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yellowsuitcase · 4 years

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Betwixt; Draco Malfoy: Chapter - The Job

Introduction(please read!)

First and foremost, warnings will be posted at the beginning of each chapter, but as a forewarning this story will contain mentions of sexual assault as well as swearing/strong language, and smut.

There are some characters in this story that are mine, however, the majority of them are based off of characters in JK Rowling's Harry Potter series. I do not support JK Rowling.

This is a Royalty AU, magic as seen in the Harry Potter series does not exist within this universe.

This series is also being posted on Wattpad @Tonix27 and it is currently In progress / Completed

I plan to create a Spotify playlist for this story, when I do it'll be posted in my masterlist for Betwixt.

Cover and Beta work by @10amnoodles on Instagram and Twitch

Please do not repost. There are trends on Tik Tok of people taking sections of writing from their favorite fanfics and posting them, I do not want this done with my work. However, you may post a screenshot of the fanfic's cover with the summary.

A/N: First chapter of the series I’ve been working on! I’m so excited for you guys to read this!!!!

Summary: To make ends meet after her mother's death, Y/N, a young mom, living within the kingdom of Sithrawl, lands a job at the castle working for the Royal Family, specifically for the prince, Draco Malfoy. What starts as a way to make money for her son quickly turns into an unexpected romance between her and the prince. Y/N soon finds herself stuck between her responsibilities as a mother and her longing for love and adventure

Warning(s): Swearing

Word Count: 5.9k

Credits: @10amnoodles Check her out! her artwork is incredible and this series wouldn’t be happening without her :)

Directory

I shut the rickety door and leaned against it, the weight of my body keeping it closed. A deep sigh left my lips, and I relaxed my shoulders, finally feeling safe. It was silent in my home. Jasper must be asleep. I pushed myself off the door and crept around the corner. The wall was cold to the touch, and I was surprised to feel an indent underneath my fingertips. I pulled my hand away to see a long crack embedded in the plaster. There were already so many in this damn house, not to mention the little holes in the roofing and the lack of insulation. It was getting colder every day.

Sighing to myself, I made a mental note of the new damage and peeked into the bedroom. There he was, his dirty blonde hair cast over his eyes as he slept. I put my hand on his shoulder and gently shook him, waking him up. He rubbed his eyes sleepily. Upon seeing me, he jumped up. “Mummy!” he said excitedly. My heart swelled as I took my boy into my arms and hoisted him onto my hip.

“How are you, my love? Hungry?” I ask. He nodded eagerly. I chuckled lightly at his toothy grin. He was always hungry, but weren’t all six-year-olds? Luckily for him, I managed to get some bread for free down at the market. Mrs. Weasley, the kind woman at the bakery, has been sneaking me food for the past two weeks. And although I was grateful for it, I was also ashamed. I would’ve been able to pay for her tasty treats, but my family’s funds had been stretching thinner and thinner ever since my mother passed.

She died on the first of October, just as the cold was setting in. It wasn’t sudden; she’d been sick for a month or so before finally laying to rest. I had tried to take up her old job. She worked as a maid for a relatively wealthy family, the Greengrass’. However, when I knocked upon their door, a middle-aged woman dressed in my mother’s old uniform answered. That had told me everything I needed to know. Since then, I’ve been scouring the village for potential work. I’d managed to get a few odd jobs here and there, but nothing long term, and I needed to feed my boy.

“What did you get today, Mum?” Jasper questioned. I turned to him and kissed his forehead.

“Just some bread. Is that alright?” I asked hopefully. He’d never been the type of kid to complain, but I knew that, as he grew, so did his appetite. Bread was quickly becoming dull. Sooner or later, he’d voice his distaste for it. To my surprise, Jasper smiled and squeezed his arms around my neck, giving me a tight hug. “Yep!” he replied cheerfully. My anxiety quickly faded away. I kissed his cheek and sat him down at the table.

“Did you do anything fun today?” I asked as I began slicing the loaf. Jasper hummed, thinking to himself.

“I pretended to be a cow!” he declared, looking proud of himself. Jasper had always been quite the fan of cows. His favorite activity was trotting around the house, mooing. In my opinion, it was the cutest thing ever, but I may be a bit biased.

“Did you? And how did you do that?” I asked, eyebrows raised. Jasper smirked and puffed out his chest. “I ate grass!” he announced loudly. I shook my head in bewilderment. “You ate grass?” Jasper nodded proudly. “Yup! And look,” he reached inside his pocket and pulled out a bundle of green grass, dumping it onto the table. “I saved some for you,” he finished, pushing the greenery towards me. I did my best to hide my grimace and gently placed his plate of bread in front of him. “That’s...wonderful, uhm, sweetheart, it’s not good to eat grass. You could get sick,” I said quietly, trying to deliver this news gently. A frown appeared on Jasper’s face, and he dropped his head, his eyes now staring at his lap.

“Oh, Jas, it’s alright. I know you were only playing, but humans can’t eat grass,” I said while taking my own seat at the table. He reluctantly looked up, his pouty lips on full display. “Come on, love, eat some of your bread. The sun is going down, and I don’t like washing dishes in the dark,” I spoke sternly, trying to get him to eat. He sighed but picked up his bread and shoved it in his mouth. I made sure he didn’t choke since he had a tendency to take bigger bites than he should. I gnawed on my own piece.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. It was nearly nightfall. Who would be at the door at this time? I quickly got to my feet as the person knocked again. “Who’s that, Mum?” Jasper asked, his mouth full of bread. “Finish your bite before speaking, Jas. And I don’t know, let’s find out.” I approached the door, brushed off my dress, and turned the knob. Standing outside was Ron Weasley, the bakers’ youngest son.

“Ron? Come in, come in. What’s going on?” I asked, a bit concerned he was here to tell me his parents wouldn’t be able to give me food anymore. The ginger-haired boy rushed past me and into my home and eagerly slapped a flyer onto the table. “Look,” he told me as he pointed to the parchment. I gave him a skeptical look but walked over to the table and picked it up.

The Malfoy family is seeking a servant to the young prince. If interested, arrive at the castle at dawn on the 19th of October.

SALARY: 4 galleons per hour

The person selected to be the Prince’s servant will furthermore reside in the castle.

As I took in the information on the flyer, Jasper took the parchment from my grasp. He held it out in front of him and stared at it intently. I considered berating him for taking what doesn’t belong to him, but I chose not to, and instead, I turned to Ron, who had an enormous grin on his face. “Ron, you can’t be serious…”

“It’s perfect! It’s four galleons an hour, and if you’re working dawn till dusk, that’s roughly eleven hours. Forty-four galleons a day, Y/N. You can’t pass this up. You’d be mad not to at least try,” he told me. I wasn’t quite sold, “Yeah, that sounds like a dream, but what would I…” I paused and held my hand up to Ron, signaling him to give me a moment. Then I faced Jasper. “Darling, put your plate in the sink and go wash up; I’ll be there soon to get you ready for bed, alright?” I instructed him. His pouty lips returned.

“But I wanna know what’s going on!” the boy insisted. He dropped the paper, crossed his arms over his chest, and promptly glared at me. I held back my laugh at his attempt at intimidation and put a hand on my hip. “Do as I say.” Jasper sighed but slid off his chair and trod off to the bathroom. I turned back to Ron. “If I live at the castle, how can I take care of Jasper? I can’t just leave him here alone; he’s only six, not to mention he’s ill,” I explained as I picked the parchment back up again. Ever since Jasper had turned four, he started having trouble breathing. There had been times where I was unsure if he’d survive through the night. Ron knew about this, but he wasn’t budging. “Y/N, the castle isn’t far. You could sneak out at dusk and spend the night with Jasper, no problem.”

“With all due respect, Ron, I don’t think it’ll be that easy. I’d have to get past people in the castle, the guards, and who knows who else?” I said, shaking my head. My eyes drifted to the flyer in my hand. A servant to the prince. What did that even mean? There was a serious lack of detail in the advertisement. My lip curled in distaste. The Royal Family was known to be quite the arrogant bunch. Malfoy, their surname, directly translates to ‘bad faith’. They didn’t treat their citizens well; nearly every town outside of Orton’s walls was neglected. Totbury, my town, especially.

Nevertheless, the Malfoy’s knew that, despite treating their people terribly, people would scramble for the chance to land this job. Simply based on the look of the family’s servants, they weren’t looking for people like me. If they found out where I live, they’ll surely dismiss me.

“Y/N, you’re underestimating yourself. That castle has numerous secret passageways, just find one of those, and you’re all set. And even if that doesn’t work, then you just make an excuse. Say the Prince himself sent you into the city, what are the guards going to say to that?” Ron argued. I threw him a look of confusion as I put the flyer down, my eyes lingering on the young prince. “How would you even know about secret passageways?” I asked. Ron cocked an eyebrow. “You don’t believe they exist?” he asked incredulously. I scoffed and walked over to the sink.

“Ron, they’re only rumors. I’m sure they have a couple of lesser-known corridors, but not a secret passageway. That’s absurd,” I began rinsing off the plates and silverware, “And besides, I wouldn’t get chosen. Have you forgotten who I am? They’re not going to hire a peasant from Totbury, Ronald. I mean, have you seen the sheer amount of guards that line up around the Prince? They won’t let anyone touch him, so what makes you think they’d let me be his personal servant?” I asked, not really expecting a legitimate answer. However, it seemed as though Ron had all the answers that day.

“That’s easy, just lie. Say you’re from Orton. The population is big enough that they wouldn’t know the difference. And it’s not like the King and Queen even leave the castle. I bet they couldn’t tell the difference between a Sithrawliean from a Perwenese,” Ron claimed. Perwen was the neighboring kingdom to Sithrawl.

“That may be true, but even if I lied, I don’t look the part. I’ve got maybe two dresses, and they both have holes in them. They’ll see right through me,” I pointed out yet another problem with Ron’s plan while I scrubbed the chipped plates in my sink. He remained silent for a moment but then snapped his fingers.

“You’re about the same age as Ginny, aren’t you?” he asked, eyes looking hopeful. Indeed, I was around his sister’s age. I told him so, and he smiled. “Then you could borrow one of her dresses, in fact, I think Mum just bought her a new one!” he suggested excitedly. Once I put down the now clean plates, I dried my hands and spun around to face Ron.

“I’m not taking Ginny’s new dress; that’s ridiculous,” I replied. Ron opened his mouth to retaliate, but I interrupted him. “Look, I appreciate you looking out for Jasper and me, but I can’t...I can’t just lie to the Royal Family. And I don’t want to leave my son at home all day.”

“But haven’t you already been doing that? You’ve been scouring the streets for weeks looking for a job. I just thought that maybe this would be a good—”

I cut him off, my patience lost. “Yes, well, you thought wrong! I’m not going off and living in a lavish castle while my child is all alone in this shithole. It’s unfair to him, and I’m not doing it. End of story.”

Ron’s previously bright smile had faded into a regretful frown. He nodded his head and looked at the floor as if he was afraid to look me in the eye. I began to feel guilt seep into my stomach. He was only trying to help, and here I was giving him a hard time. Nice going, Y/N.

“You’re right. I’m sorry for suggesting it. I’ll just...get going, and don’t worry, I’ll tell Mum you say hello,” Ron said solemnly as he headed for the door. I held my tongue and walked him out, waving as he strode down the road. When I closed the door behind him, I let out a heavy sigh and ran my hands through my hair. There was no need for me to have acted like such a pain, but alas, the apology Ron deserves would have to wait until tomorrow. Tonight, I need to care for my boy.

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{The next morning}

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I woke with a start, sitting straight up in my bed. My back was drenched with sweat, and my skin felt hotter than hell. I had no clue as to why I'd woken up in such a state, but I didn't have the energy to care. Slowly, as to not wake Jasper, I lifted the covers and slid out of our bed. As I got to my feet and walked into the kitchen, I noticed the sun wasn’t even up yet. I stepped closer to the window and peered out, looking for the town clock. When I spotted it, I saw that it was roughly half-past five. Dawn wasn’t until seven.

Exhausted, I rubbed my eyes lightly and turned around. There on the table was the flyer. I stepped towards it and lifted it up. “...arrive at the castle at dawn…” My head turned towards the window once again. If I got ready now, I could make it. But did I dare? I’d have to find someone to watch Jasper. Does Ron’s offer even stand now? I supposed there was only one way to find out. I rushed to the bathroom and quickly turned on the water in the bath. A slow stream trickled out of the spout.

“Come on,” I whispered. As if the universe had heard me, the water pressure grew stronger, and the tub began to fill. Anxiously, I stripped my clothing and jumped inside, despite the lack of water. We always kept a wooden bowl by the bathtub, so I reached for it and dunked it under the faucet, letting it gather enough liquid before I dumped it onto my head. The temperature was less than ideal, but I made do, and within fifteen minutes, I was out of the bath and drying off.

Quickly, I threw on my dress, slipped on my shoes, and ran out the door, but not before kissing a sleeping Jasper goodbye. He’ll be okay, I assured myself. The Weasleys were luckily only a few blocks down, so I hustled down the street and up to their door. Yet, once I found myself on their cozy porch, I was unable to knock. My fist hovered above the wooden door, decorated with fresh winter flowers. It’s now or never, a voice in my head whispered. Somehow, I found my courage and rapped my knuckle against the firm wood.

After only a few moments, Mr. Weasley opened the door. “Y/N? What brings you here so early? Has something happened?” he asked initially. Then he saw my wet hair and my shivering frame. “Good heavens! Come inside, you’ll freeze,” he exclaimed, motioning for me to come towards him. I scampered in, and Mr. Weasley shut the door. I could tell he was bursting with questions, but I filled him in before he could speak.

“Thank you, Mr. Weasley. I’m here because yesterday Ronald stopped by and told me the Royal Family was looking for a servant. And well, at first, I wasn’t going to apply for it, but now...now I wish to,” I spoke softly. The man stood tall as he processed this information.

“Well, that sounds grand. But if I may, why are you here?” he questioned. Before I could tell him, Ron entered the foyer from around the corner. “Y/N? You’re here, have you changed your mind?” he asked, his voice sounding hopeful. With a bit of lingering hesitation, I nodded my head. “I have.”

Ron smiled brightly. “Brilliant, wait here,” he instructed before he headed into a different room, leaving his father and me by the door. Soon enough, however, he emerged with a green and white dress. It was paired with a leather brown underbust corset. Although simple, it was perfect. “That’s beautiful, wow. Are you sure about this?” I checked with Ron. He nodded and motioned behind him.

“Ginny’s awake; she’ll help you into it,” he told me. Right on cue, a sweet young girl with long red hair strolled into the foyer. She waved at me softly, and I waved back.

“Splendid, off you go then. Ginny, find her a towel to dry her hair, won’t you?” Mr. Weasley asked his daughter. She nodded, took me by the hand, and dragged me into what I assumed was her room. The Weasley’s home looked bigger than the rest in Totbury, but I never suspected that one of their children would have their own bedroom. I was led to the center of Ginny’s room. She shut the door and quickly began helping me out of my day dress.

“Are you nervous?” she asked immediately. Her inquiry caught me off guard and reminded me of the butterflies in my tummy. I scrambled for an answer as she wrapped my hair in a dark brown towel.

“Of course, I am. I’m leaving my son alone all day,” I told her finally. Ginny smiled softly as she laid my dress on her bed, leaving me in my undergarments. She knew I had dodged her question but didn’t mention it.

“We can have him stay with us today if you want. It’s really no problem,” Ginny offered. This wasn’t the first time the Weasley’s had said they could watch Jasper. While it was very kind of them, I never took them up on it; I couldn’t. My mother never gave me over to another family when she went to work. She would always tell me, “Don’t go outside. I’ll return before nightfall.” And that was that. I stayed put and waited for her to come home. Sure, it was a lonely childhood, but she did what she had to do to provide for me. Now, I wanted to do that for my own child, but it was becoming clearer to me that I wouldn’t be able to do things like my mother. If I get the job, I’ll be in the castle, I won’t be able to come running if something happens. Deep down, I knew the safest option for my boy was to let him stay with the Weasleys.

“Are you sure?” I asked. Ginny smiled and nodded her head. “Of course. He’ll be safe and sound while you do what you need to do.” I gnawed on my lip as she slipped the dress over my head and onto my body.

“I really appreciate this, you know? Things have just been… difficult lately, and I’m trying to do right by Jasper, but I’m still figuring out how, if that makes sense,” I said to her, not really knowing why I was suddenly confiding in her. Ginny was only a year younger than me, twenty-one. We’d never talked much growing up. Better late than never, I suppose.

“You’re doing great, Y/N. Don’t be so hard on yourself, seriously,” Ginny said gently while she began tying up my corset. I took a moment to admire myself in the ornate mirror in front of me. I was now adorned in an ankle-length, deep green dress. It was significantly nicer than any piece of clothing I’d ever owned.

“Where did you get this, Ginny? It’s so beautiful,” I asked. Ginny shrugged as she pulled and adjusted the fabric, seemingly her final touches.

“I’m not sure. Mum never said where she got it. But it’s gorgeous on you.” I felt my face flush as I stared back at myself in the mirror. I looked unfamiliar. Hesitantly, I gave Ginny a little twirl, feeling a grin creep onto my lips as the skirt flared around me in a perfect circle. I felt young. I felt new.

“Thank you for lending it to me. Hopefully, everything goes well, and I’ll make enough money to buy you many more dresses such as this one,” I said, smiling at Ginny. Then I caught sight of a nearby window. The sun wasn’t in the sky quite yet, but the darkness of the night was beginning to lift. “Speaking of which, I’d better get going. I’ll be back before nightfall to get Jasper; he should still be sleeping at home,” I rambled while heading for the door, Ginny close behind.

“Don’t worry, I’ll go fetch him. You’re right though, you’d better get a move on; sun’ll be up in an hour.” I nodded and tore the towel from my head, letting my semi-dry and now wavy hair fall to my shoulders and back. The other Weasleys lifted their heads as I rushed to the door. I quickly waved goodbye and said my thanks as I ran outside, the chorus of their farewells barely reaching my ears. I was already several paces down the street.

Luckily for me, I knew my way to the castle. Once I reached my teenage years, I’d often sneak through the woods and journey to the capital. And when I got near enough, I’d take a right and go the long way ‘round. That way, I could get up close and personal to the walls of Orton. I couldn’t see anything, of course, but I loved to sit my back against the cool stone bricks and simply listen to the hustle and bustle. As a young girl, I often daydreamed of what life might be like within those walls. Now, I may get the chance to find out.

The trip was just how I’d remembered it, although a bit shorter. First, I’d walk straight between the long stretches of farmland. Sometimes I’d even get to see livestock. But after that, the land would transition into dense forest, filled with various wildflowers as well as a little creek. Once through there, one found themselves at the start of a cobblestone road leading straight to the gates of Orton. That’s where I was now. The sun was beginning to pierce the sky, and I didn’t feel ready. Then I thought of Jasper, and my foot moved forwards, the other following after it. Soon enough, I was face to face with two tall men dressed in silver armor. Behind them, cast iron doors concealing the city beyond them.

“State your name and business,” the man on the left said. His eyes wouldn’t even meet mine. Bile tempted to spill into my mouth, but I swallowed it down and did as he asked.

“Y/N of Orton. I come to find work, specifically for the position at the castle,” I said in a tone as confident as I could muster. The guard raised his eyebrows.

“I’ve never seen you or heard of you. You certain you’re from here?” he asked, jutting his finger towards the doors. I nodded firmly. Fake it till you make it.

“Yes, sir. I haven’t been home in many months as I’ve been looking after my cousin in Totbury. He’s been very ill, and I’ve been afraid to leave his side. Yet, I fear I am without much money. Hence why I’m here now.” I looked at the men, trying to gauge whether or not they detected my lies. I’d only just cooked up that tall tale fifteen minutes ago, and I didn’t have anything past that. My fingers squeezed each other behind my back as I waited for them to reply. One looked to the other, who shrugged, then they turned back to me.

“Very well, welcome back,” he said. My sigh of relief was covered up by the loud creaking of the doors as the men pushed them open, revealing the awaking city. I quickly walked through them before the guards could change their minds. Mother of God. I couldn’t believe I was actually here. But I knew I didn’t have time to explore, I had to get to the castle. Hardly anyone was outside their homes yet, so I took off running, my worn shoe soles slapping on the cobblestone. I didn’t know my way, of course. I was simply going by the spiral at the top of a tower. I could see it from the city streets, so I rushed through the city’s twist and turns until arriving at a long stone bridge. It led all the way to a tall archway, beyond it, the entrance to the castle.

I did my best not to break out into a sprint and instead speed-walked across it, wondering why there was nobody else in sight. I didn’t have time to ponder it further as I had already made it to the entrance. I told the guards here the same thing I’d said to the ones at the gates. They let me in seconds after I said I was there for the job opening.

The beauty of the castle stopped me in my tracks. Candles flickered above me in the high-hanging chandeliers, their light shining on the polished wooden floors. Gold framed portraits decorated the warm stone walls. Everything was so clean, so elegant. My eyes had no idea where to look. Get a hold of yourself. You’re not here to look around. I scanned the foyer but realized I had no idea where to go. But then a soft voice startled me.

“It’s up the stairs and to the left, dear. Better hurry. The Prince is almost done with his breakfast.” I turned around to see a short old woman with stark blonde hair. At first glance, she reminded me of my mother. She smiled when she saw my face. “Go on, wouldn’t want to be late now,” she ushered. I hastily nodded my head as I hurried up the steps, taking a left just as she had told me. I was now facing a long hallway, at the end of which were open doors leading into a large room. As I drew nearer, I could see a long line of people, all with their hands behind their back and chests puffed out. Intimidation tickled my skin. They all looked so proper.

Trying to push away my thoughts, I stepped into the room, which I realized was the throne room, and claimed my place beside a young woman. She looked to be around my age, as did many of the women. I quickly noticed that there were only women here. That’s odd. Surely at least some men would wish to be the Prince’s servant. Although, I suppose it’s not the same as being his right-hand man or advisor. My thoughts were interrupted by a loud toot of a trumpet. I turned to my right to see a well-dressed man with a silver instrument pressed to his lips. He played a little tune before lowering the trumpet.

“His Majesty, the King, and her Majesty, the Queen.” The man stepped aside, and two figures entered the room. The man was tall, had blonde hair, and a pale, pointed face. His eyes seemed to pierce my soul when he made eye contact. He carried a black and silver cane with him as he walked. The woman at his side looked just as unnerving as her husband. She, too, was tall, although not as tall as the King. Her hair was long and blonde, just as pale as her skin. The slimness of her waist was rather alarming, and her eyes were ice cold.

The couple took their seats on their respective thrones and turned towards the door. The previous man spoke again. “His Royal Highness, Prince Draco.” The man of the hour, Draco Malfoy, strutted into the room. A perfect combination of his parents, his skin was cool white, nearly the same as his platinum hair. His high cheekbones and pointed chin resembled his father’s, but, unlike the King, Draco’s hair was cut short, a few stray strands hovered over his forehead. When he took a seat next to his mother, I could see her eyes soften as she looked at him.

The trumpeter exited, leaving the Royal Family alone with the line of girls in front of them, save for a few guards. The King cleared his throat and rose to his feet, clutching his snake-headed cane as he did.

“In a few moments, my son will choose his new servant. I trust you will all be respectful and do as you’re told. If the prince dismisses you, then you leave. If the prince asks you a question, you answer it truthfully. And finally, if the prince chooses you, you will be led to your living quarters and will immediately begin your training. The prince will be taking the throne in exactly two hundred and thirty days; he is a busy young man, and we cannot waste any more time. Do I make myself clear?” he asked. Nobody said a word. “Good. Draco,” he called, motioning to us.

The prince stood up from his throne and made his way down the marble steps. He stopped a few feet in front of a girl a couple of people down from me. He stared at her for a few seconds before waving his hand and saying, “Dismissed.” The girl didn’t move, she looked confused and a bit shocked. Draco scoffed. “Weren’t you listening to my father? If I dismiss you, you leave. The door is to your right; run along now,” he ordered. I watched in disbelief as the girl bowed her head and rushed from the room, tears in her eyes. “Daft cow,” Draco muttered. Anger began to stir in my chest. What an absolute prick. Christ, I knew the Malfoys were a cold bunch, but I never thought the crown prince would be this much of an arsehole.

He continued going down the line, dismissing girls left and right. It didn’t seem like he had a particular order. No, he was merely kicking out the girls who didn’t please his eye. I knew this because he’d tell them what he didn’t find appealing as they left.

“Big nose.”

“Thin lips.”

“Too tall.”

“Repulsive complexion.”

He dismissed and dismissed until only three girls remained, including me. He stopped in front of a black-haired woman. She wore a cream-colored gown. It was much fancier than mine and contrasted beautifully with her dark skin.

“What’s your name?” Draco asked. The woman replied that her name was Alyssa. “Hi, Alyssa. Tell me, what makes you want this job?” It was silent for a few moments before the woman answered.

“My mother suggested it, Your Highness.” Draco clasped his hands behind his back and studied Alyssa’s face and body. His calm demeanor was frightening, to say the least.

“So your mother wants you to have this position, but tell me, Alyssa, do you want this position? Or are we just wasting our time here trying to fulfill the wishes of a woman who isn’t even here?” he seethed. Alyssa stuttered but shook her head and insisted she, too, wanted the job. I could tell from his face that Draco didn’t buy what she was selling, but he didn’t dismiss her. Instead, he shuffled his feet until he stood in front of me. My heart started pounding in my chest, but I kept my head up, my mother’s words echoing in my head. “Don’t be afraid to make eye contact.”

Draco said nothing for nearly an entire minute. He only stood still, eyes never leaving mine. It felt like a staring contest, but without the playful energy. I could see now that his eyes were grey. They looked empty like they were searching for something. I narrowed my own, trying to figure out why they looked this way. It seemed as though this upset Draco.

“What’re you looking at?” he spat. I quickly replied. I could practically feel his anger, and I did not want to add to it by being slow to respond.

“Nothing, Your Highness.”

“Liar. Try again, sweetheart.” Perceptive. Or perhaps just angry. Whichever it was, he now left me with a decision—another lie or the simple truth. I weighed the options in my head; neither seemed favorable.

“Your eyes,” I replied. Draco raised an eyebrow. I took this to mean he wanted me to elaborate. “They’re grey.” Upon hearing this, he rolled them.

“Brilliant deduction,” he said, sarcasm dripping from his tongue. “But why were you staring at them so...intently?” he questioned me further. However, he seemed afraid almost. Like he didn’t want to hear my answer. Regardless, I shrugged.

“Well, they appear sad and honestly, vacant.” I could feel the entire room tense as I spoke. Behind Draco, I saw The King jump to his feet, his wife’s hand on his arm in a feeble attempt at holding him back.

“Guards…” he started, but then Draco lifted a hand, halting his father as well as the guards who’d begun to take a few steps forward.

“That won’t be necessary. Send for Olive. She can show her to her new room,” Draco spoke gently. His voice was even and firm, and yet, nobody moved to fulfill his request.

“Surely you’re not picking her, son?” The King asked, desperation evident in his voice. It was easy to see that he disapproved of this decision. Draco, whose eyes still hadn’t moved from mine, adjusted his hands. They now rested on his thighs, fingers intertwined.

“You’re from Orton, yes?” I nodded, not trusting my voice. “You’re healthy, no deathly illnesses?” Again, I nodded. “And you want this job?” This time I decided to speak.

“Yes, Your Highness, very much so.” I curled my toes, hoping my conviction was enough. The smile that stretched across Draco’s face hinted that it was. However, his next words confirmed it.

“Perfect. Yes, Father, I have picked her. Now can somebody please fetch Olive? I don’t quite know why nobody did so even though I specifically remember telling you less than two minutes ago,” he said fiercely. Within seconds, a guard rushed out the door to do as The Prince had ordered. The two girls beside me took this as their cue to exit as well. Alyssa looked gutted, and the other girl seemed relieved. I felt a bit sad to see them go, but my thoughts of them were overridden by the increasingly uncomfortable feeling growing in my stomach.

The distress in the air felt thick, almost suffocating. It seemed that the vacant man standing in front of me was quite the threatening presence. While this let me know I should tread lightly when in his company, it didn’t instill fear. Yes, I had been intimidated and afraid when I initially walked into the Malfoy’s throne room, but once I’d gotten a good look at the youngest of the bunch, those feelings dissipated.

His eyes told me all I needed to know. Draco was nothing but talk. He was closer to a boy than he was a man, and more importantly, he had no guts to do anything substantial. Sure, words could hurt, but when it came down to it, they were nothing more than words.

As I was led to my room by Olive, the kind older woman I’d met at the doorway, I wondered what I had gotten myself into.

Taglist (I used my All Draco Works taglist for this, if you DO NOT want to be on this taglist for Betwixt, please let me know!): @beiahadid @pastelpuffbar @cutie1365 @dracoxmgg @lumlfy @sambucky8 @emilianamason @raplinethereal @DixieTheMorab24 @xoxohollands @prongsandprancer @ch0kemedracomalfoy @avlauriaa @purpleskymalfoy @mariah-can-dream @drxcomvlfx @sydnee-kom-spacekru @dracosgoodgirl @voilawind @gloryekaterina @anchoeritic @ragxsxragxs @exoticlizard @dlmmdl @siriusblklftv @Writtenbyadramaqueen @amourtentiaa @keidensu

#draco lucius malfoy #Draco Malfoy #draco fanfiction #draco malfoy smut #draco malfoy x yn #Draco #draco x y/n #draco x reader #draco x you #draco royalty #royalty au #Ron Weasley #hogwarts royalty #hogwarts royalty au #harry potter fanfiction #Harry Potter #draco malfoy fanfiction #royal fanfiction

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shyrose57 · 3 years

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YOO BROTHERS ANON BACK FROM THE DEAD? My phone started to fucking die half way (like extreme lag, keyboard stopped working at times, sudden shut offs, etc) and I was too scared to work on this in fear it'd get deleted. But im fucking back and have a new phone so I was able to finally finish. Plus after I finished the Brothers AU stuff I decided I hated Tip of The Iceburg AU lore and wanted to redo it so held off til I got that mostly done. I'm also trying to redo From Future to Past a lil bit but thats going slowly and decided I already waited way to long. Some other stuff happened as well like falling out of the fandom (Breath of The Wild and Linked Universe I got into and am actually still kinda in) then getting tossed back in but, anyway there's some smaller details I left out of Rans time living in the wild but everything here is the big stuff.

Keep in mind most of this happens when he's just 13. And he never acknowledges or treats his trauma, leaving it to build and affect him more and more over time.

When Ran first steps out of Mizu and into the world, he has nothing but a sword at his back and a book with little information on how to survive at his hip. The book really only provides him how to make certain things (like tools) and some basic information (Spiders are passive in daytime, how to farm, and basic information about each nether biome). The book acts more like a brief overview of the overworld and little information on how to survive than an actual survival book. Because of this the book is basically useless, Ran eventually uses it as a way of marking down notes and ripping out papers to cover wounds and tie things. He quickly learns that sleeping in high places (like a tree or a hole in a mountain) is the safest possible place to sleep, as no mobs or people can get him. Though due to the nights of constant screaming from mobs, his own internal fighting, and eventual hunting, he develops insomnia and paranoia. Leaving him unable to close his eyes in fear of being ambushed, believing himself to be forever unsafe and in danger. When he does manage to sleep he keeps his weapons nearby (like in his hand or under his pillow) and jumps awake at the slightest sound.

He moves around constantly, never staying in one place for more than 2 weeks. He eventually finds a snow biome and after seeing the little amount of mobs and knowing the snow is to deep for any sane human to try to travel through, he decides to stay there for a entire year and a half before moving again. During this time he grows both physically and mentally. He goes from being a small, lithe 5'5 13 year old to being a strong 6'7 15 year old. He also uses this time to come to terms with what happened and swear revenge against Ranbob for everything he's been through and everyone who's died. Even when Ran came to terms with what his brother did, the promise "Ill never abandon you." Continues to ring in his head, which does nothing but fuel his hatred, believing his brother has been lying to him ever since he was a child. While also growing his knowledge on the world and his survival knowledge, becoming an almost perfect survivalist.

When he was first alone and dealing with all the emotions brought upon him, he finds out he's hunted very suddenly. He first approached Raq (who he didn't know at the time) when he was desperate and fresh out of Mizu, asking him if there's any nearby town or city or really anything. Raq pretends to want to help Ran and let's him stay at his camp, giving him food and a warm place to sleep. But its 2 full days later, deep in the night when Raq finally trys to attack him, aiming to incapacitate him. But Ran is able to escape him and run away but not without a injury.

During the fight Raq manages to hit him, specifically on his left ear. He manages to cut deep, but not deep enough, leaving the top of his ear just barely hanging on. Ran runs away and actually has a bit of a head start due to him tripping Raq. But Raq manages to follow/track him, due to the blood flowing out of Rans ear. Ran eventually realizes Raq is tracking him by the blood trail he's leaving, so he stops, steals himself, and rips off the remaining part of his ear, barely holding back a yell, then Ran pushes his hand down on the wound and continues to run. Raq finds the ear and simply hums, intrigued by the lengths Ran will go to escape, before turning around, deciding to let Ran escape this time, because he knows he'll see him again. Ran continues to run, terrified and borderline crying due to the fear and pain. For the next 3 days he believes he is still being followed by Raq so he continues to run, never resting until he eventually collapses from exhaustion. His ear eventually heals over but never grows back, it becomes a reminder of the fact he is being constantly hunted by people and will never escape them.

Ran encounters Raq a total of 32 times during his time living out in the wild. And every time Ran manages to get away, though sometimes more injured than others. Eventually it gets to the point Raq greets Ran like a old friend. After their 3rd encounter Raq starts to bring others with him, eventually he has 5 others helping him hunt Ran. Though Ran grows and is able to either outwit them by using traps or is just simply able to avoid them most of the time. Though he still gets hit at times, once he made a mistake and a trap failed, leading to him getting stabbed and passing out cause blood loss.

The Nether is less than kind to Ran but kinder than the overworld. He gets shot a lot from both ghasts and skeletons. And almost falls into lava multiple times. He gets stabbed and trips more times than he can count. But he actually manages to make acquaintance with the Piglins he meets due to him being polite to them and giving them gold for nothing in return. He actually is close enough to them to get directions for free and is even given resistance potions when Ran states he is leaving and not coming back as a farewell and stay safe gift. He ends up staying in the Nether for much longer than a normal person would and becomes adapt at traversing and surviving in it. It almost becomes his safe spot because the hunters have never followed him into the Nether. He would've lived there if he could, but due to the heat he isn't used too and the fact he just despised Ghasts more than the hunters, and they were everywhere in there, he didn't stay. But would often vist. Eventually he found netherite which he quickly covered his first and only diamond sword with. His sword also had the enchantments, sharpness 2, unbreaking 3, and sweaping edge. Over time and use the enchantments dimmed, only faintly remaining. At this point Ran had to flee his snow biome house due to a sudden attack, leaving behind the materials he needed to fix the enchantments and his sword. So he abandoned using it, but kept it cause it helped him through years of fighting, he can't exactly drop and leave it.

Extra stuff I couldn't find a way to fit in:

-Ran manages to find a village but actually gets kicked out cause he punches the blacksmith for upping the price of an iron sword.

-Ran slowly grows more cold, uncaring, rude, and harsh over time due to trauma. He doesn't realize he became this way due to untreated trauma until he arrives to The Pit where Watson is able to help him start to slowly heal. Which is why he becomes more open and joking in The Pit because he feels safe and loved.

-When the group leaves The Pit he becomes cold and hard again due to habit. Its his way of subconsciously defending himself.

-His body is covered in scars due to the hunters and his brushes with mobs.

-Ran knows how to tailor his own clothes and has made many different kinds of clothes, all designed for certain biomes.

-Ran never farmed, he always hunted.

-Ran never really built anything, instead he preferred to dig into the side of a mountain or make shelter in a cave. Its only in the snow biome did he actually build a house. And even then it was very clearly meant to be a temporary house. Though he did end up living there longer than he intended.

-He was at first extremely reluctant to kill, but was forced to kill hunters and animals multiple times. To the point he became almost numb to it and wouldn't hesitate to kill if he was threatened.

-He would sometimes dream about his family only for it to end with them being slaughtered, which really messed him up and he would just lay in bed mindlessly every time it happened. These dreams still happen.

Also a edit to when the brothers met in the Pit, Ran actually gets his hands on a broken trident accidentally left in the arena (its the front end only, and the middle spike is shorter than the rest due to a error when being made) and ends up tripping Ranbob then stabbing the trident into the ground over him (if that makes sense?), actually trapping Ranbob, with the middle spike just above his throat, leaving him unable to move unless he wants to cut his neck and trapped on the ground.

Tip of The Iceburg:

So Karl's watch is still damaged. And Isaac is still the one to convince him to seek help from the others. But midway through the meeting Phil speaks up, mentioning how he found a book in a ruined village that had a replica of Karl's Watch etched into the cover, but is in a language he's never seen. After passing it around the table no one recognizes it. Everyone's discouraged until Foolish suggests they look for the other Travelers (what ima call the Tales people) and maybe one of them will know. Eventually, with picture pinning of supposedly who could be in their world, they all split off into groups to look. Ran is still the first found, but when he's shown the book he actually confirms a part of it is in a old enderman language that fell off long ago, he's able to translate half of that section but says that Ranbob, who studied old languages much more thoroughly than Ran can do the rest (cause here their still brothers but nothing in Brothers AU happened). Giving everyone hope. Eventually Ranbob gets found and translates the rest, but a great amount is still untranslated, which is a problem. So now its a journey of finding more people and mixing languages to find out the rest.

A sudden twist to the story happens when Billiam joins, and due to his experience with the egg is actually able to translate a random page in the back of the book (the egg made its own language to prevent its plans being discovered). Where they find out the egg is what broke Karls watch, because to it humans are nothing but entertainment, and it gets joy seeing them suffer and wants to mess with their lives. When it gets revealed to the rest of the SMP what the page says, everyone gets pissed. And even when its found how to get the Travelers home they refuse to leave until the egg is destroyed, a few are mad at it and want revenge, others are scared and want to try to prevent it from coming into their time. Karl eventually relents and lets them join in making a plan to take down the egg.

Also have some fluff scenarios with the brothers since its been a while:

-There's two types of resistance potions in their world, fire resistance and water resistance. The latter of which the brothers have memorized how to make. Their friends do not know water resistance exists. Which leads to the brothers pranking their friends by drinking some then jumping into a lake. Giving Watson a heartattack and making Isaac sob. The two quickly reemerge seeing their reactions and calm them and reassure them. After the explanation you can bet they got a talking too and where grounded.

-Ran teaches Ranbob to fight!

-Ranbob teaches Ran to fish, Ran complains the entire time.

-Ranbob responds by threatening to teach Ran how to farm. Ran stops complaining after that….mostly

-Everyone has found the brothers either asleep against each other or one asleep on the other at least twice.

-*insert Arthur get out of the tank meme but instead it's Ranbob trying to get Ran out of a tree so he can greet people.*

-Ran has his first night in years without a nightmare!

Now something else I'm planning to work on soon: What happened to Ranbob after Ran left Mizu?

I hope me sending stuff is still ok after so long of sending nothing.

Good to have you back, Brothers Anon! And sorry to hear about your phone, that sounds like it must've a day.

--------

Brothers AU:

I see we're back to Traumatize The Brothers Time, fantastic.

The fact that Ran has these items on him is interesting. Did he just have them with him when he was fleeing? Did he have the time to grab them? Was he preparing ahead? What led to him having these useful tools on hand when he was forced to flee?

How does he fare with mobs, being a mob hybrid himself? I think it's somewhat been implied that he's good with Endermen, but what about others?

How do the gladiator gang go about helping with his insomnia and paranoia, if they are aware of it?

What's it like for him during his time in the snow-biome, since he's there for awhile? Does he make a more-permanent camp/shelter? Do anything particularly interesting?

Poor Ran! That must've been quite the shock for him, and I imagine it didn't help his trust issues.

How does he get to the Nether? Does he have a base there? What do the piglins think of him, and vice versa? How does the Nether life effect him overall?

What happened to those materials left behind? Where they discovered? Does he manage to go back and get them on the roadtrip? Do they visit his homes on the trip?

How does the group react to his sudden change when they're leaving? What kind of clothes does he make? Does he ever make some for the others? Does he enjoy it, or is it just because it's necessary?

How do the fishermen feel about the close call with the trident, and what happens to the weapon?

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

Tip Of the Iceberg:

I don't remember if this was mentioned before, but was it Karl's watch that caused the issue then? Who wrote the book? Does the egg have a connection with them?

How do they fare with their plans to take down the Egg(and potentially the Eggpire, if that's a thing here)? How do those with previous experience with Egg feel about this, and what part do they play?

--------

Fluff! At long last!

I love how their thought process went to that. 'We can make water resistance potions, lets jump in a lake in front of our friends'.

That sounds like it should be entertaining.

Ranbob knows how to farm?

That's such a funny mental image. 'Ran, get out of the tree, you have to socialize'. 'Hissing'.

Yay, good for him!

Ooo, what?

Always.

#Brothers AU #dream smp #dream smp au #tales from the smp #Tip Of The Iceberg AU

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sohotthateveryonedied · 4 years

Text

I Swear that I’ll Be Around for You

Read here on AO3!

Summary:

“Alfred said you’re sick.”

Dick chuckles, then coughs. “World’s greatest detective.”

Bruce doesn’t exactly know what to say now. His hands hover, unsure. God, this was so much easier when Dick was younger. Every time he had so much as a case of the sniffles he would snuggle into Bruce’s side, let himself be cared for as if he were on his deathbed. Things are so different now.

It’s a late night. Then again, when isn’t it a late night? Bruce will forever hold on to his steadfast belief that anyone who maintains a normal sleeping schedule is weak and should be fed to wolves for their audacity. Bruce pokes his head into the kitchen where Alfred is wiping down the already spotless counters. “I’m heading up to bed now, Alfred, so feel free to do the same. Maybe try to be rebellious and sleep in for once.” Not that the old man will heed his advice. “Goodnight, Master Bruce. Oh, and do be quiet as you go upstairs? Master Dick has the flu and needs as much rest as he can get.” Bruce blinks. If he didn’t know any better, he’d be sure that his brain just got smooshed in a toddler’s fist with how long he stands there, vacantly staring at Alfred as his words sink in. “Dick is here? Since when?” Dick and Bruce haven’t said a word to each other for weeks now, possibly the longest they’ve ever gone without at least some sort of contact with each other. Their last argument was a bad one. Things were said, things they both regret. Bruce doesn’t blame his ward for spending all of his time with the Titans, moving on to forge his own path in a new life. “Since you left for patrol this evening,” Alfred says casually. “I’m certain I told you about it.” “I’m certain you didn’t.” Alfred shrugs. “Well, he’s here. Poor lad is sick as a dog, another tragic casualty of flu season.” “Hm. I’ll...be sure to check on him.” Alfred doesn’t turn around, but Bruce can feel his judgement with every pass of the sponge across gleaming marble. “What a marvelous idea, Master Bruce.” Translation? I hope the fuck you do, foolish bastard. Alfred truly has a way with words.

Bruce goes upstairs, invisible anchors tied to his ankles and dragging him down the whole way. He and Dick have been on rocky terrain for so long that he finds himself unsure of what to say to the boy. Man, now. Dick has grown so much over the years, become a person all his own, and Bruce finds himself at a loss when it comes to finding common ground with him. Maybe that’s how it always goes with fathers and sons; with time comes distance, and with distance comes respect. In all honesty, Bruce would gladly lose the distance and the time. He’d keep Dick as the smiling eight-year-old he grew to love all those years ago. Bruce stops in front of Dick’s old bedroom and finds the door already cracked halfway open. He peers in and finds a lump under the covers on the bed, shivering even as his chest rises and falls in steady rhythm. Bruce creeps in soundlessly. Dick’s face peeks out from the mound of blankets, his complexion pallid and covered in a sheen of perspiration. His cheeks are flushed with fever even as he shivers in his sleep. Bruce can’t help himself from pulling the blankets up higher, tucking them around Dick’s shoulders. Bruce’s breath catches as blue eyes crack open, blinking a few times before blearily settling on Bruce. “Hey,” Dick croaks, not two decibels above a whisper. “Alfred said you’re sick.” Dick chuckles, then coughs. “World’s greatest detective.” Bruce doesn’t exactly know what to say now. His hands hover, unsure. God, this was so much easier when Dick was younger. Every time he had so much as a case of the sniffles he would snuggle into Bruce’s side, let himself be cared for as if he were on his deathbed. Things are so different now. Luckily, the exertion of talking alone seems to have been the limit for Dick, because his eyes close once again as he drifts back to sleep. Definitely sick, then. If he were any healthier, this would have ended in an argument or one of them storming from the room. Maybe Bruce should carry on with the latter, leave this one up to Alfred. After all, Dick is an adult now. He doesn’t need Bruce caring for him anymore. He doesn’t need Bruce, period. But Bruce watches Dick turn fitfully under the covers, his mouth twisted in a grimace as the illness ravages his body, and he knows he can’t stay away.

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

Dick wakes up smothered by warmth, and he can’t decide if that’s a good thing or not. It seeps into him from all angles, a cocoon of heat that’s as comforting as it is sweltering. He’s a marshmallow browning over a candle, soft and squishy and warm. Dick has no clue where he is or what woke him up, and right now he doesn’t care. Maybe he’s in a fireplace. Is that possible? Can someone live in a fireplace without dying? Kori probably could. He should ask her if she’s ever visited a fireplace planet. Dick considers just going back to sleep to think on it more some other time, when something cool touches his forehead and his eyes open in shock. It’s dark, wherever he is. Dark and warm and comfortable, but that thing touching him? That just won’t do. Dick bats it away and makes contact with a wrist. Someone chuckles. “Just checking your temperature.” Dick knows that voice, he’s sure he does, but his mind is a swirling vortex of semi-coherent thoughts that are too jumbled to sort through right now. He’ll do it later. “How are you feeling, chum?” that same voice rumbles gently. How something can rumble gently, Dick isn’t sure, nor does he have the mental capacity to sort through it at the moment. The voice’s words are warped, too warbly to understand. Dick grumbles something nonsensical and pulls the thick blanket tighter around himself. Wherever he is, it’s too warm to leave. The surface beneath him is cushy but solid in the best way. Maybe he really has been turned into a marshmallow. Or maybe his bed is a marshmallow. Maybe the world is made of marshmallows and every minute of his life was just a dream before he wakes up back in Marshmallow Land. Would he mind that? Something pokes between his lips and slips under his tongue. Dick is too tired to fight it. After an amount of time he doesn’t think he’s all there for, there’s a beep and someone pulls the thing away. That same someone hums. “You still have a fever.” Then why does it feel like he’s freezing to death under all the warmth he’s swaddled in? “Are you thirsty?” Excellent question. What does being thirsty mean again? Dick manages an affirming grumble. Then something new prods at his mouth. Dick drinks the water, the liquid heavenly on his sore throat. His mouth is dry, almost sticky with the sensation, and the water is a relief he didn’t know he needed. Slowly, painstakingly, Dick opens his eyes and strains to take in the darkness around him. Black blankets. White pillows. Something soft and blue—a sweater? Dick’s eyes climb higher and find a face, and that’s when it clicks. He’s been sleeping with his head on Bruce’s chest, in Bruce’s bed. Huh. Dick is pretty sure he should be mortified right now, but all he has room for in his fever-compromised brain is how incredibly comfortable he is. Bruce says something. “Hm?” “I asked if you were cold.” Dick shakes his head, gripping Bruce’s sweater tighter in his fingers. “‘m fine.” Bruce makes another humming noise and picks up a novel from the nightstand, flipping to the page he left off at. His fingers card through Dick’s hair, soothing enough that it nearly puts him back to sleep. How long has he been here, sitting up with Dick while he battles the flu? Did Dick come to Bruce’s room on instinct, or did Bruce carry him here? If the former, why hasn’t Bruce kicked him out yet? The old days were a simpler time, back when Dick’s instinct every time he got sick or had a nightmare was to take up residence in Bruce’s bed, seeing as it was the biggest and the cushiest one in the house. Dick would climb in and snuggle against Bruce, hogging the covers all night, but Bruce never once complained. And now, fifteen years later, it looks like nothing has changed. “You’re good at this,” Dick says. “At what?” “Takin’ care of me. Being a dad. You’re good at it.” The hand in his hair stills. “I try to be.” Dick closes his eyes, soaking in the warmth, the steady tempo of Bruce’s breaths. “‘s why I came. I knew you’d be here, no matter what.”

#whumptober 2020 #no.25 #disorientation #batfamily #batfam #dick grayson #robin #nightwing #batman #bruce wayne #batdad #dc comics #fanfiction #fanfic

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indecentpause · 3 years

Text

The Most Beautiful Puzzle: Chapter One

I did already share this via gdocs, but I thought I’d go ahead and throw it up here too for easy reading and reblogging. :)

cw: murder, violence, drug reference, dead body/decaying corpse, stalking, mentions of domestic abuse, swearing, mental illness (ADHD, depression, anxiety), psychiatric medication, past injury due to domestic violence (still healing), neuroses about food and eating

Puzzle taglist: @ohsugarfoot @abalonetea @only-book-lovers-left-alive @poore-choice-of-words @leadhelmetcosmonaut @jasperygrace @drippingmoon @writtendevastation @viskafrer

Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist for future chapters, excerpts, moodboards, and other such updates!

Meara’s life has been one disappointment after another, and he’s not expecting his new roommate situation to be anything but, either. But he needs to get out of the city and needs a room, and Josselin seems nice enough and has a bed to spare.

But Josselin ends up being more than just a freelance translator, eccentric book hoarder, and taxidermy enthusiast, he’s also a consulting detective the one the police come to when they just can’t crack a case. Meara accidentally gets swooped up in one such situation.

It’s the most excitement and fun he’s ever had in his entire life. He’s hooked. (A Sherlock Holmes AU of Sheraton Academy.)

This is getting absolutely ridiculous.

Meara, you’ve been to this stupid community board multiple times this week, and it’s not surprising that you’re tired.

But then, it’s not your fault all the housing ads are written by weirdos and creeps, either.

Last one. Last one, and if this doesn’t work out, you’re going to move into Danny’s family’s basement and become a hermit and only do online courses and never go outside again.

The paper is a little crumpled, and it’s handwritten, which is new. All the old ones had been typed. There’s a tiny black and white photo of three cats on the bottom.

Josselin Clearwater, looking for single roommate for two bedroom apartment. Must be okay with cats. Any gender is fine. Must be over 21. No anti-maskers. $500/mo, utilities/internet included.

Underneath is a phone number.

You sigh and pull the paper off the board, ripping it where the pin was stuck in. You like cats, and from what you can make out of the grainy picture, they seem to all be snuggled together in a pile, which means they’re at least socialized with each other.

Your palm is sweaty when you grab your phone from your pocket. For a while, you stare at the blank screen, unsure of whether you should even keep trying. But then a text notification pops up, and it’s Danny, your best friend since you were five, and it says,

Keep an eye out. Your creepy ex came to my job to ask about you. I didn’t say anything. Be safe and call if you need me.

You swipe the message up and make the call. At this point, you’re desperate, and any roommate away from your hometown is better than going back.

Josselin could be any gender. It’s the masculine spelling of the name, at least, you think? But who knows. Doesn’t matter. As long as they let you study and don’t care about your ADHD or if you’re gay, it’s fine. Your depression’s pretty much under control with meds, so they don’t even need to know.

The phone rings, and rings, and rings. With every additional ring, you wilt a little. You could leave a message, you guess, but you don’t know them! It’s weird!

Okay, okay, just be polite and you’ll be fine.

Then, the phone clicks, and for a moment you think you’ve been disconnected, but you haven’t. A soft, slightly nasal voice answers, kind of androgynous but most likely male.

“Hello?”

You freeze.

“Hello?” they ask again.

“Uh, hi!” You snap back and close your eyes. “I’m looking for Josselin Clearwater?”

“Speaking.” A clanging in the background, a muttered curse, a “Familiar, get out of the trash!”

“Sorry,” they say. “Cats, you know.”

“Uh, sure, I guess. My name’s Meara Ryanne, and I was calling about your ad you left on the pinboard at Cafe Diem. I wanted to meet with you so we can see if we like each other and I can take the room?”

“Oh, yeah, of course!” They seem a little distracted, but maybe their cat is just in the trash again. “I’m actually free the rest of today, if you are.”

Your back straightens and you grin. Thank god.

“Yeah!” You fiddle with the crumpled paper with your left hand, phone already getting hot in your right. You’re going to need a new phone soon, before this one explodes or something. “Uh, just one question, first, if that’s okay?”

A pause. “What?”

It’s direct, but doesn’t sound annoyed.

“Sorry, um, I don’t mean any offense, but I like to ask everyone, what are your pronouns?”

“He and him,” Josselin says, then again, a sharp, “Familiar!”

“Okay,” you say, because he answers it totally calmly, no annoyance or offense taken, so that’s a good sign. “Me too,” you offer.

“Okay!” he says. “Are you at Cafe Diem now, or…?”

You turn around. “Looking at the menu as we speak.”

“Neat!” Josselin grins. ‘Neat’? Who says ‘neat’? “I live pretty close, so I can be there in… maybe fifteen minutes?”

A wave of relief washes over you and you pull out a wooden chair to sit at one of the empty tables. “Sounds good,” you say.

“Okay! Bye!” And he hangs up, just like that. No small talk. Okay, well, that’s fine. You’ve always tended to talk a lot, but you can be quiet when you need to.

You slide your phone back in your pocket and glance up at the handwritten chalkboard menu behind the counter. So many tasty things, coffees and teas and agua frescas. A quick glance at the time on your phone tells you it’s almost four.

Footsteps, sneakers squeaking on tile. You look up when they stop in front of you, shocked, because how can he be here already? But, no, it’s one of the baristas, Josephine.

“Hey, Meara,” she says. You can’t see her mouth behind her mask, but her brown eyes crinkle in a smile. “I know you’ve been coming in a lot and that’s fine, and I guess you just didn’t know, but right now we’re not allowed to have sit down customers. You’re cool if you want to sit in our outside seating though, as long as you keep up the social distancing!”

You grab your phone and only fumble a little. “Oh, man, I’m so sorry, Josephine,” you fumble. “I totally spaced. This covid thing’s taken a lot of getting used to.”

“No worries!” she chirps. “We appreciate that you wear a mask and actually use our hand sanitizer. You’d be surprised at how gross people can be.”

You don’t think you would, but you don’t say so. You offer her a nod and say, “Okay, I’ll order a tea and then hang out outside. I’m meeting someone in about fifteen minutes, is that okay?”

Josephine gives you a thumbs up. “Absolutely.”

As she heads back to her space behind the counter, you push yourself up to your feet. You have to lift your left foot and circle your ankle again, and you hiss softly as you put your weight back on it. It’s mostly healed, now. It only hurts when you first get up. A tentative step to make sure, then you follow Josephine up to the counter, back to normal.

Hopefully that’s a good omen for things to come.

---

It. Is. Hot.

Iced green tea was a good choice. The outside table is behind a little iron fence, so people are far enough away you can even keep your mask off while you drink. You don’t really look at anyone or anything, you just kind of zone out and enjoy the cold drink.

The fence creaks, and you jump and whirl. A man about your age, somewhere in his mid-twenties, maybe? steps through the open gate. You slip your mask back up as he turns to you after closing the gate behind him.

“Hey, Meara,” the man says, like you’ve been best friends for years. Your shoulders tense and you grip the plastic cup a little tighter.

“What?”

“Meara Ryanne, right?” he says. “I’m Josselin.” He gestures at the seat across from you and asks, “Can I sit?”

His mask is absolutely ridiculous, bright pink with a plague doctor in the center, and his black hair is pulled back in a messy ponytail. Part of it has come undone and falls over his shoulder.

“Uh, yeah,” you sputter, and he does.

“How did you--?”

He interrupts you. “You’re the only person out here, and I know inside seats aren’t allowed right now, so you have to be, right?”

“Yeah,” you sputter again. You gesture at the cafe window. “Do you want to--”

“Oh, no, I’m fine,” he says. He pulls a huge, bright blue and pink can out of his messenger bag. You can’t see the label but based on the coloring it has to be an energy drink.

It’s four in the afternoon. Who drinks energy drinks at four in the afternoon?

He pops the tab open and lowers his mask just long enough to take a swig. Even from here you can smell the fake cotton candy. As he moves, you can see a black smudge on the inside of his wrist, a penned note or something. He puts the can down on the glass table a little too roughly and tilts his head to the side, squinting at you.

“So, the room--” you start, but he interrupts.

“ADHD or autism?” he asks.

You freeze.

“What?” You stammer as it comes out.

Josselin straightens his neck and brightens. “Or are you comorbid? I’m comorbid.”

“ADHD,” you have to murmur, because he just sat down and you’ve barely said a word, so how could he know? “How--?” you start to ask, but he interrupts again.

“You’ve got a spinner ring on your left pointer finger and you’ve been tapping it against your cup and your straw has bite marks, probably stimming, yeah?” He leans to the side and gestures to your pocket. “And you’ve got a fidget cube in there, right? I can see the outline under the fabric. Most neurotypical people don’t carry more than one stim toy on them at a time, if any at all.”

Your face goes cold and your heart drops to your stomach.

What. The. Fuck.

Your face hardens and he seems to realize he’s made a mis-step.

“Is this some kind of prank? Did Danny put you up to this?”

Josselin’s hand slides away from the can on the table and to the corner, instead. “Friend or brother?”

“Answer the question,” you snap.

He shrinks back in the wrought iron chair a little and his brow furrows. “No, I, nobody put me up to anything, I was just, I just need someone to take the spare room and nobody could last with me longer than a month and--”

“Wonder why,” you mutter. A hurt look strikes his face and he drops his hands into his lap.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. His voice is shaky. “I put us off to a really bad start. Can I try again?”

And with everything that everyone in your life has done to you over the past six months, you should say no, but you need a roommate, and Josselin doesn’t appear to be dangerous, just… incredibly weird. But you can deal with weird.

Your shoulders relax a little, and you smile behind your mask.

“Yeah,” you say gently, because you were just like him when you were a teenager, and even though you’re both adults, you know how hard it is not to fit in. “Sure. My name’s Meara and I’m looking for a roommate. You?”

You can only see the top half of Josselin’s face, but you can tell by his eyes that he’s smiling.

“I’m Josselin, and I’m also looking for a roommate. I have a spare room. Do you like cats?”

---

For a while, you just talk, but even though Josselin is nice, if awkward, something’s been nagging at you this whole conversation, and finally, you have to ask:

“Josselin?”

He pauses his ramble and takes another slug of his energy drink. “Mm?” he asks around the liquid in his mouth.

“You said you were comorbid. When you asked me about my stimming. What did you mean?”

“Oh!” He puts down his can and leans forward, just barely staying at six feet apart. "I'm both, I mean. ADHD and autistic. Both diagnosed when I was young.” He pauses and hurries to add, “Not that adult diagnoses are less important or valid! I’ve just known for a long time. That’s all I mean.”

You nod. He makes a lot more sense now, now that you can relate to him in terms you understand. “Another question?” you ask.

He nods.

“How the hell did you notice all those little bits and pieces? It was a little scary initially but now it’s mostly impressive. Where did you learn that?”

“Oh, I, uh, I didn’t,” he says. “Learn it, I mean. It’s just something I’ve always done. Pay attention to little details. I just… see them. My brain puts things that look random together and comes to the--usually correct--conclusion. I don’t know. Everyone has their thing.” He pauses, takes another drink, pulls his mask back up over his nose and mouth. “Speaking of things, I have some stuff around the apartment that’s a little weird? Nothing illegal!”

You stare at him, long and slow. His eyes are on your chin.

“What?” you finally ask.

“No, like, I have some kind of uncommon stuff around, but nothing illegal. Like. I have all my pets taxidermied when they go down, for example.”

Your shoulders relax.

“Oh, well, it might take some getting used to, but that’s fine. You don’t have… hunting trophies or anything though, right?” Because that would be a dealbreaker.

He shakes his head. “No, no.” The table starts to wobble a little and you realize he’s bouncing his knee underneath it. It probably wouldn’t spill, but you pick up your cup anyway. “Just pets I still love and couldn’t bring myself to bury.”

You nod.

He tells you about his living cats (Familiar, Grandpa, and Crackerjack), and the building, and the fact that the washer and dryer in the basement are always broken, so you’ll have to use the laundromat on the corner, but that’s okay, because the family who owns it is super nice, and he has a cart you can borrow if you need one. There’s a parking space he can’t use that you can have if you need it. Like his ad said, $500 a month, everything but groceries included. He’s a vegetarian. So are you, so that’s not a problem. He talks and talks and talks, and you can’t bring yourself to interrupt him, because he looks so happy and excited, and everyone always interrupts you, and you don’t want to hurt him like that. Even if you did just meet, he’s probably going to be your roommate if the apartment checks out, so you want to start off on the right foot. Even if it is the second attempt.

“What about you?” he asks.

You pause, trying to backtrack in the conversation, to figure out which thing he’s asking about.

“What about me, what?”

“Do you have any pets you’d want to bring? Because I wouldn’t want a rodent or a bird around just because the cats would stress them out so much, and maybe hurt them, and that would be terrible, and I can’t keep an eye on them when I’m not at home.”

You shake your head. “No, no pets.”

He chugs the last of his drink and replaces his mask, then tosses the can toward the trash bin. He misses. You can’t help but chuckle, and you can tell by the crinkles around his eyes that he’s grinning.

As he picks it up and throws it away, you push yourself up, and a sharp pain shoots through your ankle. Ugh, this ankle is going to be the death of you in the winter if it doesn’t heal right.

Josselin turns back to you, hands still in the air from tossing the can away. His eyes dart up and down, just once, and his brow furrows.

“Do you want to take your car, then?”

“How do you know I have a car?”

“Well, you sure didn’t walk here, with that foot. And your keys are clipped to your messenger bag.”

You smile. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s fine.”

He pauses, and asks, “Are you or were you ever Covid positive?”

“No,” you say, and you’re surprised at yourself for not asking as soon as he sat down, but he’d taken you so off guard. “You?”

“No. And I generally work from home. You?”

“I rarely go outside, except for situations like this and groceries. I’m out of work right now. I was a paramedic for a long time but they couldn’t get us the proper PPE and my team kept getting sick, and I knew it was only a matter of time for me if I stayed. I’m looking for something I can do, though.”

Josselin’s eyes narrow as he frowns. “Then how will you pay rent?”

“I’ve got enough saved up for about five months. I’ve been really careful with my money.”

“What kind of jobs are you looking into?” he asks.

You lean your hip against the table to take the weight off your ankle, just a little. “I’m open to anything that’ll take me, right now,” you say. “But I actually really like customer service, cashier, phones, whatever. I know it’s shit for most people but I just… love being able to help. Either that or working with plants somehow. Something a little less important than life and death.”

Josselin’s eyes shift from a frown to a smile. “I know some people in the area. If you take the room I’ll help you look around.”

You smile back. “Thanks.”

Your car is parked just behind the cafe. Josselin keeps his pace slow, probably because of your ankle, but when you say, “No, really, it’s fine, it only hurts when I first stand up,” he looks at you thoughtfully and hmms, but says nothing. He does, however, speed up a little.

He gets into the backseat for some reason, which is a little weird, but that’s fine, probably. You pull your hand sanitizer out of the glovebox before you touch anything, and when you hold it up, Josselin holds out his hand and you squirt some into his, too.

As you adjust the rearview mirror, your gaze flicks over to the paperclip on your sun visor where the picture of you and your ex used to be, before things went to shit and he started getting violent. It hurts, still, knowing you meant that little to someone you loved once. You frown, pull the paperclip down, and toss it to the floor in front of the passenger’s seat.

“Okay?” Josselin asks.

“Fine,” you say, a little too tersely, and you start the car.

After you pull out into the street, you say, gently, “Sorry.”

Josselin looks at your reflection in the rearview mirror. “Hm?”

“For snapping at you. I’m sorry. You didn’t do anything wrong and I shouldn’t have done that.”

A long, long, incredibly awkward pause.

“Do you want to keep our masks on?” you finally ask. “Mine’s getting kind of humid and I could use some clean air. Since we’re both negative it should be fine?”

Josselin pulls his mask down below his nose, but keeps his mouth covered. “Thank goodness,” he says. “I didn’t want to ask because it’s your space, and of course I’ll wear my mask when I go out, but sometimes it’s just. Ugh.”

You smile and pull your mask down below your nose. “I know what you mean. But I’m just grateful we aren’t under quarantine anymore.” You snort a little. “Even though I do mostly stay inside anyway.”

“Take a left three lights up,” Josselin suddenly says. “Then a right at the first intersection. My apartment is above the Thai restaurant there. 221B.”

“That’s Baker Street, right?” you ask. Josselin nods and you both fall into a comfortable silence.

You drive where he tells you to, and sure enough, you see it there: JavaThai. But there’s no parking. He’d said--

Josselin pokes his head out between the two front seats and points across your chest. “See that little alley there? If you go through there and behind the building on the left, there’s a little parking area. Some of them are for customers, some are for tenants. They’re marked, you’ll know. Mine’s 2B.”

“How many apartments are there here?” you ask, as you pull into the parking lot. “It looks like it’s mostly businesses.”

“It is,” Josselin says, “but all the spaces above them are apartments. That’s why I’m B, I’m the second floor.”

“Ah.”

You pull into the space and turn the car off. Josselin jumps out of the car, clearly thrilled to be here with you, and he pulls his mask back up over his nose. You do the same.

You’re a little slower, wobbly on your bad ankle, but you recover quickly. When you attach your keys to your bag, you make sure they fall on the inside this time, and you’re very, very aware of how much you want to toy with your spinner ring, when usually it’s just instinct, it doesn’t cross your mind at all.

Josselin pauses near the back door, which leads into a stairwell.

“Can you do stairs?” he asks gently. “I didn’t even think about that. I’m so sorry. We don’t have an elevator.”

“Is there a handrail?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’m fine.”

He leads you up the stairs, and as soon as his keys jingle when he pulls them from his pocket, the cacophony of meows from the inside starts. He turns to you with a grin as he unlocks the door.

“They know it’s me because of the pill case on my keys,” he says, jingling them at eye level. “It clacks on the keychain in a certain way the landlord’s keys don’t.”

He pulls his mask the rest of the way off, and so do you.

The apartment is… not exactly a mess, but it’s definitely at least chaotic neutral. The coffee table is covered with everything from coloring books and crayons to DVDs to stuffed animals, and there are pillows and blankets everywhere, all with a dusting of cat hair.The three cats from the picture wind around Josselin’s feet and he crouches down to pet and hug them.

“Feel free to look around,” Josselin says.

By the TV are two taxidermied cats, one fluffy and gray and one short haired and white, one on each side. Above the TV is a shelf with a huge, ridiculously tacky, noticeably empty vase with sunflowers on it, and a small, sharp-toothed skull on either side. Did… he keep the cats’ skulls, too?

Your stomach turns a little, unsettled, but it fades when you hear Josselin, near the door, baby-talking one of the cats. He’s nice. You can tell he’s nice. He’s just eccentric, and hey, when you end up headfirst in a hyperfixation, you can be pretty eccentric, too. You’re no one to judge.

As he settles the cats down, you look at one of the bookshelves that take up most of the wall. A couple of tchotchkes here and there, but the books are what really catch your attention. Eddie Izzard’s autobiography. A number of books on anatomy and physiology. Some very advanced science textbooks. A James Harriot book. At least a dozen books about the Zelda games, from game guides to histories to biographies of the creators to art books. Something called ‘The Cinderella Complex’. A bunch of violin sheet music. Tons of things that could be fiction or nonfiction, you don’t know, because you’ve never even heard of most of these before.

“Would you like to meet the cats?”

You turn and smile at the flat-faced white and gray cat in his arms.

“This is Grandpa,” he says, “because even as a young cat, he had an old grumpy face. Always let him sniff you before you touch him, even if he knows you, or he will swipe at you.” Josselin opens his arms and Grandpa jumps to the floor. He picks up another cat, black with a little bit of white on her chest.

“This is Familiar. She’s about to turn one, which is why she’s all legs and huge ears.”

Familiar meows, as if she knows you’re talking about her.

“She’s gross because she loves the trash for some reason. I don’t know why. Even when there’s no food scraps she still wants to get in there. I got a lid and put it in a cabinet and got a baby lock but she still figures it out. I love her but she’s stinky and too clever for her own good. She needs a lot of baths, but don’t worry, I know that’s my job.”

Familiar paws at Josselin’s face and his nose wrinkles. He lets her tumble to the ground, then crouches by the gray tabby at his feet.

“This is Crackerjack,” he says, gently stroking her ears. “She’s an ex feral cat, so she’s very loud, but also a little skittish, so if you do move in, just give her space and she’ll come to you when she’s ready. Never try to pick her up unless it’s an emergency. She hates it. I learned that the hard way.” He tugs the collar of his shirt to the side to show a few old claw marks that settled into scars.

You wince. “Oof.”

Josselin smiles and pulls his shirt back into place. “She’s actually really sweet. She just didn’t know me yet.”

For a few awkward moments, the two of you just stand there, looking at each other. Finally, you point at one of the skulls and ask, “So… who’s that?”

Josselin lights up like a Christmas tree. “That’s Mom!”

You blanch. “The skull is… your mom?”

Josselin’s eyes widen for a moment, then he laughs. “Oh, of course, I thought you meant the urn! Sorry. The skulls belong to the two kitties by the TV. The urn in the middle has my mom’s rocks.”

It’s an urn, and now you feel terrible for thinking it’s tacky, even though you didn’t say it aloud.

Josselin stands and gestures you forward. “Here, I’ll show you the kitchen.”

It’s completely different from the living room. It’s spotless. Nothing is out of place, no dishes in the sink.

“I never cook,” Josselin says. “I always order delivery. You’re welcome to anything in here, as long as you wash it when you’re done. The last thing we need is Familiar getting into the dishes, too.”

“That’s fair,” you say. You can’t expect a roommate to clean up after you. You’re an adult, after all.

He leads you back into the living room and points up at one of the ceiling corners. Your gaze follows his finger to a little black box.

“I do have two cameras in here,” he says. “Not in the second bedroom, not in the bathroom. But in here and in my bedroom, because I’ve had roommates steal from me before. It’s nothing against you, or anyone new who comes to visit, it’s just.”

He trails off and you finish. “You want to be safe.”

Josselin nods, a little too hard, a little too long. A stim, maybe? After a few seconds he pauses and shakes his head, as if coming back into himself.

He shows you the second bedroom, reassures you there’s a lock on the door and no cameras. It’s not a huge room, but it’s definitely big enough for one, and there’s even a mattress in the corner already. You point over at it, about to ask, but Josselin says,

“You can move it out if you need to. I have a storage unit. Right now I just use it for guests so they can be more comfortable.”

You worry your lower lip between your teeth. Curl your fingers in and flick them out, rub your thumb against the spinner ring. Josselin hasn’t hidden anything from you. Maybe you’re not friends yet, but you can trust him, at least with vague facts of your life.

“I was actually going to ask if I could use it until I can get one of my own,” you say. “I’ve been living out of a motel for the past two weeks, and it’s getting kind of desperate.” You swallow and he turns to you, eyebrows hiked high. “You don’t have to,” you stumble to add. “I understand if you don’t want me to. I just thought I’d ask, if you’re not using it anyway--”

“Of course.” Josselin smiles warmly. He’s bouncing his leg on the ball of his foot again. “Say no more. Do you need help moving your stuff?”

A wry smile. “I haven’t said I’m taking it yet.”

“But you are,” he says, simple, straightforward, matter of fact. “You said yourself. You’re desperate and I have a bed, and you don’t seem to hate me.”

A laugh bursts from your chest, happy and bright. He frowns, tilts his head.

“You’re right, I don’t,” you grin. “I think you’re pretty okay.”

Josselin nods again, still too adamantly. “Well, I think you’re great.”

Your grin turns a little awkward and confused, but it’s still nice to hear he likes you.

“I can help you get your stuff in tomorrow if you need me to,” Josselin says. “I can’t drive, but I can move boxes and pack!”

You nod and thumb at your ring, and your smile turns a bit more sure again.

“Yeah. I don’t have much,” you say. “A dresser and a table, my clothes and some small electronics, laptop and stuff. A couple of keepsakes. Between us and Danny it should only take one trip.” You chuckle, a little nervous, and rub at your nose. “We might actually only need one car.”

“Okay.” He just glides right over it, continuing with the conversation, and for that, you’re grateful. “How about we sign a lease just for the first month, so we can make sure it’s going to work, and then we’ll go from there?”

“Yeah.”

You both stand there, not looking at each other. You jump when a crash comes from the kitchen.

“Familiar!” Josselin shouts, zooming past you and out of the room. You follow and enter the kitchen to see Josselin wrestling her away from the trash, which has been pulled out from under the sink and knocked over. She holds onto the plastic bin tight, yowling as Josselin tries to pry her paws off. You grab the bin and gently pull it as Josselin finally gets her to let go, and you pick up the paper towel that’s fallen out. It’s just a little crinkled, probably just water. So that’s okay.

Josselin shuts a still yowling Familiar in his bedroom. He sighs as you both move to the living room again.

“She’s going to make me pay for shutting her in there,” Josselin mumbles.

“Do you need help cleaning up?” you ask.

He peers around your shoulder at the little kitchenette. You turn around. It looks like Familiar only pulled that one paper towel out.

“I’m fine,” he says. He leads you to the door, watching your bad ankle.

“Who did that to you?” he suddenly asks.

Your stomach drops to your feet, but hopefully you school your expression quick enough he doesn’t notice.

“Nobody,” you say, as you reach out for the doorknob.

“The same nobody who put that bruise on your wrist?” he pushes.

You swallow and glance down at the healing yellow bruise on your pulse point.

“Nobody,” you repeat, a little firmer.

Josselin opens his mouth to push even further, but you interrupt.

“Thanks for having me over so quickly,” you say. “I’ll give you a call tomorrow around 10:00 to let you know if I need help moving stuff.”

“I--” he begins again.

You gently shut the door behind you and struggle your way back down the stairs. To Josselin’s credit, he doesn’t follow you.

---

You immediately go back to your room at the motel and to your laptop so you can google who the fuck Josselin Clearwater is and if he’s going to murder you in your sleep.

Logically, you know how ridiculous that is. Josselin was really sweet. And it honestly wasn’t him that made you want to do this search, because his personality is just fine.

But the cats, and the urn, and the weird books, and the cameras: all that makes you pause.

He’s probably looking you up right now, too, so, you know. Of course you’re going to google a prospective roommate. Any sane person would these days.

You’re not expecting or even hoping for much. Maybe a facebook or linkedin.

He has neither, and not a twitter or a blog, either. There is a website at the bottom of the page, which you weren’t expecting.

What he does have is dozens and dozens of mentions in articles and academic papers.

Local translator helps historians complete ancient text. Local man helps families find lost pets. Local amateur detective helps police find alleged killer. Local man’s cat saves neighborhood child.

Holy shit. Even his cats have articles written about them.

You skim through the headlines, making mental notes about which ones you want to come back to (which is all of them, honestly), but the first thing you click on is his website, all the way at the bottom of the search results page.

The top of the page is a simple bar with his name and a bust photo beneath of him looking very serious, which doesn’t suit his face. It may be true everyone looks better with a smile, but Josselin definitely does.

You can understand why he’d want to look more professional, though.

It’s a very simple website, clean and streamlined and organized, with mostly text and very little flair. You click around a bit but it’s mostly links to articles and books he’s worked on, at least, until you get to the last link, which is his contact information.

There’s no phone number or address, even a P.O. Box--thank god, you don’t want weirdos showing up or calling in the middle of the night--but there is a little form with a drop down menu that starts with “Reason For Contact.”

Huh.

You click. The first couple are relatively normal: freelance translating, translation assistant, research assistant, sensitivity reader, article and fiction editing.

Then, the last two at the bottom: finding lost things and finding lost people. Interesting.

You spend the next few hours reading through the articles you’ve found, over and over, trying to see if you can figure out who this Josselin Clearwater person really is.

---

When you wake up, it’s to artificial light and you’re still fully clothed, shoes and all, one leg hanging off the bed and your laptop half on your stomach. It’s a little too warm there, so you put it to sleep and flip it over to cool down, then grope around for your phone on the side table.

It’s just past 2:00 AM, and you have twenty seven texts, thirteen discord messages, and five voicemails.

What the actual fuck.

They’ve got to be from your ex; nobody else you know is ridiculous enough to leave all that, and if it were Danny with an emergency and you’d hadn’t answered, he’d have just come and banged on the door until you woke up.

You clean your glasses off on your shirt and open your messages. You only read the first one.

Please come back, I’m so sorry.

“Fuck you,” you whisper, because he wasn’t sorry when he twisted your wrist or almost broke your ankle when you fell down the stairs as he tried to keep you from leaving. He wasn’t sorry when he accused you of cheating, he wasn’t sorry when he tried to control where or how you could work or who you could spend time with or, hell, how you could spend your own money and what and when you could eat.

And he’s not sorry now. He’s sorry he couldn’t get away with it any more.

You screencap everything in case you need it for a restraining order later and mass delete the collection of text messages and block the number they came from. It’s not his; you blocked his number immediately, but he keeps finding people who will let him use their phones.

One text is from Danny, a reply to something you sent earlier.

Sure, I can be there at 9:30.

A little of the tension in your shoulders dissolves. Have your--admittedly minimal--stuff packed by 9:00, load it into your car, check out by 9:30, and Danny follows you over to Josselin’s with the dresser and side table he’s holding onto for you.

Follows you over to your new place.

You block your ex’s new discord screenname, you change yours again, and you go through the voicemails and delete them as quickly as you’re able.

He’ll have to give up eventually, right? You’re worth more than he ever admitted, but you can’t be worth that much. At least, not to him.

The rest of the night is sleepless. You spend it rolling around in bed, occasionally messing around on your phone, almost giving up and making coffee and deciding moving isn’t worth the effort.

By the time 8:30 rolls around and you start packing, you’re vibrating with nerves.

Josselin was nice. He was sincere in his niceness. You could tell. Most people can’t fake that kind of stuff without at least being a little suspect.

But your ex was sincerely nice, too, in the beginning.

You shake your head and gently pat your face and begin packing the few things you have left over from your old life. Your clothes, your meds, all your life paperwork that proves you’re you, a couple of little tchotchkes and cards and other old gifts people you love gave you that you were able to rescue.

You’re packed in ten minutes, everything except your laptop, and Danny’s not going to be here for at least forty.

You blow a raspberry and open youtube on your phone to keep you busy until you can check out.

Finally, at 9:00, you give in and text Danny.

Are you awake? I’m ready early if you are.

About five minutes later, he replies.

Sure! Want me to come over now?

If you can.

Be there in 15.

Not that much earlier, but the closer you get to moving without actually reaching your goal, the faster your heart races and the sweatier your palms get.

Then you realize, you should probably make sure Josselin is ready for you.

Texting seems too… familiar, so you decide to call, even if that might mean waking him up. If he’s reasonable about that kind of thing he’ll probably have the ringer off except for an emergency contact anyway.

When he answers, his voice is just as bright and cheery as yesterday.

“Hi, Meara! Is everything okay?”

“Oh, yeah, fine!” you say. Some of the tension in your shoulders starts to relax. Things are going into motion. It’s happening. “I’m just up a little early and thought, if you were too, I could come over in about twenty minutes? I realize that’s only about fifteen early but--”

“Yeah, sure! Thanks for the warning so I can put the cats away so they don’t get underfoot. I’ll leave the door unlocked, but knock before you come in anyway so I don’t think you’re breaking in.”

You laugh and grin and your face starts to relax along with your shoulders.

“Will do.”

Not long later, you and Danny are in the parking lot behind the Thai restaurant, leaning up against your car and looking up at Josselin’s apartment. It’s hot, but your breath still fogs up your glasses from behind your mask. Once Danny and Josselin are comfortable they’re both safe, you’ll take it off, but if they have to wear theirs, it’s only fair you wear yours, too.

“You’ve got a good feeling about this one?” Danny says, for probably the millionth time.

You nod. “Like I said, he’s a little weird, but, well, I think I could use a little weird. I’m a little weird, too. And he seems to work with the police a lot so if, god forbid, something happens, he probably has connections and can help me get things taken care of.”

Danny raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t comment.

“I still think you should get a restraining order. Then he can’t text or call you either.”

You bite your lip and sigh. “I know, but… I feel like that would make him even more insistent, you know? Like. He might try to find me. And Josselin or his cats or any of his friends or family who might come over could get hurt, or you could get hurt, or--”

“Or you could get hurt,” Danny adds gently.

You exhale, slow and long through pursed lips.

“I’ll think about it,” you say, and you open the back door of your car and grab the top box.

Getting up the stairs without the handrail is not easy. You have to sort of maneuver yourself so your hip leans against it to offer support on your bad side, and Danny must notice as he comes up behind you, because he calls over your shoulder, “Hey, if you need to stay up here, that’s okay. I can run stuff up the stairs.”

You don’t want to. You know he means it and that it’s not an issue or he wouldn’t have offered. But you still feel bad.

“Let’s get this up there and see.”

When you get to the door, you lean your shoulder against it and rap it with your knuckles. You’re barely able to stand back up by the time Josselin gets to the door.

“Hey!” he says. Today his mask is purple with a ghost Pokemon pattern on it. “The cats are closed in the bathroom so we can leave the door open until you get all your stuff in.” He takes your box without asking and says, “What’s in here?” He pauses, as if realizing that might be invasive, and rephrases, “Where do you want me to put it, I mean?”

“Closet’s fine,” you say. “It’s just clothes.”

Danny gently nudges you forward to follow Josselin as Josselin leads you to your new room. They put their boxes down in the corner, and Danny helps you figure out where your dresser and side table are going to go, so you can just bring them and drop them.

Josselin keeps looking at your foot, and you hate it.

A little belatedly, Danny offers Josselin a handshake and says, “I’m Danny, by the way. Sorry to just barge in unannounced.”

“No, no, you’re fine!” Josselin grins. He shakes Danny’s hand but doesn’t make eye contact, his eyes on Danny’s jaw. Danny either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care (probably both, he’s used to you not making eye contact), because he doesn’t say anything about it.

What he says instead is, “Can you help me bring up a dresser? It’s not too heavy, but I don’t want Meara messing his ankle up even more.”

You frown and open your mouth to protest, but you stop when Josselin turns to you with a gentle smile.

“I think that’s a good idea,” he says. “We can bring you your stuff while you unpack.”

“There’s not much,” you mumble, embarrassed. “Just the table, the dresser, and two more small boxes. And my laptop.”

“Okay.” Josselin’s voice gentles and he reaches out as if he’s going to pat your shoulder, but then seems to reconsider and pulls his hand back again.

He and Danny leave the door open behind them, and you sit down on the bed to open your boxes, and you stay there, because there’s nowhere to put your things yet. You’ll have to get a bookshelf. The downtown library is phenomenal, but you miss being able to mark up your own books. Maybe you can hit a thrift store or used bookstore once this Covid stuff calms down. Josselin seems like someone who’d be into that, judging by his library. It might be too much to hope you can be real friends rather than just roommate friends, but maybe it can be a bonding activity.

The dresser comes up next, then the table, and between the three of you, you get unpacked and put away in about a half hour. You’re all breathing hot through your masks, not breathless but definitely not comfortable, and you say, “Danny and Josselin, you’re both Covid negative, if everyone’s okay with taking off their masks?”

“Oh thank god,” Danny mumbles. He pulls his off, folds it up and slides it in his pocket. Josselin just unhooks one ear and leaves his dangling, and you pull yours down to your chin.

About then, the cacophony of annoyed cat meows starts coming from the bathroom, and you grin sheepishly at Josselin and say, “Oh, sorry, you can let the cats out now.”

Josselin starts to turn away, then pauses to squint at Danny.

“You said your name is Danny, right?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

“Is it short for Danesh? Are you the Yazdis’s son?”

Danny pauses and frowns and actually looks a little thrown, which usually doesn’t happen. He’s pretty good at taking things in stride.

“Uh. Yes? Why do you ask?”

Josselin smiles and his face goes back to normal. “Oh, I did some work for them a while back, and they had a picture of you in their office. I just didn’t recognize you until you took off the mask.”

Now Danny squints at Josselin. “What do you mean, work?”

“Oh! I’m a freelance translator and they hired me for a couple one-off jobs.”

Danny nods slowly and glances over at you. You shrug and turn back to Josselin.

“Why don’t you go let the cats out while we break down these boxes?” you say. “They sound like they’re getting pretty insistent.”

Josselin seems to realize that he might have made a mis-step with Danny, and he takes your hint and leaves the room. But it wasn’t really a mis-step, more just. An awkward introduction. The windchime on the front door jingles when Josselin closes it, and shortly after, Familiar zooms by and you hear a clatter in the kitchen.

“Familiar!” Josselin groans, and you can’t help but smile.

Danny thumbs in the direction of the door. “You’re sure about this guy?”

You smile, and before you can answer, Familiar zooms into your room and darts under the bed. You laugh, and Danny chuckles, and Josselin comes to the doorway and says, “Sorry, they’re used to this being the Cat Hiding Room. You’re welcome to keep the door closed if you want them out, or we can get a baby gate, or--”

“She’s fine.” You grin. “I like cats. I don’t mind them coming in and out.”

Josselin grins back.

“Do you need sheets or pillowcases?” he asks. “I have some spares for when I have guests, you can use some if you need?”

“Thanks.” You nod, about to push yourself up, but Josselin holds up his hands.

“No, no, rest your ankle,” he says. “I’ll get it. No worries.”

He disappears again, and Danny’s smile turns a little more sure.

“Yeah,” he finally agrees, “I think you’ll be okay with him.” He drops a friendly, heavy hand on your shoulder and jostles you a little, and you laugh. He sits down beside you on the bed and lowers his voice.

“Think about what I said, though,” he murmurs. “About the restraining order. If Josselin does work with the police--and I feel like it’s better if I don’t ask why--he’ll hopefully be able to help you get it figured out.”

But you don’t have time to respond before Josselin comes back with a pale pink sheet with soft yellow flowers and pastel green leaves printed on.

“My last roommate left them,” he says. “I washed them, of course!” he says quickly. “But they might be a little thin in some places.”

“Thank you, Josselin,” you say, as he drops the sheets and two pillowcases in your lap.

“Up,” Danny says, grabbing your upper arm and pulling you to your feet. “I’ve got this. I don’t want you leaning over weird and re-twisting your ankle.”

You try your best to pout, but it probably actually looks more like you just ate something really sour.

Josselin begins to turn and gestures you to follow him out of the room. “Come on, we can look at the lease I wrote up while he does that.”

The lease is very straightforward with very little legalese, so you assume there was no lawyer involved, so you read it very carefully. It looks like Josselin is willing to cut you a deal for the rest of this month, since it’s already the 20th. He’s giving you the eleven days no charge, which is incredibly generous. Your lease starts on the first and will be up for renewal the thirty-first. If you break it before then, you still owe the full $500, but no fee. You have to pay for any damage that’s your fault. Okay. Seems fair.

Josselin sits quietly while you read, bouncing his foot again. His right thumb alternately presses into the tip of each finger on that hand, quickly, one after the other, like he’s counting something. Another stim? Your finger flippy thing is pretty similar. That’s actually kind of cool, that you have that in common.

You pick up the pen beside you to get to signing. Familiar jumps up on the table and headbutts Josselin’s shoulder. Josselin sighs, but chuckles a little, too, and picks her up and puts her in his lap.

“You know you’re not allowed on the table,” he says as he scratches her ears. She’s purring so loud you can hear it all the way over here. You smile to yourself and scribble out your name and the date in your terrible cursive, check to make sure you only need to sign the one line, and then slide the lease and the pen back to Josselin.

“Can I get a copy of that?” you ask. “Just for my own records.”

“Sure!” Josselin gently pushes Familiar off his lap and stands. “I have a scanner in my bedroom, do you want me to email you a copy, too?”

“Yeah, please.” You take back the lease and scribble your email on the back in the corner, because nobody ever spells your name right, and that way it goes to the right place.

As Josselin starts to head back to his room, your phone rings. It’s a number you don’t recognize. With a heavy, tired sigh, you mute your phone and place it facedown on the table. It’s probably your ex again, and if it’s not, you’ll just call back and say you were in another room and didn’t hear it ring.

Josselin turns around, holding the lease in both hands like he’s about to make a speech. His eyes dart from your face, down to the phone, up again, specifically to your mouth. It’s a little disconcerting.

When he doesn’t leave for his room, you ask, “What?”

“I know it’s not my business,” Josselin starts slowly, as if he’s afraid you’ll yell at him. Have you really come off as that mean? You’ve been under a lot of stress but that doesn’t mean you can be a jerk. You’ll have to pay more attention to your tone and body language.

“I know it’s not my business,” he repeats, “but that was Nobody, wasn’t it?”

You swallow hard and look away.

“Don’t delete anything they send you,” he advises. “Texts, emails, voicemails, whatever. Save them. Just in case.”

You sigh, slow and heavy. “I’ve been taking screencaps before I delete things,” you finally say. Josselin shakes his head.

“That might not be enough,” he says. “Save them. And. And if you want, I can act as a buffer or something. Answer calls and tell them to leave you alone. If you want,” he says again, quickly.

“All right, sheets and pillowcases are--” Danny pauses in the doorway of your new room when he sees you. “Everything okay?” he asks slowly.

Josselin’s eyes dart between the two of you, and he finally nods and holds up the lease and says, “Just making some copies. I’ll be right back.”

You and Danny watch as Josselin disappears into his room.

Danny sits down where Josselin had been--there are only two chairs--and leans toward you.

“Is everything okay?” he asks again, softly.

Your phone beeps, indicating that someone’s left a message. You scrunch your eyes closed a moment, then open them and try to smile.

“It was a number I didn’t recognize, so I let it go to voicemail. Just in case.”

Danny nods. “You sure you don’t want a restraining order? Legally he just has to have sent two harassing texts, and you’re way past that point. I know most of it happens through a judge but maybe Josselin’s connections could--”

“I just met him, Danny. I’m not going to bother him with stuff like that.”

Danny frowns. Familiar cozies up to you and starts rubbing her face on your legs. You lean down and offer a hand to sniff. She does, then headbutts it as if asking for pets.

“Hi there, Familiar!” you say, signalling that your conversation with Danny is over. “I’m Meara. I’m going to be your new roommate!”

Hopefully Josselin trimmed their claws recently, because you attempt to pick her up, gently. She meows but doesn’t show any discomfort, so your grip gets a little firmer as you lift her to sit in your lap. She purrs and headbutts you again, and you give her a little scritch behind her ears.

Danny’s frown slowly fades. He knows you, and he knows when and when not to push.

A few moments of awkward silence later, Josselin pokes his head out of the doorframe.

“Oh, something I forgot,” he starts. He moves fully back into the space. He’s playing with the hem of his shirt, awkward, almost scared. “Um. I have epilepsy. So I can’t drive. I don’t expect you to take me anywhere! Buses and Lyfts are fine. But if you see me having a seizure, please don’t call 911 unless I’ve hit my head. I’ll be fine and I can’t afford an ambulance or ER visit I don’t need. If you change your mind and decide not to stay--”

“Of course I’ll stay.” You offer a smile. “At least for the first month. And I don’t mind driving you places every now and then if you need it, I just can’t promise I always can.”

Josselin’s shoulders slump in relief and he offers a tremulous smile. “Okay. Okay, that’s good. Thank you for understanding.”

“Yeah,” you say. Your smile turns a little softer, but just as kind, you hope. “If there’s anything I can do to help, or anything specifically you need or want me to do, just ask, okay?”

Josselin lights up and nods. He leans out of view again and comes back with the copy of the lease.

The three of you sit around the living room talking for a few minutes, but Danny has a bunch of stuff to do for his parents, so with a quick hug and a ‘be careful, okay?’, he goes out on his way.

Josselin frowns just a little at the door after Danny leaves, eyebrows drawn. He looks back at you and opens his mouth, but you say,

“No, not you. He wasn’t talking about you.”

Josselin stares at you blankly for a moment as he works out what you mean.

“Oh. Oh!” He nods adamantly. “Yeah, okay.”

Another long, awkward pause.

"Um," Josselin says. You look back up from the table. "I have some ace bandages, if you think it would help."

Your shoulders slump in relief when he doesn't push it.

He points down the very small hallway by his room. "They're in the bathroom." He stands and sees Familiar in your lap. "You made a friend!" he grins. Familiar jumps onto the table and Josselin sighs. He picks her up and puts her on the couch behind him.

"No table," he says sternly. She just meows and starts to wash her face.

"Right back for real this time," he says. You smile at his retreating back.

Once he gives you the bandages and an apology, he disappears into his room and closes the door behind him.

He hasn't slept in two days, he said. So you move to the couch and the tote of toys beside it to keep the cats entertained.

Grandpa settles in on a pile of blankets in the corner and curls up, and Crackerjack climbs into the box when you’re not looking and runs off with a catnip mouse. Familiar sits on the floor in front of you, tail swishing excitedly back and forth. You dig around for a ribbon toy and play with her until she gets bored and you get tired. You got more sleep than Josselin, but still not much.

It would be more considerate to go back to your room, but now Familiar is curled up in your lap again, and she’s finally calm and sleeping. So you worm yourself around her and collapse into sleep on the couch, instead.

---

Your phone is ringing. You don’t know how long you’ve been asleep, but long enough for Familiar to finish her nap and run off. It’s still a struggle to get to your feet, especially after going up and down so many stairs, but you don’t want to leave it in case it’s a job prospect.

It’s a number you don’t know, again. You sit down at the dining table and hope for the best.

The lump in your throat feels as big as a baseball when you answer, and you choke around it a little.

“Hello?”

“Meara!”

Your stomach turns to a rock and slams to your feet. It is him. Your ex boyfriend. And now he knows this is still an active number. Shit.

“Meara, thank god you answered, I had to talk to you, I’m so--”

“Drake, I have told you, over and over, that I do not want to talk to you.” It comes out almost a feral growl, but you’re pissed off. “Don’t call me, don’t text me, don’t email or message me. I just moved in with a cop so if you don’t cut it out I’ll make sure he does it for you.”

A lie, of course. Josselin’s not a cop. He’s just a consultant, or at least, that’s how it seemed in the articles you read yesterday. But Drake doesn’t have to know that.

“But Meara--”

“I will get a fucking restraining order if I have to!” you shout. “I’ve saved everything, all your voicemails, all your texts, all the numbers you called me from. I didn’t want to, I wanted to believe you would grow up, but I will. This is our last communication, Drake. One more attempt and I’m going to my roommate and his team.”

You only half hear Josselin’s bedroom door open, and you don’t realize he’s walking toward you until he takes your phone out of your hand.

“Who’s this?” he asks, voice flat but polite. A pause. “You see, the thing is, I don’t care what you want. I am the roommate, and I am very good friends with Police Captain Montague, and if you don’t leave my friend alone, I’ll have him serve the papers to you personally.”

He gives your phone back and you just stare at him, jaw dropped and mouth opened. “Like you’re trying to catch flies,” Danny’s mom always says. It takes a moment, but when you bring the phone back to your ear, it’s silent. You look at the screen. Drake’s hung up.

There are so many things you should say and so many things you could ask, but instead, you say, “Can you do that?”

Josselin blinks at you, slowly, like he’s translating from another language before he answers you.

“I could ask as a personal favor,” he finally says.

You look at your phone and put it back on the table. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up, I shouldn’t have been yelling--”

Josselin shakes his head. His hair is a mess and he has dark circles under his eyes. “No, you’re fine. Some people deserve to be yelled at.”

You look down at his bare feet and the worn hems of his sleep pants. They’ve got pictures of little Zelda items on them.

He looks at you very sternly and says, “Well, now that you’ve made it clear that the Nobody who hurt your ankle is still bothering you, I’m gonna have to insist that you do, in fact, get a restraining order. I don’t want him coming around here.”

You pause a moment and say, gently, “Josselin, I understand you’re worried. Danny is too. And you’re right, I should. And now that we’ve threatened him with papers we kind of have to. But I think we need to lay down some boundaries really quick, and while I do very much appreciate you getting him off the phone, you can’t just grab it while I’m in the middle of a conversation.”

“Oh!” He has a look of surprise on his face, like he’d never thought of that. “I’d never take your phone in a normal conversation. But you were telling him to leave you alone and he wasn’t and I thought--”

“Thank you,” you say. You rub at your face and continue. “I know you had good intentions. But don’t do it again, okay?”

“Okay.” Josselin nods his head adamantly, then after a moment, he says, “Sorry.” He yawns, round and wide, like a cat. “I’m. I’m feeling pretty crispy still, so I’m going to lie back down and try to get a little more sleep.”

“Sorry,” you repeat, sheepishly.

He waves his hands in front of you, like he’s brushing your apology away. “No, no, it’s okay. I’m glad you’re all right. I’ll call Dona when I wake back up.”

“Dona?”

“Donatien.”

“Donatien…?” You trail off, hoping he’ll elaborate.

“Yeah,” he says instead.

“No, I mean, who is that and why are you telling me?”

“Oh!” Josselin nods again and says, “Inspector Montague.”

“I thought you said he's the Police Captain?”

“He is,” Josselin says. “He’s both. He prefers Inspector but, when we need to, we still throw the ‘Captain’ word around.”

Before you can say anything more, Josselin continues, “Anyway, back to bed with me. If you have any questions or want to talk to the Inspector, just let me know when I wake up and I’ll do what I can.”

“Thanks,” you say softly. You know your voice is kind of nasally, and it can be a lot to deal with when people are overwhelmed or tired.

Josselin waves his hand in the general direction of the bookshelves. “Feel free to read anything, or watch a DVD or whatever if you want. Netflix is logged in already. You can use the guest account and when I wake up I’ll see about making you your own if you want.”

“Guest account’s fine,” you say.

Josselin nods. Grandpa has woken from his nap at all the noise, and he jumps up onto the couch arm rest and bumps his head against Josselin’s elbow. Josselin holds out a hand for Grandpa to sniff, and once he does, he all but climbs up into Josselin’s arms.

“Gonna be my napping buddy?” he asks, voice gentle but warm. Grandpa snuggles in, and Josselin smiles.

---

After Josselin’s been to bed for an hour or so, your stomach begins to grumble. You’ll have to order groceries soon, but maybe in the meantime you can cook something and replace the ingredients when you order.

So you head into the kitchen, and oh, man, there’s a reason it’s so clean.

The fridge has containers of ketchup, sweet chili sauce, and ranch in various amounts. A case of water with only one bottle left. That’s it. In the bottomest left corner is a mason jar full of rusty water with nails at the bottom. Whatever that is, it’s definitely not for eating.

You turn to the cupboards. Half a loaf of white bread that’s gone moldy, an almost empty bag of chips. Dozens of rows of various energy drinks. How does he live like this? What does he eat?

So you throw away the bread and head back into your room, leaving the door open in case a cat wants to visit, and you look at grocery delivery options, so you can get some real food into this house.

It’ll take some time for them to get your order together and get here, but finally, twenty minutes later, you have an order in and some fresh food on its way. More bread. Fruits and veggies, fresh and frozen. A couple kinds of cheese. Dry and canned beans.

Tons more, and your bill ends up being almost $200, but since you have so much money saved, it’s doable. You’ll just have to be careful from now on.

And while you wait for your groceries to arrive, you peruse Josselin’s bookshelves for something to read.

---

Josselin wakes up while you’re putting the groceries away. He shuffles out into the kitchen in a pair of socks and his Zelda sleep pants, yawns, and asks, “What’s all this?”

You turn toward him as you put away the last of it.

“Groceries,” you say. “You had literally no food. Are you okay? Do you need me to help you with like, EBT or something? We could both probably apply, since I’m out of work right now--”

“Oh!” A look of distress marrs Josselin’s face. “Oh, no, no, Meara, you didn’t have to do this--”

“You had no food! Of course I did,” you say. “I’ll share with you. You’ve gotta eat.”

“No, it’s not that.” Josselin’s voice is almost a distressed whine. “I just don’t eat at home. I go out. I can’t cook and I have this… thing, where I can’t eat stuff unless it’s prepackaged or cooked in a professional kitchen, because if it’s made at home it could be wrong, and someone could get sick or--”

You close the fridge door and stand up. “Hey, hey, it’s fine,” you say gently, trying to soothe him. “I got some snacks, too. In bags and boxes. You know, granola, yogurt, stuff like that. Is that okay?”

Josselin’s hands are curled together and pushed against his chest, shaking.

“I don’t know,” he says, voice trembling. “I never tried it. I don’t go to the store because it’s too loud and the fluorescent lights are too bright and they always flicker and there’s so many people and--”

“Josselin,” you say gently, about to rest your hand on his shoulder. But you pause, because a lot of people with ASD don’t like being touched suddenly, so instead you ask, “Is it okay if I put my hand on your shoulder?

He hesitates, then nods. You gently, very gently, touch the side of his shoulder. He flinches, so you drop your hand and move a step back to give him space.

“Do you like ice cream?” you ask. “I got some cookies and cream. I don’t mind sharing.”

“But the top--”

“Is sealed with plastic,” you reassure him. “I’ll leave it alone and let you open it and take as much as you want before I eat any, okay?”

Josselin’s lip wobbles and he looks down at his feet.

“Meara, thank you so much for thinking of me, but I can’t… I don’t know why I’m like this, I don’t know why I can’t just eat normal food at home like everyone else, but I just. It’s. It feels bad.”

You offer a smile and lead him out of the kitchen and back to the living room.

“It’s okay,” you say, sitting him down on the couch. “You’re an adult, you’re obviously healthy enough to not have to worry about it. You can eat whatever you want and avoid whatever you don’t. I just didn’t know. I’m sorry I freaked you out. But don’t worry, the food won’t go bad. I like cooking, and I don’t mind if I’m doing it just for me while you run out to get something, or order in. I was just worried you weren’t eating because there was so little food. If you don’t mind, you can invite some friends, or I can invite Danny, and we can have a little three or four person meal to use up some of the perishables faster. It’ll be fine. I promise.”

Josselin shakes his head wildly, and he doesn’t even comment when Familiar starts banging at the kitchen trash door.

“Don’t make promises,” he says softly. “Eventually everyone always breaks them.”

It stabs you right through the chest, the sad, defeated, accepting way he says it.

“Well, how about this,” you say. “I’ll cook what I want and you eat what you want, and next time, I’ll consult you before I make my grocery list.”

Josselin offers a weak, watery smile and nods.

“I’m sorry.” It catches in your throat a little, but you keep going. “I haven’t even been here twenty-four hours and I’m already causing you so much trouble.”

Josselin’s smile turns up a little on one side, and he shakes his head, much less adamantly this time. “No, you haven’t. You were genuinely trying to do a kind thing, and I appreciate it. I do.”

You both pause and look away from each other. You rub at your legs with your hands, and when you glance over at Josselin, he’s doing the same. You can’t help but chuckle.

“What?” Josselin asks, turning back to you.

“We have some of the same stims.” Your smile is crooked, but honest.

Josselin’s shoulders perk a little and he glances from your hands to his.

“We do!” He chuckles, too.

For a moment, you both sit there in awkward silence. Josselin starts bouncing his knee again.

A phone rings in his bedroom, a jaunty little 8-bit tune, and Josselin jumps up and hurries to answer it.

Just as well. You don’t want to push boundaries too much. He likes you now, but he might not like you later.

Moments later he whirls out of the bedroom, pulling a shirt on while still talking on the phone. He’s wearing jeans now, instead of his pajama pants. He rushes to the front door where he pulls on his shoes one at a time, one hand at a time. He’s talking so fast you can barely understand him.

“All right, I’ll be there,” he finishes, then hangs up and stuffs it in his pocket.

“Do you need a ride somewhere?” you ask hesitantly. You’d like to help, but you don’t want to overstep again. “Whoever that was, it sounds pretty important.”

“The Inspector,” Josselin says. He leans his shoulder against the wall as he struggles to pull his second shoe on without untying it.

You begin to stand, begin to ask, “Are you o--”

He whirls around to you with a wide, almost manic smile on his face.

“There’s been a murder. Woman went missing last week and they found her body.”

Your mouth hangs open a minute, yet again, catching flies. Why is he smiling if there’s been a murder?

But he whips out his phone and taps at his screen a few times, and before you can say “screw this” and go back to your room and not get involved, your brain shorts out, and instead you ask, again, “You need a ride?”

---

You follow Josselin’s directions and end up at one of the forest preserves out past Schiller Park. Josselin kindly found you an ankle brace so you can walk along the paths, even if you can’t go out into the woods. The worst part is still getting up and down. Walking on flat surfaces is relatively okay, and the paths in the forest preserves are generally pretty well kept.

Josselin doesn’t offer any information, and you don’t ask any questions. What the hell have you gotten into?

Josselin taps at his phone in the backseat while some ‘80s station plays softly on the radio. You offered him shotgun but he prefers it back there. The music isn’t your favorite, but at least it’s something most people can deal with, and Josselin doesn’t seem to mind.

When you arrive at the entrance you’ve been told to, you park, and before you’ve even shut the car off, a man in uniform, maybe mid-thirties? Still young. He approaches the car, waving a disposable mask and a glove. Josselin jumps out and you stay put, unsure of whether you should follow, but then Josselin knocks on the window and gestures for you to follow him.

So you do.

“This is Inspector Montague,” Josselin says, switching out his cloth mask for the medical grade one. “Dona, this is Meara.”

The Inspector squints at you, not rudely, just. Thinking. “Why are you here?” he finally asks.

“Oh, uh, I was the ride,” you say. You thumb back at your car. “I can stay here if--”

“Nonsense!” Josselin cries. The two of you follow the Inspector back to his squad car. He digs out a second mask and glove and a container of Vicks. Oh, man, Josselin did say she went missing a week ago. The body must have been here a while.

You switch out your masks and pull on the glove. You’ve been out of work a few months but you’ll remember this drill for the rest of your life. You swipe your gloved finger in the gloop and smear some under your nose, that familiar, sickening menthol smell, then hand it to Josselin to do the same.

“Oh! You were a paramedic, weren’t you?” Josselin asks, eyebrows up.

“Yeah. Some things you don’t forget.” You pull your disposable mask up and stuff your fabric one in your pocket.

The Inspector still looks a little wary of you, but then, you’re not a cop and you’re no longer medical personnel either, and breach of privacy and disrupting crime scenes and all that.

“I can stay back,” you meekly offer again.

The Inspector opens his mouth, and the look on his face says he’s about to agree with you, but Josselin interrupts.

“He goes where I go.”

The Inspector hikes an eyebrow, then sighs in exasperation and gestures you both to follow.

You let him and Josselin have a little space, because you don’t want to, like, learn any sensitive information that could drag you in more than you already have been. They’re speaking in French, anyway, but so quietly you can barely hear.

Finally, they switch back to English, and the Inspector looks over his shoulder to say, “Her name’s Tobi Miles, but her friends and family called her Bon-Bon. She went missing last week and some kids found her body buried in a plastic tote not too long ago. They must have called their parents because the press is already here.”

Josselin shakes his head. “No, it’s all over Twitter.”

The Inspector pinches the bridge of his nose and exhales sharply. “And now I have an even bigger and wider-spread panic to quell. Excellent.”

“I saw in the photos that she was wearing an animal costume?” Josselin asks.

“There are photos? Oh, God.”

“Yeah.”

The Inspector sighs and rubs his forehead for a moment. “Yes, she is. We’re not sure what that means yet, or if there’s a connection. I have people interviewing friends and family back at the station.”

Wherever the tote they found her in was, it’s been moved to the main path and blocked off with police tape on all sides. The press is pushing in and trying to get as much information as possible, and there’s so much noise, and so many people, and oh, god, this woman is dead, what have you gotten yourself into?

The crime scene is blocked off with plenty of distance, but you can still hear the press and police yelling at each other, and any time cops yell, you get nervous. But no violence breaks out. No more than what’s happened to the woman already.

There are a few paramedics around, waiting for the investigation to finish so they can move the body to the morgue. Nobody you recognize. Probably not from your old station. There are so many companies, after all, and this is pretty far away from where you used to be stationed.

Even with the Vicks and the mask trapping the medicinal smell, you can smell the body before you see it. You take as deep a breath as you can and remind yourself: you used to see this on a daily basis. You’ve probably seen worse. Just be respectful and stay out of the way.

The body is, indeed, in a bright purple wolf costume you recognize as one of the local college’s mascots.

“Why is she dressed for a game?” you can’t help but ask.

Inspector Montague turns to you. “What?”

Josselin’s question is a bit more off-color: “You recognize this? Are you a furry?”

“What?” Your head swivels between them. “No, she’s not a furry… well, I don’t know, she might be, but not because of this costume. It’s a mascot costume from one of the colleges downtown. I don’t remember which but you can google it. I remember thinking it was irresponsible to open up for game practice so early when I was looking into doing college courses online.”

“But are you a furry?” Josselin presses, eyes wide with interest. “I know you didn’t bring in a costume, but--”

You look away from the Inspector and back to him.

“No? I mean, they’re fine and all, but I’m not?”

The spark of interest in Josselin’s eyes fades a little, and you can’t help but think he wanted your answer to be ‘yes’ so he could pick your brain.

“Bring a costume?” the Inspector repeats.

“New roommate!” Josselin bounces on his toes and looks over at you again.

The Inspector raises an eyebrow. “Roommate?”

Josselin nods brightly, and your face flushes in the summer heat.

Josselin might not have gotten it, but you did. Does the Inspector think you’re his boyfriend?

Before you can ask the admittedly stupid and off-topic question, Josselin leans over the corpse a little and says, “I don’t recognize the costume, but I’m sure someone will. When we find out what college she was at, we can narrow some things down.”

“But it’s downtown,” you say. “I don’t remember which college, but I only looked downtown, so it has to be one of them. Doesn’t it? So why is she all the way out here?”

“Because this wasn’t panic, this was a plan,” Josselin mumbles.

He hmms under his breath and leans closer. With his gloved hand, he gently, respectfully moves parts of the costume around. It’s already unzipped in the back and her arm’s falling out. She’s wearing a t-shirt. Oh, thank god.

“Meara?” he finally says. You point to yourself, as if there’s someone else here with such an unusual name.

“Come here. I want you to look at something.”

The Inspector grumbles but does step to the side when you move closer. Josselin must have an incredible amount of influence with him.

He gestures to her arm and pulls a corner of the costume off her chest.

“Skin’s sloughing off. Maggots. How long do you think she’s been here?”

“Here, in the forest?” you ask. “I can’t say. But she’s probably been in this tote for the whole time she’s been missing.”

“I assume this tote had a lid?” Josselin asks.

“Yes,” the Inspector says.

“Then she was basically cooking in the ground, with the recent heat,” he says. You slip back into professional mode, respectful but unattached, simply observing the situation, looking at the victim’s body and taking in everything Josselin says. “That’s probably why her skin’s sloughing off more than it would have otherwise. She’s been… well, marinating in this costume this whole time, gross as it sounds.”

His eyes dart over the body, no expression on his face. Then, he frowns, and leans back down to reach in the tote again. He pokes at something on the costume’s foot with a gloved finger, then drags it along it in a line.

He squints at it, tilts his head to the side, obviously considers smelling it and changes his mind.

“Have you run any tests yet?”

“No,” the Inspector says. “We’re still gathering evidence. What did you find?”

“I think there were drugs involved,” Josselin said.

“Do you think she overdosed and her friends panicked?”

Josselin shakes his head. “Get a swab of the costume’s left foot, top and bottom, and run it for a full drug panel. I can’t tell what this is just by looking. Could be ground up aspirin for all we know.”

“But it’s not,” the Inspector says.

“It’s not,” Josselin repeats softly.

You watch them as they speak, but your ankle throbs and it makes it difficult to really listen, and you’re starting to feel like you’re more in the way than not. You shift your weight to your good foot and Josselin, who stands with his profile toward you, whirls in your direction and says, “Meara, is your ankle all right?”

You nod and flush bright red in embarrassment. You tell yourself it’s the heat.

“Yeah,” you say, but your voice catches a little. “It just aches.”

“Oh!” Josselin cries. “Oh, I’m so sorry, you’ve been standing here all this time with that bad ankle, I got distracted, oh, um, I need to stay with the Inspector but if you need to go home and rest that’s more than okay! He can give me a ride home, or I can catch a Lyft.”

You look over toward the Inspector. His skin is so fair it’s already burning in the August sun. He nods.

“I’ll get him home,” he says.

Your shoulders relax a little. Why be so worried? He’s a grown adult who can take care of himself. You’re not his dad or his babysitter. He’s fine. And Inspector Montague seems to have a good head on his shoulders, so although you’re hesitant to leave him with all the cops around, you’re able to mentally gamble on the fact that he’ll be protected.

“All right,” you finally say. “Is there anything else you want me to look at? You have the paramedics here for body removal and I’m sure they know anything I know.”

Josselin smiles and nods. He’s bouncing his leg and tapping his thumb to his clean fingers again. Only then do you realize you’ve been playing with your spinner ring the past ten minutes.

You twist your wrist and curl your fingers in and out, then you nod and say, “All right. Take care. Josselin, did you copy my phone number from the lease?”

Josselin nods. “Yeah. Do you have mine?”

You smile, a little lopsided. “Yeah. Thanks.”

You all stand there awkwardly for a few moments, until another police officer approaches Josselin and the Inspector from behind and gently takes the Inspector’s elbow to get his attention.

That’s your cue.

The ride home is too quiet, even with the radio playing. Your head feels like it’s full of honey-soaked cotton and static, thick and sticky, even in the smallest recesses of your brain, sucking out your attention span. Did you take your meds earlier? You did, right? When you get to a red light, you squeeze your eyes closed hard and rub at your forehead, as if that will clear your mind.

Shit. You didn’t take your meds. If you had, you wouldn’t feel like this.

The light turns green and you glance at the clock on the dashboard. Two hours late. You should still be able to take them when you get home.

When you get home. Not when you get back to the motel. It’s a nice, comforting thought to have. You have a home.

A safe one.

It’s not long until you reach the apartment. You park the car and fumble up the stairs, and when you get to the door, you realize--

“He forgot to give me the copy of my key,” you mumble. “Dammit.”

You sigh and dig out your phone from your bag. Hopefully he answers.

Three rings in, he does, and when he answers, it’s with a high-pitched, worried, “Are you okay?”

It takes you off guard and you fall quiet a few seconds.

“Meara?”

“Sorry,” you say, as you come back to yourself. “I just got home and realized I don’t have a key.”

“Oh,” Josselin groans. “Meara, I’m so sorry, I was so tired I completely spaced. If you go down to JavaThai, and tell them I’m your roommate, they can give you a spare key. They always keep one in case of emergencies. Hang on, let me check the time.” A pause. “Oh! They’ll have my dinner ready, too, if you can pick that up? It’s been paid for. Just put it in the fridge.”

“All right.”

You say your goodbyes and hang up, then stumble back down the stairs.

The restaurant is small without being closed in, not confined, but comfortable. There are a few small tables and a few big ones. A young East Asian woman and a small child are sitting at the only table without the chairs up on it. Maybe she works here?

“Welcome!”

You turn toward the voice to see another tall, pretty East Asian woman, wearing a simple white mask that matches her blouse. Her long hair is pulled back in a ponytail. “Sorry, we’re not seating inside right now. Unless you’re here for pickup?”

You turn toward the woman and boy at the table and her gaze follows.

“Oh, that’s my sister; she’s an employee here, and--”

“Oh!” You start. “Oh, no, um, not that, uh, Josselin Clearwater, from upstairs? I’m his new roommate and we got called out and I came back without him and I don’t have a key and he said you keep a spare? And also he asked me to get his dinner. He said it’s paid for?”

The smile lines around her eyes soften into something more friendly and sincere.

“Oh!” she laughs. She links a loose hair behind her ear. “What’s your name?”

“Meara.”

“I’m Eleanor,” she says. “My family runs this restaurant and owns the apartment upstairs. You and Josselin should come by together sometime after closing, I’m sure everyone would love to see you. My grandma is always looking for new people to dote on.”

You smile back and nod, shifting to your good foot again. Eleanor looks down at your feet and she lets out a soft gasp.

“I’m so sorry! Here you are injured and I’m just rambling away. I’ll go get everything.” She gestures to a few seats by the door. “Please, sit!”

“It’s easier to stand.”

“All right. I’ll be right back.”

She rushes back through a door that probably leads to either a kitchen or an office, and, as promised, she returns with the key and a bag of food.

“Here you go, Meara,” she says with a kind smile. “Go home and get some rest. You look exhausted.”

You chuckle and nod, and make your way to the back parking lot and up the stairs again.

You put the food away, and this time, you’re able to make it all the way to your bed before you collapse. You nuzzle into the pillow. It smells really nice. It’s like lavender and lemongrass. You’ll have to ask Josselin where he gets his detergent, so your clothes can smell like this.

Dammit, you still haven’t taken your meds.

It’s the last thought you have before you crash into a deep, quiet sleep.

#writeblr #excerpt #mystery #chapter one #wip #wip boost #amwriting #my writing #the most beautiful puzzle #sheraton academy au #josselin clearwater #meara ryanne #inspector montague #donatien montague #drake the stalker #familiar #see post body for warnings

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nandolonso · 4 years

Text

SWEET DREAMS ARE MADE OF THIS (John Wick X Reader)

("TEACHER" X STUDENT COLLEGE AU)

Pairing: John Wick x Reader (AU - ish?)

Summary: John Wick lives a different life before his "retirement". He becomes a sort of vigilante, who is taking out the bad guys. His next goal is to catch a drug dealer who mainly distributes in Y/N's college. However, after meeting Y/N, not only Y/N's life turn upside down but also John's.

Word count: 8281

Warnings: ugh, so many. But it's John Wick, so... blood, swearing, college, anxiety, panic attacks, loneliness, shyness, angst, slow-burn, age gap, smut, DIRTY SMUT, fluff.

ALSO, IM NOT A NATIVE SPEAKER OF ENGLISH SO PLEASE FORGIVE MY MISTAKES!

Author’s note: GUYS!! I've found this fanfic deep down in my-never-posted-writings and I was re-reading it when I thought, this is just utter shit, let me post that (lol), I hate myself. 😂 I was cringing at some part, but I managed to write them over, so it is a little bit bearable. I don't know if you'll like it, but I hope you do. I wanted to post something to cheer you up in this hard time. I wish the best for all of you. ♥️ The inspiration came from some many places, but mostly from "calling teachers by their first name" videos. You'll see why I got the idea from it... After that, I've given some thought about "fake" teacher John and gosh... let me tell you, it got me hot and bothered. Also inspired by 21/22 Jump Street. Please, please, leave some feedback.

P.S.: Sadly, I don't know any Italian, so thank you for Google Translation for "sponsoring" this fic lmao.

This was your very last year of college. More specifically, your last semester. Thank God. You could not be happier as you thought about it. Even though you enjoyed studying, you were overwhelmed with your lectures as you were a maximalist and wanted to give 100% in everything. You enjoyed learning and finding new topics but the assignments, the presentations, and the exams stressed you out incredibly. You did not apply for any further study at least at the moment as you wanted to rest a little bit and work somewhere till you find out what you really wanted to achieve in life.

The first week went by quite easily, as the teachers mostly talked about the syllabus and what you can expect from the rest of the semester. Thankfully, everyone seemed kind of nice except your Italian teacher and his lesson, which you took up as an optional course in the first place since you wanted to earn some extra credits. Now, it seemed like a bad decision. The teacher was old, who did not enjoy his teaching at all. It was difficult to follow and boring, not to mention that he continually talked in Italian even though it was a beginner's course. When the others tried to tell him, he became mad and gave out even more assignments for next week.

So now, that you were sitting in class and waited for him the nervousness which you felt was understandable. You were chatting with one of your classmates who sat behind you. You could not say that you had any friends. You were mostly alone in your whole life, which sometimes was a curse, while other times it was a blessing. You opened up for so many people who disappointed you and let you down that this was the safest way of living your life now. Just talk to someone if necessary, otherwise living your life as you wish. Sometimes it was really depressing as there was basically no one to talk to, you could not share any interest with someone, not your desires, your goals, nothing. Even when you did, you became the focus of mockery.

Suddenly everyone became silent as most certainly, the teacher approached into the room. However, when you turned around your last week's grumpy teacher was nowhere to be found, instead of him, you meet with a totally different man. You looked straight him into the eye as you took up his presence. He was tall, he had a skinny physique but you could certainly see that he was muscular, even though the black shirt and jeans he wore covered his entire body. He had dark, semi-long hair which was slicked back, while he also had dark stubble, which was framing his face aesthetically. Now, his dark brown eyes laid on you and it was like it burned a hole into your soul. He had some characteristic which you could not explain, but you were sure that he was attractive. Very much. And exactly your type. Not to mention that he was older than you, around his mid-30s - early 40s, which you thought was the perfect age as you were always fond of older men.

"Uhm... hey everyone" he started as he finally looked away from you to gaze at the others as well. His voice sent shivers down your spine. It was deep and husky. "I'm John Wick and I'll substitute your last teacher, who became ill. He will turn up as soon as he feels like it, but we don't know when that will happen," he stated. Maybe, the previous teacher would have been better. Now, it will be really hard to focus and now you wanted to study even more just to impress him, which is sounded insane. You immediately started to curse yourself in your head because what you did was completely silly.

"I'm not by any means an Italian teacher, but I'm fluent in Italian, as I've lived in Italy and since this is a beginner's and optional course I thought I will be just as good for this short time as Y/LT/N would have been." as he finished he clapped his palms together, facing towards the desk which now became his. "Firstly, let's start with an introduction and what your goals are, and from that on we can move with the rest of the lecture," he said and turned and pointed towards you. This gesture was unexpected for you and you immediately felt that your cheeks burned up as you tried to collect yourself. You were a great student but you were dealing with anxiety when you had to speak in front of others. Your mind and desires were totally different that you could actually manage out from yourself, and this was true in every situation.

"Uhm..." you started as you cleared your throat. "I'm Y/N and I'm a final year student here. To be honest, I don't really have many goals at the moment, because..." the way he was looking at you completely took your breath away. It was like he sees all of your secrets. "...I want to take a little bit of break from studying after I've finished. I want to work somewhere, see the word. Just those cliché things that usually everyone says." he started to chuckle and honestly, it was the best thing ever.

"Thank you, Y/N" the way your name rolled out of his tongue was beautiful. "I hope everything turns out great for you and one day you even get to Italy as well." he smiled and turned to the next person, so the magic moment you felt completely disappeared within a second. He was just nice. With everyone. He listened to everyone's word with actual interest and wished something friendly before turning to the next person. How could you think that he sees something different in you?

The course actually ended sooner than you would expect, the time flew with him. He gave you a short assignment for next week, collecting all those things you would like to talk about in Italian. On your way out you glazed at him once more, however, his eyes were glued to the paper in front of him. You left out a soft sigh as you left the room.

This was the first time in your college years that you really waited for a lecture but at the same time, you also dreaded from it. You could not wait to meet John again or you could say Mr. Wick, but this just fueled your fantasy about him even more. You were sitting in the front row with your classmates, whom you talked about your new teacher. They were eagerly fond of him, but not as you did. Even though they find him attractive, he was just a teacher for them. However, for you, he started to become something else. You could feel something different from him and you thought that he should not be a teacher because it was just not his field. Not that he was a bad teacher or anything, but he was not that teacher type that you could imagine. You felt something which you could not explain. You were always a curious person, and this case was like a puzzle that needed to be solved.

"Buona sera a tutti! (Good evening, everyone!)" he greeted, his eyes lingering on you. You did not want to look away, so the two of your's gaze intertwined with each other for a few seconds. You managed to smile a little bit, but at that same time, he turned away. He was just as good looking as the last time, wearing a light grey t-shirt, regular jeans, and a leather jacket. How could he be this handsome?

"Okay, let's go through those things which you like to learn about, and then we can build the lecture from there." everyone nodded as he said it, preparing their notes on what they would be interested in learning in this course. Your eyes were glued on your paper, your head tilted down trying to avoid eye contact with him when you heard your name.

"Y/N" he stated. "Let's start with you just like last time." you were quite shocked. Nobody managed to remember their students' names in the first weeks. Hell, sometimes not even at the end of the semester either. You looked up at him, seeing his face focusing on you, slightly furrowing his eyebrows in concentration.

"Ordering food..." you breathed out and you started to blame yourself immediately.

"Ordering food in Italian in a restaurant?" he helped you out, stating as it was a declarative sentence, but he shifted the tone in the end. You were grateful for his help. You nodded and he returned a smile to ease your frustration. "Nice, good idea," he said. "Let's move on."

The first months of the semester went by rapidly. The first two weeks was just a warm-up, but after that assignments came after assignments as so did exams and such. You could not fantasize about Mr. Wick anymore in your free time as you were loaded with anxiety to finish every task just in time. However, you always waited for the class, even though your mind wandered somewhere else. Thankfully, about two weeks spring break will come.

"You can handle your assignments on your way out. That's the end of the class. Thank you everyone." he said and at that point, you realized that you completely forgot about your essay which you should have written for today. You thought that is due next week. Well, fuck. Basically, everyone handled in their assignment, as you approached John you became very nervous. You did not really know what to say.

"Jonathan" the words fell out of your lips without thinking. You realized that what you said was rude and you just tried to make the situation better, even though your teacher's expression did not change. "John... I mean Mr. Wick." you cursed yourself, trying to get out of the situation somehow.

"Yes, Y/N?" he asked, as he was looking down at you. He was so much taller than you, the way he looked consumed your whole being.

"I'm so sorry but I forgot to write my essay for this week. I thought it was due to next week. I'm sorry." you jabbered, looking at your feet to ease your nervousness.

"It's okay, Y/N," he said calmly. "You can handle it next week as well." when you looked up at him he was slightly smiling. That damn smirk made butterflies in your stomach, causing your heart rate to quicken.

"Really?" you asked back. "No punishments?" without thinking, the question just rolled out of your tongue.

He turned his head a little bit, trying to hide his ever-growing smile.

"Would you like to?" you started to blush at his deep voice, thinking about something inappropriate when he clearly was just talking about the assignment.

"No..." you answered. "Not for an essay, no." you just started to make everything worse. You wished that the ground would swallow you on the spot.

"Periodt then," he said to ease the tension a little bit. "Or whatever slang you use these days." You genuinely started to laugh, and it was really good after a long time. Nobody made you laugh these days and it was really nice to talk to someone besides listening to lectures all the time.

"Wow, I'm impressed" it was just absurd to hear this word from his mouth. But you really felt this way.

"My goal is accomplished than" was all he answered. Was he flirting with you? You just wished that. But the whole situation was just weird. Just the way you felt like before. He is not in the right place, something is off with him. You learned these few signals over the years just to protect yourself, still, something keeps attracted you to him.

"I'll try to write it as soon as I can and bring you in your office hours." you smiled shyly.

"It's okay, Y/N, don't worry about it" he smiled back and that smile made you go crazy. You turned your back to him to leave the room. You were standing in the door when you suddenly turned back towards him once again. He was still watching you.

"Thank you, Mr. Wick," you said, waiting for no answer when he said:

"You can call me Jonathan or John. Whichever you like." you were just standing there, completely in shock. This never happened to you before. None of your previous teachers of yours allowed to call them on their first name. To be honest, you did not even try but with John, it just slipped out. You did not know what to say so you just nodded, leaving him standing there watching after you.

The rest of the week was awful. You could not wait for the weekend when you could rest a little bit. You were extremely overwhelmed with work and it seemed that nothing wants to work out for you. It was Friday morning, thankfully you did not have any classes left so you finally could work on your assignment for Mr. Wick. You meant, Jonathan. Thinking about him and the way he said that you can call him on his first name made your heart beat faster. Since that day you could not stop thinking about him, which is why everything became harder than it should have been.

It was around 11 in the morning, but you already did a lot of work. You went to the store, then you cooked something for you for the weekend, you cleaned the house as well as doing the laundry. Your roommate was not home, as usual. Since she got that boyfriend of hers, they always spent the time together. At least, you were alone and nobody could bother you. You always did the house chores anyway, as she not usually cleaned up. After everything fallen from your hands and you basically had to clean up twice, the last task was taking out the trash. You somehow managed to take all of her and your trash into three bags. You were already on your way out when you realized that something from one of the bags was leaking. You started to become really angry and mad. At the edge of crying and breaking something, to say the least. You tried to hold back yourself together, taking a deep breath and hoping that the bag will hold on till you reached the bin in front of the street. As it was mentioned before, this was not your day.

Half of the stuff fallen on the ground just when you dumped the rest of it into the trash.

"FUCK" you cried out, hitting the top of the trash and also kicking into it to release those pressure which started to build up in you.

"Y/N" you heard a deep voice behind you. When you turned around you realized that John was there. Who probably watched the previous scene when you freaked out. What was he doing here? "You need any help?"

"Mr. Wick" you started but he interrupted you.

"John."

"Yes, John." you started. "This isn't my day. Could you please wait here as I get another bag?" you asked. You could just said that everything was fine and he could go on his day. But no. Because you did not want him to leave, even though you had no idea what was he doing here.

"Don't worry, I got some," he said while reaching for a plastic bag from his pockets. You lifted your eyebrow while he handed one to you as well as ripping one for himself. "I have a dog, so..." he said, while the two of you collected the rest of the trash. Well, this was not romantic at all. Your cheeks started to burn as you felt the situation kind of humiliating.

"What kind of dog you have?" you asked, trying to pick up the stuff as fast as you could.

"A blue English Staffordshire Bull Terrier" he breathed out when the two of you finally dumped away the rest of the trash.

"Oh, those are really nice dogs even though everyone seems to be afraid of them" you started the conversation and you could swear that his eyes lit up at your compliment.

"Oh, totally. They are super nice when they are raised well," he said smiling. "There are no bad dogs just bad owners." you just nodded, did not know what to say. A few seconds passed by just looking at each other, none of you said anything or moved.

"I should get..." he started, but at the same time, you started as well.

"Would you like a coffee or something in return?" you asked.

"Yeah, sure" he breathed but turned away from you to his car. Which you only realized just now. "Can I park here?" he asked as he gesticulated towards his Mustang. Your jaw just dropped.

"Wow. She's beautiful," you said coming closer to his car. You did not realize what you did until you actually did it. You reached out to touch the roof and at the same time approach John incredibly close. You just recognized that you did not answer his previous question. "And yes, I think you can park here but I'm not sure though."

He said nothing, just looking at you and monitoring every movement you made. He appreciated how your eyes were shining with excitement. Your fingertips which caressed his car so gently. Your hair, which slightly fallen into your face, framing it beautifully. You took his breath away.

"Would you like to try it out?" you did not really comprehend his question, as you were still focusing on his car. When the question finally hit you, you turned towards him with furrowed eyebrows.

"Is this allowed?" you asked. At this moment you wanted nothing more than him taking you out for a ride.

"Why wouldn't be allowed?" he asked back, kind of confused.

"Because you're my teacher." you simply answered back. At that moment you could swear that the smile frozen to his lips, like the reality hit him or something. Something was off. Just like you suspected before. "If you're a teacher at all," you added carefully.

"Who else would I be?" the confidence which was radiating from him started to slowly fade away. He was nervous, you could see that.

"I don't know, you just not seem to be a teacher type of guy." you started. "You don't look like it... and, surely, teachers cannot afford cars like this." you pointed towards his engine. In that second, he moved closer to you, which is why the air stuck in your throat. You looked up at him, his eyes were dark with some emotion which you could not read. You have not seen this side of him yet.

"Maybe, I got it as a gift" his voice comes through your fast heartbeat which was throbbing in your ear.

"I doubt it" you had no idea where this bravery was coming from, even you were surprised. Before he could manage to say something his phone started to ring. He pulled away from you to answer it.

"I'll be there," he said shortly, hanging up the phone. "Sorry, Y/N. I have to go." he was fast. Before you could realize he already got into his car. "Maybe next time," he added, and before you could realize he was already on his way leaving you on the sidewalk alone.

The next time you meet him was after his Italian class. You did not attend class, but you managed to arrive at the end of the session to give your essay to him. He was looking good as always, wearing dark clothes highlighting every muscle on his bare skin which was not covered.

"I'm sorry John that I couldn't come for today's class, but I had some family issues" you breathed out which was kind of true. You had family issues, anxiety issues, university issues, and just issues of issues. On top of that, you got a lot of anxiety attacks lately, which did not help you at all. Your hands were shaking as you handed your essay to him. "I know I said that I can manage to finish earlier but I couldn't," you added and he did not say a word. He did not even look at you as he took away the essay. You were heartbroken.

As he did not say anything else you just left the room completely taken aback, trying to suppress the tears which you could feel that going to burst out. When you arrived in the hallway, it was harder and harder to suppress it. You quickly went to the bathroom and when you closed the door behind you everything just came out. All of those tensions were building inside up you. Those feelings which constantly taken up your mind. That you're never good enough, that you have no one to rely on, not even a friend, not family. Nobody. You had nothing and no one. Besides that, you were constantly under stress because of the university. You wanted to perform as the best version of yourself, but you just could not hold back anymore.

After the tears came out and your breathing became a little bit better you went to the basin to wash your face with cold water and to make yourself a little bit more presentable as you still had class. You took a deep breath and got out to the next lesson. Everyone was waiting at the door as the room was not open yet. At this moment, one of your classmates who was kind of nice to you touched your arm.

"Hey, Y/N" she started. "Are you okay?" she asked.

Even though you appreciated her question, you did not know what to say.

"Yeah, sure. Why?" you lied, but it was enough for her to completely change the topic.

"Will you come to the party next week?"

"I don't know" you started. "I haven't really thought about it." as soon as you finished one of the other classmates of yours spoken up.

"She doesn't know because he is waiting for John. I mean, Mr. Wick," he said, bursting out into laughter. You did not know how he found out but your cheeks started to burn up.

"What did you just say?" you asked back, almost shouting at him when you heard the others whispering.

"Oh shit, here he comes," said one of them. When you turned back John was standing next to you. You were sure that he heard the whole conversation. When he looked at you his eyes stuck at your red ones. You were sure that he knew that you were crying. Even though the cold water helped, you still looked like a mess.

"Is there a problem?" he asked using his deep, "discipline" teacher voice. His voice was dangerously low, which sent a shiver down your spine and a feeling to your core which you tried not to think about.

"Not at all" smiled back the douchebag who started everything in the first place. John lightly grabbed your arm, turning his whole body towards you.

"Y/N, can we talk?" he whispered, but the others still managed to figure out the situation. As you answered, they started to chuckle, but at that point, you could not care less as John guided towards his office.

When there were just the two of you, he looked at you with concern on his face.

"Is everything all right, Y/N?" he asked but you just could not look at him. Your eyes were fixated on your shoes. Why would he care? He did not even look at you half an hour ago. You did not answer. You did not know what to say. He was your teacher. You could not tell him your problems even though you wanted to. "Y/N?" he asked again.

This time you looked up at him. His arms were crossed in front of his chest, waiting for your answer.

"I'm fine, thank you, Mr. Wick" you stressed his last name. A sudden expression went through his face which you could not read. "Why would you care, you're just a teacher anyway," you said without thinking of the consequences as you stormed out of his office.

The last week before spring break went quite quickly even though you felt like a zombie. You did not attend your class with John, even though you desperately wanted to. You just skipped that class, while you were attending the others. You were hiding in the hallway, trying to avoid anyone. Just arriving at the beginning of the course and coming out as soon as you could. In this way, you could survive university. Now, thankfully you had a free week when you could charge up your battery and just rest a little. Your mind wandered at the party which your classmate mentioned to you, wondering if John would be there. A few teachers had to be there, because it was a university party and they were still responsible for you somehow.

You really wanted to go. To dance, to drink and to forget all of your problems.

That is why you were standing in front of your mirror trying to soothe imaginary creases on your black dress. You kept finding mistakes on yourself, about your makeup, about your hair. But at the same time, you kept reminding yourself that this is just a party and the main goal is that you should enjoy the night without constantly thinking bullshit about yourself.

This is what you kept saying in your head on your way to the party. The place was already buzzing with music and people's voices, radiating a certain kind of heat as well. As you step inside, you were already washed away by the crowd, seeing people who you never saw before.

As you looked around you saw a giant plaque that said that it was a retro vs. modern age night. All night, songs from the 80/90s were played, after that came a piece of current music and the whole mass went insane. Everybody moved as a whole in perfect sync swaying to the rhythm of the music. Sadly, you could see that a lot of people were high and drunk, which you could never do, but you still wanted to dance. You just started to move your body alone, when your all-time a favorite song started to play from the speakers.

Sweet dreams are made of this

Who am I to disagree?

I travel the world

And the seven seas,

Everybody's looking for something

At that point, your eyes stuck at a dark figure which you could recognize even in your dreams. John Wick was standing there, looking at you. He was wearing a full black suit with his hair slicked back. You were constantly gazing at him. Even though you wanted him to be here the whole situation was absurd and unbelievable. However, he still managed to surprise you all the time.

Some of them want to use you

Some of them want to get used by you

Some of them want to abuse you

Some of them want to be abused.

Looking at him and listening to these lines hit you. Hit you really hard. As you looked at him, all of your desires and hidden fantasies started to take over your body. Your nasty hidden feelings. All of those things which you could never share with anyone. You wanted to be used, you wanted to be abused. But you wanted these in a good way. You wanted this as a thing, where the two of you want this not just you. You wanted to be safe, you wanted to feel appreciated, you wanted to feel special, you wanted to be WANTED. You wanted a man, who makes you feel things you never felt before. Who does things to you and touches you like you never experienced before. Maybe, just the daddy issues were speaking from you but looking at John you could feel that he could fulfill all of your wishes and desires. Not to mention that he would be there for you as a friend, as a lover, even as a soulmate. And as someone, who just genuinely cares about you. At least, you hoped so. But it could never happen because he was just a teacher and you were just a silly student.

However, the way he was looking at you consumed your whole being. You did not know what happened to you but you started to sensually move your hips, turning your back to him to kind of show him what he can get.

After a few seconds, you felt a muscular, hard chest pushing against your body.

"Mind if I join?" a deep voice asked and you could recognize this tone everywhere. You did not even answer as you did not have to. You just turned back towards him, getting as close as possible. He was even more handsome up close, taking your breath away.

"Is this allowed?" you shouted, but it sounded like a whisper in the crowd.

He pulled you closer to him, resting his hands on your waist and tilting his head down to bury his face into your hair.

"I don't even care anymore" he answered, his breath caressing your ear as well as the side of your neck. This sent a shiver down your spine, causing your thighs to rub together to ease the sensation which was building in your core deep down. He could feel that your body tense up between his palms, but he kept you steady with his strong and firm hands.

"What does that mean?" he looked up at you, with some expression on your face which you could not read. He wanted to tell you something, you could see that but something changed as he looked at your side.

"Stay here," he said and suddenly his touch disappeared causing you to shiver as he was not there anymore.

You could barely react, but you still managed to see where he went to. Without thinking, you started to follow him.

You looked at him everywhere when you find him outside the field of the campus. To be honest, you could barely see him but you could hear him grunting and... fighting? He was the last man standing with someone else, besides them, there were laying bodies. You could never dream of being a situation like this. You did not know what to do. You were completely frozen and could not move. Your panic started to take over your mind and you could barely manage your breathing.

"John" suddenly you cried out. He immediately looked at you, which the opponent took as a chance and hit him right in the gut. He sunk into his knees, while the other man started to approach you.

"Y/N run," he said but you could not even lift your finger. You could see as the other man was getting closer and closer to you when John grabbed him from behind and started to choke him. The other man started to run out of the air and suddenly collapsed into John's arms. John did not even think twice, he dropped the enemy onto the ground. Before you could realize, John grabbed your arm, dragging you across the field into the parking lot where you saw his car.

"Get in the car!" he ushered you, but you could barely move. You were completely frozen which was insane thinking that your body was on fire just a few minutes ago.

"Why?" you managed to push this word out of you when he started to yell.

"Get in the fucking car!" he said and that predatory look on his face with some bruises and blood made him look like a totally different person. You got in the car, slowly breathing out that air that you did not know you were holding. He started the engine and drive at a very high speed toward somewhere which you could not recognize.

"Where are you taking me?" your throat was dry. It was hard to speak, but this was the only sentence which you dared to ask after minutes.

"Home. To me," he answered shortly.

"Why?" you whispered but he could hear it. After minutes, you finally looked at him. He was holding the wheel so damn strong that his knuckles went white. He was angry, you could see that. His whole expression changed as he was not looking at you, just fixating his eyes on the road.

"Because you fucking messed up your goddamn life" to hear him swearing made you sense that you are truly in deep trouble.

"What did I do?" you asked softly and suddenly all of his muscles started to loosen up at your tone.

"I was taking out a gang when you just showed up, risking your whole life just to look after me." he started.

"So you..." you started softly as you could feel that the ice between the two of you started to melt. "You're not a teacher." was all you managed to say.

"God no," he answered, and before you could realize you started to laugh. It came from the bottom of your heart. He looked at you the first time, furrowing his brows. "It's not funny, Y/N.," he said and before you could stop yourself the following words just slip out of your mouth:

"Thank God, 'cause ever since I saw you I've kept telling myself that I can't fall for a teacher" as soon as you said it your cheek started to burn. He looked at you with piercing eyes.

"I'm not a teacher, but I'm way worse," he said in a dangerously low voice. And thinking back to those guys around him finally hit you.

"Who are you?" you whispered. He looked back at the road as he could not bear to see your expression when he told you the truth.

"I'm a ..." he started, but he did not want to say assassin. Because that was just too much the handle. "I'm the one who takes out the bad guys." you nodded, did not know what to do with this information. You have always known that there is something wrong with him, but you could not explain why. Now, this was the reason and you wished that you did not know. Still, you fell for him even more.

"Did you kill them?" you asked.

"No." he answered back. "I didn't have my gun." suddenly you felt that breathing becomes heavier.

"Have you killed someone?" you barely dared to ask this question but the heavy silence which felt on you told more than words.

You did not say a word until he finally stopped at his garage. His house was beautiful, so big that it was unbelievable that it only belonged to him.

"Wow..." you whispered and he smiled.

"Y/N" he started and you turned towards him. "I'm sorry that I disappointed you. I just wanted to protect you. You'll stay here until I finish this business and make sure that no one harms you. After that, you're free to go." you did not know what to say. You wanted to say something, but you could not. Your mind wandered somewhere else, constantly thinking about what the two of you talked about in the car. You told him about your feelings and he did not even say anything. "I have a room for you here," he said and ushered you to a room, leaving you alone.

You could barely get some sleep. Your mind was constantly thinking about John and his life. How dangerously he lived and how he managed to keep his camouflage at the university. Honestly, you even cried that night as well. You did not know what to do and how to react, even though you wanted him. Your mind could not be silenced after you saw him in action and what he did you still thought about his arms, his hands, and his body as he pulled you closer to him at the party. Not to mention that you felt his goddamn intoxicating perfume in his whole house as well as in the sheets.

After being up all evening, you woke up late in the afternoon. It was already 5 when you looked at the clock on the nightstand on your left. You left out a sigh, focusing on sounds. But you could not hear any. You slowly got up and opened to the door.

“John?” you cried out but no answers came. Instead of that, you heard something which was running towards you. Then you saw John’s dog. “Oh my God, you’re so cute” you kneeled to the ground to pet the dog which was in its early months. It was still small, but you could see the strong, robust figure which started to form underneath its skin. “Where were you last night?” you asked as if the dog could answer you. However, after petting and talking to it all of your stress and doubts left the mind.

You went to the kitchen, where on the counter you found a note. It was written by John and he had beautiful handwriting.

“Make yourself at home.” was all it said. Straightforward. Just like John.

After taking a shower and finding a long t-shirt in John’s wardrobe you finally sat down onto the sofa when the front door opened. John came in, the dog immediately cheered him licking and panting all over him. You watched the scene with a smile on your face. After John returned the same excitement as the dog, he finally looked at you. You were wearing one of his t-shirts. And that was it.

“What are you wearing?” he demanded. You stood up immediately, trying to explain yourself.

“You said that make yourself at home, so I’ve showered and searched for something to wear because the dress was really uncomfortable,” you said quickly. John left out a soft “oh” as he could have thought about this in the first place. Even though he did not want to admit, but he really liked the way it looked on you.

“Everything is clear now,” he stated simply. “I’m taking you home. Are you ready?” he asked and you were just standing there as if your legs got stuck into the ground.

“You don’t want to talk about it?” you started carefully, hinting to your previous unfinished conversation last night as well how he “cleared everything up”.

“No.” was all he said which felt like ripping and turning up your insides. You just nodded, turning away to suppress all of your emotions. That’s it. All of your fantasies about this man ended. He did not want to do anything with you. This was just business after all. And he finished it.

“I’m grabbing my stuff” you whispered, your throat was dry you could barely speak.

After collecting your dress and purse you were standing in front of him again. “Take me home,” you said firmly when his form started to loosen up.

“Y/N” he followed you as you were heading into the garage. His beautiful car was there, standing next to another one.

“Just take me home.” was all you said before he grabbed your wrist, pulling back to him and pushing his lips against yours. The kiss was not a soft one. It was passionate and hard. It took a few milliseconds to react, but gosh… it was desperate. From the two of you. Teeth clicked, tongues rolled against each other as the two of you started to express which words could not. He was cupping one of your cheeks, pushing you closer to him as much as he could. Your hands started to explore his body, caressing the soft material of his suit. You could feel as he started to harden beneath your touch, basically… everywhere. Just like in a second, which made you even more insane. He wanted you so much, he could barely hold himself back. He was rucking up your shirt with his other hand, grabbing your waist strongly which sent goosebumps all over your body. His touch was just like you imagined. No… it was even better. It took a side of you which you did not even know you had.

You could feel that you started to wet your panties even though he did not even touch you there yet. He was now kissing you a little bit softer but still passionately, sucking your bottom lip into his mouth. You started to moan as it did whole new sensations to your body which you never experienced before. He lifted you up from the ground before you could realize, to make you sit on the hood of his car. At that exact moment, you hooked your legs around his legs, pulling him closer to you. It was insane how the two of you moved in sync. It was like a perfect dance and choreography, even though you have not done this before to the other. But still, it was like you found a long lost piece from yourself. And he felt the same. The two of you did not stop kissing until his hands reached up to your neck, softly squeezing it to make out a moan from you which you could not even stop. John immediately stopped looking at you with concern on his face.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked softly looking at your neck if he caused any injuries. He did not even know what he has done until you moaned.

“Gosh no,” you started to laugh and blush. “It just… felt really good.” his eyes lit up with lust. It became even darker than it already was. He was looking at you, constantly holding his gaze when he reached again to your neck. He squeezed it a little bit harder this time, but it was even better. Your eyes rolled back as your core started to throb with desire.

“Fuck, Y/N” he breathed at the sight. “You’re making me insane.” was all he said before sinking to his knees. He pulled you closer to him, making you lay on the edge of his car. He looked so good kneeling between your thighs. And he looked even better when he started to stroke your clit through your underwear. He sharply sucked the air just by the sight of it.

You were laying on his car in your black lace panties. This was even better than he could ever dream for. He was holding himself back, but he was about to burst out.

“You look so good,” he said as he pushed your panties to the side to insert one finger slowly into you. You laid back all the way on his car as he started to finger your inside with one hand and your clit with his other one. You bite your lip to hold your moans back, but it was a really difficult thing to do. As he was so freaking good with his hand. You could barely hold yourself back when suddenly he pulled his finger out of you. Before you could realize, your panties were on the floor, and John grabbed your thighs to draw you closer to him. Now, he used his tongue instead of his fingers to play with your wetness, causing you to arch your back pushing your backside closer to his face. He grabbed your ass firmly with his hands, he wanted to control and drive you insane. He could not let you chase for your own pleasure. He wanted to make your pleasure. He wanted to make you lose your mind. He wanted you to scream his name.

He was flicking his tongue, constantly changing position between your clit and inside thing, delving his tongue deeper and deeper. You were moaning, making sounds, saying his name with some curse words as well. You were right. He truly made you feel things that you never felt before.

Suddenly, your most intense orgasm ever washed over you out of nothing, clenching all over John’s hands and tongue as he was still fucking you mercilessly with it to help over your after wave. Your hands were still grabbing his hair, rocking your hips against his face.

“Jonathan,” you said after a few seconds when he stood up, looking at you laying on his car finally satisfied. You sit up to push a soft kiss against his lips, which on you could feel your juices. Which caused you to be even hornier. As it was possible.

“I love when you say my name” he chuckled which made your stomach flop from happiness. “That is why I can’t wait to hear you screaming it,” he added with a dangerously low voice.

“Can I ask you something, Jonathan?” you said carefully, pulling him closer to you.

“Anything, doll” he answered.

“Then, fuck me” you whispered shyly. You did not know where this bravery was from, but John truly made you feel things that you never felt before.

“You don’t even have to ask,” he said as you started to undress him. His expensive suit and tie dropped onto the floor and the same time he removed the t-shirt and bra which you were still wearing as well.

He took your whole body in and admired every sight of it.

“You’re beautiful,” he said before pressing another urgent kiss to your lips. He grabbed your hair, making you moan into his mouth at how good all of this felt. At that exact moment, he thrust into you and your whole world rocked. He stretched you all the way up, cause you to cry out his name louder than you anticipated.

“Tell me if it hurts” he added and you couldn’t form a single word because the pleasure mixed with all the pain, caused to build your second orgasm and he was restlessly fucking you. You were a moaning mess, so is he. He was grunting and cursing as the two of you started to reach climax.

“Ah, fuck-“you cried out as your walls started to clench. “Let me cum, Mr. Wick” you added and you could actually feel that Jonathan is twitching inside of you. He suddenly stopped and grabbed your neck, ushering you to look at him.

“Say that again,” he demanded.

“Which part?” you asked shyly, thinking that it was a mistake and you’ve ruined everything.

“All of it.”

“Let me cum, Mr. Wick,” you looked straight into his eyes when you said it. The fact that you’re biting your bottom lip didn’t help him at all.

“Gosh…” he huffed and continued to mercilessly pound into you, deeper and deeper each time. You were overwhelmed with the new sensations and your whole-body shake, when the second, but most intense orgasm of the night hit you. John was approaching his own climax as well, every thrust of his became a little bit sloppier and out of pace. He kissed you so softly, when he reached his own pleasure, moaning into your mouth which sent a vibration down to your body. You tensed your legs around his waist, taking him in more while lying down on the top of his car.

“I’m sorry we made a mess,” you whispered and he started to chuckle.

“Don’t worry about that, especially that we’re only getting started,” he said in a dangerously low voice. And oh boy, he was right…

This is it. It was the end of suffering. End of your university years. As for now. You couldn’t be happier as you’ve left the building and saw a beautiful mustang parked on the driveway. It was from John Wick. You were quite surprised as he said that he has to leave the town for some… business. You didn’t expect him to be back this soon. Now, you’re smile grew even bigger.

“Here is my graduated girl,” he smiled at you and pressed a soft, loving kiss to your lips when you got next to him. You gave him a half-hug in this position, laughing into his shoulders.

“I did it.”

“Yes, you did,” he said, looking straight into your eyes now. He took out an envelope from his jacket. “I brought you this,” he said softly, and you were surprised.

“John, you shouldn’t…” but he cut you off.

“Just open it!” and you did. You carefully ripped off the edges taking out two flight tickets to Italy. Tears started to gather in your eyes.

“John…” you started but you didn’t even know how to begin. He also became emotional, as he looked at you.

“At our first Italian class, you’ve said that you want to see the world. I hope this will be a good start.” you didn’t know how you got a man like John, but it was more than you deserved.

“I love you, John,” you breathed out and this was the first time you’ve actually said this. He looked at you and his whole expression changed, suddenly his body tensed up. You suddenly became afraid that you said something wrong. Maybe it was too soon. Maybe…

“I love you too, Y/N,” he said finally and he pressed a kiss into your lips which told more than words. This was just the beginning. The very beginning of your life and also the adventure, which you continued with John Wick till the very end.

#john wick x reader #john wick x you #john wick x y/n #john wick imagine #john wick fanfic #john wick oneshot #keanu reeves x reader #my writings #my writing #mightyhemsworthy

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vulturhythm · 5 years

Note

1/2 I have an angsty idea (BTW, this is Tristan and Iseult anon - I'm so flattered you wanted to give me a nickname! If you still want to, Skyleen is good since that's what I've been using on AO3). Anyway, my idea isn't too unique from what you've already posted because what you do you do so well and I like it so much). It revolves around Jaskier being horribly sick/poisoned and Geralt desperately trying to find a cure - maybe it's something specific, like a near-extinct herb or the heart of

... heart of the beast that originally poisoned him, but in any case it's really hard to get and Geralt has to go on a lot of dangerous journeys in search of it. Meaning he has leave Jaskier behind (it's a conveniently prolonged illness). And he keeps failing. He keeps going out on any tips, even the most unlikely, brutalizing himself for a few days/weeks trying to kill monsters/please mages/bribe kings/capture demons or whatever he thinks he needs to do, but he always comes home empty handed...

... and Jaskier's always sicker, weaker, worse when he comes back. He'll spend a few days with him, caring for him, loving him, pleading with him to stay strong, before preparing to head out again. And eventually Jaskier realizes nothing is going to work. Even if Geralt did find something, the illness has progressed so far it wouldn't do any good. So he asks Geralt to stop. Stop hunting, stop risking his own life, stop leaving and just stay with him until the end. And Geralt can't.

Can't give up, can't face losing Jaskier, can't accept (what he sees as) Jaskier losing faith in him. So he goes out again, and again. Eventually, the disease and despair break at Jaskier until he clings, begs Geralt not to leave him, and Geralt does anyway, using his greater strength to remove Jaskier's hands from his arms, clothes, hair, Jaskier's cries echoing worse than any curses from Blaviken. On the last trip, he finds the cure. Having lost his horse to some calamity, he *runs* back...

... to Jaskier, full tilt, past even a witcher's stamina and returns to wherever they've been holed up incoherent with exhaustion and fear. Is he too late? What do you think? (Also, thank you for writing such lovely angst! I think it's the best way to get the love out).

thank you so, so much for sending me this beautifully tragic idea! i do hope this is up to your standards.

- - - - -

i won’t let you die

sorceresses are wretched things.

this is an opinion geralt has formed over a fucking century of enduring their treachery and their torment and their taunting, all the times he’s fallen into bed with one be damned. those times were fucking meaningless when compared to the love he found in jaskier.

meaningless, worthless, pointless - and now, looking back, he fucking hates himself for them.

he hates himself, for it was a sorceress whose rage when denied geralt’s aid in the coup of a crumbling kingdom was unmatched - whose rage led her to curse the bard at geralt’s side, merely fucking standing there, not even doing a damn thing.

he wasn’t doing a goddamn thing.

geralt is snarling, spitting, cursing, demanding an explanation, a cure -

the sorceress drops dead, an arrow through her skull, shot from the ramparts of the castle ahead, and, well.

geralt knows when he isn’t welcome.

he pulls jaskier away, runs from the city square, pulls his bard along through the seething, screaming, rioting crowd.

at first, geralt thinks the curse was maybe just as simple as the little rash that pops up on jaskier’s skin within they hour, as they walk away and leave the kingdom behind.

(it will be decimated by week’s end.)

he learns quickly he is wrong when jaskier doubles over and vomits on the trail.

there’s blood amongst the bile.

geralt’s heart seizes.

he pushes roach hard, hard, hard to the next town over, one where the healer and the mage are one and the same.

“it’s a disease,” the man tells them, and there’s sympathy in his eyes and something sort of like relief in jaskier’s, but - “and it’s one that can’t be cured.”

geralt knows he can never forget the fear that crossed jaskier’s face.

worse, later, is the resignation.

“geralt - “

“i know. i won’t let you die.”

he goes to yennefer next, even though to see her face is to grimace inside.

it’s been a week, and the rash has spread, and jaskier complains of stomach pains daily, even when he hasn’t eaten, even hours before he vomits blood.

yennefer takes one look at geralt before her gaze slides to the bard at his side, and she sighs, and motions them inside.

they learn nothing more.

“incurable,” she says, and if geralt didn’t know full well her loathing of jaskier, he would think she sounded... apologetic. “he’s got two years at best, likely less.”

“there has to be something -“

“geralt. i can’t do a thing.”

“geralt, surely someone will know... a - a different sorceress, a mage...”

“i won’t let you die.”

they go to another mage next, one tucked away in the depths of a town from which geralt has long since been banned.

it’s here that, finally, they get something - a name, a cause.

“it’s eating away at him,” says the old mage, “from the inside out. it’s an ancient thing - dark magic, as dark as i’ve seen. they say... well.”

“what?” geralt snarls, his grip on jaskier’s arm only tightening when his bard sways closer against his side.

“dragon heart, they say. little more than theory, but - “

and just like that, geralt is out the door, jaskier close behind.

“you can’t go after a dragon alone - “

“i won’t let you die.”

jaskier is weaker.

the rash has become boils here and there, on the backs of his hands and arms and shoulders, and he can no longer play the lute without pain.

as much as it tears geralt apart to leave him behind, he does.

he leaves jaskier at home in corvo bianco, begs their nearest neighbors to drop in, keep him well...

swears to come back alive.

“promise me you’ll come back if it’s a false lead - “

“i won’t let you die.”

he slays the dragon, a fierce red thing far up north, slices out its heart and carries it back to blaviken tied to roach’s haunches.

the old mage is waiting, ancient tomes and tablets and scrolls open on every surface, herbs and plants and monster pieces on top of and among it all.

“if this is right,” says the mage, “it’ll be violet at the end, but, well,” he amends, as he checks a scroll, “translating these have been next to impossible,” he admits, as he slices off a section of the heart, “and it might not - “

the broiling mixture in the cauldron turns a horrid, bloody red when the heart is dropped inside.

geralt feels nothing but dread.

“geralt, you can’t possibly kill enough dryads in time -“

“i won’t let you die.”

the second time he leaves from corvo bianco, he leaves jaskier in pain.

the boils are becoming lesions, and the bloody bile is a daily occurrence, and his singing voice is all but gone.

geralt sets off for the forests, and, well...

he slays fifteen of the forest nymphs, and he feels guilt biting at the back of his throat each time he shaves bark from the dead dryads’ trees, but jaskier’s red and bleeding skin is at the forefront of his mind.

the potion goes gray this time, deep and dull and dreadful, and geralt wants to scream.

jaskier is coughing now.

geralt stays home for a week, mourns the loss of jaskier’s warmth in his arms, for his bard cannot bear the touch of another’s on his sore and blistering and bleeding skin.

it pains him to see, and yet...

he cannot rest.

he leaves at week’s end, the edges of the world on his mind.

“geralt, please, just stay - “

“i won’t let you die.”

twenty tongues of elven warriors.

geralt sees the hatred, the betrayal, the disgust in filavandrel’s eyes as he slaughters those that remain.

he sees it tenfold when he slays the elven king where he stands.

he sees it in the surface of the river when he crouches down to wash his skin free of blood, reflected in his own eyes when he does his best to clean his own wounds.

he sees it in the washed-out green the cauldron’s contents turn.

he sees it in jaskier’s eyes when he returns home, tells him of the fall of the elves... tells him of the new scars upon his back.

“please, my wolf, stay behind this time...”

“i won’t let you die.”

fang of demon.

five new claw marks across his jaw.

jaskier cannot stand without doubling over in the worst fit of blood-splattering coughing geralt has ever witnessed.

the potion is black.

“geralt, it’s okay - “

“i won’t let you die.”

flesh of the one cursed before first breath.

a night in a crypt, a broken wrist, a gash on the flank.

jaskier’s eyes are bloodshot and his voice is frail. he cannot walk alone.

the potion is teal.

“geralt, please, if you love me - “

“i won’t let you die.”

eye of the beast upon the highest throne.

a king slain, a kingdom out for his blood, an arrowhead through the shoulder and a ribcage of splintered bone.

jaskier is bedridden.

the potion is gold.

“geralt, my love, *please,* i beg of you - “

“i won’t let you die.”

fang of the lycanthrope.

scar across the chest.

white.

“the cure doesn’t exist, geralt, stay home - “

“i won’t let you die.”

sting of the manticore.

wounded in the side.

bronze.

“it won’t ever work, my love, please let me die in your arms - “

“i won’t let you die.”

vessel of the djinn.

broken, battered, bruised.

charcoal.

at the end of the fifteenth month, geralt leaves his beloved behind for the last time.

he leaves jaskier coughing, choking, begging, grabbing for his arms, his hands, anything to keep him close -

grabbing for him despite the wounds geralt and the healers have done their best to keep bound -

begging for him despite the way his voice is all but gone -

sobbing for him despite the way he can barely even breathe -

but geralt draws away, shakes his head, whispers one last time, “i won’t let you die.”

he can hear his bard’s sobs well beyond the walls of their home.

twenty nine days.

wyvern, harpy, dwarf, virgin, cockatrice, gryphon, chimera, basilisk, leshen...

vampire, succubus, drowner, kikimora, barghest...

the monsters blur together after so long - after so much of his blood spilled.

geralt is growing weak, growing tired -

growing slow.

and then, one day -

one day, he stumbles as he walks back into the mage’s tower, stumbles and catches himself on the edge of the cauldron, and -

and his blood, the blood that’s fucking covering from melitele only knows how many fucking cuts and gashes and scrapes and gouges -

his blood drips from his palm, from his wrist, from his fingertips, and it falls into the cauldron -

and the concoction of herbs and roots and flowers and bones and brains and heartstrings and feathers and stones and blood, it -

it turns deep, vibrant violet, and -

and geralt goes still.

he’s never pushed roach as hard as he does that day, the next day, the next...

it’s the third day when a group of highwaymen cross his path, when they fire at him from the hillside, when a crossbow bolt strikes roach through the sockets of her eyes, and -

and geralt tears them all down without an instant of hesitation, and he pauses to mourn the loss of his cherished companion, but -

but jaskier is waiting, and -

and geralt runs.

his legs ache and his lungs burn and his ribs feel as though they may shatter again from the strain, and he is bleeding, and he is dying, but -

but jaskier is waiting, and -

and he loses track of the days and of how many times he trips and falls and of how many times he drops to his knees and then to the ground -

and still he runs.

i can’t let him die.

geralt feels as though he may collapse by the time he stumbles against the doors of corvo bianco, but still he moves,

still he pushes on,

pushes the door open and almost falls inside, and -

and he cannot breathe, and his vision is hazy, and he knows that he’s gone too far, but -

but jaskier is waiting, and -

and he steps through the doors of the room they’ve shared for so many long and perfect years, and -

and he reaches into his pocket for the vial of antidote, and -

and he looks up, and he goes still.

the vial falls to the floor.

geralt lurches the few steps to the edge of the bed, drops to his knees, reaches out to touch the back of a cold, cold hand, closed tight about a scrap of parchment he can’t bring himself to acknowledge.

he lowers his edge to the mattress, and he breathes in, and he breathes out, and...

and at last, the witcher is still.

geralt,

my beloved, i have kept alive as long as i can. i have spent my life at your side, and there isn’t a day of it that i would have changed.

my only regret is that i did not die in your arms.

i love you.

live well.

#answered asks #skyleen #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #geralt x dandelion #gerlion #my fics #character death #don’t break out the pitchforks #you asked for this #it’s not on me this time

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parrlyn-4life · 4 years

Text

The Girl Who Spoke French: Part 1

(A few parts of this are inspired by @moan-jeutas and their series, “We’re Just Human.” I really recommend that you guys read it because I’ve been reading it on repeat all day-)

TW: Mentions of disabilities & mental illnesses, swearing

“It’s raining again?!?” Screamed Anna of Cleves. Cathy Parr looked at her.

“Yep,” Cathy said. Jane Seymour walked away over.

“The news said that the storms might go on all week!” Jane said. Anna’s jaw dropped.

“You’re kidding,” Anna said. Jane shook her head. “It’s Tuesday! We should be outside, having a picnic! Not inside!” Anna screamed. Jane and Cathy nodded.

“Will you keep it down? I’m trying to read!” Screamed a voice. The trio turned their heads to see Catherine of Aragon, holding a book called, “A Series of Unfortunate Events: The Bad Beginning.” Cathy had introduced the series to Aragon and now she absolutely loves it. This was the third time Aragon was starting the series all over again.

“Sorry, Lina!” Jane screamed. Aragon just went back to reading. “Gosh, she’s really into that series, isn’t she?” Jane said.

“I regret showing it to her now,” Cathy said, face-palming.

“Well, at least she’s not talking about religion anymore,” Anna said. Cathy and Jane laughed.

“Hey guys, where are the cookies?” A new voice asked.

“Kitty, we told you this already! No cookies before lunch!” Jane said.

“We literally just had breakfast, mum! It’s 12:18!” Katherine Howard said. Jane looked at the time.

“Oh. Well, you can eat four cookies, Kitty, but that’s it, ok?” Jane said. Kitty smiled.

“Thanks, mum!” Kitty said before rushing into the kitchen. Jane laughed.

“The party has arrived!” a voice screamed as the front door opened. Then walked in four more women: Elizabeth (Bessie) Blount, Margaret (Maggie) Lee, Joan Meutas, and Maria de Salinas. Three of them were ladies in waiting for three queens in the room. One hasn’t seen the queen she served yet.

“How’s it like out- Oh,” Jane said before turning around and seeing that the women were soaking wet, even with raincoats on.

“This sucks,” Maggie said, hanging her raincoat on the coat stand.

“What in the world happened to you guys?” Cathy asked.

“The storm happened,” Bessie said, hanging her raincoat as well.

“Thought it was just gonna be rainfall. We were wrong,” Maria said. Joan nodded.

“You guys must be cold. I’ll go make some tea for you four,” Jane said, getting up.

“Uh, Jane?” Aragon said, looking out the window.

“Yeah?” Jane asked.

“You better make an extra cup because I think someone’s trying to get through the storm!” Aragon said as she watched a cloaked figure walking through the rough storm. Jane walked over to the window and saw the same thing.

“Oh my! Should someone go get them?” Jane asked.

“I’ll go. I didn’t take off my raincoat anyways,” Joan said, opening the front door and walked back outside. The others got up and watched as Joan went to get the person, who kept slipping and falling down. Joan took their hand and lead them back into the house. Kitty opened the door for them and Joan quickly ran back inside with the person. She took off her raincoat, revealing her wet hair and wet clothing.

“You must be soaking wet! Walking in a storm like that!” Cathy said. The person said nothing.

“Who is it?” Anna asked, getting curious. The person took off their over-sized raincoat to reveal a woman some of the queens and ladies in waiting have met before.

“Anne!” Maggie screamed. Anne looked at her.

“Maggie! Où suis-je?” Anne asked, looking around at the environment. The others were confused.

“What’s she saying?” Bessie asked.

“It’s... French! Anne taught me French so I understand a little bit of it!” Maggie said. “She asked ‘Where am I?’”

“Does she know she’s been reincarnated?” Aragon asked.

“Anne, tu sais que tu as été réincarné, non?” Maggie asked the French woman.

“Oui,” Anne said, nodding.

“Pourquoi tu marchais dans la tempête?” Maggie asked.

“Un ange m'a dit de te chercher,” Anne said. Maggie nodded in response. “Je pense que son nom était Timothy?” She continued to say.

“What’s she saying?” Kitty asked.

“She’s saying that an angel named Timothy told her to find me,” Maggie said.

“Wait, don’t we know Timothy?” Aragon asked.

“You’re right! He’s the one who brought Anna, right?” Jane asked. Aragon nodded.

“I’ll go give him a call,” Aragon said, walking over to a table and sitting down, pulling out her phone. She went into her contacts and pressed the name ‘Timothy.’

“Lina?” Timothy asked as he picked up.

“Tim! I was wondering if you know a woman by the name of Anne Boleyn?” Aragon asked.

“Yeah! Why?” He asked.

“Because Joan just went out to get a person who was walking in the storm and that person was Anne,” Aragon said.

“It’s still raining out there?” Timothy asked.

“Yep,” Aragon said. “But why is she here now? Wasn’t she dead before the others?” She asked.

“Well, it’s a long story. Are you willing to hear this?” He asked. Aragon thought for a moment.

“Yes,” Aragon said.

“Well, yes, Anne was dead before the others but she was hard to teach about the new things in the reincarnation. It took her a whole 3 months just to learn how to use a phone!” Timothy said. Aragon laughed slightly. “Anyways, my angel pals and I gave her translated tests to see if she has any disabilities or mental illnesses,” Timothy said. That’s when Aragon started to worry.

“What were the results?” Aragon asked in a concerned tone.

“Well, she got high scores on depression, anxiety, PTSD, and intellectual tests. We ran a couple of scenarios for each situation and....” Timothy trailed off.

“What?” Aragon said, fear and worry coating her voice.

“She has all four of those... When we gave her an autism spectrum disorder test, we were stumped. She reacted to touch, sound, and pain for a few minutes but then she stopped. Then she started up again, which is why we took so long to send her to the reincarnated world. It was like, one minute the senses were stronger and the next the senses just went back to normal,” Timothy said. Aragon’s jaw dropped.

“What does it mean then?” She asked, sounding like she was about to cry.

“We’re still trying to figure that out,” Timothy said. She let a single tear roll down her cheek. “Lina, are you... Crying?” He asked.

“No,” Aragon lied. She quickly wiped the tears away from her face.

“Wait, does anyone there know French?” Timothy asked.

“Maggie’s speaking to her right now,” Aragon said.

“Perfect! Also, I gave Anne a note to give to Maggie. Can you see if she has it?” Timothy asked. Aragon turned her head.

“Maggie, Timothy said that Anne has a note to give to you. Do you have it?” Aragon asked. Maggie shook her head.

“Anne, Catherine dit que tu as quelque chose à me donner,” Maggie said. Anne thought for a moment before reaching into her pocket and pulling out a folded piece of paper, handing it to Maggie. Maggie gave Aragon the thumbs up.

“Now she gave it to her,” She said, turning back to the phone.

“Ok! Well, I have to go. We’re training a new arrival right now,” Timothy said before hanging up. Catherine put her phone down and just sat at the table, staring straight ahead. What the fuck was going on with the French woman?

“Lina? You ok?” Jane asked, walking over to the table. Catherine looked at her.

“Tim told me the reason they’ve kept Anne so long,” Catherine said in a sad tone.

“Wait, can you give me a minute? I’m going to give them their tea,” Jane said, placing a tray with ten cups, placing one next to Catherine and another where she sat. Catherine nodded and Jane got up, carrying the tray over to the others. “Drink up now, guys. We might be here a while,” Jane said, placing the tray on the coffee table. Everyone reached out for a cup of tea, all of them getting one.

“Merci, Jane,” Anne said, giving her a small smile. Jane gave her a small smile back before walking back over to Catherine.

“So, what happened? Why’d they keep her so long?” Jane asked as she sat down. Catherine sighed and started to tell Jane what Timothy had told her. In the end, Jane started to cry as well. “Oh my gosh,” was all she had to say.

“I know,” Catherine said, wiping away her new tears. “I feel bad for her too,” she said.

“What do we do now? I mean, where is she going to stay?” Jane asked.

“I think she can stay with us. I mean, you and Cathy share a room, as well as Kat and Anna. It’s not fair for me to be the only one without a roommate,” Catherine said. Jane thought for a moment.

“Maybe,” Jane said. “But how are we going to speak to her?” She asked.

“I found a translation app that was free the other day... Maybe we could try that?” Catherine asked. (Ok, in my mind, this is a perfect Utopia and every app in the App Store is free and you don’t pay for anything. Even to get rid of ads-)

“I think that could work!” Jane said, smiling through her tears.

“Are you guys ok? Why are you crying?” Joan asked from the living room.

“We’ll tell you later,” Jane said, laughing while wiping away her tears. Joan just looked at her.

“Ok?” Joan said, confused. Catherine and Jane laughed. They both looked over and saw that everyone was trying to talk to Anne but Maggie just ended up translating everything. Catherine smiled at the scene she was looking at.

“Do we ask her now or later?” Jane asked. Catherine thought for a moment.

“Later,” Catherine said, looking at Jane. Jane nodded and continued to drink her tea.

___________________________________________________

FINALLY, I’M DONE WITH THE FIRST CHAPTER!!!

Tag List:

@radcowboyalmondtree

@toomanyfamdom

@sweetestrequiems

@the10amongstthese3s (If they are reading this, hi! I was the anon who told you that I was writing something sort of sad and asked if you wanted me to tag you-)

#six the musical #french speaking #this was horrible

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thisselflovecamebacktome · 4 years

Text

My personal connection with Taylor’s discography, part three: Evermore

Basically this is just a series I’m doing where I write down my feelings on what each of the Taylor songs means to me personally. Part one was my relationship with It’s Time To Go, which you can find here and part two was Right Where You Left Me which you can find here.

Before we get started I want to give a quick trigger warning that this particular post is going to talk about sexual violence, suicidality, and revenge porn, so please keep that in mind if you’re someone with a history of those topics.

Anyway, with that being said, this is how I personally relate to this song.

Evermore

As a whole, this song feels like a recollection of all of my darkest times as well as a reminder that even though it felt like those moments would define the rest of my life, I have reached a point where they no longer do. It is also a good reminder that timing and love are such important aspects in life and sometimes you have to trust and rely on them to get you through the rough times, even when there’s no solid evidence that it will work out, because that’s all you have.

Gray November, I've been down since July

2011 was an absolute shitshow for me. It was my final year of high school (year 10 where I live) and two of my closest friends had just moved across the country. Likewise, I had two friends die in the space of a month, one from a brain tumor and one from a suicide that I witnessed. And to top it all off, it was when my family issues really started ramping up. Just when I thought that I was moving forward and starting to recover and find my footing from all of that, July 3rd happened. In short, on July 3rd, I non-consensually lost my virginity, a concept that was very important to me at the time as a Christian teen, to multiple men. As a result, I spent the next year and a half in a depressive and suicidal state over the events of that night and regressing the progress I had made from the other bad things that had happened in 2011.

Motion capture put me in a bad light

A few weeks after the events of July 3, I had found out that those events had been filmed and distributed on porn websites. It took almost a year and a bunch of legal action to get it down and I remember going to school each day in fear that one of the boys were going to announce that they watched it, or worse yet, I would be called to the psychologist’s office because one of the teachers had seen it, and the one area that I could be “my usual self” was going to be taken away from me.

I replay my footsteps on each stepping stone trying to find the one where I went wrong. Writing letters addressed to the fire

This line feels very reminiscent of my relationship with my Post Traumatic Stress Disorder in general to be honest. Like through triggers, nightmares and just general feelings of not being able to move past it, I was forced to consistently revisit both the trauma of my friend’s suicide and the gang rape. As a result, I used writing, both fictional and not, as a mechanism to discover and express my emotions and try to figure out how a “good girl” (yes I did have a lot of internalised misogyny issues at the time before someone says it) had gotten herself in that position. At the end of the day, all of the pieces I wrote ended up as unsaved drafts on my first laptop, but it was a very therapeutic and “healthy” way to figure out what had happened and how I felt.

And I was catching my breath staring out an open window catching my death

The events of July 3 made me agoraphobic to the point of not leaving my house for the remainder of the holidays I had and only leaving when I did because my parents forced me to go back to school. It took another two years to feel comfortable outside my home and to this day, certain environments (loud places, night times etc) still make me very anxious. It genuinely felt like I was going to die in that room, and though unhealthy, feeling the icy cold breeze of Winter nights on my skin was the beginning of my deliberately unhealthy habits as it felt like the only time I felt anything at all. This later translated into actions like excessive drug/alcohol use, self harm and forming bonds with people I know weren’t good for me so it also reminds me of sticking my head out of car windows if I’m honest.

And I couldn't be sure I had a feeling so peculiar that this pain would be for evermore

This is pretty self explanatory. At the time it really did feel as if that pain was all there was of my life anymore, and as a result, I almost ended my life at seventeen.

Hey December, guess I'm feeling unmoored. Can't remember what I used to fight for

Moving forward in my life, this line reminds me of the destruction of my family. Yeah, yeah, it always comes back to this I know. A warning for anyone who is already sick of me talking about my family in these posts, all up there are 39 songs in Taylor’s current discography that remind me of them so it’s going to be a very common theme and you should leave now if it bugs you. But as I was saying, this line basically encompasses what I feel about that whole situation and the damage it did now. Like there’s this part of me that feels like I don’t have a good, stable place in my current reality and just feel disconnected because like fighting to keep us together was literally 23 years of my life and now it’s just not because things didn’t work out. And because things didn’t work out and somehow (barring my mother) everyone is surviving just fine from what it seems, it just feels like that fight was not worth it and I can’t see why I stood my ground for so long anymore.

I rewind the tape but all it does is pause on the very moment all was lost

Despite knowing the signs of my family falling apart were present long before we fell apart in 2015, and certainly more before I accepted it in 2017, it is still impossible for me to comprehend that. All I can think about is that moment when it hit me that I was going to have a future without a family of any kind. Like none of the signs leading up to that live rent free in my mind in the way my father’s last words to me and the devastating realisation that I had been delusional for ever thinking things would work out does.

Sending signals to be double crossed

Basically just a reminder that my family fell apart not because I didn’t try hard enough or didn’t voice myself enough, it was because those signals weren’t received because the people who were meant to receive them didn’t want to and sent them out into the abyss in order to fulfil their objecting desires.

And I was catching my breath, barefoot in the wildest winter catching my death and I couldn't be sure, I had a feeling so peculiar that this pain would be for evermore

When I cut off my father in late 2017 after accepting him, my sister nor extended family wanted to reunite with my mother, brother or I as a family, I was in a moment of time where I didn’t have time to fall apart. I was in the middle of a university semester, dealing with a manipulative acquaintance tearing apart one of my friendships, and dealing with my mother’s far more concerning suicidality. But as a result of continuously trying to fake it til I made it, I fell apart and 2018 led to almost a full year of me feeling as suicidal as I had in 2011. And while I was now better equip to deal with that thanks to therapy, there was definitely an overarching feeling of “well if I can ‘recover’ and feel great just for this to come back years later, what’s the point of getting better? I’m never going to recover from this” for the better part of the year.

Can't not think of all the cost and the things that will be lost. Oh, can we just get a pause? To be certain we'll be tall again

After my family fell apart in 2015, nearly every moment of my time was dedicated to three things; my mother’s mental illnesses, working to make sure we didn’t become homeless and my university degree. As a result of that and issues my partner had to overcome, the relationship fell through, But as part of that, we ended up meeting up a few months after and discussing the idea of getting back together. However, while there was nothing more that I wanted at the time, realistically I knew that it wasn’t the time. The same issues were still occurring and unlikely to change in the short run and I knew deep down we’d end up resenting each other if we went head first back into a romantic relationship without resolving those issues. And quite frankly, after everything I had lost, I felt like I couldn’t lose him too. So I asked him to wait to give us our best chance at a future together.

Whether weather be the frost or the violence of the dog days. I'm on waves, out being tossed. Is there a line that I could just go cross?

There are two scenarios I think of when considering this line.

Following the above, the first I feel like this was pretty much how my partner felt after my family fell apart. He was suddenly thrown into a rough (potentially triggering considering he lost his family too in his childhood) situation where he was barring the grunt of my reaction to the situation without any type of benefit given I wasn’t even spending any time with him or considering his feelings because I was so wrapped up in my own. And in that, he was just trying to find a point where he could help me and our relationship would be on good terms.

And then, again, it feels like 2018 for me personally over again. Like I spent every day feeling like I was drowning and just trying to get through to the next and just trying to find that one switch that would make me feel non-suicidal again.

And when I was shipwrecked I thought of you. In the cracks of light I dreamed of you. It was real enough to get me through. I swear, you were there

Throughout 2018, there was nothing physical that I could hold onto to get me through the days. Instead, I had to really lean into my friendships, many of which didn’t live in the same city I did so couldn’t be physically present, and the hope that one day this would all pass and I’d be living my imagined best life with my partner. And it did, and I thank god everyday that it did.

And I was catching my breath, floors of a cabin creaking under my step and I couldn't be sure, I had a feeling so peculiar this pain wouldn't be for evermore

November 2nd, 2018. Perhaps some of you recognise that date as a certain Reputation Sydney show date, as you should. Look, I’m not one for saying music saves lives. I find that far too simplistic and takes away from the effort the person made to save their own life. But my god did that night make me want to save my own life. After almost a full year of feeling suicidal, something clicked in me while watching one of my closest friends (who ironically wasn’t meant to be there, another friend dropped out) screaming out to lyrics to the Long Live/New Year’s Day mashup and 22. And for the first time in a very long time, I felt loved and appreciated to the point where I stopped missing everyone I had been missing and overall just felt happy. It was genuinely as if I had found that switch and from that day have bounced back and not felt anywhere near as terrible as I did in 2018 or 2011. And you know, while those days will probably come back, after defeating them twice, I know that any days like it that are in my future won’t last and ultimately I will be happy.

#evermore album #evermore #taylor swift #about me

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katiecomma · 5 years

Note

Istg I'm just gonna send this to everyone in the fandom that reblogs that ask prompt, but, Mac and Jack!

Ok… I’m gonna do this one special… one for them together… and then one for each of them.

Mac and Jack

How I feel about these characters

I love them with my whole heart. Even without shippers glasses on, these two idiots are just such best friends, so in sync and perfect… and I love the way that Mac translates things into Jack speak all the time, but he never talks about it like he’s talking down to Jack… and they just compliment each other so well… Mac with his improvisation and Jack with his tactical skill… I just love them.

All the people I ship romantically with these characters

Ummmm each OTHER!… Naturally… But if we’re straying into OT3 territory… I obviously ship MacDaltonStokes… @orianess has me on a crackship that she has yet to launch involving these two… and I think I could see a Cage OT3 if I wasn’t 60% sold on her being Mac’s sister.

My non-romantic OTP for these characters

Bozer - Bozer is best friends to both of these two idiots and I love it. I love the relationship that Jack shared with Bozer even before he was in on the secret.

My unpopular opinion about these characters

Mac would never have let Jack go after Kovacs alone. Rules be damned. You go kaboom, I go kaboom… Wookie life debt… NO WAY. He didn’t even put up a fight. Nu uh.

Also: Mac treated Jack like absolute garbage during most of S3, and you cannot convince me otherwise.

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon.

I wish Jack would come back… and even if he doesn’t stay, I wish there would be some kind of reconcilliation between the two… because Mac didn’t treat Jack great during S3… and it felt unresolved when he left. Also: crying would be welcome… manly crying like when Jack lost Sarah. A few Jensen Ackles-style tears because they’re happy to see each other again… I could be in for that.

Mac

How I feel about this character

I love Mac. He’s such an interesting character. The way his brain works and the way he sees the world is so intriguing to me. And I love the way he’s still so down to earth despite being a genius… the people he collects around him… if he wanted he could be surrounded by other super genius people doing super genius things and instead he chooses this ragtag little family that all compliment each other… and I love him. (I also think Lucas Till is absolutely AWESOME as Mac)

All the people I ship romantically with this character

Jack (obviously)… ZOE!!! GAH ZOE!!! One day I will write that tragic “what if” fic is Zoe had lived. Honestly… S3/4 so far is making me not want to ship him with anyone… it seems like his entire personality for the last season and the beginning of this one is about who he’s getting it on with this week. NO THANK YOU. I like my Mac with a very small side of love interest because that’s not why I watch the show and not what it’s about. Oh, and Carlos… I TOTALLY have Carlos while in the military shipping things happening.

My non-romantic OTP for this character

Riley - I SWEAR writers… if you go romance with Riley in S4 I may have to lose it. So far (other than Matty and Patty), Riley is the only girl who’s been on the show that Mac hasn’t gotten with or tried to get with. From the very beginning their relationship was very brotherly/sisterly… and their chemistry was that way too… so 100% DO NOT STICK THEM TOGETHER!!! NO! DON’T DO IT!!! Mac needs to stop trying to screw EVERYONE!!!… *deep breath* Sorry… I wouldn’t have been opposed to Mac/Riley before… but I want the boy to have one female relationship in his life that doesn’t become sexual. One girl that his safe from his raging libido… ok… now I’m done… sorry for the rant… but it’s kinda what I do.

My unpopular opinion about this character

Mac doesn’t need a romantic interest. Period. He needs to make cool shit out of other more regular shit… and save the day… and that’s what I want. I also hated MacDesi - it could have worked if it was a slower burn… but it was too rushed.

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon.

The beginning of S3 could have been handled better. Mac in S3 in general could have been handled better… I HATED the way he acted… coming back from Nigeria… the way things went with Nasha… I just… No. Not my Mac… I wish they had found a way to write it where he still went to Nigeria… and then coming back didn’t feel so… forced and uncomfortable…

Jack

How I feel about this character

Jack Dalton is one of my all time favourite characters ever of all time ever. I love him SOO much. Everything about him. The badass Delta Force sniper that could kill you with his bare hands flips to karaoke champ in 4 states who likes nothing better than pizza and skeeball and has a painting of Telly Savalas on his wall. Quoting Star Wars and telling stories about stealing a dead body with his cousin George one Halloween and setting it up as a prop… I could go on and on about how much I love Jack Dalton.

All the people I ship romantically with this character

Mac… Nick Stokes ( :D )… Jill oddly enough, I kinda love the idea of Jack/Jill (and not just for cute name reasons)… Jack/Cage… Jack/Matty… I love the idea of Jack/Steve McGarrett… like something happened when they were working together in the military…

My non-romantic OTP for this character

Riley - I love their father/daughter dynamic SOOO much... it’s my favourite dynamic in the show. They play SOOO well off each other... and I love them. the scene where he pulls her out of that trunk and tells her that he’s got her and calls her baby... just... MY HEART. every time.

My unpopular opinion about this character

Jack got too dumb in S3… the writers dumbed him down too much and made him look like a stupid strong armed ape instead of the super intelligent agent that he is.

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon.

I wish he had stayed. I have NO ill will toward George Eads and I totally respect the decision he made to step away… I just miss Jack a lot… and even if he didn’t stay… I wish they talked about him more… I wish Mac and Riley talked about missing him more often.. I wish they did more little fake calls with Mac where you can’t hear Jack but Mac’s having a conversation with him… or that Mac would reference talking to Jack… OR EVEN JUST SAY THAT HE MISSES HIM!!! Even in that episode where Riley broke down after Billy and she was all: I miss Jack, he was always the constant… Mac just goes: well, I’m here! He doesn’t talk at all about how he misses Jack too and that he’ll be back someday etc etc etc… he doesn’t even acknowledge that she said anything about Jack… and it HURT… I just wish they didn’t try to pretend he disappeared off the face of the earth.

#macgyver #mac and jack #angus macgyver #jack dalton #macdalton

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bazzybelle · 5 years

Text

Carry On Countdown - Day 20

Notes: While looking at some Greek Myths/Ovid, I read the stories of Perseus and Medusa. I decided to change it up a little. Bear in mind, I’ve taken A LOT of liberties with this story. I also want to turn this into a long-form fic, but we’ll see (I have many ideas… it’s a problem). Title and lyrics are adapted (had to add words because Greek is funny like that) /translated from the song “Den Eho Matia Gi’Alli” by Thanos Petrelis.

Final note, happy birthday to my husband, who’s been encouraging me to write again and who helped me with the song’s translation.

I gotta go now and do my annual Christmas cookie baking (10 different kinds of cookies, Morgana help me).

Thank you to @carryonsimoncarryonbaz for the continued writing support and beta-reads and for listening to my wild plots and ideas. I value your input and friendship immensely.

TW: Involuntary movement, depictions of pain.

Day 20 Prompt: FairyTale/Myth Retelling

Title: Den Eho Matia Gi’Allo - I have Eyes for No Other Boy

________________________________________________________________

I have eyes for no other [boy], I’ve told you. The beginning, the middle, the end: You are [my] all. [My] ocean; [My] earth and [my] heaven to.

BASIL

It is a long walk to get to the Holy Temple of Athena. It is on the outskirts of the city. I do not mind the walk, for it is an honour to serve the goddess, as my mother had, and as many of my ancestors had before her.

It is said that the Pitch family had been blessed by Athena generations ago. One of my ancestors once offered the goddess shelter during a great storm, while the goddess was disguised. The story was that she had been turned away at every corner, except at the home of Vasilios Pitch (whom I was named for). Because of his wisdom and generosity, Athena decreed that every first born from his line would be blessed with wisdom. A sure sign of this gift lay in our famous grey eyes; Athena’s grey eyes of wisdom. Vasilios had been given these eyes as a token of the goddess’ favor, and all of his descendants possessed them as well, including my mother, and myself.

I slowly make my way down the paved road, satchel in hand. The satchel is full of offerings, as well as texts that I wish to read while in the temple. I had been chosen, almost a year ago, to resume the duties of caring for the Temple as well as maintaining the cultural festivities associated with the goddess of wisdom. Today’s duties include sweeping the floors, cleaning the altar of any offerings, and lighting the lanterns that grace the corridors of the Temple.

I adjust my heavy chiton (I am always freezing, despite the warm climate of my island) and hurry closer to the Temple. I am eager to begin my duties. I am ashamed to admit that I had not been inside the Temple for a few days. This was on an account of my drive to pursue philosophical knowledge. My family is blessed with wisdom, so why shouldn’t I try to obtain as much as I can? I do feel guilty about neglecting my duties, but I will make it up to the goddess. I shall remain within the Temple for the following week. My dear friend, Simon, is planning on visiting me in order to bring me some light nourishment to last the week. He is always concerned for me, and whether I ate enough. I had convinced him to spend some time with me during his visits. I always cherish the time we spend together. Almost as much as I cherish Simon, himself.

I know something terrible has happened as I arrive at the Temple’s entrance. The lanterns are shattered on the ground, the offerings to Athena are strewn all over the floor. Mud has been thrown upon her sacred altar. Worse of all, the sacred statue of Athena is completely desecrated. It is imperative that the Holy goddess remain clothed at all times, but this statue is completely naked.

I drop my satchel in shock and fall to my knees. Who could have done such a thing!? Why would anyone risk the goddess’ wrath?

I run my fingers through my hair in despair. I should have been here! I should have prevented this from happening! I had one duty that stood above all others. Protect the Temple. Protect the goddess’ dignity. I had failed. I failed and I know exactly what is about to happen. The stormy-eyed goddess does not take personal insults lightly.

As if on cue, I hear the distinct “hoot-hoot” of an owl behind me. I take a deep breath and stand up gracefully. With a bowed head, I turn to face the owl; to face my punishment. The owl screeches at me and dives towards me, talons outstretched. I throw myself to the floor, to avoid being hurt, as the owl lands on the goddess’ statue. I watch in wonder and horror as the owl begins to glow and melt onto the marble. A white-hot blaze envelopes the statue, so hot that I have to shield my eyes. From the flames steps Athena herself, fully clothed, with the owl perched on her shoulder. She has a sword in her hand, and a shield on her back. I stare at her in admiration and awe. Athena shoots out a hand towards me, her voice, while calm, sends a boom throughout the Temple.

“You will stand and show respect to Pallas Athena!”

Compelled by the supernatural force of the furious deity, my body shoots straight up. My head involuntarily strains to match my grey eyes with those of the goddess. I can feel the force tugging at my heart, coercing me towards Athena. She grips my face in her celestial hand. I can feel the heat radiating off of her. I feel tears beginning to well in my eyes.

“You betrayed me.” She speaks in such a calm voice. I feel my stomach freezing over. Athena keeps an iron-hard grip on my face. Even if I could move away from her, I do not want to for I am at fault for this.

Instead, I whisper, “I am sorry.”

“You have destroyed my Temple.” Her eyes start to peer down at me. They bear into my own eyes, and I can swear she is staring right into my soul.

“No… no I-”

“SILENCE! By giving into your hubris, Basil, you’ve neglected your duties! My Temple is destroyed! My image defiled!” Athena gives me a look of disgust. It is enough for me to fall further into remorse. I can no longer prevent the soft tears from falling down my face.

“Forgive me, goddess.” I beg her. Athena simply shakes her head. She releases me from her grip and I crumple onto the floor. Athena kneels down in front of me and places her hand on top of my head.

“You will have to be punished. I have given your family the great gift of my wisdom and you have spat on it.” A bright light erupts from the palm of her hand. It completely engulfs me. As the light surrounds me, I begin to feel an icy-cold sensation spreading over my body. I begin to convulse, pain shooting across all my limbs. I start gasping for air, squeezing my hands shut.

Athena holds still and proceeds.

“You are hereby banished from this island. Your new form will live amongst others like your kind.” I start to scream as I feel my body beginning its metamorphosis. My hair, once long, soft, and raven-black becomes a tangled mess of hissing, slithering snakes. They begin to bite and nab at each other, tugging painfully at my skull. My skin, normally a beautiful, shimmering reddish-copper tone, loses all its colour and lustre. I become pallid and grey, patches of tiny charcoal-coloured scales spread over my body. My teeth begin to sharpen and elongate, filling my mouth. The pain is agonizing, and I pray for it to stop, but the ill-tempered goddess is not yet finished.

“You will no longer be able to cast your eyes upon another human. To gaze at you will be their undoing.” Athena places her hand over my eyes and my vision began to cloud. All colours escape me, replaced by greys and blacks. My eyes, once a mesmerizing sea-grey colour, now turn a sickly yellow, mimicking those of a basilisk. With the energy of my transformation still vibrating over my body, I start to heave, clutching at my chest. Athena moves her hand to my chin and holds it tight, forcing me to look at her. She finishes off the remainder of her curse.

”Many will try to kill you, they shall not succeed, until the very last one. The one you love the most. He shall kill you or he shall save you. This is my punishment for you, Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch.” A searing white-hot pain consumes me and I feel myself slipping into darkness. Athena’s livid grey eyes are the last thing I see before I let go.

______

FIVE YEARS LATER

SIMON

“I have accomplished every task you have asked of me. You owe me your sacred sword!” I point an accusing finger at the aging king before me. I feel my curly hair shake with every movement.

I have been endlessly travelling across practically every Hellenic island. My travels have brought me to the island of Seriphos and to the court of King Polydectes. I’ve come here in order to obtain a sacred sword crafted by father Zeus himself. It is unlike any other sword in existence. It is crafted out of unbreakable material, adamantine. If I have the sword, it will be the final piece to my armour. I need that sword if I want to find my friend, the friend I’ve dreamt about every night.

I’ve been on this quest for almost five years. Ever since I arrived to the Temple of Athena on the outskirts of my village to find the Temple destroyed and Basil missing. The only clue that indicated that Basil had even been to the Temple was his disturbed satchel on the ground. It’s the very same satchel that I now carry with me wherever I go. It’s my only connection to Basil, until I find him and bring him home.

The king rubs his long snowy-white beard and furrows his eyebrows. He snaps his fingers at one of his attendants. “Bring me my sacred harpe sword”. He then looks directly at me.

“You may be a mighty fine warrior and hero Mister Snow, but your arrogance will be the death of you. You may have my sword, but after completing one final task.”

I growl. I’m tired of being constantly tested! Have I not proven myself time and time again that I am a worthy warrior? I’m tired of wasting time. I may know that Basil is still alive, but the more time I waste completing these ridiculous tasks, the more time Basil is left on his own. I take a deep breath and pull my shoulders back.

“Fine. what task would you have me complete this time?” I demand. The old king gives me a sly smile. It sends a shiver down my spine. Whatever task Polydectes has for me, it won’t be an easy one. The king places his hands together and explains his problem.

“As you know, Mister Snow, my city has been engaged in a small war with the neighbouring island for quite some time. My people are tired of the blood and the loss of life. They want this war over, and they want it over quickly.”

“What does this have to do with me?” I ask, arms crossed over my chest.

“Legend has it, that a creature exists in one of the caves at the far end of the island. The sailors who frequent the island call it the Cave of the Gorgons.”

My mouth gapes open. The old man was finally starting to go batty. The Gorgons were legendary monsters. They were nearly impossible to kill, being that they were demi-gods. The king was about to send me on a suicide mission.

“Gorgons? You want me to kill a Gorgon? That’s impossible!”

I decide, at that moment, that I am through with Polydectes and his nonsense. I would find some other way to find Basil. I turn on my heels and am about to walk out of the throne room when I hear the calm, arrogant voice of the king behind me.

“Not if one is mortal.”

I stop dead in my tracks. I slowly turn back to the king. I stare at him in confusion. I have never heard of a mortal Gorgon before. I wonder what unfortunate turn of events caused that anomaly to occur. Now, this is interesting.

“Mortal?”

The king raises an eyebrow at me, and I hate it. It reminds me too much of Basil. Polydectes rises from his throne and steps towards me.

“Legends say that one of the Gorgons is mortal. This one in particular supposedly has the power to turn whole armies into stone with a glance. I have sent warrior after warrior to fetch me the head of the beast, but none have returned.”

And there it is. So it is a suicide mission after all.

“And you expect me to be able to accomplish what others more skilled than myself have been unable to do?”

Polydectes shakes his head and laughs. I shudder as the king speaks. “You do have an edge over the others before you, Mister Snow.”

A long crooked finger points at the items on my person. Aside from Basil’s satchel, I have also obtained other divine items. Items that have aided me throughout my many trials and tribulations.

The first is the shield I carry on my back. It’s the only other item I found within the Temple. I don’t know where it came from, nor who it belonged to, but it was made of a perfectly polished steel. To look upon it was akin to looking at your reflection in a mirror.

When I began my quest, I first needed to know if Basil was still alive, or if he had crossed over into the Underworld. In order to do this, I needed to find the Underworld’s entrance. To do that, I required the help of Hermes, messenger to the gods of Olympus. He was the only one who could travel freely between Mount Olympus, Earth, and the Underworld.

It was not easy to get the lively god to pay attention to me. I had spent two years chasing the trickster god. Hermes would not help me at first, stating that to help me would be go against one much more powerful and vengeful. As Hermes took flight, I had grabbed onto one of his winged shoes. As much as Hermes tried to shake me off, I was relentless. Eventually, the winged-god surrendered. He told me that he’d admired my tenacity. So he offered me his Winged Sandals, as well as directions on how to enter the land of the dead. I would have to ask Hades himself if Basil was there.

It took me almost another full year to reach the River Styx, even with the aid of the Winged Sandals. From there, I made my way to the court of Lord Hades and Lady Persephone. It had not been easy, and I still have the scars I obtained from my fight with Cerberus. But I made it. Frustratingly, Hades had no time for me and refused to even listen to my story. Persephone, on the other hand, had been more gentle. She told me that she would help me find my lost love.

I had tried to argue with the Queen of the Underworld. Basil was my best friend. He was like a brother to me. We had grown up together, we protected each other, and we would always be there for one another, through anything and everything. But I didn’t love him. And besides, even if I did, Basil was far above in status to me. He would never be interested in me.

Persephone was not convinced, but she still offered her help. She had confirmed that Basil was indeed still alive, but that he was balancing on a dangerous thread between his humanity and the demons that plagued him. When I asked her what she meant, Persephone refused to clarify, saying that I needed to figure that out for myself. Before I left, Persephone offered her husband’s Helm of Invisibility, as well as the recommendation that I seek out King Polydectes on the island of Seriphos. There, I could find a blade that would help me rescue Basil. She also left me a warning: “Everything is not what it seems Simon. Remember to look before you strike.”

I didn’t think much of it as I left the Realm of the Dead. While I am typically the type of warrior to dive into a fight without a second thought, I always make sure my swings are powerful and sure. Besides, I had to focus on my next destination; The island of Seriphos.

It was on this island where I remained for the next two years, fulfilling task after task in order to obtain this blasted sword. It was the final piece I was missing. If all it took was to kill one mortal Gorgon, I would do it. Deep down I know that even if I have to kill a million Gorgons, I would do it for Basil. No questions or reservations about it.

I look back to the wrinkled king before me. I stick out my chin, determination apparent over my face. I hold out my hand to the king, ready to shake on the deal. Polydectes smiles at me and grabs my hand.

“Excellent.” The servant arrives right on time. They are carrying what looks like a sword, but it has a small hook-like protrusion at around the midpoint of the blade. The material was unlike any other that I have seen. Polydectes takes the sword from the servant and offers it to me.

The sword feels so light in my hands. It’s perfectly balanced and fits perfectly in my grasp. It’s as if the hilt of the sword shifts to match its yielder. The blade gleams in the light of the palace. It’s mesmerizing to say the least.

“This sword, as you know, was crafted by Hephaestus himself for Zeus. Father Zeus bequeathed this sword to my grandfather, and it has remained in my family since then. Bring me the head of the Gorgon, and the sword shall be yours.”

I remove my own sword from its sheath. It has served me well over the last five years, but I need to offer it up as some sort of collateral. I offer it to Polydectes. He nods as the servant takes the sword. I sheath my brand new weapon and back away from the king.

The Gorgons’ cave lay on the Southwestern part of the island. I do not feel the need to pack many provisions, considering the short distance to the caves. I pack enough food for a few days and set off on yet another journey.

The entrance to the cave is wide and intimidating. I peer inside, but there isn’t much to behold, save for a rows of torches on either side. Before stepping inside, I remember to take off my shield. If the Gorgon’s eyes could turn a man into stone, I would have to be extra prudent while exploring. I strap the shield to my forearm, and proceed forward, eyes glued to the reflection.

As I wander deeper, I find myself completely surrounded by perfect stone statues. Each statue created with a look or horror and agony. My heart nearly stops as I think about the final moments of these unfortunate men. I think about the fear and possible agony these heroes must have felt. That is enough to convince that I may be in way over my head.

I carry on. Grey eyes, and a sparkling smile fill my thoughts. For Basil. I have to do this for Basil.

Before proceeding further, I extract the Helm of Invisibility from the satchel. A cold shiver travels down my spine as I place it on my head and disappear. I don’t want this monster sneaking up on me.

Closer and closer, I know the beast is near-at-hand. I can feel it. There is a light thrum in the air, as if I was meant to be here. I write it off as the work of whatever supernatural deity was responsible for creating the Gorgon.

Finally, I see it. In the corner of the reflection of my shield, I notice a pair of long sickly grey legs. They are covered in dark scaly patches.

Finally, this was it.

I creep closer and closer. The legs lead up to a torso, slowly rising and falling. He’s asleep. Good. This should be easy.

Closer and closer. The torso transitions to a long graceful neck.

The creature’s face is more grotesque than I could ever imagine. While his mouth was closed, I can see a few sharp, long teeth sticking out. The grey scales nearly cover his face in patches, but it was the Gorgon’s hair that causes me to tightly grip the hilt of my sword. Dozens of sleeping snakes cover the beast’s head.

I pull out my sword and raise it high above my head. One strike and I’ll be that much closer to Basil. Before bringing the blade down, I hear a loud voice in my head:

Look before you strike, Simon! Everything is not what it seems!

I stop just as the blade is about to behead the sleeping monster. I pull my sword back and take another closer look at the peaceful figure.

This isn’t a monster.

It certainly looks like a monster, but something about the way he sleeps, soft eyelashes cascading past his gentle lids, tells me that this beast is more than what he seems. The shape of his face; the sharp edges that I never thought I’d see again. This was the same face that I could not stop dreaming about, and wishing I could feel again. I think back to those beautiful grey eyes, and the wide sparkling smile.

Can it… can it be? It… it can’t be... No...

The realization hits me with a force of thousand bricks. Finally, I’ve found him! I drop the sword and gasp out.

“Basil?!”

_____

BASIL

I hear something clattering that rouses me from my sleep. My eyes burst open and I leap to my feet. Another warrior sent to kill me? Honestly, I cannot find it in myself to care anymore. At this point I am about to offer up my head willingly.

I am tired. Five years of colourless, hopeless existence, is enough to drive me to near madness. I have begun to wish that someone would take me out of my misery. I have even stopped trying to fight the warriors that came to defeat me. But bloody hell, were they ever so useless and thick! I have been able to petrify them without even trying or meaning to. The more innocent men I killed, the more I felt like a monster.

I started to sleep more. If I was sleeping, and my eyes were closed, I couldn’t kill anyone. But not even that worked! These warriors were so brutish and clumsy, that I often woke just before they killed me. So I’ve hidden myself deeper and deeper in my cave, hoping that someone would relieve me of my miserable life.

The goddess’ curse has been a cruel one, but one that I felt I deserved. I have had five years to think about the mistakes I made in my short life, and the regrets that I still carried with me. Only one thought gave me a tiny morsel of hope. A tiny morsel of hope that I clung onto when the days grew darker and colder.

The one you love the most. He shall kill you or he shall save you.

Amidst my world of grey and black, I held onto the image of blue eyes and bronze curls. The blue eyes and bronze curls of my childhood friend. My companion during my life. The person that I am convinced I love dearly. The one I love the most.

Simon.

Simon will be the one to kill me and I will love him from beyond this mortal coil, from wherever my soul should end up; Whether it be Tartarus or The Underworld. All I hoped for, was to be able to see him one more time before I meet my doom. Hopefully from a distance, so that I could not harm him. Then, after seeing Simon one last time, I will shut my eyes and approach him, with a bowed head.

For now, I have to deal with yet another idiot who could not even kill a sleeping monster. I look around, but see no man in my midst. I sigh heavily and slowly carry myself towards my hall of fallen heroes (it’s what I call the petrified statues inside my cave). I call out in a bored, lethargic voice.

“If I were you, I would leave while you are still alive. As you can see, no one has managed to kill me yet. Save yourself. Whatever prize is being offered to you is simply not worth it.”

I hear the sound of someone clearing their throat to my right. I close my eyes and turn my head. The person who had cleared their throat begins to talk.

“I have blindfolded myself. My sword is on the ground. I wish to talk to you. I’m stepping out.”

I cautiously open my eyes to see a young man stepping out from behind one of the frozen soldiers. As promised, he was blindfolded and unarmed. I furrow my brows and cross my arms. “I do not wish to talk. I wish for you to leave me be.”

“Just answer me one question. One question and I’ll leave you alone.” I choke out a half-laugh and a half sigh. But, I relent. I have nothing else better to do today.

“One question.”

“Do you remember me, Basil?” I feel the blood in my veins stop cold. No one has referred to me by my real name in years. The sudden change in my emotions causes the snakes to become unsettled. A few already have begun to pull at my skull.

“What?” I ask, I am unsure if I truly want the answer.

“Do you remember how we played as children? How you would relentlessly insult me?” The young man starts to step closer to me. The snakes in my hair continue to hiss and thrash wildly. I try to calm them down, but they sometimes have a mind of their own, and my feelings are linked to theirs. I want to back away, but I am frozen in place. The young man reaches blindly for my hand, I tentatively move my hand out and gently touch his. It’s warm. So very warm. And rough, he’s done a lot of fighting it seems. He asks another question.

“Do you remember how I would bring you food whenever you spent too much time in the library?” I start to lose my breath as the man gently cups my cheek in his hand. A shiver runs down my spine and I feel goosebumps on my scaled arms. It’s been too long since I felt another gentle touch. Too long since I have felt him.

Is it really him?

The snakes have started to calm down. They know he is supposed to be here. I lean into his touch, tears brimming my eyes. I nod slightly. He continues. He speaks softly, almost whispering.

“Do you remember how I promised I would never abandon you? How you promised you would never abandon me either, even when you were chosen to serve Athena? Do you remember me, Basil?” His voice cracks a little at the end. But I breathe a sigh of relief. He’s here. After so long. I nod at him. He reaches with his other hand and gently holds my face in his hands. He presses his forehead to my own. I place my hands over his.

“Simon…” I breathe out.

I want to say more, but I feel soft lips on my own. I close my eyes and lean into his kiss. It feels so good, so right. I feel his warmth spreading all over my body and I sigh into him. I pray to the gods above that my teeth do not hurt him. I can feel the tears spilling down my face. I have missed him. His face, his hands, his smile, his eyes. Gods, have I missed him.

Simon keeps kissing me and caressing my face. My heart breaks for I know he has to kill me soon. For a few seconds more, I want to enjoy this. I want to remain here with Simon forever. I never want to let him go.

I love him. I’ve always loved him.

Simon breaks the kiss and gently rubs his thumbs over my eyelids. I am so scared to open my eyes. I don’t want to risk his blindfold falling, or for Simon to tempt fate and look at me. I reach up and run my fingers through his hair. It’s gotten so much longer, but it still feels so soft and bounces softly through my fingers. He takes my hands in his and plants a soft kiss on my knuckles. He rests his forehead on mine.

“I have you, Basil. I am never letting you go again.” He is holding so tightly to me, I almost believe him.

I am so entranced, that I do not notice that my snakes have stopped tugging wildly at my head. I do not notice that the teeth in my mouth have started to change. I still refuse to open my eyes. It can’t be real. It isn’t real. Simon reaches up and tempts fate. I feel the fabric of his blindfold fall away. I keep my eyes shut. I hear him gasp.

“I know… I know… Look away from me.” I violently bow my head down and try to turn away from him. I am so ashamed, I cannot bear to have him look at me like this. Like a monster. But Simon, bless the idiot, pulls me back and lifts my chin towards him.

“No… no Basil! Your skin. It’s not grey or scaly anymore! The snakes are gone! You look like yourself again. Basil, love, open your eyes. You’re alright.” I shake my head wildly. Simon is running his hand down my face, wiping the tears that will not stop falling.

“I’ll kill you. Simon, I’ll kill you if I open them. I’d rather die.” I croak out. I can handle years of solitude and loneliness. I can handle being responsible for the ruination of my city’s temple. I can even handle the shame I’ve brought upon my family. I can handle all of it, because I know that Simon is alive. Simon is alive. If he were to die... If he were to die, I would soon follow him.

Simon pulls my head closer to him. I feel kisses on both of my eyelids. His fingers are softly combing my hair back. His other hand has travelled to my hand and has gripped it. His thumb is running across my knuckles. He whispers to me.

“Basil… open your eyes. I’ve dreamt of seeing your stormy greys again for five years. Please, let me see them.”

“And if I kill you?”

“You won’t. I promise, you won’t”

I bow my head down and slowly open my eyes. I can see the dark ground. I think I see specks of browns and greens, but I must be imagining it. Simon is still holding my hand, still running his fingers through my hair.

“Keep going, love.” He murmurs. I take a deep breath and start to raise my head, I let out a small whimper, because I can see the browns and golds of Simon’s sandals. They also have tiny silver wings at the back. I refuse to believe that this is happening. It was not supposed to happen like this. He was supposed to kill me, not save me.

I take the risk and raise my head a little further. His tawny skin is shining among the many lit torches. Tiny brown freckles crowd his arms, and a constellation of moles dot his body. I place my hand on his chest.

My hand! It’s back to the copper colour it used to be! Simon starts to laugh with joy. He places his hand beneath my chin.

“Basil, may I?” I nod.

He lifts my face to meet his. After five long years, I see his blue eyes. Blue eyes that, to anyone else, would seem absolutely normal. But to me, to me, they’re the most beautiful shade of blue I have ever seen. I see them beginning to become cloudy. I start to panic, but see that they’re cloudy because tears started to fall. He starts to laugh. He looks at me adoringly.

“You’re beautiful”. He says as he kisses me again.

Aphrodite in heaven, I’m living a charmed life.

[You brought] Sound and picture, music and colour, in my black and white silence. It was my good luck that I found you [love]. That I met you in this life.

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