard that? But…from what you’ve said before I suppose it’s not all in your…control.” I swallowed hard, scratching the top of my head. “But I’m…” I trailed off, biting my lip.

“You’re…?” he prompted eagerly.

“I’m…a little relieved to know that it wasn’t just me,” I blurted out.

He chuckled lightly on his end. “It’s definitely not. You were sufficiently working me up most of the night, probably without even realizing it, sweetheart.”

I licked my lips at the term of endearment, my eyes closing briefly, wondering what it would sound like to hear him whisper it–

Nope, that’s how we got in this mess.

I cleared my throat awkwardly. “I uhm…I’m sorry. Just sort of…having a hard time keeping my distance,” I admitted.

“Yeah, you’re not the only one,” he mumbled, his tone sounding pained. “But you should actually get some sleep.”

“Yeah,” I agreed, nodding slowly. “You’re right.”

“Goodnight, Liv,” he said gently.

My mouth pulled up into a faint smile. “Goodnight again, Matt.”

I could hear the smirk in his voice when he said, “I hope you have good dreams this time.” A brief pause. “Just maybe not too good, okay?”

“Oh my God,” I grumbled, burying my face in my hand again as he laughed lightly. “ Goodnight, Matt,” I said firmly.

“Sweet dreams, Liv,” he told me, a smile apparent in his voice.

I hung up, sighing as I placed my phone back on the nightstand. Settling back into my sheets, I muttered to myself, “You attractive and charming ass, Matt.”

A moment later my phone buzzed. Frowning, I turned over, grabbing my phone. I spotted a text from Matt.

3:47 AM I heard that

I rolled my eyes, laughing a little. “Maybe you should stop spying on me now, the show’s over buddy,” I whispered.

3:47 AM Goodnight sweetheart

I smiled, placing the phone back on the nightstand before rolling over in my bed and getting comfortable. 

God damn that man and what he does to me.

[greypetrel]

"One listening to the other rant about their day, etc." for the oc of your choice 💗

Eheheheheh Hi Mo!

Thank you for the prompt, let’s see… Still DadWolf AU because my brain’s on fire. Seeing it a little on the sideline, but…

Again, the one veto I got myself in this thing is clarifying their relationship, so think what you want. They’ve been friends from decades by now, they are roommates, they share the custody of the two balls of destruction, when one cooks, the other washes the dishes, all the rest is in the eyes of the beholder.

Two notes: It happened all the time in my university that we had two lessons at the same time and had to choose which one to attend. It was very unnerving as students, I can imagine Solas being absolutely rabid about it and in a constant cold war with the direction about it.

Milord is Felix.

Tis the prompt list. (it's a fun prompt list, if you read this whenever, feel free to send one!)

A Hard day's Night (🎶)

"One listening to the other rant about their day, etc."

That evening, Solas slammed the door on his way in, almost fuming from his ears and marching to the kitchen after tossing his coat on the hanger in the entrance.

“Welcomed back and good evening to you, then.”

Varric bid, totally ignored as he just stared at the elf going his way, starting to take pots and pans out of cupboards, angrily slamming everything. He knew perfectly that any question, right now, would only end up in a polite white lie about him being perfectly, absolutely fine, nothing happened at all, that’s a preposterous assumption. So, as much as he was burning from curiosity and had a couple of ideas about what could have happened to get Solas so crossed, he just sighed and got back to the chapter he was trying to write, laptop placed on his legs, propped against the coffee table.

It was a “Write in the living room” kind of evening, and even tho the quiet of the house was broken from an irritated ancient elf storming in the kitchen and cooking dinner very noisily, he didn’t mind the break in concentration. Noise had acquired a shade of nostalgia to it: the house was always so silent ever since the kids moved out, he almost (almost) missed Aisling’s horrible music blasting from her room in screams and growls and Dorian yelling her to cut it off from the other room. He knew Solas missed them too, as much as he acted aloof and unaffected by the world around him, and all that shit about people not being people, Varric knew the kids, and Aisling in particular, had him wrapped around their little fingers from maybe a couple of days since they were brought home, as a temporary sistemation that became signing off papers and quarrelling over whether to homeschool them or not. Noise was his way of filling the silence and getting back to happier times, when both kids still lived in their rooms on the upper floor, quarrelling fiercely over the bathroom, trying some new magic trick in the living room, having epic slumber parties with Malcolm’s kids in the weekends.

All in all, Varric didn’t mind the extra noise: tuning it out and getting back to his book was easy enough, finger tapping on the keyboard in a good rhythm after some minutes, trying to coax characters into behaving. Easy enough: add some familiar drama that was but what he saw around him, change names, go on with his own assumptions about reasons and outcomes and whatever is good for the plot. Easy as pie.

Less than an hour later, the whole living room was smelling good, and a grunt of recognition and a clink of cutleries on wood informed him that dinner was ready. He saved his progresses and closed the laptop, looking up at his surroundings.

It was, apparently, a “Eat on the couch” kind of evening too. Solas sat on the couch, at the left of the armchair the dwarf was currently propped in, and rested a bowl between his knees, without a word. He just turned the tv on and moved the remote towards his plate, in a silent invitation to choose something to watch. Varric, tho, wasn’t interested in whatever could be found on tv, so he let on the news -more unrest in Orlais as the civil war went on, and so on and so forth. Oh no. He switched the pc for dinner -a quick stew, nothing fancy, but wholesome enough, and took a couple of bites before digging in.

“Wanna talk about it, Chuckles?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Varric raised one eyebrow. They’ve been friends for more than 30 years, now, and he wasn’t buying it. Solas knew, and snorted, straightening his back even further than it was before.

“I’m fine.”

“You know, sometimes it’s hard to realize Pikachu’s not really your blood daughter, don’t you? You tell the same lies.” He noted, and that, apparently, was it.

The comment earned Varric a firey glance his way, and hadn’t he known him from so long, he may have thought he was about to freeze him on the spot and forgot him there until Spring thawed the ice. It wasn’t the case, and they just held each other’s eyes, saying everything without saying nothing, for a full minute -the tv blabbered of Divine Justinia insisting for a meeting to discuss the state of the Mages- before Solas, finally, broke.

“I’m getting tired of teaching.” He declared, drily. “The Institute set half my lesson for freshmen at the same time as Analysis 1, I had to compile too many forms to have the timetable changed. And this year’s class is unnerving and hopeless.”

“You say it every year.”

“This time is true. One asked me if ghosts and spirits are the same thing, today.”

He snorted, shaking his head with a grimace at the very idea, and frowning with disappointment as Varric held back a chuckle of his own at the idea, and mainly imagining Solas’ face trying to not show his irritation at the poor, unfortunate student. He didn’t want to be them when they’d eventually have to take an exam with Solas and discover that the elf had a terrific memory and never forgot a face.

“I’m sorry. That was a gross mistake.”

“Yeah. What do they even teach to mages nowadays?”

“Try asking them to extract a bunny from a top hat.”

Another frown.

“Seriously, Chuckles, you should try that in exams, I’m sure they’d manage and you’d be less stressed.”

“And what about the bunnies?”

“Pikachu would be happy to adopt them all, I’m sure.”

“In that tiny crammed flat?”

“She and Sera will make space, she’ll leave a couple at Dorian’s, plant carrots in the garden here, and will be around here more to tend for the bunnies’ food. It wouldn’t be half bad.”

He didn’t reply at that, but just sat back, resting his back on the pillow and crossing his legs, eating a couple of spoonfuls more as he glared vaguely towards the tv. So, Varric’s suppositions were right.

“Did you speak to her?”

“She came by, yes, we had lunch together.”

“And, from your grudgy tone, it didn’t go well.”

Silence on the other hand. An affirmation, then. Not that it required a genius to understand it: as irritated and grumpy as the mage grew with particularly circle-friendly students and instructions, that level of rage and the ignorance of the perfectly good dinner table they had was only brought on by a blatant violation of human and mage rights on tv -they had eaten on the couch for three days when the Chantry in Kirkwall exploded, right before Varric left for the city to check on the situation and, particularly, to check on Raina and Garrett who were there. Or, because Aisling or Dorian defied his expectations and did something he disapproved. And since they got back South, the main topic was…

“She keeps on in not wanting to have anything to do with the Inquisition and the big plan, uh?”

“She’s throwing herself away, Varric.” He snorted, snapping his torso up and tossing his bowl on the table. It slid turning on itself past the middle of the table before stopping, the spoon inside clinking thrice against the ceramic. As for Solas, he jumped up and started to pace, gesticulating. “I get that after what they lived and saw up there she needs some quiet and less action. I get it! But…”

“… she has a friend that’s dying, Chuckles, it’s honestly surprising that Dorian’s more receptive.”

“I know! But she… She wants to write her dissertation on sound diffusion.”

“Which would bring her to work in the music field? She always loved music…”

Truth to be told, Aisling had told Varric about it, and about how she wanted to just get it done with universities and get into sound design. It… It was a passion of hers, but Varric carefully avoided telling Solas of that or that it worried him as well. It was underwhelming for him -not that he understood what she and Dorian were working on exactly up in Minrathous, but he read and heard and indeed, it was a whole other scope that wasn’t “make sure rock concerts had a perfect diffusion”. In substance, this vent was something he’s been expecting.

“It would be a terrible waste of talent. She could do so much more, Varric… I read her work and it was brilliant. Not just Dorian’s idea, as much as she always insists that she just puts them into practice. She put herself into it and it was glorious and purposeful, they do their best when they work together. She’s wasted on whatever route she’s hiding herself into right now, it’s…”

Varric listened as the elf went about pacing and venting, venting and pacing, visibly frustrated and involved in the topic. It has been a surprise how much he got involved with the kids, honestly. Of all the things Varric expected, this was really not one. He stopped his musing before finishing, tho, slipping back and flopping down on the couch again, back slouched forward and elbows propped on his knees.

“… I tried to talk to her, but she wouldn’t listen.”

“I know. She’s always been stubborn. Remember when we got here and she didn’t want a room of her own?”

“Yes…” He remembered, expression softening for a moment as he did. “… But I don’t know how to help her, this time, if she just… Stands up and run away.”

“Did she?”

“Yes. She doesn’t even quarrel anymore, it’s… She told me it was late and she had to get back to lab. That she was fine and not to worry for her.”

“Kinda reminds me of someone…”

Another chuckle left the dwarf, as Solas turned his head to glare at him all over again, in a silent scold. As much as he wanted to, he couldn’t deny it. And, Varric saw it, there was pride, back in his eyes.

“Listen, Chuckles, I get what you mean. I’m worried too. Dorian is answering by getting angry and Maker knows some days you can’t say hello without him snapping back at you. She’s bottling it up, as she always did. We’ve been there.”

“You sound particularly unsurprised.”

“Do I?”

“She already told you, didn’t she.”

He sighed, nodding to confirm it. No point in hiding it.

“Just once, yes. I got to have her promise she would have thought about it carefully. She was smiling, tho.”

Silence, again. They both ended their dinner, Varric collected the bowls and brought them back to the kitchen. His turn in washing the dishes, at this point, and he set to work in a well-established rhythm. Ten minutes later, there was Solas sitting on a stool in the isle, propped on it with an arm and tapping his long fingers on the counter.

“Do you think it’s me?”

“What?”

“With Aisling. Should I… Let her go, don’t insist anymore? Maybe she’ll be happier like it, playing with her music, safe and not involved, and I’m just selfishly trying to bring her down a path she doesn’t want to walk.”

Varric sighed, heavily, closing the dishwasher and pushing a couple of buttons to have it going. Usual, trivial things, for a non-trivial topic they discussed a lot and had no right solution. Not one that depended on either of them anymore, at least.

“She acts happy, but she isn’t. One of her best friends is dying, Dorian doesn’t want to set foot in the hospital and see him, and they’re the only ones Milord knows here… She had to leave everything and start on a whole year of work from scratch. She is convincing herself she is happier with inconsequential projects. We both know she listened to you a little too much growing up so… No. She won’t be happy on the long run, not if she doesn’t see a bigger purpose in what she’s doing.”

Solas, tho, didn’t look convinced. Speaking of stubborn.

“Listen, Pikachu just needs time, right now. She’ll come around and get herself out of the gutter. Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“I know…”

“She’s tough, we did our best. With both of them, they just need to digest some bad experiences.”

“Time, then.”

“Time. And support.”

The elf nodded, slouching a little on the stool. They fell in companionable silence again, as Varric filled the kettle and pulled a couple of mugs from the cupboards, along with that special herbal brew that didn’t make Solas scrunch his nose badly and stay up all night.

“And you know what?”

“What?”

“You should cook angry more often. I’m sure if you manage to repeat today stew, they’ll both could get convinced more easily.”

“Really.” He chuckled. “Well, be sure to tell me that you’re inserting this turn of events in your last book only by Sunday morning, then, so I’ll be pissed enough on time.”

“You know me, Chuckles.” Varric joined the chuckling, pouring them both a cup of tea. “I can’t say no to a good dramatic pause.”

[immortal-enemies]

To me the main problem with tlh is that it affected nothing the other series I get Tmi, but tda? When she wrote tda she was already thinking of tlh, but a part from Malcolm thing nothing else affects

No bc you're RIGHT for the most part 😭

I'm not really upset that we didn't get to see certain things come to fruition, like the "Herondale Blackthorn" paper and other small things like that, bc they're literally not relevant at all, but I also feel like there was, looking back on it, very little nods to TLH in TDA? Cassie said that TLH would be more relevant to TWP then to anything else, so we'll have to see where THAT goes

Also we DID see the burning down of the Blackthorn house in Idris, which was referenced in TDA so...

[slayernina]

iZombie Pilot differences

(Well, the 2nd draft at least XD) 

https://www.scriptslug.com/script/izombie-101-pilot-2015

Just random things that caught my attention:

Olivia “Liv” Moore (27). Rose has the same age as her character while filming season 1.

She’s transitioned from bright, blonde. I wonder why they put Rose McIver natural blonde into a brunette. More contrast with the transition? Ironically, her “human” costume has Rose with her natural hair.

Clive Babinaux (30). Malcolm was 33 while filming.

Think Shaft as channelled through Jordan Peele. He's that rare combination of self-aware and super-fly. Cleavon Little in BLAZING SADDLES. I don’t get these references since I didn’t watch any of this movies, but Clive was much more serious and focused in “our” pilot.

Dr. Ravi Chakrabarti (40s). Wow, Ravi was way older than our Ravi. Rahul was 30 while filming. Thankfully we didn’t have another Hollywoodesque 10 years gap with any of the potential love interests (at this point, on paper Liv or Peyton). Also, since Rahul isn’t into “brown characters casting calls” and the age, I wonder if Ravi was the original name or if they changed the name and background after hiring the actor.

Think Simon Pegg’s “Scotty” in the Star Trek movies. A high energy, enthusiastic nerd, who has a brilliant mind that isn’t equipped with a filter or an off switch. He has an endearing lack of interpersonal skills and a genuine enthusiasm for unknown and unexplained. Conspiracy theories and unsolved mysteries are his porn. I’m glad we didn’t get another Sheldon or House.

Major Lilywhite (28). Robert Buckley was 34 while filming. A bit older than Liv but better than most of media. (Yes. I fucking hate late 30s/40s actors banging twentysomethings, specially since actresses are pretty fucked up when they turn 30).

A former University of Washington strong safety turned environmental engineer. The social worker turned Lord Commander was cooler.

Peyton Charles (26). Aly Michalka was 26 while filming.

They shared a love of lists and plans and predominately socialized while burning calories. Fuuuuuuuuck that. I wouldn’t handle another pretty best friend playing fatshaming into the audience. The deconstruction of using gorgeous Aly instead of “the chick” as the more stable, serious brain of the pair for me was refreshing. Even when she was “the damsel in distress” she was because she was overpowered by far.

That’s why seeing her daughter turn from ambitious super-achiever into zombiefied couch potato. Sorry. I laughed so hard with “zombified couch potato”. I think I’m going to make this my personal motto.

Evan Moore (16). Liv’s 16-year-old brother wants to be the next Dylan which is tough when your mom expects you to be the next Elon Musk. What. I didn’t expect this.

He’s a bit ashamed that he may like his sister Liv a bit better now that she’s changed into this new version that doesn’t remind himself so much of his mother. Screaming into the void forever for all the potential wasted in the Moore family that we never got.

Blaine DeBeers (28). David Ander was 34 while filming.

He’s the wussy, polo shirt with the collar up, selfimportant jerk who makes the jump from run of the mill spoiled asshole to completely evil crime lord. Probably David gives too much of evil lord or dangerous sociopath since the beginning to make him be a frat boy. I mean, the yellow plastic jacket was too much but a polo shirt? What a disgrace.

EXT. LAKE WASHINGTON, SEATTLE - NIGHT CAMERA FLIES ACROSS THE SURFACE OF LAKE WASHINGTON toward a dozen party boats tied together in such a way that people can just step from one boat to the next -- Lake Havasu-style. Wow, that looked so cool. I suppose we didn’t get it for budget reasons. Also no Marcy/Major introductory scene.

SLOW MOTION SHOT of Liv running straight at camera trying to cross the 20 feet that mean a chance at survival, a look of determination on her face. Pilot Liv was braver than Our Liv. And also snarkier.

REVEAL LIV, still hot, but now shockingly pale with nearly white hair. Still hot? Ugh.

Peyton leads her to an EMPTY CHAIR across from where the rest of them are sitting, then takes her seat with the group. The intervention was heavier. Liv’s inner dialogue also changes a bit more during the full original pilot.

DR. RAVI CHAKRABARTI (30s, nebbish, high-energy.). The age change here again. A mistake?

She turns to find BLAINE (late 20s, entitled, wearing a “Hugs Not Drugs” shirt.) He leans in close, his mouth by her ear, pulls plastic vials from his pocket. Blaine “no personal space” DeBeers XD

Liv throws her beer in his face. Blaine takes a menacing step toward Liv when he is tackled by a zombie. Liv shrieks, looks up, and sees the rolling zombie outbreak coming at her. This Blaine is more aggressive and his zombie origin story is different.

We return to the moment of Liv hiding under the boat railing surrounded by zombie chaos. Hid under a boat railing instead a table. I suppose budget again.

The last person she sees is BLAINE who is now a zombie. He’s left a bloody scratch down her arm. Liv wrenches free, but in doing so, bangs her head against the side of the boat and slips into the water. Different than rolling backwards to the water.

Suddenly, the blackness rips open revealing the NIGHT SKY and FLASHING RED LIGHTS. She wakes up in the night instead of the day.

Liv finishes up her story. LIV So, I hung out a while, chatted with the EMT. Made sure he had the correct spelling of my name. (off Ravi’s stare) I’m kidding. I took off. Pilot Liv craked a joke instead of “The EMT was too upset about having accidentally bagged a “living” girl to ponder any other possibilities”.

RAVI So you feel normal after you feed? LIV (smirks) Feed? -- like an animal? RAVI Sorry -- poor word choice. LIV No worries. It’s probably accurate. Truth is... I never feel normal. I don’t think I’ve slept in five months... And trust me, zombie-ism has its side effects. RAVI The Tabasco? LIV Pretty much the only way I can taste anything is if it would have at least six chili peppers next to it on a menu. The Liv-Ravi conversation was different and longer.

As Liv passes the open door of Peyton’s room, she spots a SORORITY MUG FULL OF PENS on a nearby bookshelf. She grabs the pens and continues towards the kitchen. (NOTE: This is the first of several beats of Liv impulsively swiping random objects. We’re not sure why but it will become clear later.). In our pilot Peyton asked where the pens were, here we can see how she steals them.

Too long to put in here, but there’s a full Lillymoore scene deleted in which Liv gets a bit jealous, rambles about a true love relationship and sex with a zombie, another in which the vision is different and another with Liv with concerned Evan scene deleted.

KTAU news. With Roxanna Bull. Tom Vasquez. Bill Sylvester with sports and Johnny Raines with weather. Johnny Frost was Johnny Raines and worked in channel 7 instead of 11.

Ravi and Liv sit at Clive’s desk. Ravi taps away on his phone (...). Ravi was with Liv initially at Clive’s desk scene and during Johnny’s scene. Also the conversation was way longer.

Tatiana was called Paulina Wojcinski and was Polish instead of Romanian.

Some not related with the case dialogue between Liv and Clive reaching to Paulina’s apartment has been cut.

Liv turns to him, her face ashen. This is the moment she loses her Winona Ryder dour/cool/bored affect. Interesting comparison lol

Liv, looking shell-shocked, waits nearby as Clive pounds on the door to Tess’ apartment. Soul-patched neighbour Truman opens his door in a huff.

TRUMAN She’s gone. Whatever you told her, it sent her running. It’s her body, you know. Only a patriarchal society would prevent women from monetizing their own—

CLIVE Did she say where she was going? The scene with the guy was shorter.

Liv steals a wooden apple instead of eyes. There’s two cut scenes, one with Clive, another with Eva. Clive and Eva meet. Also the scene at Paulina’s apartment is translated partially to a hotel room, with a vision involving Paulina and Tess. Another scene is added involving another apartment. Another scene involving the bad guy and Clive is cut too.

Peyton exits. Liv is thrown by Peyton’s show of emotion. She looks over the stolen loot, her slovenly attire, her Cheetostained fingers as she processes Peyton’s speech. LIV - Pathetic. Liv’s awakening is different.

The scene with Johnny is shorter, another scene with Pratt was cut.

The scene with Pratt and the girls was way shorter. There are several scenes of Clive running after Pratt and Liv and Clive interacting with the girls that were cut. Liv almost eats Pratt.

A scene in which Liv gets her zombie makeup applied and wanders through the haunted mansion is cut. Most of the conversation with Major and Peyton is cut.

What are your opinions on this?

My other metas here

La maldición de las cuatro brujas here

Una novela romántica de esas con un macizorro sin camiseta en la portada here

Un romanzo rosa di quelli con un fusto a petto nudo in copertina here

Buy me a ko-fi!

[agaypanic]

hey can you do a Reese imagine about him being mad at you because he was getting jealous about you and Malcolm :)

Hot-Headed (Reese Wilkerson X Reader)

Masterlist

Request Something

Summary: Reese always comes up with ways to keep you and Malcolm apart. He doesn’t like you asking questions about it.

A/N: kind of based on the jealousy headcanons I did for Reese

***

It was subtle at first. Malcolm would come home while you were over, and Reese would take you to his room, claiming he just wanted alone time with you. Or at lunch, he’d put your bags on the seat next to you so Malcolm would either sit next to him or further from you. 

But Reese couldn’t keep you and Malcolm separated all the time. The two of you shared a chemistry class this quarter and sat next to each other because you tolerated each other most out of everyone else in the class. This meant that you were automatically partners for all science labs and projects.

“Why did you have to pair up with him?” Reese grumbled, for the millionth time since classes had started, as you two walked home from school. He was glaring holes into the back of Malcolm’s head, who was walking ahead of you two with Stevie. “I know it’s not so he can do all the work because you’re smart as hell.”

��Reese, I’ve told you a hundred times; he’s like the only person I know in that class.”

“So, make a new friend.”

“What is it with you?” You pulled on his sleeve to stop him from walking anymore. Malcolm and Stevie didn’t seem to notice, too engrossed in their own conversation. “You’re acting like something’s gonna happen with Malcolm and me.”

Reese turned to you, looking alarmed.

“Why would you say that?”

“Because that’s how you’re acting, Reese.”

“No, I’m not.” He yanked his arm out of your grip and walked away. You scoffed, jogging to catch up with him.

“Yes, you are. You’re constantly trying to keep Malcolm and me apart. Why?” He barely spared you a glance. “Reese, I’m being serious. Answer me, please. This is ridiculous.” He just gave you silence, walking faster.

When you all reached the Wilkerson house, you and Malcolm sat at the dining table. You moved one of the chairs so Stevie could sit with you two. Reese rolled his eyes before going to the fridge to look for a snack. Not being satisfied with his options, he started pulling out pots and pans, not being shy to slam all the drawers and cabinets he was opening.

The sounds got annoying fast. You and Malcolm could barely focus on your assignment. You were the first to break, grabbing your papers and standing up.

“Malcolm, let’s go to your room.” You left no room for a response, already walking off.

“I’ll stay… here to… see… what Reese… is… cooking.” You could hear Stevie tell Malcolm, pausing after every few words to take a deep breath. You sat on Reese’s bed and waited for Malcolm. He soon came in, closing the door behind him and sitting in front of you on his own bed.

“Finally, some peace and quiet.” You muttered, finally being able to focus on the paper in front of you.

“Seriously, what’s his deal?” Malcolm asked.

“I don’t know; he’s your brother.”

“Doesn’t mean I can understand him.” You both laughed. You felt a little bad, laughing at your boyfriend’s expense. But at the same time, he was acting like a child, refusing to talk to you and just acting passive-aggressive.

Suddenly the door busted open. You and Malcolm looked at it in alarm, seeing Reese stare at the two of you from the doorway. You noticed his stern expression soften slightly in what looked like relief, but he kept his glare.

“Door stays open.” Then he stomped off, presumably back to the kitchen.

It didn’t take long for you and Malcolm to finish your assignments. You two went back to the dining table, being pulled in by whatever Reese was making. Whatever it was, it smelled and looked delicious.

He didn’t look at you as he gave you your plate. The silent treatment was starting to sting a bit, but you figured he just needed a bit more time to cool off. You decided to talk to him when you were alone.

After the late lunch, Malcolm left to take Stevie home. Reese was washing dishes when you stood up. He was about to put a plate in the dish drainer when you took it from him, grabbing a towel to dry it off. Giving a small smile, he went back to washing while you dried the dishes he had already cleaned.

“Can we talk?” You asked quietly.

“About what?”

“You know what, Reese.” You took another dish from his hands. He sighed. 

“I just don’t like you hanging around him.” He shrugged, as if you would let him leave it at that.

“Why?” He looked at you, looking nervous. Reese took a deep breath.

“My last girlfriend cheated on me with him. And I don’t want that to happen again.” All the annoyance and anger in you from his behavior quickly washed away. You set the towel and dish down, bringing your arms around Reese to hold him tight.

“I’m sorry, Reese. She shouldn’t have done that.” You heard him dry off his hands before hugging your closer to him. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“It’s stupid.” You pinched his side at his response. Being the ticklish person he is, he couldn’t help but giggle.

“It’s not stupid, Hun.” You looked up at him. “You know I’d never cheat on you, right? Especially with your brother.” He nodded.

“I know. I just get scared sometimes.” He kissed your forehead. “I’m glad you’re not like my last girlfriend, though. After she cheated on me, I ran away and joined the army.”

“I’m sorry, you did what?”

[itgirlwife]

are you still there?

prompt: puck doesn't like talking on the phone, but malcolm calls them instead of texting. malcolm admits it's because he wants to hear puck's voice

pairing: malcolm / puck | honeymoon suite

words: 1002

notes: takes place early relationship, i like writing dialogue so i went overboard a lil

It's just a phone call—it won't kill me. It'll slaughter me. Malcolm means well, I know, but he's asking for a lot. The date was great, and the movie was great. It already called for minimal conversation but that didn't stop Malcolm. Being my Gemini self, I couldn’t keep my jokes to myself.  It filled the silence in-between Malcolm’s observations, followed by my nodding and ohs.

After dropping me back at my place, he kissed me like it was our last date. He wasn’t ready to leave me. I thought about how I’d eventually take my sweater off and his scent wouldn’t be there. How cold my hands would get without Malcolm holding them. I didn’t want him to leave either.

After a tight hug goodbye, Malcolm asked something of me.

“Call me before you go to bed.”

I nodded and waved goodbye, dreading his request.

I’d rather eat concrete than make a phone call.

I stalled once I entered the house. I did my nightly routine as slowly as I could. I skipped showering since I wanted to sleep in my sweater. Deciding to sleep in the sweater should’ve been the fire I needed to call him. I desired some closeness after Malcolm had left. It was him I wanted. Calling would make that easier to express. I don’t want him to think I don’t care about him. I do—a lot more than I’m willing to admit.

I’m sat in my bedroom looking at his contact info on my phone. His number hasn’t become muscle memory yet. I did add the emoji of the dancing guy next to his name. I thought it was too early in our relationship for a heart emoji, given all the things he does to my heart. Also, Malcolm wears suits and likes to boogie. It’s fitting.

My shaky thumb taps the phone icon. I can’t turn back now. 

Malcolm picks up on the second ring.

“Hello?”

“Hey. It’s Puck.” He knows that, idiot.

He chuckles. “Hey. I was worried you wouldn’t call.”

I can’t blame him for thinking that. It bothered me that he did, though. “Why wouldn’t I call?”

“We only text.”

“Oh. Yeah. I don’t like talking on the phone a lot.” It came out sooner than I wanted it to.

“I don’t like it too much either, honestly…if it means anything, I just wanted to hear you talk.” 

It means a lot, more than he’ll ever know. I won’t tell him that, though.

“Aww,” I cooed cutely. “You’re corny.”

He laughs. I picture the lines that would form on his face. Around his eyes, the corner of his lips. All are very beautiful. I pull the sleeves of my sweater to cover part of my free hand. It’s not enough. He should be here.

“Well, one of us has to do it, right?” Malcolm says. “Be the romantic fool?”

I laugh a little too, but it could just be my nerves. “It can be the both of us. I’d be lying if I said my head isn’t over my feet right now.”

“Aww. You’re corny, Puck.”

“Shut up.” My face feels warmer than earlier. “I got it from you. That kiss must’ve knocked something into me.”

“Hey, you know what they say about true love’s kiss.”

“I’ll turn into an ogre?”

“No,” I can hear him smile through the phone. I would kill to see it, “but I can sing Holding Out for a Hero to you. All while being your Prince Charming.”

“You gotta play the piano too. We agreed on a concert, remember?” He told me about the lounge shows he’d do at the casino. He’s played piano since he was a boy. I begged for a private concert the moment he told me.

“You make the setlist. I’ll show up in my suit with my Steinway.”

“Really? That’s way too much power. I’ll do that right now. Let me grab a pen and paper. Stay on the phone.”

“You haven’t given me a reason to hang up.”

“I’m about to.”

I thought about some songs from memory but eventually turned to my Spotify for ideas. I scribbled some songs on a piece of paper, then shared it with Malcolm.

“Are you still there?” I ask.

“Mhm.”

“Well, you’re not saying anything.”

He sighs, “I don’t think I can make Cream by Wu-Tang Clan happen.”

“There’s a piano in it. I’ll rap it for you.”

“I feel like you’re setting me up here,” he clears his throat. “What were the other songs you picked?”

I go back to the paper on my bed. “The theme song from Peanuts…Megan’s Piano, which I can rap too. Also, it’s super easy to play. Then Eenie Meenie by Justin Bieber. No piano in that one, but I’m sure you’ll figure something out. For the encore, you’ll sing Holding Out for a Hero, but you’ll have to come down from the ceiling.”

“What?”

“You heard me. In the part where she sings “Where have all the good men gone,” you gotta come down from the ceiling. Then you get on the piano. Also, smoke machine. And lasers.”

“Sounds expensive. Who’s going to hang me from the ceiling?”

I shrug. “You don’t have a ceiling guy?”

“No, I don’t have a ceiling guy. God forbid, what if I fall?”

“Sue the ceiling guy. It’ll help pay back all the money from the smoke and laser machines. Then you can take me to Disneyland.”

“Disney? After all those hospital bills?” I can’t see it, but I know he’s running his fingers through his hair. “I guess. Anything for my girl.”

The world stops turning. “Your what?”

“My girl. You’re my girl.” He’s smiling on the other end. I can hear it. I turn to the alarm clock on the dresser. It’s almost 11. I’m not tired, but I need a reason to hang up so I can scream into my pillow. "My girl.” Malcolm’s girl. I could melt into a puddle. I could get used to that.

[jmaster13]

The Case of the Jealous Figure

"And what's with all the pianos?” Gary asked. “Seems like they're all the rage in Toontown, seeing as they're getting delivered all the time. And given how many of them wind up crashing on the street, the delivery guys have gotta find a better way."

The audience was howling with laughter at Gary's stand-up routine. "I mean, I went for a walk the other day and saw seven pianos being delivered. Everyone in this city should be playing Franz Liszt by now." Gary swore he saw one of the audience members laughing so hard that their drink was squirting from their nostrils. "Woo!" Gary shouted as he pulled his suspenders. That was what he was known for. "Thank you all so much; you have been a wonderful audience." The crowd jumped to their feet, applauding as Gary took a bow and exited stage left. In the wings, his agent Malcolm was waiting.

“You were terrific!” Malcolm exclaimed. “You practically slayed them in the aisles.” Gary looked out from behind the curtains to see a few toons laying in the aisle-way with swords in them. “You really have a knack for entertaining toons." Gary blushed and thanked Malcolm as he headed to his dressing room backstage. The crew congratulated Gary on another well-done show. Malcolm tailed Gary as he made his way through the theatre corridor, gushing over his performance. “I mean, no other human has been able to capture their attention before." Gary sighed when he got to his dressing room and shut the door in Malcolm’s face. “Okay, well, talk later," Malcolm shouted through the door. Gary loved performing, but he did not like to be gushed over.

Gary undid his bow tie and slumped into a chair facing the mirror. He did feel good about that night and was eager to get home to his roommate and tell him about it. Gray looked at the picture of him, and his roommate sitting close by and winked at it. Then he noticed a letter addressed to him. Curiosity got the better of Gary, and he opened it. Gary thought it was a silly little note, but he was wrong.

“BEWARE!” was the only thing written on the paper in big red letters.

“What the heck is this?” Gary said to himself. “Beware what?” He just shrugged it off and crumpled the note tossing it in the trash.

Gary wiped his stage makeup off and cleaned himself up a bit before exiting his dressing room to go home. Malcolm was gone by then, and it was just a few workers left cleaning up from the show. Gary bid them good night and left through the side door of the theatre. Gary always left through this door, and a few fans were outside wanting his autograph. Even though he was tired and wanted to go home, he didn't want to upset his fans. Gary signed a few photographs and shook hands when a whistling sound was heard. The kind of sound made when an object falls in Toontown. One of the fans screamed, pointing up. A safe was plummeting towards Gary. He quickly ran to the side, narrowly missing the safe as it crashed to the ground. No one was hurt, but the fans ran screaming in terror. Several maintenance workers burst out the stage door to see what the commotion was.

"I hate when random objects fall from the sky," Gary exclaimed. "I need to find a way to put this into my act." Gary, slightly shaken, walked out of the alley and hailed a taxi. A hooded figure emerged from the dark shadows of the alley.

"Drat!" the figure said to itself. "Next time, you won't be so lucky." The hooded figure melted back into the shadows as theatre workers struggled to remove the safe.

The taxi dropped Gary off in front of his building. Not wanting to take the hazardous elevator, Gary climbed several flights of stairs to the 14th floor. He was a bit tired when he reached his apartment. Thankfully his roommate Patrick was already home and making dinner.

“How was it tonight?” Patrick called from the kitchen. “I hope it was another packed house.”

“Oh yes, it was," Gary replied. "Just a few more shows, and then I have to come up with new material; I don't want to get stale." Patrick came out of the kitchen with two plates and set them on the table. The aroma was so mouth-watering, Gary plopped down at the table to see meatloaf and mashed potatoes. He waited for Patrick to join him.

While they ate dinner, Patrick told Gary about his day. He was a cook for a small diner, but was trying to become an entertainer like Gary, but not a comedian. Patrick was a singer and kept auditioning; however, there was something wholesome about Patrick that most clubs weren't looking for. "I did have another audition today," Patrick announced. "This time, it was for a stage show and not a lounge act. I actually think I have a shot." Gary seemed to be off in a distant place, picking at his food. "Are you alright?" Patrick asked, poking Gary's arm.

Gary snapped out of it and apologized. He told Patrick about what happened with the safe falling from the sky and how he was trying to think of a way to spin it into his act. He neglected to tell Patrick of the beware note he got because he didn't think it was serious.

When they finished eating, Gary helped clean the dishes, and they played a little scrabble. "That's not how you spell fitness." Patrick cried.

"That's not how you use this one." Gary scoffed

"How do you use it?" Patrick challenged. “Put it in a sentence.”

"I can "fitnis" word on the board," Gary replied with a smug look on his face. Patrick rolled his eyes and shook his head.

“Must you always be a wise guy?” Patrick asked. Gary gave Patrick a sly grin and continued on with the game. Patrick ended up winning even with Gary’s constant cheating, and the two of them went to bed after they cleaned up.

That night Gary dreamed he was getting out of a limo for a party in his honor. He was dressed in a tuxedo, and Patrick was joining him. Toons were cheering as Gary strolled down the red carpet, waving to his adoring fans. As he entered the banquet hall, everyone stopped what they were doing and applauded. Foghorn Leghorn, who was the Master of Ceremonies, called Gary to the front of the room to be seated. Patrick sat next to him, and the ceremony began. Several toons, such as Bugs Bunny and Goofy, gave testimonials about Gary and his career. Gary was please with everything they had to say.

Next, Foghorn took the podium and told Gary they had a special treat for him. Two burly waiters rolled an empty table in front of the podium. Gary looked a bit puzzled at the empty table. One of the waiters went behind Gary and directed him to join them at the table. Gary shrugged and joined them. The waiters picked him up and sat him on the table.

“It's time; I say it's time for us to show you how much we appreciate you, Gary," Foghorn announced. "Just lay back and relax." Gary smiled and adjusted his jacket as he laid on the table. He wasn't quite sure what was going on, but he knew toons had weird customs. Gary looked over his feet and saw a tall, thin, hooded figure pointing at him.

"Beware!" the figure said in a creepy tone. Gary looked at the figure with confusion, but soon he was filled with dread. His body went numb, and he couldn't move anything besides his hands and feet. Foghorn appeared over Gary wielding a knife.

"Okay, everyone," Foghorn shouted. "Who wants, I say, who wants a piece of Gary?" Foghorn stuck the knife in Gary, but he didn't feel a thing. He soon realized that his body was turned into a cake. Guests were lining to be served a piece of Gary. Little by little, Gary's body was disappearing. Patrick ran over to the table to stop them, but one of the waiters pounded him on the head, sending him into the floor like a nail.

“Patrick, NO!” Gary cried. The top of Patrick's head was sticking out of the floor. Gary begged everyone to stop what they were doing, but the guests just laughed as they ate their pieces of cake. The hooded figure was still pointing at Gary, shouting, "Beware!" Gary screamed as they continued to cut into him.

"Gary bolted up in his bed in a deep sweat. He panted heavily as he checked his body to see if he was intact. Gary let out a massive sigh of relief that it was only a dream and laid back down to try to go back to sleep.

The next day Gary was in his dressing room getting ready for his show. He was a little shaken about the nightmare he had the night before but didn't want it to throw off his momentum. There was a knock at the door, and Malcolm entered the room with a concerned look on his face. He was carrying a note.

"I don't want you to go on tonight," Malcolm said. He handed Gary the note.

"Gary, I gave you fair warning to beware. If you continue to go on stage tonight, a disaster beyond your imagination will occur." Gary scoffed at the note and scrunched it up into a ball.

“I don’t take to threats,” Gary proudly announced. “I’m not going to let someone bully me. The show will go on tonight.”

"Gary, please reconsider," Malcolm begged. "I don't want anything to happen to you." Gary just brushed Malcolm off and turned to his dressing assistant. She was also very concerned.

"Mr. Bari," She began. "If I may be so bold, I think you should listen to Malcolm. I mean, I heard about the safe last night."

"Safes fall all the time here." Gary straightened his tie in the mirror and left the dressing room to go on stage. The show went on without a hitch, and Gary even weaseled some new material into his act. "Do you know what cows say? I’m a cow!” One toon laugh so hard he busted a gut. Gary was very satisfied with the night and wasn't going to let threats get to him. He was scared but didn't want people to worry about him in the back of his mind.

This time when the show was over, Malcolm never left Gary alone. Gary was a bit annoyed, but he understood. Instead of leaving through the side doors this time, Malcolm escorted Gary out of the theatre's front. No fans were waiting for him this night. Malcolm had security chase them away, just to be safe. Gary thought he was overdoing it but didn't argue; he just wanted to go home. Malcolm went out the door first to make sure the coast was clear. He signaled to Gary when he felt it was all clear. Gary exited the theatre but managed to take five steps when a giant shadow covered him. He looked up to see a piano hurtling towards him. Malcolm pushed Gary out of the way, and the piano landed on Malcolm. His feet stuck out from underneath the wreckage.

After the ambulance came and loaded Malcolm in to the back. The doctors went to check to see if Gary was alright. Gary was shaking badly, he was now afraid. Instead of going home, for fear something would happen to Patrick, he went to the Ink and Paint Club to see an old friend.

Lenny welcomed Gary to his VIP table with open arms. Gary wasn't much in the mood to reminisce with Lenny on old times. He just needed a few drinks to stop shaking. Gary told Lenny about the threatening notes and the attempts and how Malcolm was injured. Lenny patted Gary on the shoulder and told him he needs an expert, a bodyguard.

"There's a guy I know," Lenny informed him. "He's a stunt guy that works with toons, Jackson Stonewall. He's not afraid of anything and brushes disasters off like dust. I'll put in a few calls to hire him for you. Besides, he owes me a few favors." Gary smiled, finally feeling a bit safer.

"Do you think one will be enough?" Gary asked. Lenny thought for a moment.

"You're right; you need two," Lenny said. "Just in case one gets injured first. And I know who it should be." He waved down a waiter. He wasn't a toon like the other staff members. "I had to hire a few human employees after my run-in with the law. Gary, this is Roman." Gary recognized the guy from the newspapers.

"Aren't you the guy with the psycho brother that almost destroyed Toontown?" Gary asked. Roman looked at the floor in shame; Lenny smacked Gary's arm in anger.

"We don't bring that up," Lenny informed Gary. "He's dealt with enough, and I feel this is a way to make up for his bad deeds." Gary sighed and nodded. "Great, Roman, you are now going to follow my friend Gary around and protect him from some unknown assailant." Roman lifted his head up and smiled at Gary.

“I won’t let you down, Mister Bari.” Roman shook Gary’s hand vigorously with glee. Gary was already starting to regret this. Gary asked where he could find Jackson. Lenny made a few calls and discovered Jackson was recovering from a commercial shoot with Baby Herman. Apparently, Jackson got his head stuck in a cartoon vase, and his head became shaped that way. Gary thanked Lenny and left the club with Roman in tow.

When they got to the hospital, Gary bought a bouquet of flowers and entered. Roman went to change out of his waiter uniform. The front desk told Gary where Jackson's room was. Just then, an alarm went off, and Nurse Granny rushed by, pushing a gurney with Sylvester on it. She was in such a rush she plowed into Doctor Jason Hottie, flattening him to the floor. The receptionist sighed and rolled the flat doctor up. She then sent him up a vacuum tube to get fixed up.

Gary knocked on Jackson's door and waited. "Come in," a voice said on the other side. Gary entered the room and almost dropped the bouquet he was holding. A man Gary assumed to be Jackson was sitting up in bed with his head in an odd shape.

“Are you Jackson Stonewall?” Gary asked.

“You must be Gary,” The man said with a smile. “L-L-L-Lenny told me you would be coming; yes, I'm Jackson." The man looked Gary up and down. "So you need a bodyguard huh, it's a g-g-g-good thing; I owed Lenny a favor. Give my head time to heal, and I will make sure you are safe until this person trying to hurt you is c-c-c-caught.” Gary smiled a bit and thanked Jackson. Gary didn’t question the strange way Jackson was talking. He figured it was due to his head injury. Just then, Jackson's head popped back into shape. "There we go," Jackson exclaimed as he felt his head. Jackson told Gary to give him a few minutes to get dressed, and they will leave together. Gary took this time to check in on Malcolm.

Malcolm was stuck in bed with a full-body cast. The nurse was feeding him his dinner when Gary came in. "Let me give you two some privacy," The nurse said as she waddled out of the room.

“I'm glad you came to visit," Malcolm said. "At least I know you are safe," Gary told Malcolm how Lenny hired two bodyguards for him and that he will be safe now. "You went to The Lemon? You know that he will want something in return. Let's hope it's nothing too big." Gary just laughed and patted Malcolm on his foot, causing Malcolm to wince in pain. Gary apologized and turned to leave, bumping the crane holding Malcolm's leg. The nurse came rushing in, hearing Malcolm crying in pain. Gary slowly backed out of the room and left the hospital. Jackson and Roman were waiting outside for him.

“Okay,” Gary began. “Now that I have two bodyguards, where do we go from here?”

“We go check out the theatre,” Jackson said. Gary hailed a taxi, and they climbed in. The ride back to the threatre was filled with awkward silence. Gary and Roman stared at Jackson, waiting for him to talk.

"So," Gary said, trying to break the ice. "How did you come to owing Lenny a favor?" Jackson looked at the floor of the cab. He seemed very uncomfortable.

"When I came to the city, I w-w-w-wanted to become an actor." Jackson began. "But sadly, I have a stutter. It's not as bad as it was in my youth, but it rears up when I get stressed or n-n-n-nervous." Gary and Roman looked at each other. They felt terrible for him. "I couldn't get an audition and was applying for jobs left and right to support myself. I went to apply to be a bouncer at Lenny's club, but he said I was too s-s-s-small. However, he liked the way I looked and made some calls to an agent, Malcolm Roberts." Gary's eyes went big.

“That’s my agent!” Gary exclaimed. “I didn’t know he was in Lenny’s pocket.”

"Half the t-t-t-talent agents are," Jackson told Gary. "I managed to have some control of my stutter, but Malcolm said I would be better at stunt work. I never have to speak, and they always would need me. Little did I know that I would be working with t-t-t-toons. Not that there is anything wrong with that."

They finally arrived at the theatre, where a group of fans were outside waiting for Gary. As soon as Gary stepped out of the cab, the fans pounced on him, pushing Jackson and Roman out of the way. Roman tripped on the curb, trying to escape the mob. Jackson helped Roman to his feet and just watched the mob circle around Gary.

“Is it always like this?” Jackson asked.

“How should I know," roman shrugged. "It's my first day on the job." Just then, something caught Roman's eye. A steamroller was barreling down the street towards the mob. "LOOK OUT!" Roman screamed. The mob saw the roller and ran in every direction to escape it. Gray was a bit disoriented and didn't know what to do. Jackson bolted for Gary, tackling him just as the roller got close. Gary was lucky, but one of his fans was not. The poor guy was squashed flat onto the road.

Gary fainted in Jackson's arms from the close call. The ambulance came and peeled the fan off the road and checked on Gary to make sure he was all right. Gary was fine but a little shaken. He wanted to go into the theatre and check out the stage to make sure nothing was messed with.

Jackson and Roman went over everything and saw nothing had been tampered with. They gave Gary the okay to do his show that night. He was a bit nervous but didn't show it when he went on. Gary gave a top-notch comedy act that left the toons in stitches. Halfway through his act, the hooded figure appeared backstage and cut one of the ropes holding some sandbags loose. Those particular bags were right above Gary. Jackson heard the snap of the rope and saw the bags start to fall. Jackson leaped into action, pushing Gary out of the way. The bags crushed Jackson under them. Panic arose in the audience, and the crowd raced out of the theatre like stampeding cattle.

Roman and Gary tossed the bags off Jackson to reveal him flattened to the stage. “I guess we have to take him to the hospital now,” Roman sighed.

“Not necessarily!" a voice shouted from the side of the stage. Ludwig von Drake pushed a heavy object onto the stage. "This is my latest invention," He proudly proclaimed. "I call it the portable pump." Roman and Gary gave Ludwig a strange look. "With this machine, you won't have to keep going to the hospital every time; just hook him up to this machine, and he will be his old self in no time."

Ludwig grabbed a hose from the machine and shoved it in Jackson’s mouth. With a slight crazy chuckle, Ludwig turned on the pump. The engine was loud and shook vigorously. Gary had to plug his ears as he watched. Jackson's cheeks began to puff up, followed by his torso. Soon his whole body was back into its 3D form. Ludwig was satisfied with Jackson's shape and went to turn off the pump, but the machine wouldn't turn off. Jackson kept inflating into a giant balloon rising off the stage floor.

“Quick, stop it before he pops!" Roman cried. Ludwig fumbled with the machine, trying to get it to shut off. He pushed buttons and even banged on it. Gary let go of his ears, rushed over to the hose, and yanked it out of Jackson's mouth. Jackson flew around the theatre like a balloon releasing air, landing on some of the seats in the theatre. He got up and dusted himself off.

“I’m all r-r-r-right!” Jackson shouted, giving a thumbs up.

“I guess I need to tinker with this some more," Ludwig said. Not wasting time, Ludwig began to tear the pump apart right there on the stage.

“You know," Roman said. I think we might need some help. This person seems relentless; maybe if we got someone with magic involved, we could be more prepared?"

“What do you mean?” Gary asked.

“I know someone that might be able to see into the future and help us identify your stalker.”

“Great!” Jackson shouted from the seats. “Let’s g-g-g-go.”

Roman took Gary and Jackson to the darker shaded side of Toontown. Gary was feeling a bit uneasy. He was worried that his stalker was in this part of town. Roman brought them to a house made of gingerbread; Gary was getting bad vibes from this place. Roman knocked on the door, and Witch Hazel opened the door.

“May I help you?” She said as sweetly as she could.

“We’re here to see your sister, Madame Hazel," Roman said.

"OH," She said with surprise. "Let me get her for you." She shut the door to her house, and noises could be heard as she fumbled around the place. The door opened back up, and Hazel was now in a fortune teller costume. "Please come in, gentlemen."

"Thank you for seeing us, Madame Hazel," Roman said as he entered the house. "Glad you were home." Gary turned to Jackson with a very concerned looked.

"I am putting my life in that man's hands?" Gary griped. Gary sighed and followed Roman in with Jackson right behind. Hazel directed the men to sit down at her table. She grabbed a ball from the shelf and set it on the table. She struggled with it as if it was very heavy.

“Now, what can Madame Hazel do for you gentlemen?" She asked.

“My friend here,” Roman began. “Is being stalked and threatened by an unknown assailant. We were hoping you could help us identify them.”

“Gracious!" She gasped, "Such a handsome man like you put in danger." She grabbed Jackson's hand. "Don't worry, Madame Hazel will protect you." Jackson sheepishly smiled and slowly withdrew his hand.

“Not m-m-m-me," Jackson said softly. "He's the one int-t-t-trouble.” He pointed to Gary sitting next to him. Hazel let out a loud cackle at her mistake.

“I’m sorry,” She apologized. “But deary, if you ever need help, don't be afraid to ask." She winked at Jackson. Jackson gulped heavily.

“Can we get back to me, please?" Gary asked. "I'm in danger, and I want to know who's responsible.

“Right," Hazel said, snapping out of her Jackson fantasy. "Let me look into my crystal ball." She ran her fingers all over it. "Hmmm, all I'm seeing is blackness and a bunch of gibberish that doesn't make sense."

“I think you are looking into a bowling ball,” Gary said dryly. Hazel got a frazzled look on her face and then began to cackle.

“Oh silly me," She said. "I guess that explains why I keep seeing a seven, ten split." She let out another cackle. Hazel picked up the bowling ball and chucked it aside. She then grabbed her crystal ball and proceed to run her fingers around it. "There we go, I see clearly now." She gazed more profound into the ball. "I don't see your stalker's face, but he wears a hooded cloak. He has a desire to see you run out of Toontown."

“Why would he want me out of Toontown?” Gary asked.

“He believes a human should not be entertaining toons." She replied. "We toons are made for entertaining, so if a human does the entertaining, what's the point of having us?" She bolted upright in her chair with a scared look on her face. "He will stop at nothing to eliminate you and those that protect you." Hazel rushed out of her seat and ran to her potions rack. She was skimming quickly through her bottles, looking for something. "I have a potion here that will protect you from any harm; just let me find it." She was throwing bottles left and right carelessly until she found the bottle she was looking for. "Here it is," Hazel said as she turned around. "This potion will protect you...Good Gracious!" Hazel dropped the bottle in shock. Some of the bottles she tossed landed on Roman and Jackson. Roman was turned into a giant ice cream cone while Jackson was reduced to a quivering mound of jelly. Gary crawled out from under the table where he had been hiding.

“I think you’ve done enough,” Gary said as he brushed crumbs off of him. “Can you turn them back?” Hazel slowly nodded.

The trio left the gingerbread house in a hurry after Hazel fixed Roman and Jackson. "Well, that was a bust," Gary said. "She didn't do anything except turn you guys into desserts."

“Thanks for not eating us, by the way," Roman quipped.

Gary led his bodyguards to his apartment building. They took a shortcut through the park and were greeted by a mob of Gary’s fans. Gary was pleased to see them and gave everyone his autograph. The hooded figure was in the park as well, in front of the new fountain. He was joined by Monster Tweety. "There they are." The hooded figure said, pointing at the mob. "Go, eat him," The figure ordered. Monster Tweety made a mad dash for the group surrounding Gary. Jackson saw the monstrosity coming and ordered everyone to run. Gary was talking to one of his human fans, Eric White, when Tweety grabbed Eric and gobbled him down. Gary screamed and ran behind Roman. The Monster patted his belly and let out a belch before walking away. “Stupid Monster!’ The Hooded figure cursed. “I guess I will have to get a bit more drastic.” The figure turned dramatically and marched out of the park.

When Jackson deemed the coast was clear, Gary led him and Roman out of the park and to his apartment building. As they entered the building, Gary told them he lived on the 14th floor. Roman went to call the elevator down to the main floor. Gary advised him not to take the elevator.

“Why not,” Roman asked. Before Gary could answer the elevator crashed to the main floor shaking everything. The elevator doors opened and a human man that was flattened into a pancake waddled out of the elevator.

“How's it going, Ernie?" Gary asked.

“Oh, living the dream," the flattened man replied as he waddled out of the building. Roman and Jackson were trying to figure out what they just saw.

“That was one of my neighbors, Ernie Quill," Gary explained. "He's a bit of an odd duck. He enjoys having things happen to him." Gary took a few steps up the stairs and turned to Roman and Jackson. "Oh yeah," He said. "That's why you don't want to take the elevator." Gary motioned for them to follow him up the stairs. Jackson shrugged and followed him with Roman tailing behind.

When they reached his apartment, Gary went to unlock his door. "I hope Patrick isn't home," Gary said. "He would freak out knowing I'm in danger." Gary opened the door and let the gentlemen inside. Jackson began to rifle through things. "What are you doing?" Gary asked.

“I'm m-m-making s-s-s-sure everything is okay here," Jackson responded.

“Okay,” Gary shrugged. “I doubt there’s anything here.”

“Where's your bathroom?" Roman asked. Gary pointed to an open door, and Roman ran through it, quickly shutting the door. Gary turned his attention back to Jackson, that was searching under the davenport.

“Please stop that," Gary ordered. "I told you I highly doubt there is anything here that is dangerous. Besides, if you make a mess, Patrick will kill me." Roman came sprinting out of the bathroom, holding something.

“Want to run that by us again?" Roman said weakly. Gary and Jackson's eyes grew in horror. Roman was holding a bomb, and it was about to go off at any second. Roman was shaking, not knowing what to do. Jackson knocked the bomb out of Roman's hands and grabbed both him and Gary. He pushed them both out the window and jumped after them. They were on the building's ledge a few feet below Gary's apartment when the bomb went off. The explosion caused Jackson to slip and fall. Roman and Gary grabbed him and tried to pull him back up to the ledge, but they too lost their balance, and the three of them tumbled down the building.

They screamed as the street below grew closer. All three of them hit the road with a splat. The hooded figure stood above them, cackling. "I told you I would get you, Gary." The figure drew back his hood to reveal his true identity; it was Mortimer Mouse. "Humans should not be entertaining toons; it's the other way around." Mortimer whistled, and Br'er Fox emerged from the shadows holding a giant spatula. “Scrape them off the road and follow me.” Br’er Fox nodded and did as instructed.

Mortimer brought the men to an old sawmill. "Tie the bodyguards up and leave the comedian to me," Mortimer ordered. Jackson and Roman started to come to when Br'er Fox was finishing tying the

ropes. They witnessed Mortimer dump an unconscious Gary on a log and chain him to it.

“You fiend!” Roman hissed. “What are you going to do to us.” Mortimer smiled and turned on the machines in the mill.

"Mulch," Mortimer laughed. The log Gary was tied to began to maneuver down the conveyor belt towards a wood grinder. "So long, Gary," Mortimer waved. "I think I will be taking your spot tonight." Mortimer turned to Br'er Fox. "Do what you want with the riff-raff; just make sure you send me the Gary scraps." Mortimer left the mill with a victorious strut. Br'er Fox smiled and picked up an ax and began to sharpen it on a grindstone. Jackson and Roman struggled to free themselves from the ropes.

Gary shook his head when he came to. He could hear a loud noise above him and looked up to see the wood grinder slowly getting closer. Gary's eyes darted around the place, trying to figure out what was going on. It didn't take long for Gary to realize he was in danger, and he screamed for help. He tried to squirm free from the chains, but he was bound tight.

Br'er Fox finished sharping his ax and approached Jackson and Roman. Roman freaked out, but Jackson stayed calm. "Can I g-g-g-give you a tip?" Jackson asked Br'er Fox. "Next time you tie someone up, make s-s-s-sure you tie their legs t-t-t-too." Jackson kicked his leg high in the air kicking the ax out of Br'er Fox's hands. The ax spun around in the air and fell between Jackson and Roman, slicing through the ropes. Br'er Fox screamed and scurried away like a frightened little fox. Jackson rushed over to try and undo the chains holding Gary to the log. Roman was at the control panel, trying to shut off the machine. The log was being eaten by the grinder by now and was inches away from eating Gary too. Roman managed to shut off the machine just in the nick of time.

Gary let out a sigh of relief and relaxed. Jackson and Roman cut the chain with some cutters and freed Gary from the log. "Thanks, you guys," Gary said. "I thought for sure I was a goner." He hugged Roman and then turned to Jackson, who held out his hand, stopping him. "Oh, sorry." Gary apologized and shook Jackson's hand instead.

"Now," Jackson started. "Let's go t-t-t-teach Mortimer a lesson."

“Mortimer?” Gary asked. “Who is that?” Jackson explained everything to Gary about how Mortimer Mouse was behind the whole thing.

“That old hack,” Gary quipped. “His idea of entertainment is dancing around with a red picnic blanket.”

"Well, that gives me an idea," Roman chimed in. He called Jackson and Gary into a huddle and told them his plan. Gary loved the idea and couldn't wait to see it in action.

Mortimer was on stage, trying his best to entertain the audience with horrible jokes and lousy dancing. The crowd booed and threw tomatoes at him. He ignored them and dodged the flying objects.

"Now, ladies and gentlemen," Mortimer said. "I shall now regale you with my famous Dance of the Red Cape." Mortimer pulled a giant red cape from his pocket and began to dance with it. The crowd groaned at the sight. Just then, the doors at the back of the theatre busted open. Gary came stomping down the aisle. The crowd cheered at the sight of Gary.

"Stop right there, Mortimer!" Gary shouted as he stood in front of the stage. "I bet you didn't expect to see me again." Mortimer glared at Gary. He was afraid to speak and say anything that could incriminate him. "You don't have to say anything." Gary continued. "I brought you a little present to show you I have no hard feelings." Mortimer placed his hands on his hips.

“Oh really?” Mortimer asked.

"Oh yes," Gary said with a sly smile. "Just wave your cape above your head, and you will get what's coming to you." Mortimer waved the red cape rigorously above his head when suddenly there was a crash on the side of the stage. A giant bull came charging on stage with his sharp horns pointing straight at Mortimer. Mortimer screamed and raced off stage, still holding his red cape. The bull continued to chase Mortimer up the aisle and out of the theatre. Mortimer ran into the sunset with the bull right behind him, never bothering Gary again.

The crowd jumped to their feet and cheered for Gary. He bowed to the audience and started up his comedy act. Roman and Jackson stood in the wings of the stage watching Gary perform. When the show was over, and the audience went home, Gary met Roman and Jackson outside the theatre.

"Well, I guess this is goodbye, for now," Gary said sadly. "You guys are welcome to visit or come to see the show anytime."

"I hate to admit it," Roman said. "But I actually enjoyed this little adventure. I think I might become a full-time bodyguard."

“Not m-m-m-me,” Jackson chimed in. “I’m happy being a s-s-stunt man.”

Jackson and Roman shook Gary’s hand and started to walk away when the ground began to shake.

"What the heck is going on?" Gary shouted. The trio looked behind them in horror to see a stampede of dinosaurs heading right for them. The stampede was moving so fast the men did not have time to get out of the way, and they were trampled.

When the dust settled, all that was left of Gary, Roman, and Jackson were circular discs in the middle of the road. Daisy Duck crossed the street and peeled the discs off the road. "I better send you guys to the hospital." She said. Daisy waddled over to a mailbox and slid the men inside. "I'm sure you will get there tomorrow." She started to walk away only to stop. "Wait a minute," She pondered. "Tomorrow is Sunday."