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cinnamongorll · 7 months

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a fragile line - chapter 29

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Pairing: Joel Miller x Female OC

Series tags: extreme slow burn, age gap, older man/younger woman, protective joel, jealous joel, hurt/comfort, pov third person, mutual pining, angst, sexual tension, friends to lovers, canon-typical violence, feral joel, parental abuse, eventual smut.

Series synopsis: three years ago, Juliet escaped her father's religious survivor camp, ending up in the Boston QZ. Juliet created a life for herself in Boston, desperate to forget the trauma of her upbringing. One day, Juliet arrives home to find a mysterious letter which forces her to return to her home town. Juliet can't travel the harsh post-apocalyptic landscape alone, so she enlists the help of the grumpy and, at times, frightening man she works alongside: Joel Miller.

Word count: 10.7K

Chapter 29

Juliet's POV

One Month Later:

“But she lives right across from you”

“I know”

“If you don’t do it, I’ll have to walk all the way over there and back… and it’s snowing! What if I hurt myself?”

“That’s not the argument you want to make right now.”

“Juliet, please.”

“Fine.”

“Excellent.”

Charlotte smirked as she handed over the woven box filled to the brim with a variety of bottled herbal remedies. They rattled as Juliet took the weight in her arms and her scowl deepened .

“Tell her these ones are to help with the vomiting,” Charlotte reached into the box and ran her fingertips over a couple glass rims, “and these are vitamins to help keep her strength up.”

Despite her mild annoyance, Juliet nodded and promised that she would relay the message to Maria. There really wasn’t much she wouldn’t do for Charlotte, even if delivering her remedies meant directly interacting with the town’s leader.

The ice between Juliet and Maria had never truly thawed from their first conversation almost two months ago now. They rarely saw each other, only subtle nods of acknowledgement across the street or quick conversations about patrol, and Juliet preferred it that way.

Tommy, though, Juliet had grown quite fond of. He would always greet her with a smile on his face and some joke about her performance on patrol. Juliet would roll her eyes and demand to know how many times he would bring up that one time she fell off her horse.

Maria announced her pregnancy only a couple weeks ago. Juliet tried to congratulate Tommy but his smile grew strained and his eyes darted away from her towards a hulking figure she chose to ignore. Juliet tried not to question it; she realised a while ago that she would never really understand the inner workings of the Miller brothers’ minds, so she stopped trying… and she didn’t bring up Maria’s pregnancy again.

Now, thanks to Charlotte’s repulsion of cold weather and her never ending list of errands, Juliet was forced to face Maria and the stiff tension which lingered behind their every interaction.

“Thanks, by the way,” Charlotte said with a wink.

“Yeah, yeah,” Juliet scoffed as she turned and headed towards the door. Charlotte beat her to it and pulled open the clinic door, shivering slightly as the cold air battled with the stifling heat of the fire.

With a thin smile, Juliet tightened her hold on her box and stepped outside. It was snowing, just as Charlotte had predicted, and each flake added to the already solid sweeping of pure white which had painted Jackson for several weeks now.

Juliet hunched her shoulders together to push the collar of Joel’s jacket higher on her neck and started walking down the porch steps, moving the box out of her line of sight to watch her feet on the slippery stairs.

“See you tonight?” Charlotte called after her.

Juliet paused and turned slowly. Charlotte stood with her arms crossed over her chest and her eyebrows raised.

Tonight.

The dance.

The dance that she couldn’t even pretend to have forgotten about, when every inch of Jackson was papered with handmade flyers advertising the big event.

“Don’t even think about not goin,” Charlotte warned, standing straighter. “You promised me you’d go.”

Damnit, she had promised.

“I’ll be there,” Juliet assured her, projecting some cheerfulness into her voice to ease the lines on Charlotte’s forehead.

“Great!” Charlotte practically sang. “See you at 7?”

Juliet nodded and forced a smile on her face.

“You better head back in, you’ll catch a cold,” she cautioned evasively, looking Charlotte up and down.

Her friend rolled her eyes. “You’re not gettin out of this, I’ll come and find you if you’re not there for 7.”

Juliet knew she wasn’t kidding.

“I know,” she laughed, then lifted two fingers off the box in a wave goodbye before Charlotte decided to pull out a pen and asked her to sign a contract declaring her attendance at the dance.

“Oh! And don’t forget to look for those vhs tapes!” Charlotte called after Juliet as she began to make her way down the porch steps, heading out onto the street.

Charlotte had been searching for a tape of some old movie she used to watch when she was younger, she was desperate to show it at a movie afternoon. ‘Pretty in Pink’ Juliet recalled. Tommy was convinced that there was a box of tapes in Juliet’s house and so another task was thrust upon her.

Juliet turned and nodded very dramatically at Charlotte. “First thing tomorrow, I promise!” she shouted back then sped up to avoid another request. The snow was getting heavier and Juliet secretly hoped that it would get so bad that they might have to cancel the dance.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to go…

Okay, she just didn’t want to go.

For many reasons… one being the confirmed attendance of the man she’d managed to avoid all contact with for the past month.

She’d overheard Tommy mention the other day that he’d convinced Joel to come along and Juliet almost tripped over her own feet.

The sharp bite of his rejection still burned, but the hole in her chest was starting to heal over. It was little things at first: like when she stopped waking up in the middle of the night looking for him, then when her first thought in the morning drifted to something other than him, and finally when she walked past his house and didn’t hasten her footsteps, Juliet knew that scar tissue was forming.

But this all relied on not seeing him, because when she did… when Juliet caught sight of him in the stables or grabbing some food in the mess hall… she swore that she was back outside her house listening to him say those words and brush off everything they had built together.

He made her feel like a little girl who’d gotten attached to someone she shouldn’t have.

He made her feel stupid.

He made her feel like every look and every touch between them meant nothing.

And all of that rushed to the surface when she looked at his face. His hard, angry and devastatingly handsome face.

Tonight, at the dance, she couldn’t avoid him. She’d have to look into those hollow eyes and pretend that he hadn’t meant the entire world to her only two months ago.

Juliet blinked away the threat of tears and started walking quicker.

Walking past the mess hall, Juliet watched a man on a ladder attempt to fix one of the broken twinkly lights on a large evergreen tree outside.

It was a strange sight, the lengths Jackson’s residents went to to celebrate Christmas.

Juliet had never known it to be a joyous occasion.

With her father, Christmas had only ever been a sad, cold affair with stiff, awkward gatherings and blurred lines.

There was no singing, no laughter, no trees, no lights. Her father’s community would instead join together for a reading in the community centre. Juliet would sit in the front row with her hands clasped on her lap, terrified to make even a single movement, lest she show that she wasn’t deserving of dinner.

Christmas was the only time of the year her father drank. After their meal, he would ask for whatever alcohol they could spare to be passed around the men of the community and every woman would straighten their spines.

Juliet tried her best to bury her memories of those Christmas nights, leaving behind only a murky recollection of one of her father’s men pushing her up against a wall and every muscle in her body stiffening.

The feeling of hot, sweaty hands pushing her further into the wall, holding her steady as he nudged his face into her neck and his lips spread across her collarbone. Juliet always held her breath, hoping that maybe she’d pass out before his hands drifted further.

Juliet tried to close her eyes, she always did, but the sight of her father watching them over the man’s shoulder was too vividly sickening to ignore.

Every year he allowed his men to have a taste of her… like she was a delicately wrapped present just waiting for their hungry hands to rip apart.

But it was only ever a taste.

When their fingers would drift lower and lower, starting to pull up her skirt, that’s when her father would walk over and place his strong hand on the man’s shoulder. Declaring his ownership.

Christmas always left a bitter taste in her mouth.

“Juliet?”

Matt’s voice was drowned out by the piercing sound of glass bottles rattling against each other. Juliet gasped and blinked up at her patrol partner’s concerned face as he reached out to stabilise the box in her arms.

“Shit, sorry I wasn’t looking where I was going,” Juliet stuttered.

“Are you okay?” he asked with hunched eyebrows and a serious gaze.

Juliet looked down at her box and pulled it closer to her chest, then tilted her chin back up to meet Matt’s eyes.

“Yeah, I’m good!” she replied, injecting false cheer into her voice.

“But you’re crying?” Matt pointed out quietly as his hand gently curved around her damp cheek.

“Oh,” she gasped, embarrassed, “must be the cold air.”

Matt gave her a look that said he didn’t even remotely believe her but he knew her well enough not to push the issue. Juliet knew what she looked like in that moment: red rimmed eyes and a haunted expression.

With one last swipe of his thumb under her eyes, Matt removed his hand and brought it slowly back to his side.

“Where you going with all that?” he asked, pointing to the filled box in her arms.

“It’s for Maria, Charlotte asked me to - ” she paused as a cold shiver rippled across her back.

For a second, Juliet felt the sharp awareness of a gun trained on her and her body instantly stiffened.

But it wasn’t a gun, it was worse.

Joel stood on the porch of the mess hall, his large leather jacket hanging over one shoulder as though he was putting it on but stopped suddenly. He was still, so still that Juliet wondered if time had stopped.

Her eyes washed over him despite her brain screaming at her to look away, but it was impossible when his dark eyes were focused on her like the sharp gaze of a hunter.

Slowly, his eyes moved to the man beside her and Juliet watched as his fists curled and his jaw moved before he sharply looked away.

The second his eyes left her Juliet inhaled a deep breath and quickly returned her gaze to Matt, who stood looking down at her with confusion written all over his face.

“Sorry,” she coughed, “these are for Maria, I’m just heading over there now,” Juliet explained, lifting the box and cringing as the bottles rattled again.

Matt watched her curiously for another second before his signature smile donned his face again.

“I’ll walk with you,” he decided and reached down to take the box out of Juliet’s hand, tucking it beneath one arm and pivoted to hover his other hand on the small of Juliet’s back.

Juliet didn’t look at the mess hall as they walked passed, not even when he felt that dangerous awareness spread over the back of her neck. She just focused on the crunch of snow beneath her feet and watched the clouds of breath hang in the air in front of them.

Their conversation was easy, as it always was.

Matt would recognise when Juliet’s mind drifted elsewhere and he would fill the space with chatter about his big plans for the week. And that day, the topic on his mind was the dance.

Juliet tried not to roll her eyes.

“So, are you coming?” he asked with a smirk.

Juliet shot him a dark look. “I think Charlotte would have many creative ways of murdering me if I didn’t show up,” she explained.

Matt’s laugh was warm and playful. “I wouldn’t put it past her.”

Juliet’s mouth cracked a smile.

They walked in silence for a while until they reached the turn off towards her street. Matt stopped in front of her and carefully passed the box back into Juliet’s arms.

“Save me a dance?” he asked with raised eyebrows.

Juliet laughed. “Sure.”

Matt ran a hand through his hair and stepped backwards. “Don’t sound too excited, Jules,” he said with a wink, and then he was gone, heading in the other direction with his hands in his pockets.

Juliet let out a slow breath and closed her eyes. Matt’s presence was a welcome distraction but the memory of her father lay steady on her shoulders, weighing her down.

He was never far from her mind, even on her good days. Charlotte spoke to her about ‘closure’, allowing herself to face what her father did to her and move past it. But that sounded like a child’s fantasy, as if she could actually ever rid herself from his memory. As if she could ever untangle herself from him.

His initials were burned into her skin but his ghost had sunk deeper into her bones, burrowing himself there and haunting her every movement.

Closure was a privilege not offered to her.

She’d had enough conversations with Charlotte to recognise that he was her abuser, although Juliet still struggled to voice the term.

He was her father, part of her DNA. How could she ever truly rid herself of him?

Juliet had tried taking herself back to that final night in the basement before Joel had found her. She thought if she allowed herself to remember everything that had happened she might be able to work through it and rid herself of some of fear eating away at her, but there were still gaps in her memory; large stretches of blackness behind her eyes where more horrors were hidden.

So, no, she wasn’t excited for the dance, or Christmas, or anything really.

Juliet was still drowning beneath the memory of her father and her only lifeline had abandoned her.

……………………………….

Charlotte’s box of remedies sat on Maria’s porch as Juliet knocked on the door for the third time.

Her knuckles struck the wood but there was still no answer.

She glanced behind her then her gaze dropped to the handle and the impulsive, impatient part of Juliet reached for the metal knob and turned.

It opened.

Juliet paused, unsure what to do. Maybe Maria was sleeping or just hadn’t heard the door… maybe she should sit in the box in the house then leave.

Juliet bent and lifted the box into her arms again and stepped into the house. It was almost an exact replica of the layout of her and Ethan’s and her feet took her into the living room before she could stop herself. A part of her was curious about how the town’s leader lived.

The room was well decorated with soft throws over the couches and trinkets on almost every surface. Juliet kept walking, slowly taking in all of the details around her.

After a moment, she spotted what looked like a small chalkboard over the fireplace and her curiosity took her there immediately. There, written on the black surface were two names:

Kevin 4/3/00 - 9/29/03

Sarah 7/20/89 - 9/27/03

A sinking feeling settled in Juliet’s gut.

They must be Maria’s kids… Joel had never mentioned being an uncle.

God, they were so young when they died. Juliet couldn’t even imagine the trauma that would leave on a person, what might happen to their perception of this already very dark world.

“Juliet?”

Her head whipped around to find Maria standing in the entrance to the kitchen, gripping a pair of scissors tightly in her hands.

“Sorry, the door was open…” Juliet trailed off, realising now how strange it was that she just walked right in.

Maria raised her eyebrows. “What’s this?” she asked, using the scissors to point towards the box in Juliet’s arms.

“Remedies,” she answered quickly, “from Charlotte.”

Maria’s face instantly softened and she tucked her scissors into her back pocket.

“Thanks,” she murmured as Juliet passed the box to her and relayed Charlotte’s message.

Once the box had left her hands, Juliet stepped backwards, feeling the awkwardness that lay thick between them. It was obvious Maria felt the same.

“Well, I better get going,” Juliet said quietly, already turning towards the door.

“Wait.”

She stopped, tilting her head back around to the town’s leader. Maria looked her up and down.

“Who’s been cutting your hair?” she asked while adjusting the box in her arms.

Juliet’s eyebrows furrowed and her chin dipped to look at her dark brown hair falling several inches below her breasts.

“No one,” she replied, sounding more like a question, as she self-consciously tugged on the ends of her hair.

A smile approached the corner of Maria’s mouth before she placed the box on the coffee table and pulled the scissors from her pocket, waving them slightly.

“No,” Juliet argued, “I couldn’t ask you - “

“It’s no problem,” Maria replied in that hard, matter of fact tone of her’s.

Before Juliet could reply, Maria had already turned and walked into the kitchen.

Juliet didn’t really have an option but to follow.

………………………….

Maria’s kitchen was a lot nicer than her and Ethan’s.

Juliet sat on a wooden chair with a towel draped over her shoulders, flinching as Maria sprayed her hair with water.

“Just a trim or are you looking for a chop?” Maria asked suddenly, startling Juliet who had gotten used to the silence between them.

She wasn’t sure what to say. She wasn’t even sure when the last time she had her hair cut was. It must have been when she had first arrived in the QZ when Juliet’s hair was so coated in blood and dirt that she ended up taking her blunt knife to it.

Maria’s scissors looked a lot sharper.

Juliet thought about her question and about everything that she’d been through since that last haircut.

Her hair had grown as she worked those years with Joel, and longer as she travelled the country with him. Now all she had to show for it was the length of her dark brown waves…

Juliet didn’t want to carry that weight anymore.

“A chop,” she answered finally.

Maria’s surprisingly skilled fingers began to separate parts of her length and when the first inch of hair fell to the floor next to her feet, Juliet breathed a sigh of relief.

After another few inches hit the floor, Maria broke the silence:

“You were looking at the memorial Tommy made?” she asked.

Juliet stilled the nervous tapping of her foot and swallowed awkwardly.

“I’m really sorry about your kids,” Juliet murmured as she wiped her sweaty palms on her jeans, feeling her heart grow heavy for the woman who stood behind her.

“It’s okay,” Maria replied, in her usual even tone, “and kid… just Kevin.”

Another apology almost slid from Juliet’s mouth but her confusion held her tongue. She hadn’t realised that Tommy was once a father -

“Sarah was Joel’s daughter.”

Juliet’s breath caught in her throat.

Joel had a child? A child who died?

Every interaction they’d ever had, every cold word from his mouth, and every sad look in his eyes flew through Juliet’s mind. Her heart had dropped to her stomach and a cold chill ran down her spine.

She wasn’t sure how to process this information.

He never said anything. Never even hinted at the loss he’d suffered. But as the realisation washed over her, Juliet realised that he had. It was written all over his face; in the hard line between his eyebrows; in the deep grooves around his mouth, echoing a memory of a time when laughter came easily to him.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything…” Maria said hesitantly.

“No,” Juliet heard herself say, “thanks for telling me.”

Her heart ached for Joel and there was nowhere to put the feelings inside her chest. She couldn’t go to him, she couldn’t talk to him about it.

Juliet was left to reevaluate everything she knew about Joel as inches upon inches of her hair continued to fall on the floor around her feet.

…………………..

Juliet’s steps were sudden and heavy as she ran up the stairs to her bedroom. It was strange, she thought, not feeling the weight of the last few years swinging around her face.

Juliet’s hair now fell just below her shoulders and she wasn’t sure how to feel about it. When she reached her room, she headed straight for the floor length mirror balancing on the wall near her window. Her chin tilted upwards as she admired the way her hair moved.

This was a good thing, she decided. A new start.

Maybe, when she went for her next haircut, there wouldn’t be as much baggage to remove.

Her heartbeat quickened as she turned towards her very vacant closet, remembering the dance that rapidly approached and her complete lack of an outfit.

Juliet had been at Maria’s longer than she realised, and the sky was fading into a worrying dark blue as the minutes ticked by.

Her fingers flicked between the hangers in her closet but her mind was elsewhere.

Joel had lost his daughter.

She couldn’t even imagine the pain.

Her grief for her father was a dark, guilt drenched lump in her throat that choked her whenever her mind drifted his way.

Her grief wasn’t a byproduct of her love for him; it was an aftermath of her fear.

Juliet didn’t miss her father. She was still afraid of him.

But Juliet knew that Joel’s grief was different. It made sense now, why his protective instincts ran so deep, and why his eyes were black wells of sorrow and remorse.

Joel’s grief for his daughter was a smouldering fire. It burned hot and, though its flames dwindled, it never went out.

It made sense, that Joel had lost someone.

This whole time, when she witnessed the haunted look in his eyes, Juliet had assumed it was Tess. Maybe Joel regretted letting her go, maybe there was another woman who he still felt the loss of.

But it was deeper than that.

Maria’s reveal was the final piece in the very complicated puzzle of Joel Miller.

Joel was dark and messy and haunted. And, finally, Juliet understood why.

Juliet unhooked a hanger from her wardrobe. On it was the only dress in her possession, one gifted to her from Charlotte.

It was long, falling below her knees, and it hugged her body in a way that made Juliet’s cheeks flush. The straps were thin, barely holding the dress up.

But the best part, in Juliet’s opinion, was the colour. It was a combination of various shades of dark red, all merged together.

It was perfect.

Juliet slipped the dress on and walked back over to her mirror, reaching to tuck her shortened hair behind her ears.

She barely recognised herself, and the thought was a welcome one.

The sky was black, and Juliet knew it was time to go. Charlotte’s threats were not to be taken lightly.

Her steps down the stairs were softer, nervous even.

He would be there. At the dance.

The hairs on her bare arms raised at the thought of Joel’s eyes finding her in this dress. Then she blinked suddenly, erasing the image in her mind.

No. Joel had hurt her. She couldn’t think of him that way anymore.

Juliet shook her head and reached for her boots, lacing them up as she sat on the bottom step.

Juliet’s feelings towards Joel were so tangled up, it was becoming impossible to unravel them all. And, now, finding out something so devastating about him just added another thread to the mess.

She stood and walked towards the front door, where her jacket hung from a hook. Its dark green canvas material still smelled like him. Juliet had to stop herself from lifting it to her nose.

It was worrying her that the thought of seeing Joel brought with it the feeling of butterflies in her stomach. Or were they moths? Churning around in the memory of the way Joel had once made her feel.

As Juliet put her arms through the sleeves, and savoured the warmth it brought, she realised that slowly her anger towards Joel had begun to fade.

He didn’t want her, and that hurt. But the bitterness within her had lessened.

In its place, were recurring waves of sadness and disappointment.

Joel didn’t want her, and it hurt; it left that deep, dark hole in her chest surrounded by a graveyard of misguided expectations.

Joel didn’t want her. But she was still here. She was still surviving.

Juliet would repeat those words at the dance, reminding herself that Joel didn’t have space in his haunted heart for her. And she would have to let him go.

………………………………

The door creaked when she entered, but no one heard.

The mess hall had been entirely transformed. The seats were pushed to the side to make room for couples to dance. There were even more twinkly lights than usual, covering every wall. Candles covered every surface, and a band was set up on a makeshift stage, playing an upbeat song.

Juliet let the door close behind her as she stood in awe, watching as people laughed and twirled and drank.

“You made it,” Ethan beamed beside her, pulling Juliet in for a hug.

Juliet circled her arms around Ehtan’s back, breathing a sigh of relief at his warm familiarity.

“You’re okay,” he whispered in her ear and then pecked a kiss on her cheek before he let go, straightening his back and looking down at her.

Juliet nodded, and a real smile started to twitch at the corners of her mouth.

“Charlotte will be glad to see you, she almost had a search party out,” Ethan said teasingly, crossing his arms and raising his eyebrows.

Juliet scoffed. “I’m like two minutes late.”

Ethan laughed and lifted his eyes, nodding as another person approached.

“Your jacket, miss?” Matt requested in what Juliet had been told was a french accent, a very bad version of it she assumed, and raised his arm, waiting.

Juliet’s eyes hit the ceiling as she shrugged off her coat and placed it in Matt’s arms. She felt her cheeks warm as the cold hit her bare arms but she straightened her back and tilted her chin up, making an effort to not be embarrassed.

Matt blew out a low whistle as he tugged her jacket under his arm.

“You cut your hair,” Ethan breathed, lifting a hand to tug at the chopped length.

“Yeah,” she replied, darting her eyes between her two friends, “just felt like a change.”

“You look beautiful,” Matt said roughly after a long moment.

Ethan cut Matt a sharp look and tilted his head towards the sea of people gathered around the tables. “Come on,” he urged.

Juliet looked up at Matt who gave her a wink and a teasing smile, then settled his free hand on the small of her back and led her through the crowd of people.

“You’re here!” Charlotte screamed into Juliet’s ear as she pulled her in for a hug. “Your hair! And that dress! I was right, it looks amazing on you.”

Juliet felt her cheeks redden even more and she pulled back from the hug, allowing her eyes to drift down Charlotte’s outfit.

“You look gorgeous,” she told her friend earnestly.

Soon, the four of them settled down at a table with drinks in their hands. Juliet winced slightly as she tipped the whiskey to her lips and felt it burn as it went down her throat. It wasn’t the taste that bothered her, more the memory of it.

Juliet couldn’t help it, after a moment she began to drift away from the conversation as her eyes searched for familiar broad shoulders and grey speckled brown hair.

She convinced herself she wasn’t disappointed when there was no sign of him. It was a relief she felt, of course.

Juliet’s focus returned to the table just in time for Matt to share another embarrassing patrol story.

“I told her not to go in, but she did it anyway,” Matt explained, raising his hands as his mouth stretched further to accommodate his beaming smile.

Juliet covered her mouth as Charlotte and Ethan’s eyes swung her way.

“Admit it,” she demanded, turning back to face Matt, “you were just scared.”

He barked out a laugh and took another long sip of his whiskey. “If that’s true, what about that -”

Matt was cut off by Charlotte’s excited scream.

“I love this song!” she screeched, reaching for Ethan’s hand and dragging him to his feet, “we have to go dance.”

Charlotte led Ethan to the dancefloor, and Juliet watched as their fingers quietly interlaced in the space between them.

When her gaze returned to Matt, he was looking at her with a curious expression but chose not to voice his thoughts.

If Charlotte and Ethan had something between them, Juliet was happy for them. She left her feelings for Ethan behind a long time ago, and their friendship had transformed over the last couple months; becoming more mature and grounded on something other than their mutual fear.

“Wanna join them?” Matt asked, nudging his head in the direction of the couples dancing.

Juliet was ready to shake her head but the look in his eyes was so hopeful that she couldn’t bring herself to say no.

Instead, Juliet reached for her glass and swallowed the remainder of whiskey, then nodded sharply and rose from her seat.

Matt laughed in response, reaching suddenly for her hand as they made their way to the floor. The music had settled slightly, it was smoother, slower and she watched as the couples around them began to sway.

Matt looked down at her, sweeping his gaze all the way down her dress and back up to meet her eyes. Then his hand wrapped around her middle and his fingers spread out across her back. In one sudden movement, he pushed and their chests were flush and his other hand was entwined with her own.

Juliet’s heart started to race. This was unexpected, she hadn’t been this close to someone since…

Thankfully, the alcohol drowned out most of her nerves and Juliet pushed away all traitorous.

As they moved to the music, Juliet’s chin tipped up to admire the lights hanging above them. They looked like stars falling above their heads, and Juliet noticed the small reflections in Matt’s eyes.

Matt’s warm expression quickly shifted as his eyes latched onto something behind her, his eyebrows began to furrow and he tightened the hold on her hand. Then slowly, he bent to whisper in her ear.

“What’s got into him?” he murmured.

Juliet knew who it was before she turned her head. There was that awareness on the back of her neck again, warning her that something dangerous, someone dangerous, was watching her.

Still, her head swung with such speed her hair whipped around her.

There, leaning against the bar, was Joel.

The first thing Juliet noticed was his green shirt, and the few buttons open at the top.

The second thing she noticed was the murderous intention in his eyes.

He watched her like a serial killer stalking his next victim. His eyes didn’t stray from her face, not even as Matt tapped her cheek to pull her attention back to him.

Juliet was caught.

And the wound in her chest poured open again.

If he didn’t care, if he didn’t want to be with her… Why look at her that way? Why demand her attention?

“Juliet? Are you okay?” Matt asked, concern seeping into his voice.

“Yes,” she answered quickly, finally pulling her attention away from the man who was still watching her.

“Yeah I have no idea what’s up with him,” she laughed nervously, settling her hand back into Matt’s.

Matt looked back over at Joel then down at Juliet. “He looks like he’s gonna kill someone,” Matt said with a shocked laugh.

Juliet’s responding giggle was a little too high to be believable. But, again, Matt was too nice to ask her about it.

As the next song played, and they continued to dance, Juliet struggled to ignore Joel’s presence.

And she felt that anger start to churn in her gut again.

“Sorry, I’ll just be a minute,” Juliet apologised to Matt in a voice that sounded very far away, unlatching their fingers as she began to march across the dancefloor to the man simmering at the bar.

Her footsteps faltered as she approached him, but Juliet kept her chin up, urging herself not to be intimidated by the rage in his eyes or the way he towered over her.

Within seconds Juliet stood in front of Joel Miller for the first time in a month.

She underestimated how much it would hurt.

His black eyes scanned every inch of her face with a feverish intensity. Juliet knew she had to say something before she lost her resolve.

She licked her lips and ignored the way Joel’s eyes followed her movement.

“Is there a problem?” she demanded.

Joel took a deep breath and the scowl on his face deepened as he crossed his arms over his chest. Juliet also ignored the way the material of his shirt stretched to accommodate the size of his biceps.

“You cut your hair,” he said roughly, ignoring her question.

Juliet’s fingers instantly reached to touch the blunt ends of her hair.

“Is that why you’ve been staring at me?” she questioned, dropping her hand back to rest against her leg.

Joel’s jaw shifted. “What are you doin’ with him?” he ground out, looking behind her before his eyes returned to her face.

“Who? Matt?” she asked, confused.

The smallest tilt of Joel’s was confirmation enough.

“He’s my friend,” Juliet answered defensively, straightening her spine.

Joel scoffed and reached a hand up to rub his jaw.

“If that’s what you wanna call him,” he murmured under his breath as corners of his mouth curved into a sick smile.

Rage shot through her, hot and fast.

“What is it to you?” Juliet fumed.

Joel’s expression hardened.

“You need to be careful,” he warned, darkening his tone.

Juliet felt like she’d been slapped. Every interaction she’d had with Joel over the past two months had been strange, cryptic and insulting… and she was so sick of it.

“Of what?,” she demanded, raising her hands in the hair, “of Matt?”

Joel said nothing; his silence was his answer.

“Why?” Juliet urged, “because he might hurt me?”

Her mouth took on a snarl.

“I think I know who I should be careful of, Joel,” she seethed, breathlessly, “I think I know who might want to hurt me.”

Joel’s stone face flinched.

Juliet stepped back, breathing heavy. She didn’t have anything left to say to him.

It didn’t have to be like this between them. If Joel didn’t want her, they could have remained friends. But why did he have to keep pulling her back in, giving her signs that he might still feel something for her, only to stab her in the heart with his cruel comments time and time again?

The music finally reached her ears again and Juliet wiped the tear from her cheek, moving to turn and return to her friend on the dancefloor and try to salvage the evening.

But before she could take a step away from him, Joel’s strong fingers wrapped around her wrist, stilling all movements.

Her face was turned away from him and she didn’t dare attempt to meet his eyes. So, Joel stepped forward until his front was flush with her back and dipped his head until his lips met her ear.

Juliet shivered as though the cold from outside had pushed through the walls.

“Juliet,” he murmured against the shell of her ear.

Her eyes closed as another tear leaked out.

“I was wrong,” Joel whispered and every cell in Juliet’s body set alight.

She gasped, waiting for him to say more…

“Juliet, is everything okay here?” Matt’s voice was like a bucket of cold water thrown over her head. She wrenched away from Joel, pulling her arm free from him.

“Everything’s fine,” she assured him, hoping he hadn’t noticed the crack in her voice.

Matt looked between them, unconvinced.

Juliet reached for her friend’s hand, pointedly ignoring the feeling of Joel’s eyes on the back of her head.

“I think Charlotte’s waving us over,” Juliet said quickly, pulling him in the direction of the dancefloor.

The distance between her and Joel did nothing to slow her heartbeat or erase the sound of his words from her mind.

“What was that about?” Matt asked when they finally stopped in the middle of the crowded floor.

“Nothing,” she replied. Then before he could ask anymore questions, Juliet pulled him close and started moving to the music.

After a moment, Matt’s muscles relaxed and a smile returned to his face.

Juliet tried not to, but she turned and caught sight of Joel at the bar. He had one empty whiskey glass in front of him, and another one at his lips.

She flinched as she heard that second glass hit the wooden surface of the bar with the force of Joel’s hand.

…………………………

Hours later, the world had grown a little blurry.

The four of them were back at the table, laughing over some joke that wouldn’t have been funny in the light of day. Juliet’s arm was slung over Charlotte’s shoulders as they watched Matt and Ethan arm wrestle.

Juliet had drunk enough to dull the memory of Joel’s lips against her ear, and she had managed to continue the evening as normal, as though Joel hadn’t reignited some hope in her chest that was bound to cause her even more misery.

The lights looked brighter overhead somehow, and Juliet’s chin kept tilting up to watch them flicker.

In the corner of the hall, she heard a christmas carol being sung by a group of drunk men. For a quick second, the memory of Christmas with her father almost pulled her under… but then she looked in front of her, and watched as her friends began to join in. Their voices were loud and frighteningly out of tune, but they were joyful and they weren’t frightened. They were happy.

Slowly, Juliet's quiet voice blended with theirs and a similar smile approached her face. She pulled Charlotte closer, and felt a strange rush of comfort flow through her. Maybe this was what it was like to have a family.

When the song ended, everyone clapped and laughter rang throughout the hall. Juliet sat back against her seat with a true smile on her face.

Out of the corner of her eye, Juliet noticed Matt shift his chair closer to her and she felt his fingers brush across her hair.

“You havin’ a good time?” he whispered in her ear.

Juliet turned to face him and their cheeks almost touched. Her breath caught in her throat.

“Yeah, are you?” she choked out.

He nodded against her hair, then he pulled back and gestured towards her empty glass.

“Want another drink?” Matt asked.

Juliet probably should have said no, she’d had more than enough. But looking around, it very much seemed like the night was still young. So, she smiled up at Matt and nodded.

Matt winked back at her and told her he’d just be a minute as he lifted their empty glasses and left the table.

Juliet leaned back in her chair and adjusted the straps of her dress, suddenly feeling a bit nervous.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this between her and Matt. He’d always been flirty, yes, but Juliet had assumed it was just his personality.

But under the christmas lights and the influence of alcohol, Juliet didn’t mind his casual touch and whispered words.

Moments later, a woman’s scream cut through her thoughts.

Juliet’s head whipped around, and her view of the world tilted slightly. Her eyesight was diluted and she struggled to see what had caused a crowd to gather around the bar.

Juliet stood on shaky legs, readying herself to grab Charlotte and Ethan and run.

Just as she turned to shout an order, Juliet spotted Tommy hauling someone away from the bar.

It was Joel.

His hair was drenched in sweat, and his curls were plastered to his head. Juliet’s mouth gaped in shock and she started moving, pushing through the crowd of people, desperate to see what had happened.

But the blood on Joel’s knuckles told her more than enough.

Matt crouched on the floor beside the bar with blood flooding from his nose. A woman passed him a towel and he held it to his face as his eyes closed in pain.

Juliet’s ears were ringing in that high pitched sound.

She should have crouched down with Matt, helped him clear the blood from his face, asked him what happened, and comforted him the best she could.

But she didn’t.

She couldn’t.

Juliet turned before Matt caught sight of her in the crowd and she pushed against more people until she reached the exit of the mess hall, where Tommy had just dragged Joel seconds earlier.

She didn’t even hear the sound of the door slamming against the wall as she kicked it open. The skin on her arms pebbled as soon as she stepped outside into the cold, but Juliet couldn’t feel it.

Her head turned to find Joel slammed against the wall with Tommy’s hand on his chest.

“Joel” Juliet shouted as she marched towards him. She didn’t even recognise her own voice.

“Juliet?”

Her name fell from Tommy’s lips and Joel’s eyes locked onto her.

“Go back inside, I’ll be in in a second,” Tommy urged her, using his most commanding voice.

Juliet could see the fear and worry in his eyes. Tommy loved his brother but knew that he couldn’t protect him from himself.

“No,” she said loudly, “I need to speak with him.”

“Juliet this isn’t a good idea -”

“I’m not gonna hurt her,” Joel growled as he pushed against his brother.

Tommy looked between them both. “You have two minutes.”

As soon as the door shut, Juliet launched herself at Joel.

Her hands planted firmly on his shoulders and she pushed hard, backing him further into the wall behind him.

The way his head rolled and the stink of his breath as it hit her nose told her that he was as drunk as her, drunker probably.

“What the fuck was that?” she sneered. Juliet was breathless, fueled entirely by her own shock, confusion and anger.

Joel said nothing, just started down at her with half open eyes.

Juliet pushed him again, hard enough to hear a groan release from his lips.

“Why would you do that!? He’s my friend, my patrol partner,” she demanded, the words spilling from her mouth in a breathless rush. “Why would you want to hurt him?”

Joel straightened against the wall and Juliet’s hands fell to rest against his chest. The movement of her arms mirrored each breath he took.

“He can’t protect you,” Joel murmured, tilting his chin down to meet her eyes.

“What?” Juliet breathed.

“On patrol,” he clarified, “he can’t protect you.”

Juliet pulled back to search Joel’s face. Maybe this was some elaborate joke. She certainly felt like laughing.

But the look in his eyes told her that he was serious. And that just made her blood boil.

“I don’t need to be fucking protected Joel, don’t give me that,” she argued.

Joel ground his jaw. His eyes were black holes, and Juliet couldn’t see what lurked in them.

“Are you jealous?” Juliet whispered, terrified to even say the words.

Joel pushed against her until Juliet was forced to take a step back.

“Not fuckin’ jealous,” he seethed, then scoffed like it was a joke. “You’ve no idea what you’re talkin’ about.”

Juliet flinched.

“Then make me understand,” she begged, “because I can’t make sense of it anymore.”

Juliet paused, inhaling a deep breath and running a hand through her hair.

“You don’t want to be with me,” she started, “I can understand that, that makes sense to me.”

Her voice cracked and her eyes filled with tears, but she kept going.

“But why won’t you just leave me alone? You keep haunting me Joel, I can’t escape you,” Juliet sobbed, using her trembling hand to wipe her nose.

Joel was silent, his face was wiped clean of any emotion.

“Now you’re punching my patrol partner? What makes you think -”

Juliet’s words caught in her throat as Joel’s hands gripped her shoulders and spun her around, pushing her against the same wall he was up against only seconds earlier.

He planted his hands against the wall on either side of her head, crowding her with his body.

“You wanna know why?” he murmured. Joel’s face was so close his breath warmed her cheeks.

She couldn’t help herself, Juliet’s chin dipped in a nod almost instantly.

“Because if it came down to it and a fuckin’ clicker was backin’ you up against a wall like this,” Joel pushed his chest against hers and Juliet gasped, “he would save himself, he wouldn’t save you.”

Juliet’s mouth opened and closed but no words came out. Joel’s breathing had grown heavier and his hands curled into fists against the wall.

“And you would?” Juliet asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Joel let out a humourless laugh and moved one of his hands to cup her cheek. Juliet was always surprised by how gentle his touch could be.

“I’d let myself die to save you,” he vowed roughly, then shook his head slightly and moved his thumb against her cheek, “and I’d let other people die too if it ensured your safety.”

“He couldn’t say the same,” Joel finished in a low voice, his voice a growl against her skin.

Juliet’s heartbeat roared in her ears.

“What -” Juliet started, pausing to catch her breath, “what did you mean earlier? What were you wrong about?”

Joel’s pupils flared and he swallowed rough.

Juliet watched what looked like a thousand emotions pass through his eyes, and she held her breath, waiting desperately for his answer.

“I was wrong to think I could stay away from you,” Joel explained in a voice like gravel.

Juliet swore her heart stopped.

Joel’s head dipped until his forehead pressed against her own. “I thought I could let you go,” he continued, “I thought it’d be better for you.”

So many questions lingered on her tongue, but Juliet stayed quiet.

“I was wrong,” Joel stated. “I can’t stay away from you.”

“And seein you go behind the fence and havin’ to stay behind, not knowin’ if you’re okay,” he paused, pulling back to search her eyes, “it’s killin’ me, not being near you.”

“Then don’t stay away,” Juliet urged, her voice desperate, “be with me.”

Joel’s thumb moved to her lips, tracing the edge of her mouth.

Juliet had laid her heart out on the table. It was broken and scarred, but it could be his, if he wanted it to be.

His head shook ever so slightly and Juliet began to tremble.

“I want to, god I want to,” he murmured, staring intensely at her lips, “but I’m not good for you, baby.”

“Stop,” Juliet said suddenly, pushing against him.

“I’m not a child,” she nearly screamed, “I decide what’s good for me, not you.”

“We live in a fucked up world, and I know how to survive it. So do you. I don’t need to be protected from it, and I definitely don’t need to be protected from you,” the words rushed from her and Juliet was sick of censoring herself. “These past couple months I’ve been so angry at you, so angry, because you’ve taken my choice away. You decided that we shouldn't be together. If I want to be with you then that is my decision.”

Juliet’s heart beat so fast she was sure Joel could hear it.

He stood a couple steps away, looking down at her with his mouth agape.

Then suddenly, he took a step forward, and another one, until their bodies were flush again and his hands were on either side of her face.

“I’m too old for you,” he cautioned.

“I don’t care,” Juliet responded quickly, holding her ground.

“I’m not who I was. I’m too slow and I -”

“I don’t care,” she repeated, firmer this time.

His eyes had grown glossy and Juliet pushed her heart towards him again, wondering if he’d take it this time.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he nearly growled.

“Show me,” she whispered, then held her breath.

Joel’s mouth was on hers not even a second later. His hand curled around the back of her neck as he tilted her face up to meet his.

Juliet responded instantly, gripping his shirt with her fingers, moaning into his open mouth, trembling under his touch.

“You’re mine,” he murmured against her skin when his lips moved to her neck. “Not lettin’ you go again,” Joel vowed.

She pulled harder against his shirt, needing him closer. Joel must have felt the same because his hands slid down to her waist and his fingers curled against her, tugging at the fabric of her dress.

“So goddamn beautiful,” he growled in her ear when his hands found the end of the dress and feverishly began to climb up her thigh.

Joel’s lips suddenly wrenched from her skin when the door to the mess hall opened and a group of people spilled out, laughing and singing.

Joel gripped Juliet’s arm and pulled her into a dark corner, away from the lights in the street.

A bucket of cold water had been thrown over them, but Joel didn’t look regretful. He looked down at Juliet like he was seeing her for the first time. His eyes were warm and hopeful.

A cold wind blew around them and Juliet shivered, rubbing her arms.

“Where’s your jacket?” Joel demanded, instantly reaching to shelter her from the cold.

“Inside,” she murmured against his chest.

Joel groaned. “If I go back in there just now, think Tommy might just throw me out.”

“Well, you did punch someone,” Juliet reminded him, and cringed as she remembered the look on Matt’s face. A fierce ball of guilt grew in her chest.

Joel pulled back to give her a dark look, then he bent and tucked his arms under her legs, hauling her to his chest.

“Hey!” she screeched.

“We better get you home then, before you freeze to death,” Joel deadpanned as he carried Juliet round the corner and onto the mainstreet, heading for their street.

“This is completely unnecessary,” she argued, “I can walk.”

Joel ignored her. Instead, choosing to tuck her closer to his chest.

The lights that covered the mainstreet were gorgeous against the night sky, but Juliet couldn’t keep her eyes off Joel as he carried her all the way home, not even breaking a sweat.

When her feet hit the ground, they were standing on her porch. Juliet looked up at him, disappointed that they weren’t at his. She didn’t even want to spend a night apart.

“Don’t,” Joel whispered against the side of her head. “We’re gonna do this the right way.”

Juliet rolled her eyes. “That’s not fair,” she groaned.

“Get inside,” he ordered, “put a fire on, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Juliet watched him for a second, hoping he’d change his mind and throw her over his shoulder and they could resume what started on his couch almost two months ago.

But no, Joel was being serious.

Before she could stop herself, Juliet stood on her tiptoes and pressed a kiss to his lips. She felt his hands curl into fists by his side as he attempted to restrain himself from grabbing her.

“Goodnight, Joel,” she whispered as she turned the handle to her house.

For the first time in a long time, Juliet left him without fear that it would be forever.

……………………….

Her mind repeated her conversation with Joel as she unlaced her boots. With each movement of her fingers, Juliet’s smile grew.

Joel wanted her.

It wasn’t all in her head.

Juliet climbed the stairs quickly, desperate to take off her dress and get into bed. As she lay in the dark she would replay every second of her kiss with Joel.

But as soon as her foot hit the top step she remembered something.

“Urghhhhh,” Juliet groaned as she dropped her head in her hands.

She’d forgotten to look for Charlotte’s vhs tapes, and Juliet told her she’d have them to her in the morning.

It was fine, Juliet knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep anyway.

For the next hour, as the alcohol faded from her bloodstream, Juliet searched high and low for the box of tapes Tommy had sworn were in his house. Sweat dampened her forehead and Juliet was growing tired. But she couldn’t disappoint Charlotte.

As she walked along the downstairs hallway, Juliet realised there was one place she hadn’t checked: the basement.

Her feet paused outside the door.

Juliet had yet to step foot in the basement of her new home, terrified that it might in some way resemble her father’s.

Time seemed to slow as her eyes traced the pattern on the door handle, and her mind debated what to do.

She could wait for Ethan to get home and ask him to check. He would do it, of course.

But Juliet was sick of living with this fear all the time. She wanted what Charlotte had spoken about. She wanted closure. Maybe walking into this perfectly safe basement would grant her that. Maybe she’d realise that her father was truly gone and that she didn’t have to be afraid of these things anymore.

Despite her best intentions, Juliet’s fingers still trembled as she reached for the handle. She paused before the door opened, breathing deep as she attempted to calm her racing heartbeat.

If she wanted to move on with her life, she had to do this.

She needed closure. She wanted closure.

Juliet’s wrist turned and the door popped open, releasing a draft of cold air that settled on her skin.

She shivered but fought against the chill.

Juliet squared her shoulders and walked through the doorway. Her fingers felt against the wall for a lightswitch but she realised soon that there wasn’t one.

She nearly turned back.

But Juliet knew that she had to do this.

She tried not to count the steps as she walked down them. This wasn’t her father’s basement, she didn’t need to do that anymore.

When she reached the bottom step, Juliet took a deep breath, ignoring the dust that settled on her tongue.

The light from the hallway upstairs allowed her to see somewhat okay, and Juliet felt confident moving forward towards the row of boxes against the back wall.

Her fear settled with every step she took, and Juliet was beginning to realise that she had no reason to be afraid. Maybe she was doing better than she thought.

Juliet hit the floor before she even realised what had happened.

Her hands flew out to protect her face, but her knee burned as she hit the hard ground.

She must have tripped on something.

But Juliet wasn’t worried about that.

Her fall had sent adrenaline flowing through her body and, as she lay on the cold concrete ground, Juliet swore she saw her father standing over her.

“No,” she whispered as she covered her eyes with her hands.

When she opened them again, she wasn’t lying on the ground anymore. Instead, she sat in a metal chair in the middle of the room as a roaring fire illuminated the snarl on her father’s face.

Her arms and legs were strapped down, she couldn’t move.

This was the night her father died, before he had branded her, before Joel and Ethan had found her.

This was the part of that night her brain wouldn’t let her remember…

Until now.

Juliet struggled against her restraints as the memory choked her.

“The world is not safe, Juliet ,” her father whispered, just inches from her face. Her name dropped from his lips like a curse. “There are demons, yes. Those infected monsters, with their peeling faces and sharp teeth. But there is worse out there. Hunters, raiders who crawl the country, killing and gutting people with no remorse -”

Elijah cut himself off with a heavy sigh, then his words became frenzied. “I kept you here, I kept you safe from that. I kept you safe because you are my property, you are mine to protect. And I will not lose another daughter to -”

He stopped, letting go of her wrists immediately. The blood rushed back into them and Juliet began to feel her fingers again, but that relief was the furthest thing from her mind.

Another daughter?

Her father staggered back another few steps, he looked horrified. His mask slipped right off his face as he said those words, now he struggled to put it back on. He wiped a hand over his forehead and when he brought it back down, the horror was gone. He was seething, his whole body moved with the force of his brutal breaths.

“What do you mean, another daughter?” Juliet whispered, but her voice sounded far away.

Her father flinched. Juliet was unsure if what she was experiencing was real, or a dream. Maybe she passed out when he hit her, maybe this was all in her imagination. Because her father’s bravado had never faltered, and yet here he stood before her, visibly flinching at her words.

Elijah started to pace in front of Juliet’s chair, his steps brisk and savage. Juliet’s mind was still clouded, so it took her a few seconds to realise he was mumbling to himself.

Then he stopped, turning to face Juliet. He looked like he was arguing with himself, he was losing control, unravelling right in front of her. For the first time since she could remember, Juliet looked at her father and saw weakness staring back at her.

“Your parents couldn’t protect you, sweet Juliet,” he began. His eyes had a detached look in them, like he wasn’t really standing in front of her.

Juliet swore her heart stopped at his words.

“They didn’t have what it took to survive. They didn’t have the determination to keep you safe,” Elijah continued, raising his bible in the air as he spoke.

Nausea washed over her.

“I saved you. I saved you from them . And then I spared them any more suffering.”

He paused to inhale a deep breath, as though his words were suffocating him. But he wasn’t finished.

“You looked so much like her, with your brown eyes and curls. And your cry, when your parents died, God, it sounded so much like her’s.”

Juliet didn’t know how much more of this she could take, the nausea was overpowering her.

“I knew at that moment that you were mine, that you were my second chance. I could take you in, protect you, make sure you were never taken from me. Never stolen away.”

The ringing in Juliet’s ears returned, and she leaned forward and vomited all over the floor.

Juliet was shaking when she returned to her body, when the firm grip of her memory released her. Every inch of her body trembled.

She lay on the ground staring at the ceiling, like she had done so many times in her father’s basement.

But he wasn’t her father. Was he?

Juliet couldn’t figure out if her mind was playing tricks on her, or had it been trying to protect her this whole time by shielding her from this memory.

He wasn’t her father, not truly.

The man who had hit her, suffocated her, branded her, kept her locked up for days, weeks at a time… wasn’t actually her father.

He had kidnapped her.

Juliet felt a similar nausea rise in her at that moment.

Her real parents were dead.

She began to crawl on her hands and knees towards the stairs, ignoring the blood trailing in her wake. Her knee wasn’t broken but the skin was burst.

But Juliet felt no pain. Her mind was too consumed by its own horror.

She had to get out of here. Juliet reached the stairs and, by some miracle, stumbled up them and closed the basement door. She leaned against it, ensuring it was closed and that nothing else down there could hurt her.

Her body felt like it was shutting down.

Her whole life, Juliet had wondered if she was like her father. They shared blood, after all, how could they be different? She lay awake at night, terrified for the day she would become like him.

She gasped out a choked sob when she realised that everything she knew was a lie.

He was a madman, a psychopath. And she was his victim.

Juliet slid down the door when her legs gave out on her.

She’d had parents, real parents who might have loved her. Did other people know? In her father’s community surely people would have questioned him when he returned with an infant who he had no relation to. Wouldn’t they?

Someone there had to know where she came from. Someone in her father’s community had to know the truth about her.

Juliet’s mind was racing and her blood roared in her ears as she stood on trembling legs.

She couldn’t stay here, in Jackson. Juliet needed closure, she craved it now.

It was the only thought in her mind as she sped up the stairs and changed into the clothes she usually wore for patrol. Ten minutes later, her bag was packed and her boots were laced.

Juliet thought of nothing but a hazy imaging of her parents. She flinched every time her father’s face entered her mind, gloating about the way he had killed them.

She would go back there and find out who her parents had been and where she came from, then she would return with the closure she so desperately needed. Juliet would move on, she would be with Joel, everything would be okay.

Some distant part of her brain screamed at her to slow down, to think things through, to sleep on it. Her muscles urged her to change her mind, to tell someone, to stop being so reckless.

But how could she tell someone what raged in her mind? No one would understand.

Juliet had just learned that she wasn’t actually destined to become her father’s daughter, she was never supposed to have been raised by him, never supposed to have been hurt by him.

She had been stolen, her fate had been altered.

And so she had to steal it back.

………………………….

The streets were dead as she raced through them. Most of the town’s residents were still at the dance, leaving the path to the stables clear of any onlookers.

Juliet kept her mind focused on her task. She couldn’t allow herself to think of anything else, anyone else. She would come back, she knew the way.

The stables appeared before her quicker than she had expected but Juliet didn’t allow any fear to enter her body. She sprinted to her horse, apologising to her as she readied her for travel.

Juliet could feel wet tears on her cheeks but she ignored them.

Her horse was almost ready when she heard the stable doors open.

Juliet kicked her bag out of sight and planted herself against the wall as she held her breath.

Irritation pulsed through her. Every delay was another second where she didn’t know the truth about herself.

Juliet gasped when a face appeared before her.

A very angry face.

“What the hell do you think you’re doin’?” he demanded, breathing heavy.

“Joel,” Juliet whispered.

_______________________________

@amyispxnk @casa-boiardi @http-paprika @shotgun-shelby @weeping-werewolf @mysaviorjoelmiller @chlojoceycom

#joel miller #joel miller angst #joel miller x female oc #joel miller x reader #joel miller x original character #joel miller x oc #joel miller fic #ao3 fanfic #joel miller hbo #joel miller fanfic #pedro pascal #tlou #joel tlou #tlou fic #the last of us hbo #the last of us #joel the last of us #Spotify

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a-araiguma-a · 1 month

Text

Between the serving and Her smile

Chapter 4. Wild Mischief

Fandom: Harry Potter Pairing: Oliver Wood x fem!reader, Charlie Weasley x f!reader, <?> Warning: fluff, mutual pining, friends-to-lovers drama, first love, jealous

Summary: He was the captain and keeper of the Gryffindor team, and his quest to win the Quidditch Cup became an obsessive goal. All his thoughts revolved around tactics, training and strategies, but sometimes his own heart reminded him of another, equally important side of life. He believed that love and Quidditch could coexist in his life. He swore to himself that he would do everything possible to preserve these two treasures, even if it required the impossible from him.

Start - Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6

The new school year began with an exciting blend of sorting new students, fresh starts, and returning to cozy common rooms. Everyone was immersed in the world of books and disciplines, but as always, Hogwarts remained a place full of surprises. This year, the main source of these surprises was more apparent than ever.

The culprits? Two red-haired boys who had just started their studies within the castle walls. The Weasley twins—Fred and George—born on April 1st, seemed destined to spread chaos and laughter wherever they went. It was as if they radiated an energy that made everyone around them laugh while holding their breath in anticipation of the next prank.

From the very first day, they were fully ready for mischief and provocation, effortlessly turning the mundane days into a series of entertaining (for some, at least) adventures, with something new and unusual each time. With astonishing skill, they pranked students, and even the teachers couldn’t escape their antics. No matter how many times they were punished or how many letters their mother received about their escapades, nothing could stop them from creating magical mayhem.

The one person who suffered from their tricks more than anyone else in the school was the caretaker, Filch, who was always ready to punish rule-breakers and quickly became their main enemy. Their unofficial war with him and his cat kept the old caretaker running around the castle in search of the culprits behind the latest prank. And from somewhere in the distance, you could hear Filch’s curses as he stumbled upon yet another of their tricks, whether it was a vanishing pie in the Great Hall or an enchanted staircase that suddenly changed direction.

“Blasted Weasleys!” he would always mutter, holding his ancient lantern as he made his rounds.

Yet, despite their antics, the twins were surprisingly well-liked. To the astonishment of some, their academic performance impressed even the strictest of teachers. Despite their mischievous nature, they excelled in their studies—perhaps it was a family trait, a well-developed intellect.

And what was even stranger, at some point, they seemed to be able to appear and disappear out of nowhere. Mr. Filch could no longer catch them as easily, and for Margaret, as well as many other students, it felt as though they were surrounded by ghosts—not the four house ghosts, but more like the twins, who would suddenly appear beside you, say something unexpected, and then vanish just as quickly, leaving behind only laughter and something that might explode into something unexpected.

“How do they do it?” Emma wondered, after the twins played yet another prank, leaving behind only the scent of floral candies that suddenly exploded in the Great Hall.

“It’s the Weasleys,” sighed Margaret, hiding behind Charlie’s back. “They’re unpredictable.”

Being the older brother of the twins was no easy task either. For Charlie, he could sometimes rein them in, but it never lasted long—mentioning Percy was better left alone.

“Fred, George, stop it already!” Charlie would shout in exasperation whenever he saw them launching enchanted stink bombs down the corridor, sending students running in all directions. “You don’t want someone spending a week in the hospital wing, do you?”

“Us?” the twins would ask with innocent expressions, raising their eyebrows simultaneously. “We just want to bring a little fun into the dull school life.”

Despite their jokes, the twins never put anyone in real danger or did anything that could cause serious harm. Did they have some kind of principles?

However, Margaret often found herself the target of their pranks, but much to their dismay, she managed to avoid most of their traps. Whether it was her insight, or just caution, she somehow always managed to evade their tricks, denying the twins the satisfaction of their mischief. And although they never tired of coming up with new pranks, their clever traps never went unnoticed by her.

“Margaret, wait a second!” a voice called out behind her as she hurried to class once more. “How about a pie?”

Fred and George stood in the corridor, holding a plate of appetizing pies. Their faces beamed with innocent smiles, but Margaret already knew that danger lurked behind those pies.

“Thanks, but I’m not really hungry,” she politely declined, continuing on her way to the classroom.

“Pity, pity,” George said with mock disappointment. “We worked so hard!”

“Maybe next time,” Margaret winked, knowing the twins would surely come up with something new.

And while she could avoid the pranks they set up, those that involved magic were beyond her control—flying books, disappearing writing supplies, or missing desserts.

“You did well,” Charlie praised her one evening in the common room. “Not everyone can handle those two.”

“I think they just respect me,” Margaret laughed. “Or they’re afraid I’ll get back at them.”

Listening to her musings, Charlie smiled. Their conversations became a pleasant end to the day, despite the evening games and jokes echoing around them. In their little corner, an atmosphere of coziness and peace was created, the fire in the fireplace crackling and casting a warm, gentle light on the walls and furniture, lulling the mind to sleep.

“Respect is a good explanation,” Charlie replied, still smiling. “Though I’d say your attention to detail helps too. The twins are used to their traps always working. Then you come along, and their plans keep going awry.”

Margaret shrugged, a little embarrassed by his praise.

“I just try not to fall for them. Sometimes I think they enjoy the process of planning mischief more than the outcome. For them, it’s a game, and I just don’t give them a chance to win.”

Charlie laughed, imagining Fred and George, known for their inventive pranks, sitting in some hidden corner discussing how to outsmart Margaret.

“Maybe you’re right,” he said when the laughter subsided. “But even so, you keep them on their toes. They respect those who can resist their charms—if you can call it that.”

“Maybe,” Margaret agreed, thoughtfully gazing at the fire in the fireplace. “In any case, I enjoy our game. It keeps me on my toes, and I have to admit, it adds a bit of fun to my daily routine. With them, every day is new and unique.”

Though she enjoyed outwitting them and sometimes responding in kind, deep down, she felt a respect for their ingenuity and friendly nature. Every day in their company was filled with joy and laughter, but it also served as a reminder of how the magical world was full of dangers and challenges—a good training ground and foundation for the future. And one day, she would be very grateful to them, but for now, she just wanted to escape their tricks.

“Exactly right,” Charlie concluded, getting up from his chair and heading towards the dormitory stairs—the fireplace had won their little battle. “Just don’t give up and keep going strong.”

The twins, overhearing their conversation, just smirked. They had no intention of giving up either and would continue their pranks on Margaret simply because she had become a special challenge for them. When she successfully avoided their tricks, it only fueled their imagination and inspired even more elaborate ideas.

And so, the days continued: full of fun, unpredictability, and the constant anticipation of the next prank from the Weasley twins. And even the moments when they managed to catch Margaret in their traps brought laughter and joy (at least for some).

But it wasn't just Fred and George who brought joy—one of the most eagerly anticipated events of the third year was the first trip to Hogsmeade, which was met with great excitement. For all the students, Hogsmeade was a kind of magical place where they could experience all the wonders of the wizarding world beyond the school and away from their parents.

The trip was available with a guardian’s written permission, and the students had been getting it in advance, knowing that this day would become one of the most memorable in their school lives. The first visit was supervised by professors who showed the way and explained where the various shops and establishments were located. Everyone was full of enthusiasm, especially Margaret and her friends Emma and Sophie. From the early morning, they gathered and discussed what they wanted to see together and which shops they planned to visit. The plan was simple: explore the village, try something new, and maybe buy a few magical trinkets.

“I’ve been waiting for this day for so long!” Sophie exclaimed, turning to her friends as they made their way to the village.

“We should also stop by Zonko’s,” Emma added, trying to avoid getting her boots dirty. “I’ve heard they have the latest magical jokes we can try out.”

“I wouldn’t mind visiting Honeydukes,” Margaret said with a smile. “They say you can find the rarest sweets there.”

But their plans took an unexpected turn when Charlie Weasley approached their group.

“Hi, girls!” he called out, catching their attention. “Margaret, what do you think about letting me show you around Hogsmeade? I’ve been there often and know all the best spots.”

Emma and Sophie exchanged knowing, mischievous smiles.

“Oh, of course!” Emma exclaimed as if it were the most obvious decision. “We were just about to… umm… check out ‘Tomes and Scrolls’ Percy, would you like to join us?”

Percy, who was standing nearby, looked slightly flustered but couldn’t find the strength to refuse under the pressure of the two energetic girls.

“Well… alright,” he agreed, realizing he had no other choice.

Emma and Sophie quickly grabbed Percy by the arms and disappeared into the crowd, leaving Margaret alone with Charlie. Margaret had no choice but to accept Charlie’s offer.

“Well then,” Margaret said with a slight smile, “it looks like you’re my guide for the day.”

Charlie laughed and nodded, inviting her to follow him. Hogsmeade greeted them with a welcoming atmosphere: narrow cobblestone streets, magical shops with windows filled with strange and wonderful things, and the smells wafting from cafes and sweet shops creating a festive mood.

“The first thing we should do,” Charlie said, pointing down one of the streets, “is stop by The Three Broomsticks. They serve the best butterbeer. I can’t imagine visiting Hogsmeade without trying it.”

Margaret agreed, and soon they found themselves in the cozy pub, where the air was filled with the sweet aroma of butterbeer. After ordering two mugs, they sat at one of the free tables by the window, watching the people passing by.

“What’s your first impression of Hogsmeade?” Charlie asked, taking a sip of his butterbeer.

“It’s incredible,” Margaret admitted, gazing at the shop windows outside. “I’ve dreamed of this first visit for so long, and now that I’m finally here, it’s even better than I imagined.”

“Oh, you still have much more to discover in this place. Believe me, it has its own secrets too.”

After finishing their butterbeer, they continued their walk. They stopped by Zonko’s, where Charlie showed her a few magical pranks that, as he promised, were real hits among the students.

“If you want to scare someone,” he said, showing her a set of fake spells, “these will definitely do the trick.”

Margaret smiled, though she knew such things were more suited to Fred and George. They then visited Tomes and Scrolls, where Margaret browsed through ancient books and scrolls with interest, though she didn’t see her friends—perhaps they had already finished their shopping and moved on to another place.

As they continued their mini-adventure, Margaret noticed something strange. Every now and then, it felt like someone was watching them. She caught glimpses of familiar faces quickly disappearing into the crowd but didn’t pay much attention to it—many of her acquaintances and friends were in Hogsmeade today; it could have been anyone.

At one point, she thought she saw Emma, Sophie, and a somewhat disgruntled Percy nearby. After some time, she saw them again somewhere close, as if they were following her.

“Are you looking for something?” Charlie asked, noticing Margaret glancing around once again.

“No, it’s just that I thought…” Margaret began, but at that moment, she spotted Emma and Sophie peeking around a corner.

“Ah,” Charlie chuckled, “it seems some people couldn’t resist being curious.”

Margaret quietly laughed, realizing that her friends had decided to keep an eye on her outing with Charlie. The funniest part was that they were trying to remain unnoticed but were rather clumsy about it.

“I just hope they don’t try to pull anything unexpected,” she said with a smile.

“Don’t worry,” Charlie replied. “I’ll rein them in if they try anything.”

But even with the curious onlookers, they continued to enjoy their walk. Charlie showed her what he considered the best shops, sharing stories connected to each corner of Hogsmeade, and time flew by unnoticed. At the end of the day, they decided to stop by Honeydukes, where Margaret couldn’t resist buying a few interesting sweets she’d only heard of before.

“Thanks for the tour,” she said as they were heading back to Hogwarts. “I’m really glad we spent the day together.”

“Anytime,” Charlie smiled. “You can always count on me.”

As they returned to the castle, they met Emma, Sophie, and a content Percy in the hall, who pretended they had spent the whole day peacefully browsing through Tomes and Scrolls and grabbing a bite at The Three Broomsticks.

“So, how was your walk?” Sophie asked slyly as Margaret approached them.

“Wonderful,” Margaret replied, exchanging a glance with Charlie, which was full of hidden amusement. “How about yours?”

“Very educational,” Emma answered innocently, though her eyes sparkled with curiosity.

Percy, finally holding his book, looked satisfied and relaxed, even though he had spent the day in the company of two chatty girls. Under the threat of reprisal, he promised to keep quiet.

“Next time, let’s go together,” Margaret suggested, already imagining how much more there was to explore in Hogsmeade with close friends.

“Great, and hopefully, next time we won’t be interrupted,” Emma whispered the last part, but everyone got the hint.

When the girls returned to the dormitory, they all felt a light fatigue and satisfaction from the day well spent. But as soon as Margaret reached her bed, Emma and Sophie pounced on her, full of curiosity and unable to wait to hear all the details about how Margaret and Charlie spent their time together—as if they hadn't been following them and already knew everything.

“Come on, spill it! How did it go?” Sophie began excitedly, grabbing Margaret’s hand and pulling her onto the bed.

“How was Charlie as a tour guide?” added Emma, sitting down beside her and staring intently at her friend.

Margaret sighed, realizing that she wouldn't escape this interrogation until they got all the details.

“It went great,” she began, trying not to make too much of their excitement. “We just walked around Hogsmeade, visited some shops, Charlie shared some funny stories… In short, it was just a friendly outing.”

Emma and Sophie exchanged meaningful looks, their faces showing clear disagreement.

“A friendly outing?” Sophie repeated, raising an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

“Yes, exactly that,” Margaret nodded, trying to ignore their doubts.

“A friendly outing is something we would do—or at most, us with Percy,” Emma chimed in with a smirk. “But when a guy, especially someone like Charlie, invites you to walk around Hogsmeade, it's definitely not just friendship.”

“You’re overthinking it; he was just being polite,” Margaret tried to argue, feeling a bit flustered. “We’ve known each other for a long time, and Charlie simply decided to show me the village.”

“Oh, come on, Margaret,” Sophie wasn’t about to give up so easily. “Can’t you see that he likes you?”

“Likes me?” Margaret blushed slightly at the suggestion. “Don’t be ridiculous, Sophie. It’s just friendship, nothing more.”

Emma crossed her arms and looked at her with clear skepticism.

“Do you really think he’d invite you somewhere just for fun? Doesn’t he have anything better to do?” she asked seriously.

Her friends’ words made her reflect on the idea that someone, especially Charlie, might see her as more than just a friend. As children, people don’t really think about these things: they befriend those they like and avoid those they don’t. But her friends spoke with such certainty that Charlie was in love with her, even though she saw him simply as an older friend with whom she could always talk about anything. He had helped and supported her—weren’t those the foundations of friendship? There hadn’t been any ambiguous words or actions from him, but now their words left her feeling slightly embarrassed and unsure. She had often been labeled a “neglected child,” which had led to societal rejection. Even as she grew older, those thoughts occasionally resurfaced, making her doubt herself and how others saw her. How could she possibly attract the attention of someone like Charlie?

“You’re just exaggerating,” she replied quietly, trying to conceal her growing doubts. “He couldn’t have invited me with those intentions. I think… we’ve always been friends.”

Sophie moved closer and sat beside her, gently taking her hand. She understood Margaret’s insecurity but knew something needed to be done.

“Margaret, you need to see yourself for who you really are,” she said softly. “You’re not just beautiful; you’re also smart, kind, and a strong witch. And that’s not just friendly talk—it’s the truth. We all see it, and maybe Charlie does too.”

Emma nodded in agreement with Sophie.

Those words touched Margaret, but at the same time, they brought back old insecurities—the doubts she had carried with her for many years. Margaret knew that her friends couldn’t be wrong; they had always been honest with her and had always supported her.

“Thank you, girls,” she finally whispered, hugging them both. “Maybe you’re right,” she said at last, looking up at them. “But I need time to figure it out… But I’m grateful for your words.”

“We’ll always be here to remind you of who you truly are,” Sophie said quietly, squeezing her hand.

“Yes,” Emma added with a smile. “And if you ever need someone to talk to about Charlie… well, you know we’re here.”

Margaret laughed, feeling some of the weight lift from her heart, though not the intrusive thoughts. That night, she had much to ponder about the day. Her friends saw more in her than she saw in herself, and that gave her mixed feelings. Old fears and doubts resurfaced, but now there was something new—an understanding that she was important to those around her, that they saw her as someone she could be if only she believed in herself.

But most of all, her thoughts revolved around Charlie. Although she had considered their relationship purely friendly, now their interactions took on new meaning—or maybe it was all just imagined, and the girls had misunderstood. What if he truly felt more than just friendship? How had she not noticed it before? She didn’t want to ruin the delicate thread of friendship that connected them, but she also needed to figure things out. Questions swirled in her mind, and the answers seemed distant, hidden in the fog of her thoughts.

After a restless night, Margaret looked exhausted and worn out the next day, with dark circles under her eyes speaking for themselves. She hadn’t found the answers she sought and now didn’t know how to face Charlie.

In the end, the only solution she could think of was to avoid Charlie for a while, to gather her thoughts and sort out her feelings. Perhaps it wasn’t the wisest decision, but it gave her the necessary respite.

After that, Charlie only saw Margaret in passing and from a distance—she was like a shadow slipping through the castle, always a step ahead or slightly off to the side. He spotted her in the corridor, hurrying to classes or heading to the library. It didn’t seem to him that she was avoiding him, more that their paths simply didn’t cross as often as they used to. Their evening chats by the fireplace also began to dwindle—Charlie often found her spot empty when he returned to the common room. He attributed her absence to busyness—homework, preparation for exams, or simple fatigue, as he himself was absorbed in numerous tasks. Quidditch practice was more intense, demanding not only physical strength but also mental endurance. As captain, he couldn’t afford to slack off. His duties as a prefect also required his attention, and sometimes he felt like he couldn’t keep up with the pace of life. Perhaps they both needed a little rest and solitude.

However, despite this, he couldn’t help but notice that their communication had changed. Where they once could talk for hours about everything from Quidditch to old family stories, now their conversations were reduced to greetings and occasional discussions about schoolwork. His heart ached with the strange feeling that something had gone wrong, but he didn’t know how to fix it or what exactly needed to be done. He tried not to give in to the growing anxiety within him, convincing himself that things would return to normal and that this was just a temporary phase.

One evening, when he saw her about to leave the common room again, Charlie finally decided to talk.

“Margaret!” he called out, walking closer. “Hi. We haven’t talked much lately; I don’t even know how you’re doing. Is everything okay?”

Margaret froze in place, trying to quickly come up with an answer. She hadn’t expected him to catch her now, and all the excuses she could have used seemed unconvincing.

“Hi, Charlie,” she replied, trying to keep her voice calm. “Yes, everything’s fine. It’s just that there’s a lot to do—homework and all that. So much to do and not enough time.”

Charlie looked at her closely, noticing the exhaustion and worry in her eyes. He wasn’t sure, but something about her behavior troubled him.

“I get it; we all have a lot on our plates,” he said more gently. “But, you know, I miss our evenings by the fireplace.”

“So do I, Charlie, really. I hope things settle down soon, and we can get back to our evenings,” Margaret said sincerely. She truly wanted to return to those days before her friends had planted these thoughts in her mind, but she couldn’t.

In the meantime, the days passed, and Margaret felt a pang of guilt each time she avoided him, but she couldn’t bring herself to talk to him like she used to. However, with each passing day, the time she gave herself felt increasingly burdensome. She knew that eventually, she would have to talk to Charlie, figure out what was happening, and possibly try to find a solution. But how?

Charlie, unaware of the depth of her inner turmoil, continued with his daily routine. But the longer their distance grew, the more he felt the emptiness her absence left behind.

#harry potter #harry potter imagine #oliver wood imagine #oliver wood x reader #oliver wood x you #x reader #x y/n #charlie weasley x reader #fred weasley x reader #george weasley x reader #percy weasley #fred and george

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thatpodcastkid · 2 months

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Magnus Archives Relisten 23, MAG 23 Schwartzland

"Hey dude, some weird shit happened, thought you might be in to that."

Albrecht Von Closen writes letters to his colleagues the same way my friends text me. MAG 23 analysis, spoilers ahead!

Facts: Statement of Albrecht Von Closen regarding a tomb near his estate in the Black Forest.

Statement Notes: While this episode doesn't necessarily have many of the classic TMA style horror, I do think this one of the more objectively scary episodes. The imagery of Closen's story as he wanders deeper into the forest, the dread that creeps in as he discovers the story of Johann's Steps, his surety that the man with no eyes saw him, all serves to create particularly frightening vision.

In spite of his excellent description, I didn't find Closen particularly compelling. The complexity of his backstory was interesting, but would possibly be more entertaining/captivating if presented through a visual medium. Through his description of his familial circumstances alone, it's more difficult to connect with him and his wife in spite of their apparently kind personalities. I was more intrigued by Wilheim. He was left alone in Schwarzwald without a proper caretaker. He was left mere miles from the temple. He was left to be haunted by the man with no eyes. What becomes of a young, sickly boy who can't escape something that cannot see but always watches?

Entity Alignment: The broadness of the forest indicates the Vast, the tomb holds elements of the Dark, the Buried, and the End. But of course, what Jonah really cares about is the living library. What Jonah cares about is a man who can continue watching even without eyes. Jonah cares about the Eye.

This episode is the first mention of Jonah in the series, and it explicitly mentions a man with no eyes being able to see all continuously. In spite of all rules of nature, he watches. He hoards knowledge in his hidden library until it becomes an organism in itself. Did Albrecht send this letter because the experience reminded him of Jonah, or did this letter give Jonah ideas?

Character Notes: "Good lord man!"- Actual Victorian librarian Jonathan Sims.

I love the no-trousers Martin scene. You love the no-trousers Martin scene. We all love the no-trousers Martin scene. But what stood out to me this listen, as opposed to the most ridiculous interaction to ever take place in a horror, was the fact that Jon is in the office before 7 am. He says that he wants to leave before dark to avoid Prentiss, but given how his work schedule lines up with other characters later in the season, it seems more likely that Jon's obsessive tendencies began to take over after Martin this was attacked, and he began working 12 or more hours a day. Whether this is because of fear for himself, fear for Martin, or just using work as a coping mechanism to avoid dealing with his emotions, Jon is pushing himself.

Because we don't know much about the Protocol yet, I hesitate to include many mentions in these analyses. However, I did notice that the only speaking-characters who ever have statements directly addressed to them are Jonah, Jon, and Martin. The three of them are the most deeply ingrained in the system of knowledge collection--they have the most tapes and wires wrapped around them. It stands to reason that, if shocked into another universe, they would be forced even further into that system.

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permanently-stressed · 3 months

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A Love Letter To Katie's Writing Skills

How to begin to describe her works?

From characterization to dynamics, Katie's fics are always on point. She works well with hypotheticals and makes them work, and once she's set on a project, you can be assured it'll be amazing.

Her most recent ones, The Swap and Confessions and Cookies, are proof that she excels in the one-shot genre, while her weekly updated fic, Mirrored Conflicts, shows that she mastered the art of continuity and keeping suspense.

She understands these characters, and it bleeds into her work so beautifully it brings tears to my eyes.

Every week, I am left speaking gibberish and in the deepest bafflement, trying to wrap my head around how such talented writer can be my friend. Her passion for this series is a blessing to us all, and her high quality repertoire is proof of this.

Her ideas, the way she constructs them, the characters she uses, all of it works together to create the style I know and love, and that I know many others love as well.

So from the bottom of my heart, thank you Katie!!!

@myfairkatiecat I told you I'd do it

#isa's mutual shenenigans

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govinni13 · 5 months

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MY EXPERIENCE AT THE UNKNOWN FAN PARTY..

So,as I look back at the memories created while watching #UnknownTheSeries during the fan party, I cried, and I smiled. I was happy, and I was sad. It was an evening of emotional highs and lows. I will never forget the story of #WeiQian & #WeiZhiyuan !!!

Thank you, #ChrisChiu and #Xuan, for memories of a lifetime!!

I am so happy that I traveled from USA to Taipei to attend this Fan party & got a chance to see the final episodes with the cast ,Yuchen & Xuan & see their reaction when we responded to their scenes with loud cheers...!!

And that moment when I went up on stage for the hi touch, CHRIS RECOGNIZED ME!!! and he turned & told Xuan, "She is the one who came from America & immediately he said thank you so much, and acknowledged me so sincerely that I almost burst into tears...🥺🥺🥺😭😭

And when I went back up for the photos session ,(since I was lucky to get the VIP ticket), I asked Chris and Xuan ,can I interlock my arms with the "Wei Brothers "?? They said Yes!! And I stood in between them both, and they interlocked arms with me!! My mind was blank!! I can't forget that once again ,they both spoke so sweetly to me....

As I came down the stage, the MC said, she will deliver the fan letter binder to them.

I was very overwhelmed that evening....

They both are kind , so gentle... They took so much care for each fan despite the number of fans in the venue...

Excellence in acting, screenplay, and music, this series deserves all the awards!!

I took all these pics here and more...!!

#UnknownFanParty

#關於未知的我們

#UnknownTheSeries

#ChrisChiu #Xuan

#關於未知的我們 #chris chiu #taiwan bl #taiwanese drama #unknown the series #kurt huang #wei qian #taiwanese #asian drama #wei zhiyuan

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blindbeta · 1 year

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Hello! I'd like to ask how to do image descriptions for tags. I always get confused when I do them. Should I keep the #? Should I do exactly how the person wrote, like no upper case letters? What should I do about emojis and emoticons?

Image Descriptions For Tags, Including Hashtags, Lowercase Letters, Capital Letters, Emojis, and Emoticons

The hashtag is usually not needed unless it is an actual hashtag reference such as to a Twitter hashtag. If you would like, you can separate sentences with periods. If it is a list of individual words, you can write something like ‘Image Description: a series of words separated by hashtags written by user x. The words are as follows: disability, accessibility, accessible.’

When I write #disability #accessibility #accessible it is read as “hashtag disability hashtag accessibility hashtag accessible.” This means that while writing # might be okay for separate words or one sentence, writing it for a whole paragraph can make it difficult to understand. This is why my suggestion is to exclude the hashtag for tags that include sentences rather than a few individual words.

I think excluding the # helps with readability for screen-readers and for those who have other difficulties processing images. Using typical punctuation also helps with preserving tone and pacing. Perhaps using other symbols such as bullet points or commas could help to create natural pauses for screen-readers, depending on what is being conveyed. If you would like, you can include notes such as that you excluded the hashtags or replaced them with periods to increase accessibility.

Similarly, you can add notes about capitalization. Screen-readers will read ‘i love cats’ [lowercase] and ‘I LOVE CATS’ [capitalized] the same way. You can include notes about if everything was written with lowercase letters for style or in all caps for emphasis. Here is an example, perhaps someone has shared a picture of a cat with helpful image description. Someone who thought their tags were cute includes a screen-shot of the tags.

[Image Description: A screen-shot of tags in reference to the above picture of a cat. The tags say: ‘I love cats. So. MUCH. [Much is in all caps for emphasis.] End Image Description]

Emojis can be read by a screen-reader, such as voiceover, but if you want to write that there is a cupcake emoji, feel to write ‘cupcake emoji’. Screen-readers read cupcake and 🧁 the same way. For emoticons, it depends. Some emoticons can be read by a screen-reader, but more complicated ones cannot. It may be more helpful to describe the emoticon and what it is trying to convey.

Does anyone else have suggestions? How do you prefer to write image descriptions for tags? What makes them easier for you to read?

Edit: User @solarishashernoseinabook added the following:

I sometimes transcribe tags on separate lines

(usually when I’m on a computer) [in parentheses]

I start off with “tags that read as follows” beforehand

@solarishashernoseinabook explains that introducing punctuation could perhaps change the meaning, which is important. I think this is also an excellent option that maintains meaning while increasing accessibility.

Anyone else want to share how they do it?

#screen reader #image descriptions #accessibility #blind

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eggymf-archived · 1 year

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of paper planes and wildflowers; 13

ft. ominis gaunt with f!reader (series)

chapter warnings: nsfw, smut, porn with feelings, peeves (again), romantically feral(?) sex, cunnilingus, orgasm denial, p in v, doggystyle, just two idiots tryna bang and ended up banging in the end (noice)

chapter summary: for the sake of preserving your newfound relationship with ominis, you devised a solution that would grant you both joys of privacy: creating a hideout within a hideout.

word count: 6.9k (eyyyy lmao)

a/n: lacking the confidence with this chapter but i guess it’s kinda cute lmao. and wow those chapter warnings look kinda boring but it is what it is

main masterlist || series masterlist || AO3

A life— a mere thread on its own; a crucial medium for an ongoing magnum opus. It was a fascinating concept that survived the ravages of time, representing every living being as a single thread that has been intricately woven within the never-ending textile that depicts the entire world.

Like all tales that had been woven into existence by the unrivaled artisan of this fabled fabric, your story with Ominis was no different— a testimony to divinity's versatile cunning and vie in plotting one's destiny.

It was all rather comical initially: getting involved in consecutive unsavory acts that resulted in both your voluntary separation, only to be brought back together by a sudden, random intrusive thought of sending a letter to a random person. One would never have thought of such a scenario to be the bridge that connects two souls together— to end up being in good spirits despite their initial prejudice against each other. In fact, nobody would've suspected that the two of you would fall in love in the first place.

Needless to say, despite all the stacked odds, the both of you were undoubtedly an excellent match.

Oh, but what is a seemingly perfect love story without a little bit of conflict in the mix? Two people from opposing families falling for each other in the silliest way possible? That ought to stir quite the drama— a show that Ominis would've loved to eavesdrop on while sipping a cup of tea from the finest porcelain in his possession. Alas, it was a shame that he was one of the two who were directly involved in the problem along with you.

Fortunately, the solution for your current situation was simple enough: hide now, explain later. The oath of confidentiality was the shield of your relationship temporarily— at least until the both of you find a way to navigate through this sticky situation. Regardless of luck or whatever that was smiling upon your relationship, both of you had a part to play to preserve this bond.

It was a typical day in Hogwarts for the most part: just the usual students clamoring through their academics in preparation for their respective futures. Ominis was sitting in one of the few desks within an empty circular room that contained many globes and rolls of parchment tucked away neatly in the wall's built-in shelves. His hand was flipping through a particularly thick book on Herbology, while the other was scribbling away on a piece of parchment as he awaits your arrival.

It was an optional gesture, really. In fact, he should be focusing on his own essays, not jotting down summarized notes to help you speed up your process in this assignment. But then again, it was killing two birds with one stone: it would help him recall details for their upcoming exams, while also making your life a tad bit easier during these trying times— something that he'd definitely do for the sake of both love and efficiency.

“Ominis!”

At long last, his muse finally arrives.

Ominis was jolted right out of his focus, your familiar scent of peonies and freesias lingering faintly in the air as he instinctively ran his palm through his hair to smooth out any stray flyaways.

“I have the books that we need. Goodness gracious, I've never seen the library so crowded before,” you whined, slamming a stack of books that you held on the nearby vacant chair. The first few books on your pile floated towards the lithe-framed male, putting themselves right beside his ink pot. He pointed his wand at the empty space beside his desk, conjuring another desk and chair for you to use.

You gratefully allowed yourself to sit sluggishly at the seat next to him as you instantly slumped over the desk to rest your head on its wooden surface. You were visibly perplexed— a frown etched onto your features and your eyebags were becoming rather prominent due to insufficient sleep and countless workloads.

For the past week, the entire batch of 5th years had been plunged into the depths of academic hell alongside the other upperclassmen within the school. There had been consecutive mock exams and quizzes to prepare students for the upcoming OWLs and NEWTs along with mountains of assignments that had your wits pulled taut, ready to snap at any moment.

Aside from the whole ordeal affecting your sanity in terms of your studies, it has certainly been taking a toll on your personal needs as well. Despite spending copious amounts of time together as study buddies with Ominis, there was no doubt that the warm embraces and discreet little pecks from each other were sorely missed. The both of you could only grumble at the darned invisible wall of responsibility that had cruelly separated the both of you apart, giving you no choice but to behave yourselves for almost a week and counting.

And boy, was it utterly agonizing.

Your visibly frustrated eyes scanned the circular room, and much to your quiet glee, it was just you and Ominis alone.

Surely this time, there wouldn't be any interruptions, right? It was a peaceful Saturday with most students either going to Hogsmeade, staying in the library, or lounging about in the common rooms. Not a single soul was around, and there weren't any notably nosy portraits nearby that could potentially rat the both of you out.

Maybe it was time to try your luck.

The sound of quill scribbling on parchment halted the moment he felt the pads of your fingertips trace along the knuckles, seemingly in a thoughtless daze.

“... Yes, darling?”

You bid your silent farewell to your proper decorum, scooting over towards Ominis and resting your head on his shoulder. He visibly tensed upon feeling the slight shift in weight before easing up as you shift your head to a more comfortable position.

“It's just the two of us, in case you were wondering,” you mumbled. “Give me five minutes and I'll continue studying.”

It was blatantly obvious. You missed him— a lot.

He smirks at this, snaking his arm around your waist to pull you closer. Suppressing a wide grin from making its way to your face, you press your lips thinly into a line, removing your head from his shoulder briefly to stare cheekily at his visage.

“Five minutes of what exactly?” he whispers into your ear coyly, placing his quill down. “This?”

He didn't give you a chance to even answer the question properly, a soft eek escaping your lips as he turned your body to face him. His palm was placed firmly against the small of your back, slender fingers tilting your chin up to look at him. His warm breath fanned against your reddened face while you held your breath, biting back an uncharacteristic squeal that threatened to escape your lips.

Despite his calm exterior, he was, in fact, just as frustrated as you were— the only difference is that he was craving for something a bit more than mere hand-holding and butterfly kisses. And for you to fall right into his trap of agreeing to study in this desolate place? Voluntarily handing yourself over to him who desired nothing more than to savor you in every possible way?

Maybe the both of you were on the same page all this time, merely hiding each of your intentions behind a veil of innocent nonchalance. Regardless of his raging hormones, however, he prided himself as a gentleman with morals— the final decision was always yours.

He could only sigh with pure adoration, feeling the supple skin of your face and the plushness of your lips against his fingertips. Your eyelids slowly fluttered shut at his soft caress as he leaned forward, his lips slowly reaching their desired designation.

“WHEEEEEEE!”

A certain poltergeist emerged from the stone wall, immediately shattering the deliciously tense atmosphere between you and Ominis, much to Ominis’ sheer agony. The young Gaunt was absolutely seething at this point— if thoughts could kill, Peeves would've been decimated by the horrific, murderous intentions that Ominis had conjured up within his mind all in a split second despite the non-being's incapability of death.

Of course, he shan't show how miffed he truly is with that insufferable amortal. There were many different ways of expressing rage and disdain, after all.

He responds to the situation in an eerily calm manner, shutting his books and putting away his writing materials neatly, walking over to your own stack of books and tucking it under his arm alongside his own. You could only stare at him dumbfoundedly as you tail after him out of concern. Before leaving the circular room, Ominis quickly swishes his wand casually towards a very cackly Peeves, the poor poltergeist's gyrating voice immediately muffled as his tongue gets glued to the roof of his mouth by Ominis' non-verbal jinx.

Oh, he was cross, alright. Very cross. The sight of your lover’s cold fury had shivers running down your spine— whether it is out of fright, attraction, or both, you had no plans on adding fuel to his stress-induced fire.

Merlin, all he wanted was at least a damn kiss and the universe seems to be forbidding him from getting one from you. What was the bloody point of allowing him to be with you if he couldn't even give you a smooch at least once a day? Unacceptable. How utterly outrageous.

But no matter— he had a solution to this entire problem, albeit his reluctance.

Perhaps it was time to divulge one of his many secrets to you. With Skylar and Sebastian out of the castle grounds this particular weekend, he could finally bring you to his hideout where the both of you could finally have some uninterrupted time alone.

But even with his confident, anger-fueled strides, he had his own reservations when it comes to bringing you into the Undercroft. It was sure to be dusty, and messy— far from being a romantic spot since that's where he and Sebastian often practiced spells of varying kinds; specifically the more destructive and forbidden ones.

It felt rather silly of him to be in jitters knowing that you've probably been through filthier places considering your knack for spontaneous outdoor adventures during non-winter months, but it doesn't change the fact that you're his lady now. There are certain things that he'd rather not let you see out of gentlemanly respect.

It was too late for him to back out now, though— the both of you were currently standing before the allegedly dysfunctional clock beneath the Defense Against the Dark Arts Classroom. You tilted your head in confusion, your line of sight darting towards the blonde-haired male.

“Ominis, darling. Why exactly are we standing in front of this old clock?”

The faintest of smiles graces Ominis' lips.

“You'll see.”

He flicks his wand towards the direction of the clock, its cogwheels, and mechanisms begin to click and spin before it halts with a distinct clang. Your brows raised in surprise as its face swung wide open, revealing a concealed passageway.

“Huh, would you look at that? Another dark, ominous corridor,” you peered curiously at the dimly lit stairwell leading down to an unknown area. “I think I'm sensing a pattern here.”

“Oh shush. Just go in,” he scoffs in amusement. You gladly obliged, eyes glimmering with excitement and wonder while Ominis follows suit, the door immediately closing behind him upon his entry. With his fingers finally intertwined with yours, he led you down the dimly lit stairwell slowly with the red blinking tip of his wand guiding you both. Upon arriving at the end of the stairwell, Ominis whisks his wand once again, the metal gates rising up to reveal a large room filled with crates, training dummies, and several spare tables and small blackboards.

Hogwarts truly never fails to surprise you with its plethora of hidden locations.

“Goodness, I never would've imagined there'd be a room all the way down here,” you mused, taking in your surroundings with great interest. “Is there anyone else who knows of this place?”

“It's… A Gaunt family secret, I suppose. But only me, Sebastian, Anne, and Skylar know of it. Also, we call this the Undercroft.”

You strolled around the relatively large room, taking note of several odd things that had piqued your interest: the blackboards that had several angry scribbles and notes written in Ancient Runes, Phoenician, Greek, Cyrillic, and Aramaic, the nearby blank stone wall that has faint golden inscriptions of magic circles and runes, and a triptych with two ripped-out canvases.

“Seems like a perfect base for illicit little studies and spell-casting. I’m assuming Sallow has been studying the spellbook intensively in here?”

“Unfortunately, yes. I've been staying away from this place for that very reason,” Ominis sighed, scratching his nape sheepishly. “Honestly, we haven't been talking much ever since that day in the scriptorium. He's been fixated on that book, and it feels quite rotten to linger around knowing that your own best friend is studying the dark arts.”

You instinctively reached for his hand, rubbing small circles against his pale skin.

“Understandable. I still feel quite disturbed about what happened there, and I'm sorry you can't stay here as much. But that aside, it's not like we'd get much privacy either if we have our little cuddling sessions within this place,” you lightly joked in an attempt to ease the simmering tension. “For all we know, either one of them could walk in on us. I'd rather not risk it.”

Ominis chuckles mirthfully, much to your relief.

“And I’d rather not let you sit on any of these dusty crates or the floor, actually. Not the most romantic spot for a quick little kiss either,” he hums. “But I'd rather stay here with you than pop a blood vessel out of rage at every bloody interruption that occurs out there.”

You giggled in response at his words as the both of you sauntered towards the far corner of the Undercroft that had several barrels stacked atop of one another, pondering deeply on a solution. A nice little place for the both of you to relax in was certainly an enticing notion. Your eyes wandered towards a large, empty chest in front of you.

“Hmm. I think I might have an idea.”

“Oh? What do you have in mind?”

“A hideout within a hideout. Just for us,” you replied proudly, piquing his interest. “No one’s using this chest, right?”

Ominis traces his palm against the lacquered wooden surface.

“No.”

“Good. This will do. Stand back,” you instructed. Casting a non-verbal spell, the fastenings of its metal band and any external locking mechanisms were lifted, the little bits of metal falling onto the stone floor with a distinct clink. Its dimensions began to extend slightly, making the chest slightly longer and wider.

“Capacious Extremis.”

The wooden chest began to rattle and shake as if something was moving within it. While the Extension Charm worked its effects, you cast more spells on the object: the Imperturbable Charm, Salvio Hexia, and several other security spells and additional charms. As soon as the wooden chest ceased its movements, you knocked a specific beat on the chest, prompting it to open while a flight of stairs materialized within the seemingly cramped, poorly-lit space.

“Shall we?” you grinned excitedly, clasping his hand. Anticipation was buzzing within his mind, ever so curious about what you had in store as you led him down the flight of stairs carefully.

As you had anticipated, the small, empty space was unfurnished, the only light source originating from the opening where the both of you had entered. With a flick of your wand, wall sconces materialized out of thin air to illuminate the space, placing themselves in strategic locations. Several incantations rolled out your tongue, conjuring and summoning various kinds of textiles, a lot of pillows, and a large bed frame with a cushy mattress before arranging them all at the far end of the room. The little nook now resembles a neatly-made pillow fort that could easily accommodate two people— its opening framed by thick curtains that could be utilized if its user desires more privacy.

Meanwhile, an L-shaped bookshelf with its own built-in table was slowly being pieced together on its own, and various books were floating about and sorting themselves while two chairs popped out of thin air, tucked neatly under the study table. The books that Ominis held flew out of his clutches, placing themselves atop the table. A Potions station was being constructed near the study corner: a small counter placed itself at the far corner while ingredients within glass jars lined themselves up neatly on the shelves.

You pointed your wand at the vacant space at the center of the room, a fireplace embossing itself from the blank wall, and a small loveseat sofa materialized before it. The flooring changes from stone to marble, while the ceiling morphs into a glass dome, revealing the appearance of the artificial night sky that you could change at your own will. A large window also carved itself at the wall recess at the bed area, revealing a view of the moonlit landscapes of the Highlands.

While ornaments and decorations were slowly appearing and organizing themselves according to the vision within your head, Ominis roamed around the room, taking in his newly-made surroundings through his rapidly-blinking wand. The former staleness within the enchanted space now felt warm and cozy, the faint scent and sound of the crackling fireplace flooding his senses. Pointing your wand towards the entrance, the lid of the wooden chest slams shut.

You had devised everything in a way that was both functional and convenient for him to navigate through with little to no possible accidents even without his wand: no obstructions at its designated areas for foot traffic and sufficient room for him to comfortably move around. Even the spines of the books in the study corner had bumps embossed onto its surface, the text translated conveniently for him to Braille.

Upon reaching the far end of the room, he immediately sat down on the plush bed, sighing at its comfiness as he leaned back against one of the fluffy pillows. Your eyes scanned the room as you approached Ominis, pleased with the outcome of your little impromptu project before plopping right beside him, removing your Mary Janes.

“This turned out quite well, didn’t it? A hideout within a hideout!”

Ominis chuckles. “That’s quite the understatement, my dearest. I believe you’ve outdone yourself this time.”

“I’ll gladly accept that compliment, thank you very much!” you chirped.

He could only marvel at your prowess in Transfiguration and Charms: successfully creating a special little place like this just for the both of you within such a short period with little to no sweat wasn’t an easy feat for a young witch such as yourself.

“You know, I’ve actually always wanted to do something like this,” you shared, crawling towards the pillows and hugging one as you leaned against the wall. “Seems quite oddly reminiscent of typical childhood memories, no? Pillow forts, a secret base, and just the two of us. It’s as if we’re playing house.”

The fondness within your voice made his heart hammer within his chest, his unseeing milky blue eyes containing a sense of gentleness within them. Kicking off his shoes, he sits beside you, smiling wryly.

“I've never experienced those memories for myself, actually. And I certainly didn't expect to experience it right now either,” he responds softly, much to your surprise. Ominis wasn’t the type who would usually get caught up in future possibilities, but the thought of you possibly becoming his wife has undoubtedly stirred something within his soul.

He could definitely get used to the joys of domestic settings, but alas, inexperience has a nasty habit of planting the seed of doubt within wounded hearts.

“Isn't it too early to come to that conclusion?” he thought, his serene expression slowly faltering.

It wasn't a pretty notion— the intrusive thought would most likely serve as a possible topic for him to overthink about for the remainder of the day. You, however, with elation brimming from your chest, beamed at his confession.

“Well, I’m glad I’m the first! Let's make the most out of it, shall we?”

And with just that, the awful din within his brain was immediately dispelled.

One thing was for certain amidst the stockpiles of unfavorable circumstances— he loves you most ardently, and that's all that truly matters at this point. He'll always choose to be with you no matter what.

“So… Do you like it? I know you can't exactly see what it looks like, but I've arranged everything in— mmmph!”

Gone were his reservations and resistance to his urges, hastily planting his eager lips onto yours with a sense of direness whilst cradling your face within his palms. Desperation was laced within every single one of his movements, his hand trailing to the small of your back and the other to the back of your head.

It was a hold that only he could pull off— an embrace that encompasses protectiveness and love all with a dash of possessiveness and lust.

All for you. Only for you.

It has been far too long since your last exchange of physical intimacy with him, and the thought of what may transpire next sends a delicious little jolt right into your aching core. Your body clearly yearned for him, easily succumbing to even the slightest of his touch.

Thus, you gave in to his unspoken request, straddling his lap whilst gazing into his eyes that rival even the most pearlescent of opals before kissing him once more, your tongues entangling themselves fervidly. He was just as needy as you were, his member throbbing and twitching beneath the fabric of his trousers, hissing at the delicious warmth that had been brought upon his most sensitive area.

The both of you soon parted, your lungs craving for oxygen after that heated exchange. Your hazy gaze drank his form, biting your lip at how gorgeous he looked.

Disheveled blonde hair, flushed cheeks, bitten-red lips, and misty blue eyes darkened with intoxicating desire— the sight of Ominis reduced to such a state made you swoon.

“You truly are quite the sight, my love,” you murmur against the side of his lips before partaking in yet another passion-ridden kiss, to which he appreciatively responds with a soft groan. “And to think that you're all mine… It is truly an honor.”

Never have you ever been so spellbindingly enamored towards a man, and the intensity of your romantic feelings only served to make you even more insatiable for him. Truth be told, he hadn't expected you to be so bold this time around either, but he relished in the thought that it was only he who is given the privy to have you in this form: greedy for his touch and deeply in love with him, just as he was utterly and irrevocably in love with you.

Words will never be enough to describe his precious feelings, and he intends to go the extra mile for the message to be conveyed to you with his actions.

“I hope you're ready for what awaits you, my dearest,” Ominis mutters against your ear hotly. “... Because we aren't leaving this place until you're thoroughly satisfied.”

The ribbon around your neck was slowly loosened as he tugged on its ends, followed by the unbuttoning of the first button of your blouse, then the second, teasingly halting at the third. A whine bubbled from your lips as he dove into the crook of your neck, assaulting the delicate skin with open-mouthed kisses and occasional licks.

Ominis softly croons your name, inhaling the dizzying scent of your perfume and musk that sends him into a euphoric state. You were an addiction; a drug he could never forgo— it was evident with the way he held you oh so possessively: holding you close to his torso with his mouth latched onto your slender neck, bestowing the expanse of your skin with purplish red marks all while battling the primal urge of sinking his teeth onto your flesh.

He hums with gratification upon feeling your dainty fingers raking through his scalp, your head thrown back generously to grant him better access to your neck. His sinful tongue had already disintegrated the remnants of your self-control at this point, and you wanted nothing more than to chase the desires of your own heated flesh. Your hips began to rock shamelessly, your shaky breath fanning across his ears at the pleasant stimulation. Ominis bit back a moan, his cock delightfully twitching at the sensation of your movements.

“Mmm... Yes… Keep going…” he gasps at the delicious friction of you voluntarily grinding your clothed slit against his concealed shaft. “Such a good girl for me…”

The strain in his pants was getting unbearable by the second, droplets of his precum slowly seeping through the fabric with every sigh of his name that spilled from your saccharine lips. The growl that rumbled from his chest only served as kindling for the ever-growing flames of your feminine pride, the side of your lips twitching ever so slightly into a smirk.

It was only a matter of time before he finally abandons all remaining shreds of his self-restraint. Who would’ve thought that you could be quite the little tease yourself?

You were taking your sweet time— lazily undoing his tie and unbuttoning his vest and shirt to reveal his pristine alabaster skin beneath the layers of fabric. A pleasant shudder ran through his body as you dragged your tongue along the column of his neck.

“Ominis… My dearest, Ominis…”

The way you uttered his name with such need had him whimpering, biting his lower lip as your tongue danced across the side of his neck once more. He gulped, letting out a harsh exhale through his mouth as the pads of his fingertips sank into the plushness of your bum.

“Gods... I can’t take this anymore.”

A gasp escapes your mouth as he harshly pushes you down the mattress. He was mindless at his point, panting as his hands began to haphazardly strip you from all articles of clothing— all of which ended up getting tossed randomly in the room in reckless abandon. You bit your lip as he began to shed all of his clothing one by one.

You were visibly flustered at his tasteful display, witnessing every flex of his toned muscles while your hungry eyes feasted on his bare form. He wastes no time caging you within his lithe frame, lips swooping down to meet yours in a sweet, passionate kiss. It was the calm before the storm; the stark opposite treatment of what was about to happen during the remainder of this session the longer he remains in this dangerous state of unbridled lust.

The overall experience so far was absolutely divine on his end: caressing your supple skin that was smooth to the touch, inhaling your heady scent as he buries his face into the crook of your neck, all while hearing your breathy moans as he slides his long fingers oh so languidly against your folds.

“So fucking drenched for me…” he hisses softly, before sitting up to lick his honeyed appendages clean.

“Mine… All mine.”

He grabbed a hold of your ankles, pushing your spread-out legs up before pressing his palm against the back of your thigh to secure you in place. He loved it all— feeling his lips glide across your delicious skin before stopping at your entrance, his shaky breath fanning over your leaking pussy.

It was an obscene position— your legs pried wide open by his palms with your knees close to your chest. You were completely exposed to him, and his mouth was hovering dangerously close to your tight little hole. The scent of your honeypot worsened his unbearable urge to viscerally please you with his tongue; preferably until you were a screaming, quivering mess. He already knew you were going to squirm once his wet muscle landed upon your delicate flower, which prompts him to grasp your thighs harder.

“Stay still for me, will you?” he rasps with pure arousal. “I need to devour you right now.”

A tremor racked through your thighs at the lewdness of his request. Without hesitation, he licks an experimental stripe along your drenched slit, moaning at your delectable taste while you cry in delight, your pelvis bucking up to his face instinctively.

Truth be told, you weren’t expecting him to be this ravenous— delving his tongue into your folds to collect as much of your juices as possible. But feeling the actual texture of his tongue once again had your brain turning into mush. He felt your thighs attempt to close themselves shut, but your resistance only spurred his mouth to do far more atrocious deeds upon your most sensitive area.

He yanks you closer to him, draping your legs over his shoulders, his lips never parting from your core as it closes in at your little pearl. Air ceased to exist within your lungs as he flicked his tongue against the bundle of nerves, attacking it with gentle suckles and teasing little prods. Your hands were clawing haplessly against the sheets, gripping whatever it could land itself on as molten fire surged within your veins, your mouth running dry as you gasped for air. You were helpless, given no choice but to keep taking all that he was bringing upon your body, and you loved every single second of it.

It felt too good— how forceful he is, the merciless flicks of his talented tongue, and his fingers that pistons itself in and out of your twitching hole. A chuckle rumbled from his chest as he felt your thighs slowly breaking into tiny little quivers: a tell-tale sign that you were nearing your release.

You were so close. So fucking close.

Until he stopped, ripping his mouth away from you.

“W…Why did you— ah!”

He flips you over harshly, his palms hoisting you up by your hips: face down and ass up— just like how he had initially wanted. You felt yourself flush a deep shade of red at yet another provocative position, letting out a surprised mewl as he gave you one final lick from the tip of your nerve bundles all the way up to your dripping folds.

His cock was so painfully stiff: pulsating and leaking beads of clear liquid at the tip. Ominis guides the head of his hardened length on your entrance, teasingly swiping the tip along your well-lubricated slit before easing his way into you, gritting his teeth at the mind-numbing warmth of your slick walls.

“Ohhh, gods… That's it… Gods, you feel incredible…” he drunkenly moaned softly as he bottomed out, indulging in the velvety hold of your fluttering walls. The grip on your waist only tightens as he motions you to the rhythm of his thrusts. It was just like how he remembered— you being oh so utterly pliant to his debauchery and providing him the best sensations that he could ever dream of.

But this time, it was different. Never had he felt such an array of emotions towards any other person in his entire life. He was young, yes— but he was positively sure that he had been ruined for anyone else. He could never want any other person after all of this. It will always be you. Only you.

The soft groans of your name sounded like a longing prayer as he murmured it onto your flesh, your mind buzzing out of sheer elation as he peppered your nape and shoulders with a flurry of kisses. You propped yourself up on top of the pillows, and you felt him hug your body closer to his. His lips trailed from your shoulder blade all the way to the back of your ear, nipping lightly at the sensitive skin.

Feeling you arch your back against him, he encases your neck into a gentle grasp, humming in satisfaction as you rub your nose affectionately against his cheek.

“Gods, I love you. I love you so much…”

You sighed fondly at his profession, claiming his lips with yours, whispering your response amidst the breathy exchange of heated kisses.

“I love you more.”

He couldn't have been happier, nuzzling a ticklish spot on your neck which you responded with a burst of giggles while smiling from ear to ear.

Ominis resumes his movements, his shaft gliding slowly and deeply within you in short strokes. Letting out a soft whine, you began to move your hips to meet his. He took this as a sign, and soon enough, his sense of restraint was thrown out the window once more.

Your stuttered moans were like music to his ears as he gradually started to pound into you, the sound of skin slapping against skin getting more prominent within the quaint little space that the both of you shared. Puffs of warm breath in accompaniment with whispered praises fanned across your ears while you mewled in response in a heady daze. His hands danced along your sides in silent worship; as if he's committing every dip and curve to memory within this moment— that it was he who had reduced you into nothing but a moaning mess.

Ominis grunted, feeling your gummy walls clench as soon as he finally hit the spot that had your eyes rolling out of sinful indulgence. Squelches were soon added to the ongoing symphony of concupiscence, clear slick trickling down your inner thighs as his thrusts quickened. Your head was thrown back, jaw slackened, heaving out gasps of intoxicated, broken pleas.

“Right there… Please, don't stop… Oh, fuck!”

You were close to the edge, and he felt it with his own body— the shudders that racked through you out of your own sensitivity, and the tantalizing constriction of your tight little pussy. This time, he would be more than glad to grant your sweet release.

A cry of surprise bubbled from your lips, the pad of his fingertips swirling around your pert nipples before twisting and pinching them gently as he continued to snap his hips against you. Electrifying shocks of pleasure flowed from your chest to the entirety of your body in a matter of seconds, your heated core gripping his pulsating cock. Your own trembling fingers reach for your swollen clit, rubbing languid circles as your mind slowly blanks out into oblivion.

“Fuck, I'm close…” he spoke through gritted teeth, achingly trying to prolong his release. “Where do you want it, my love?”

You could only smile at the question deliriously, rubbing your pearl faster as you inched closer to your own high. “Inside… Please, cum inside me. Please…”

How could he ever say no to that?

Every single rock of his pelvis resulted in a delicious moan, spurring him to drive himself deeper and faster within your core to quell the ever-growing, scalding desire that pooled within his loins. The both of you were a complete mess— bodies clad in sweat, hair sticking onto damp skin, and your own juices trickling down your quivering legs. But regardless of this filth, it was all highly addictive— and the both of you would do it over and over again for as long as your bodies permitted.

“Yes… Take it…! Take it! Oh, fuuuuck...” he hissed, his fingertips sinking onto the flesh of your waist almost painfully as he aggressively pumped himself within you.

You let out a whimper, shutting your eyes tightly while clutching the pillows, feeling your walls throb around his eager cock. With a final thrust, his pelvis stilled, ropes of his virile seed spurting within your insides as your hole convulsed and clamped around him, a guttural groan rumbling from his chest.

He embraced you against his damp skin as he was milked dry before pulling out, his cloudy, viscous liquid oozing out of you slowly. The both of you collapsed on the bed, heavily panting whilst being in a completely mindless daze.

“That was…” you trailed off.

“...Amazing,” he heaved out while you weakly glanced at him, a lazy grin upon your features after hearing his response.

It was a precious moment— just you and him within your own little bubble of pure happiness, basking in the comfortable silence together as the rush from your prior activities slowly dwindled from your system. Ominis drapes his arm around you while you reciprocate his tenderness, gazing upon his baby-blue eyes with your thumb trailing along the moles on his cheek.

As you were playing with the tips of his currently disheveled blonde hair, realization soon dawned upon you— your forgotten assignments. Your once serene expression morphed into one of sheer mortification, sitting up briefly and shoving a very confused Ominis off you out of panic.

“Oh no…” you whispered.

Ominis' eyebrows furrowed, sitting up immediately upon hearing your despaired tone.

“What's wrong?”

“We were supposed to be studying, you know! My Herbology essay—”

Ominis couldn’t help but snort in response, biting his lips as he tried to suppress his laughter.

Merlin, you truly are adorable.

“Stop laughing! This is serious— an academic crisis!”

That agitated, Ravenclaw-like statement only prompted him to chortle out teasingly of pure amusement, much to your chagrin. He yanks you back into his embrace as he plops right back into bed, your head resting atop his chest. Slender fingers combed through your currently messy locks in an attempt to soothe your worries.

“Don't worry about it. I wrote out the summarized notes for you,” he chuckles. “I'm pretty sure you'll be able to finish it easily with that.”

You turned pink at this, both flustered and flattered that he would willingly go out of his way to help voluntarily.

“Thank you…” you mumbled as he gave a peck on your forehead.

Ominis hums relaxedly, his warm palm thoughtlessly placing itself on your bum, giving it a firm squeeze. Your eyes widened as you felt a certain warm appendage turn stiff, twitching slightly against your lower belly. While softly groaning your name, you were suddenly pinned right back onto the mattress, your wrists pinned at the sides of your head as he swoops down to your neck.

“W…Wait! At least let me drink the potion first!”

It was during the early hours of the morning, the enchanted window by the bed depicted the scenery of the sun almost peering out from the horizon. You had woken up hours earlier than usual to finish the remnants of your tasks while Ominis was on the bed, still sleeping soundly as you scribbled the last few words for your darn Herbology essay.

“And done!” you softly cheered, placing your quill back into its holder. You tucked the piece of parchment safely between your textbook along with Ominis’ notes gingerly, heaving a sigh of relief. Ominis was an absolute lifesaver this time, and you made a mental note to reciprocate his gesture as soon as you could.

You glanced at your slumbering lover before scampering towards the bed, placing a tiny note beside his wand.

Grabbed some food for us. I’ll be back soon. I love you.

You gave him a quick smooch on his unsuspecting cheek, adjusting the blankets slightly before creeping to the entrance of your little base. As a precautionary measure, you slowly opened the lid of the wooden chest, peering through the narrow gap.

You were about to push the lid completely wide open, only for a soft gasp of utter disbelief to escape your lips as you witness a certain Slytherin and Hufflepuff duo walk through the gold-inscribed stone wall, heading right towards the triptych.

It seems that you and Ominis weren't the only ones that had some sort of secret going on within the Undercroft after all.

“...And now, for the moment of truth…” Sebastian spoke out while Skylar mounted a piece of canvas on one of the panels. You attempted to listen more closely, only to be halted as soon as you heard the muffled calls of your name, prompting you to quickly shut the lid soundlessly, descending down to the enchanted space once again.

Ominis was sitting up groggily, his blonde hair sticking out wildly at odd places. You quietly giggled at the sight, scuttering towards the bed and sitting beside his rather adorable state.

“You're up already? Blast, I was planning to surprise you with some breakfast,” you chuckled nervously, only to be tugged back into bed by him, who was obviously still very drowsy.

“... No… Stay here with me…” he babbles. “... Need more sleep… You sleep too…”

A kiss was planted on his forehead, which caused him to grin cutely before slipping back into his dreamland within seconds. You smiled cheerfully, unclasping your shoes and letting them fall with a thump against the floor. You melded your body against him, nuzzling the crook of his neck.

But alas, you were unable to completely succumb to that pleasant state of ignorant bliss— not after you’ve witnessed two of your classmates walk through a bloody wall. The triptych, the wall, the Undercroft, a mysterious 5th year student with otherworldly magical abilities, and a young lad seeking the cure of an unknown curse— it was all a jumbled mess that even your mind was incapable of deciphering. You stared at Ominis’ peaceful face, thoughts running through your head before sighing in defeat.

“Oh well. I’ll find out about it soon enough.”

By the nameless artisan's own divine will, they have done it once again, weaving yet another fable within this realm with their own purposeful hands— a story born from an old tale that has yet to find its true ending: to end a recurring cycle of tragedy that has spanned for centuries.

< chapter 12: the art of subtlety

chapter 14: in plain sight >

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qqueenofhades · 3 months

Note

My wife is organizing a voting letter-writing party via Vote Forward, and she created a 'sticker' (it's gonna be paper with tape) that I thought you would appreciate...

2. Are you still taking recs? Because The Vorkosigan Saga is great if you're down for a character-driven sci-fi series with incredible visible disability/chronic pain rep. The plots are all having a wild fun and satisfying time except when they're stabbing you in the heart. Every book is a new genre hiding in a hard sci-fi trenchcoat. It's dated and occasionally triggering but has held up pretty well overall for getting started in the 80s. I suggest beginning at the beginning, with "Cordelia's Honor," the omnibus of "Shards of Honor" and "Barrayar."

A) your wife has excellent political tastes and also A+ punny stickers; I support her and her choices. Write those letters!

B) Technically I do not, absolutely DO NOT, need more book recs (etc etc my bedside table cried out in terror and was suddenly silenced) but @silverbirching is a massive, MASSIVE Bujold fan and will be thrilled that you are also joining me into the coercion, er, enthusiastic recs to read Vorkosigan. So I will probably get around to it eventually when the TBR pile reaches more manageable levels. Ahem.

#themusesthrall #ask

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presidenthades · 9 months

Text

Once again, I am doing a series of my behind-the-scenes thoughts for The Golds while I do light edits for formatting, typos, and continuity. Here’s Chapter 2!

(Note: I originally planned to put out these commentaries once a day, but I’ve been recruited for an urgent knitting/crochet project IRL so I might be a bit slow.)

For this chapter’s title, I chose the lyrics for the Father in “The Song of the Seven” because Aegon finds out he’s going to be a dad. 😳

Opening line: I wanted the reader to spend a half-second thinking Aegon was in the middle of a sexual activity 😂. Later in the chapter, both Daemon and Alicent briefly think he’s been out at the brothels, so I wanted to foreshadow that here. But it turns out Aegon just really likes pies.

Gyles and Ronnel were throwaway characters in my original plan, but they ended up being very important to the plot 😅. I took a brief line from Aegon’s letter in Chapter 3 of the Handbook, about him eating pies that were almost better than sex, and created Gyles from that. So Aegon’s been patronizing Gyles’s business for several years.

Gyles rents a small storefront on the Street of Flour, which I presume is where most of the bakers in KL live/work. He’s probably part of the local bakers’ guild, and he’s on the poorer end of the street so his customers tend to be laborers who want a quick hot meal. Aegon stumbled across the shop one day as a young teen when he was hangry, and he’s been coming back ever since.

I spent a ridiculous amount of time researching the history of cheese and barely used it for the fic 🥲. But I want everyone to know I thought very carefully about the type of cheese Gyles uses in his pies! It would be similar to appenzeller, which is a cheese of Swiss origin that uses cider/wine during the cheesemaking process, and it supposedly has an herby flavor (I’ve never had it but I want it). It’s a hard cheese (so it travels well) that melts well (good for pie filling), and it’s from an Alpine region (like the Vale where Gyles is from).

Ronnel barely got a glimpse of Jace during her wedding parade, but he would die for her 🥲.

We get our first glimpse of the Tyroshi, which I tried not to draw too much attention to so readers didn’t get suspicious, but I wanted it in there to set up Aegon’s investigation in Chapter 4. In hindsight, Aegon wishes he just stabbed the man that day…but he probably would’ve gotten beat up or killed in turn by the bodyguards.

BTW I am very proud of the sentence where I describe the bodyguards as looking like chickens 🐔. Sorry, just have to pat my back here.

Author’s nitpick about Maegor’s tunnels! My understanding is the secret tunnels are in the Red Keep but NOT in the Holdfast, which only has one super special secret escape route that book!Aegon uses when Rhaenyra takes KL. I have to remember not to let the characters just pop around anywhere they please using the secret tunnels. If everyone used secret tunnels all the time, they wouldn’t be very secret 🤧. I imagine the passage Aegon uses to sneak in and out of the castle is one that a lot of Targaryen royals have used, so it’s not a HUGE secret.

Daemon heard about the pregnancy pretty quickly after Jace got sick during small council. Nobody is sure where Aegon went, only that he sneaked out (pretty normal for him), and of course Daemon’s first suspicion is that Aegon is out whoring 💀. So Daemon went to the tunnels to catch Aegon on his way back and verify if Aegon was at the brothels or not. If Aegon was out whoring while his wife just found out she’s pregnant, Daemon would probably have done…something not nice 😅. But Aegon was just eating pies so it’s fine!

Aegon is no longer scared of Daemon (he was a bit scared in the first part of the Handbook), but he still doesn’t want to be alone with Daemon in a dark tunnel 👀.

Aegon has excellent zingers in the book, so I wanted give him some very sassy lines in this fic. Hence, Aegon implying Daemon is getting fat 😂. If you can’t take it, don’t dish it, Daemon!

Daemon’s line about “a spate of missing persons in the city” is a reference to the Tyroshi’s doings. The Tyroshi has kidnapped enough “good citizens” (tradesmen like Gyles, as opposed to poor prostitutes) that it’s becoming noticeable.

And yes, Daemon did deliberately make Aegon think something bad happened to Jace as revenge for Alyssa and the early wake up calls.

Originally, I was going to do brief POV scenes of all Jace’s sisters reacting to the pregnancy news, but it got very repetitive so I cut out all of them except Luce. But in the deleted bits, there’s a scene where Alicent asks Rhaena to help find Jace’s premarital nightgowns because the only nightwear Jace has right now is sexy lingerie 🤭. Then there’s a kinda sad bit where Rhaena realizes Alicent thinks she’s helping Jace by removing temptation from Aegon, because a pregnant woman should want reprieve from her husband’s attentions, because that was Alicent’s experience: being pregnant meant she didn’t have to sleep with Viserys. So Alicent struggles to realize that on the contrary, Jace might enjoy her husband’s attention.

Alicent and Rhaenyra have a comedic bit where they synchronize as they transform into Overprotective Future Grandmother mode, to showcase that they’re more similar than they admit. It’s self-explanatory why Rhaenyra is fussy, but this is also Alicent’s first grandchild. And she has always liked Jace, who is basically Alicent’s ideal good-daughter. I also think Alicent is a little jealous that Rhaenyra has Jace; Alicent definitely loves Helaena, but we see her struggling to connect with her daughter on the show, whereas Jace has always been polite, dutiful, and overall “easy” to interact with.

Because Alicent likes Jace so much, she is extra offended at the thought that Aegon might be out whoring. In a way, she still thinks of him as the profligate young prince before the Stepstones (at this point in the story, he’s only been back two months), so she assumed the worst. But it’s obvious to her that Aegon is head over heels for Jace, and she realizes he changed while he was away. So she apologizes, which doesn’t erase the hurt of her accusation but Aegon recognizes it as a big deal since she’s never apologized to him before. And she’s embarrassed about her mean reaction, but she’s too proud to do anything else to make amends.

In an earlier draft of the scene where Aegon learns about the pregnancy, I dragged out the misunderstanding where he thinks he made her cry. There was a whole miscommunication sequence that somehow ends with Aegon thinking Jace doesn’t love him anymore (he tries to give her a new ring, she cries because she knows her hands will swell and she’s worried she’ll be hideous and “I won’t be your pretty girl anymore” or something like that), but it was too melodramatic so I cut it down to a brief moment of pregnancy hormones 😅.

Using her sleeve to wipe her face is a bad habit that Aegon taught Jace because he used to do that for her when they were little and she cried 😭. (He still does it sometimes.)

Another theme in the story: when Jace is nervous, scared, or otherwise feeling negative emotions, Aegon uses humor to bring her out of her pit of despair (e.g. wedding night, during the storm at Dragonstone).

A hennin is that tall cone hat you see in medieval paintings. It was a status flex because it’s so impractical, which means only rich non-working women can wear it. Rhaenys’s hairstyle kinda reminds me of it too 😅. I imagine hennins to be very old-fashioned at this point in time, and maybe Rhaenys made Jace wear a few hennins when she was little and that’s why Jace hates them so much lol.

When I was writing the Handbook, I thought might’ve been the one to come up with the elopement idea. But she’s such a naturally cautious person that now I think she needed nudging first, and Aegon is reckless enough to go for an elopement without thinking about consequences too much.

I also have this idea that Otto has always been a big Jacegon shipper in this universe 😂. It’s the perfect match for his Plan A, B, C, X, Y, and Z. I like to imagine that before Rhaenyra took her daughters to Dragonstone, Otto was telling Aegon things like “bring Jace flowers!” and “wash your hair!” to help the romance along. I wouldn’t be surprised if at some point, Otto straight up told Aegon “you need to marry that girl no matter what” (and it’d be hilarious if this planted the seed of the elopement in Aegon’s head).

Tyroshi purple is basically the real-world Tyrian purple, which was made from sea snails and so expensive that only royalty could afford it. I thought it very fitting for Jace, who’s supposed to be the future queen. The color also reminds me of wine, but I worked so hard to make Aegon not an alcoholic that I didn’t want to mention it in the fic 😛.

When Aegon avoids telling Jace his real, dark thoughts, we get a glimpse of how he tries to protect her from bad things in life. This is a point of friction that comes up again in the fic: Aegon thinks it’s best not to tell Jace certain things, and she disagrees.

Jace doesn’t like naps because she thinks they’re a waste of time when she could be doing work 🥲.

When Aegon is in the Tower with Otto, he notices a petition about thugs extorting money from guild members. This is also a reference to the Tyroshi’s doings!

Otto is a neat freak, Aegon knows it, and Aegon takes advantage of it for fleeting moments of malicious glee.

I also have a whole list of old people habits that Otto partakes in. Here, Aegon references Otto’s daily glass of prune juice, but I won’t go into detail about that 🙈. I also imagine Otto taking brisk early morning walks around the Tower, with his elbows pumping in a very old man way, to get his daily cardio in.

I made Otto’s late wife a member of House Mullendore. They’re vassals of the Hightowers, so it’s an acceptable match for a second son. (The Mullendores sided with the Blacks during the Dance, so I’m headcanoning that Otto had a terrible falling-out with them after his wife died.) More importantly, their sigil is a bunch of orange butterflies (see: Helaena’s embroidery that Otto displays in his study). We all know Helaena loves insects, and I feel like this is an extra reason she’s Otto’s favorite: her hobby reminds him of his wife.

Otto is generally happy with how things are going in this verse. Of course he would prefer if Aegon were the heir, but right now he’s guaranteed to have his blood on the throne even if it’s a few generations down the road, and he finds Jace to be reasonable, intelligent, and dutiful. But Otto is still sneaky, because he’s Otto. When he talks about “a royal grandson,” does he mean Rhaenyra’s grandson (baby gets his claim as Jace’s son) or Viserys’s grandson (baby gets his claim as Aegon’s son)? 🧐

Otto supports Jace attending the Small Council because her fate and reputation are closely tied to Aegon’s. If she does well, that reflects well upon her husband. Otto is also aware that if/when Rhaenyra is queen, she’ll want to sack him and send him away from court. But if he maintains a good relationship with Jace, who would be the Princess of Dragonstone at that time, he’ll still be able to retain influence at court not just through Alicent, who would then be dowager queen and less powerful. And if Jace demonstrates herself to be more capable at governance than Rhaenyra (who is less diligent about attending matters of state), Otto isn’t going to say no to that.

Jace knows that Otto has clashed with Rhaenyra in the past and that he has emotionally and physically hurt Aegon, so she doesn’t like Otto as a person. But she appreciates his skill as Hand and respects him professionally. So she’s willing to work with him, but she isn’t leaping at the prospect of spending time with him. And I think that suits Otto just fine. He doesn’t want to be liked, he wants results.

Sorry I couldn’t resist making a “we forgot Daeron existed” joke 🪦.

I really like Aegon and Aemond’s brotherly relationship, and I don’t see nearly enough of it in fics so I had to make my own contribution. Even in the show canon, where Aemond covets the throne and scorns Aegon, he’s still loyal to his brother and they have that brotherly telepathy moment during the last supper. In this verse, they’re much closer but they are still mean to each other in a delightfully sibling fashion. After his relationship with Jace (and eventually Cheeseball), I think Aegon’s relationship with Aemond is his most meaningful relationship in this fic, and I’ll probably keep tugging on it throughout the series.

Aegon won’t admit it but he’s excited to tell his brothers he’s gonna be a dad 🥰.

Daeron spent the last three years in Oldtown, which is the heart of the Faith, so the sex ed he received was very…censored 😅. And since he spent so long thinking that kissing = babies, you can imagine he has a strong reaction when he accidentally kisses Joff later.

Joff has plenty of older sisters (including Baela), and Rhaenyra and Daemon aren’t very quiet at Dragonstone. Thus, Joff figures out how procreation works as a young age 💀.

Aemond does not tell Daeron what a quim is. He tells Daeron to go ask a maester.

As mentioned in Chapter 10, Aegon knows Baela was/is attracted to Jace, and this is a big source of friction between them. But Baela’s never acted on her feelings, and Aegon feels fairly secure in Jace’s affections, so he doesn’t talk about it out loud. But if Baela ever provoked him enough, he would mention it to get back at her (Aegon still has a mean streak, he’s just better at suppressing it).

Helaena’s three egg-shaped beads are a reference to the children she’ll never have in this verse. I’m of the opinion that her prophecies are very vague and mostly vibes (e.g. “he’ll have to close an eye” = she sees Aemond riding a dragon with one eye closed, like an extended wink). So she definitely doesn’t know “ah yes, Jaehaerys and Jaehaera and Maelor, who are all going to die terribly,” but she has a sense of the children she would’ve loved and lost in another life. So she’s a bit sad about not having those children in this life, but part of her is relieved she’ll never have to endure the horrible loss and suffering her children’s deaths caused.

“Sunflowers should not be watered with wine.” Helaena compares Jace to the sun (“to the sun I go”), which makes Aegon a sunflower that’s always turning to face the sun. He isn’t an alcoholic here, so he’s thriving more.

“The egg is crowned with gold, and all the creatures love it so.” The egg is Cheeseball, of course. He’s crowned with gold because he’ll be king one day, and gold is his parents’ color. The creatures = dragons, seahorses, towers, etc., all the houses with competing claims to the throne but who all agree that Cheeseball is the future king.

“Buzz, buzz. Your hive has gathered.” Jace is the queen bee, but she’s also constantly working like a bee.

“A lovely summer egg.” Cheeseball is born toward the end of summer. Also a reference to how his future reign will be peaceful and prosperous.

“A beloved egg free from sorrow.” In contrast to Helaena’s children/eggs 🥲.

Helaena’s freak out about the name Jaehaerys is 100% a reference to Blood and Cheese. Again, she doesn’t know exactly what would’ve happened in this alternate universe, but she’s getting very bad vibes from the name.

Jace despairs at the prospect of being coddled for the entire pregnancy, which is exactly what happens…

Laenor wasn’t a paragon of fatherhood but he was more present in this universe. The girls being his actual daughters does affect his feelings for them, and I think he likes having daughters. He would have to help educate and train a son, but he can just spoil and dote on daughters. (Pretty similar to Aegon’s attitude in the beginning of this fic.) So Laenor makes a lot more visits to the nursery when the kids are little, hence Aegon’s familiarity with him.

I wrote the interlude because we see almost all the other siblings’ reactions to the pregnancy, but not Luce. I just couldn’t bring myself to delete it with the other reaction POVs so I kept it in 😅. I justify it by telling myself that it’s important setup for the Baratheon drama later lol (even though at the time I wrote this chapter, I wasn’t sure Floris and Sara were going to die, so this is the author retconning).

Rhaenyra made Jace wait until her sixteenth nameday, so she’s applying that rule to all her daughters: no marriage until you’re sixteen. That’s why Luce has to wait. And if the Baratheon stuff didn’t happen later, it would 100% have been a smart move. Luce is very impulsive, and she and Aemond were clashing for so long, it’s wiser to wait and make sure they’re in this for the long haul and not just acting on hormones.

Aemond had visited Driftmark four times in the past month, which means he’s there every week for several days 😂.

I like to think Daemon told Caraxes to tell Arrax to make sure Luce and Aemond don’t have too much fun 🤭. And for some reason, I imagine Arrax looking a lot like a light fury from How to Train Your Dragon. Big eyes and shiny scales.

Earlier in the chapter, we get a monologue about how Aegon would starve to keep Jace fed. Here, Aemond is literally stealing Luce’s lunch 🤣🤣🤣.

Jace knows her sister super well! That’s why she tells Luce to sit down before she continues the letter: she knows Luce is going to have a strong reaction.

Jace loves all her sisters but I think she’s closest to Luce. They’re less than two years apart in age, and Joff was born four years after Luce, so a lot of Jace’s earliest memories are just the two of them as sisters. Just like how Aemond is one of Aegon’s most important relationships, Luce is one of Jace’s most important relationships.

Chapter 3 commentary here

#my writing #meta #house of the dragon meta #hotd meta #fanfic meta #aegon ii targaryen #female jacaerys velaryon #the golds

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lacklusterhero747 · 1 year

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Sic Semper Tyrannis

In my experience, just as many TTRPG campaigns focus on war and conflict against the powers that be as focus on exploring the wild and untamed places of the world. From stories of the companions of The Inn of the Last Home in Dragonlance to the punk rock rebels and Anarchists of Shadowrun, many times the motivating force of the story is the direct fight for survival in a world that is hostile to the very people and heroes that inhabit it. It's a well tread set of story tropes that offer clearly defined goals and villains and in built sense of drama, so it's understandable why so many stories would choose to focus on these themes.

And sometimes, if you're lucky, you get to fight those battles from the cockpit of a giant robot.

Armour Astir: Advent is a high-fantasy roleplaying game about striking back against an authority that seeks to control you. It is a game of rival pilots clashing in steel-clad Astirs, of soldiers holding their own against the odds, and of spies and diplomats twisting the world to their ends. It is not a game of careful preparation or pleasant truces; It's hard to change the world without taking a risk.

I first became aware of this game because of the excellent podcast Friends at the Table, when they played the game as part of their Road to Palisade series of games, leading up to the third season of their ongoing Divine Cycle of games. Immediately I was taken by the combination of high fantasy magic merged with the classic tropes of mecha anime that were apparent in the game as written, even if the cast was hacking the material to make fit into their more futuristic world they had built.

I felt compelled to track it down to read it for myself.

Inside the PDF, written by Briar Sovereign, I found a love letter to the Mecha Genre, drawing inspiration from such luminary series as Mobile Suit Gundam and Escaflowne, putting you in the cockpit of giant suits of armor as you stride across the battlefields of a war against an evil power. But like the series it draws heavily from, it does so with a distinct focus on the pilots inside their Astirs, rather than just focusing on the mecha and the carnage they can bring. This is a game with stakes and in interest in the relationships between people. It's a game that, as the intro to this latest season of Friends at the Table puts it, is about Empire, Revolution, Settler Colonialism, Politics, Religion, War, and the many consequences there of.

Running off of a modified version of the Powered by the Apocalypse system, Armour Astir is built on already accessible system with a distinct interest in narrative storytelling. You work together with your group to define your Authority--the oppressive power that the group of players are fighting back against--and your Cause--the group that backs and hands orders down to the player characters--and build a world around these two groups and their seemingly irreconcilable differences. From there, the players build their characters from the available playbooks--The Arcanist, The Imposter, The Paradigm, The Witch, The Captain, The Diplomat, The Artificer, and The Scout--and collectively define the Carrier--their White Base or their Normandy--from which they launch their sorties against the Authority and where they spend their downtime between missions. It's an elegant way to frame a world in conflict, and once again as I will always point out, it's a game interested in the collective construction of the world in which you're going to play, thereby creating a sense of player buy in from the jump.

Still, even as a PbtA game, AA:A still manages to bring its own novel concepts to the table.

Presumably drawing inspiration from 5e D&D, the game introduces the concept of Advantage and Disadvantage to the system. Where normally you would roll 2d6+Stat in a PbtA game, hoping to roll a 10+ and succeed without a cost, Advantage and Disadvantage allow you to roll more dice, keeping a number according to their respective rules. And they stack! If you find your self with 2 advantages, for instance, then you would roll 4d6 and keep the best 2. Or if you had 2 advantages and 1 disadvantage, you would roll 3d6 and still keep the best two as advantage outnumbers disadvantage. The only caveat is that you can never roll more than 4 dice for a move.

Then there's the idea of acting with Confidence or Desperation. Certain moves, approaches, and situations can cause you to act with either of this conditions, and they fundamentally change how the dice are read. If you're acting with Confidence in a scene, any 1 you roll on a d6 is instead treated as a 6, while acting in Desperation makes any 6 you roll instead be treated as a 1.

These two rules alone could be enough for me to really consider the game an evolution of PbtA, as using the mechanics together allows you to deeply calibrate the odds of success or failure of a given move to really match the fiction of the story your telling, but the interesting ideas don't stop there.

The game asks you to define your character by a set of Hooks, which are short phrases that define how your character acts and thinks about the world and the people around them. They're guide posts for the player, reminding them what their character is about, but they're also guide posts for the GM and for the other players. They show what kinds of situations you care about and want to be drawn into, and they can be rewritten as needed, and deepened or loosened by various rules interactions that make the hooks easier or harder to change in play. Hooks can even be sacrificed permanently, crossed off your sheet forever and buying you a new advancement for your character and the ability act immediately with Confidence as your character commits themselves to the fight and how the war has changed them.

Meanwhile, the concept of Gravity Clocks, presents an incredibly dynamic way to represent the relationships between characters. Representing the attachments you have with people and groups, these clocks are countdowns to when a relationship might be challenged, confronted, or addressed. They can be one-sided, or they can be shared between two characters, and evoked to add numerical bonuses to rolls, the clock ticking forward every time it gets used in this manner. And when the six step clock fills up, the game asks you to Redefine, Commit, or Abandon the gravity between you and the subject of the clock. Each option presents its own ramifications, in addition to allowing you to take a new advancement for your character, and I could gush about them in detail for hundreds of words more, but I think it's better to simply let the game speak for itself if you choose to read it.

Finally, and perhaps most interestingly to me, is the concept of The Conflict Turn. Played out between Sorties by the player characters at the Carrier level, the Conflict turn is meant to zoom out and show the greater context of the conflict. Here players direct the broader course of the struggle by playing out Conflict Scenes, directing challenges at one another through role-played scenes, reminiscent of Mobile Frame Zero: Firebrands by D. Vincent Baker. It allows you to shape the course of the war and the world at a truly macro scale, and depict scenes and conflicts that might otherwise get lost in a narrow focused game about a single group of pilots on a single carrier, acting on a single front in the war. It invites players to step back and look at the whole picture and really think about what two deadlocked factions can do or must do in order to win a broader conflict. And what the consequences of those actions might be.

All in all, Armour Astir is a fascinating game that takes Powered by the Apocalypse in new and interesting directions. It offers novel new mechanical concepts to the system, while also featuring the familiar Playbook driven structure. The party's Carrier and their Astirs feature a refreshing amount of build it yourself by hand customization, and the freedom to craft your own world with a conflict you and your players will care about really makes the game shine in my opinion. Not to mention it's in built focus on both the micro and macro scale aspects of the greater conflict, each in their own time, without getting so lost in the weeds of spreadsheet style attention to detail of other mecha focused games like Lancer or Battletech.

If you've ever wanted to suit up in a giant robot and take the fight to the enemy, Armour Astir: Advent is an excellent option to fulfill that narrative fantasy.

#Armour Astir #pbta #indie ttrpg #role playing games #mecha #fantasy games

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33-108 · 19 days

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The Moon has 16 phases, also known as kala.

15 are visible to us and the 16th is imperceptible.

The 16 kala are ruled by feminine deities known as Nitya. Alll 16 Nitya Devis has a phase of the moon, with the associated yantra, mantra and Shaktis.

On Purnima/ full moon, all Nityas are converged.

The Nityas are also correspondents to the vowels of the Sanskrit alphabet.

Accordingly, there are also the 16 Amrta Rudras, the male counterparts associated with these 16 phases.

Sixteen verses have been translated by Abhinavagupta to praise the sixteen Rudras who, according to the Mālinīvijayottara, govern the sixteen vowels as well.

These sixteen Rudras are all inherently related to Nectar (amrta) with which they are variously

identified and in which is yielded by them.

The word amrta also corresponds with the first vowel and letter of the alphabet which in the

very first verse of his translations, Abhinavagupta explains as standing for Anuttara, the Absolute.

This Nectar/Anuttara pervades and is the beginning and home of all the sixteen vowels.

"The fifty letters of the (sanskrit) alphabet represent fifty energies of AHAM - the great I AM

that is the self awareness and innermost nature of Deity and the Absolute.

The alphabet ranging from the letter A to H symbolizes the phases in the cycle of creation, just as the reverse, MAHĀ — represents that of withdrawal.

Everything takes place within Śiva as

the play of His energies; each one an aspect and phase of His one power which is his freedom identified with the reflective awareness of AHAM.

The sixteen vowels at the beginning of the alphabet represent phases of the activation of the energies within Śiva’s consciousness. They are at the pure level in which the universe manifests as one with Anuttara as its aspects experienced directly within it.

The thirty four consonants that

follow represent phases of the emanation of the reality levels (tattva) ranging from Earth Tattva

to Māyā, that are experienced as a universe of objects and perceivers that are as if outside

Śiva consciousness."

"Swami Laksmanjoo taught the recitation of these verses to his disciples no doubt aware of their reference to Rudra / Bhairava as Anuttara, both as preceding the sixteen as the ‘seventeenth’ which is their transcendental source and, equally, as the first of the series in the inner procession of emanation.

He recommended the recitation of these verses as an especially powerful way of invoking Śiva and the sixteen aspects of his recognition as our own true nature. George de Barselr explains that ‘Swamiji gave this out for people to recite, to enkindle within them their own Self-recognition,

which is what the vowels are, that is, pure subjectivity (pramitibhāva)."

- Mark Dyczkowski

First verse, as praise to the first of amrtarudras:

"1. Amrta (A) The Rudra Who is Nectar

amrtam anantam anuttaram aghorasodaśakaśakticakragatam |

aunmanasapadanirūdhiprathamopodghātakaˆ vande ||

I praise that eternal and most excellent (anuttara) Amrtarudra (who is Anuttara), present in the wheel of the sixteen energies of Aghora.

He is firmly established on the plane Beyond Mind (unmana) as the first who opens up (and introduces emanation).

The Aghoras are the energies of the goddess Parā.

They are the sixteen vowels

beginning with A that stands for the reflective awareness (parāmarśa) of Anuttara.

The ultimate source of all the letters, it is present in a most evident way in the vowels as they

are all directly or indirectly derived from it.

The vowels represent the phases of

manifestation experienced within the Light of Śiva consciousness which is Anuttara.

Within the Light of Anuttara nothing is created or destroyed.

The play of emanation takes

place within the domain of its freedom which, viewed from the perspective of emanation,

is also Anuttara as the first disclosure that introduces and ‘opens up’ the process of

emanation.

As the highest level of Śakti, it is the plane Beyond Mind which is the point of contact between emanation and the transcendent Anuttara.

Beyond Mind is the supreme transcendental energy that is united with Śiva and is virtually one with Him.

It is the highest and most subtle limit of immanence.

As such it is the final point of transition into Śiva, that it pervades and in which it is stilled. Thus it is described as the transcendental Void of the energy of consciousness, and as uncreated immobile Speech.

This is the plane on which the Trika Goddesses reside, seated on the tips of Śiva’s Trika

Trident. In terms of the reality levels (tattva), A (anuttara), which is Beyond Mind is equivalent to Śivatattva as Unmanifest Śiva (Anāsrtaśiva). Ā (ānanda), which is With Mind, is Śaktitattva."

- The Sixteen Amritarudras by Abhinavagupta.

#esoteric #occult #hinduism #shiva #tantra #goddess #shakti #bhairava #sanatanadharma #moon #luna #Chandra #vedic astrology #vedic

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corporatefrog · 1 year

Text

↳˗ˏˋ loose change ˊˎ˗ ↴

level 4 - make it decaf

featuring: yn meeting a technologically stunted temporary accountant inside the popular coffee shot Tweek Bros Coffee

notes: finally knowing excel has done something good for me. it's helped me write a 6 page chapter of a fan fiction. how wonderful.

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I’d finished my episode of Walk the Walk with Jimmy Valmer just as my car pulled into an empty spot in front of the Tweek Bros Coffee.

I wonder what Jimmy was like in person? His humor certainly showed through in the few episodes I’d listened to so far. Liane sounded like she could have talked for hours about him and still have more stories to share. Or is that just how small town social circles work? When you’ve lived with people your whole life, you’ve got a lifetime’s worth of stories to share. I’ll have to keep an eye out for him or any of his interesting guests. Although, if I ever met that Clyde guy I don’t think I’d be able to take him seriously. “Daddy wants Milfy” will be running through my head until the day I die.

Stepping out of my car, I assessed the exterior of the cafe. The front of the shop acted more as a peak into the interior with large windows reaching from the ground to well above my head. The windows were cut off on the outside by a sign reading Tweek Bros Coffee with the logo of a cup with a coffee bean drawn on it sitting next to the name. I’d hoped to sit outside and observe the town after I’d gotten my coffee but there didn’t seem to be any outdoor seating save for a wooden bench next to the main entrance. Though the large windows would definitely allow for an abundance of natural light and great people watching so it would probably feel the same.

Walking through the door, I was hit with the strongest coffee smell I’d ever experienced. It was as if I’d walked straight into a silo of coffee grounds and were slowly being engulfed and crushed by them.

Morbid much?

I’m just letting myself be immersed in my environment.

Much of the indoors were visible from the sidewalk but it was easier to take it all in without the glare of sunlight on the windows. The dark brown flooring contrasted the lighter shades which covered the walls. Green trim accented the beige walls and the countertops and tables were a shade of brown between the floor and wall creating a calming color palette.

“Welcome to Tweek Bros Coffee!” A voice nearly screeched from the back of the shop. The clattering of metal alerted me to the location of the voice. Shelves of coffee grounds behind the counter shook as an unseen force bumped against them, each quake of the shelf being accompanied by a cry from the voice.

Suddenly, a body popped up from behind the counter next to the cash register. It was a man with blond hair sticking out at odd angles wearing a crooked apron with an abundance of stains across its white surface.

“What can I get started for you? Our special is a toasted coconut- wait, I mean, a chocolate mint- not that’s not it either.”

—

Name: Tweek Tweek

Age: 22

Status: Underprepared Barista

Fun Fact: Tweek’s written three apocalypse novels to try and deal with his stress and they’ve become a pretty big hit on Tumblr.

—

The barista began to mutter different coffee combinations to himself, a hand tangling itself in his hair. Behind him, a large chalkboard read TODAY’S SPECIAL: CHOCOLATE CARAMEL LATTE in jagged white letters. However, the barista didn’t seem to notice this sign as he continued to mumble and shift from foot to foot. Should I be saying something right now?

First person I meet and they’re losing it in front of me.

Well, I met Liane first! So maybe this guy is just an outlier.

Let’s not forget Eric then if we’re counting Liane.

Oh yeah… Is everyone in South Park like this?

I raised a shaky hand, unsure how to interrupt the borderline breakdown in front of me. Before I could say anything, the barista let out an aggravated cry. Both of his hands buried themselves into his hair and tugged at the strands as he looked frantically around the room.

“Oh god, I forgot the special! How am I supposed to run this place for a month if I don’t even know today’s special?” He began to pace along the counter, eyes darting everywhere except the sign which read the special he was trying so hard to remember, “I’m going to forget the security code and I’ll be standing here at five am with the alarm blaring because I can’t remember and then the cops will show up and think I’m a criminal and I’ll be sent to prison forever-”

Another man approached the register behind the counter. His black hair was much more maintained than the blond’s. He wore a blue t-shirt with a nametag pinned on the chest that read Craig. He carried a folder in his hands with a pen rolling precariously from side to side as he walked.

“It’s chocolate caramel latte, Tweek.” He said, setting the folder on the counter to free his hands so they could stop the barista’s pacing.

—

Name: Craig Tucker

Age: 23

Status: Makeshift Accountant

Fun Fact: In the fall, Craig will be beginning an internship at NASA! Until then, he’s helping Tweek watch the cafe

—

With hands on Tweek’s shoulders, Craig shifted his direction so Tweek was now facing the chalkboard.

“It’s always written there. We write it every morning.” He said flatly, dropping his hands from Tweek’s shoulders before turning to me.

“What can we get started for you?” He asked. I snapped back into focus, not realizing he was speaking to me due to his emotionless tone.

“Oh- yeah- um, I’ll have the…” I sputtered, eyes scanning the menu to figure out what I wanted. I had been so caught up in Tweek’s outburst that I hadn’t gotten the chance to look. Behind the counter, Craig stared at me with uninterested eyes. A soul-sucking gaze which made me more frantic in my search. If I were Tweek, I’d be freaking out too. This guy is more intimidating than my boss!

I think it’s less Craig and more anxiety disorder.

“I’ll have the special!” I forced out, saying the first thing that came to mind, quickly adding, “Medium, iced, and with almond milk if you have any, please.” My voice grew more hesitant as I reached the end of my order, mind racing with worries. Did I ask for too many things all at once? Does he think I’m pretentious for wanting almond milk? WAIT ISN’T THE TOWN AT WAR OVER ALMOND MILK?

“That’ll be $4.39.” Craig’s voice cut off my panicked thoughts. I nodded, not trusting my voice, and grabbed my wallet from the tote, holding out a card to pay with.

Craig swiped the card and handed it back to me, turning with the folder and pen in hand before I could squeak out a meager “Thank you”. He handed Tweek the receipt with the order. The two shared a few words then Craig pressed a kiss to his forehead and walked out from behind the counter to a table in the corner. As he sat down, he looked up and our eyes met. I quickly averted my gaze. Shit. Hopefully he didn’t think I was weird for staring.

Oh he totally did. And he thinks you’re a mega huge weirdo. He’s going to tell everyone in town that you’re a huge freak.

“Caramel Chocolate- AH- Chocolate Caramel Coffee!” Tweek’s voice brought my attention back to reality. His hand twitched as he set my drink on the counter, liquid splashing against the lid of the cup. I opened my mouth to thank him for the drink but Tweek had turned back to the counter and began cleaning the equipment before I could get the first syllable out, leaving me alone once again.

The people I’ve met so far haven’t been very social. Liane seemed kind but no one else seemed to be much of a talker. Unless it was Eric who’s yelling at you at 11 am because you rented out his bedroom.

I looked around the cafe for an empty place to sit. A group of teenagers sat at one while an older man on a laptop sat at another and Craig occupied the table in the corner. There was an open table next to Craig but I didn’t want to seem weird for sitting at it.

You look more weird standing and staring at the table. Go sit, dumbass.

Walking like I didn’t care where I was going (while very much caring where I was going), I plopped myself down at the table beside Craig’s. Taking a sip of my drink, I hummed as the sweet caramel chocolate flavor hit my tongue. I can see why this place would be a local favorite!

Deciding to get some work done while I finished my drink, I pulled out my laptop and began to make a checklist of tasks to complete during my time in South Park. The whole reason I’m here is to find new businesses that we could rent our machines to so that’s probably a good place to start.

I typed out “find networks for boss” then entered down to the next bullet point. Staring at the computer, I mulled over what else I needed to do but came up empty.

Well that was over fast.

It’s not like I chose South Park! I don’t know anyone here!

Well then add ‘Make Friends’ or something, I don’t know.

I typed “make friends” on the second bullet point. Now onto the third…

I opened a new tab and began scrolling through etsy. I just want to see what new Mob Psycho merch there is. Totally not scrolling because I have nothing else to write.

I took another sip from my drink, eyes wandering to the table next to me. Craig sat hunched over a computer, nose almost touching the screen as he typed. His eyes shot over to me and I quickly looked away.

Don’t snoop. Don’t snoop. You don’t know this guy and it’d be weird to sit at the table next to him and snoop on whatever he’s doing.

Dude I’m a 22 year old living in a random town in the asscrack of nowhere with no friends, I’m going to snoop. There’s no work getting done here anyway.

Using my laptop as a guard, I glanced at Craig's table over the top of my laptop to make it seem like I was just looking at something at the top of my screen.

Dun dun dundun dun dun dundun DUN DUN DUN

Is that the mission impossible theme?

I’m making an atmosphere.

With the soundtrack playing in the back of my mind, I continued the discrete mission of checking Craig's vibe. An extremely important mission. Much more important than doing the literal job that I begged to be hired for.

He had the folder open on the table and was squinting down at the papers inside. After a moment of looking, he’d turn to the computer and type a few things then went back to the sheet. A frown tugged at his lips that pulled them deeper than the resting bitch face he seemed to have. His eyebrows furrowed as he looked back and forth between the folder and the computer, lips moving in words I couldn’t hear as he continued to furiously type onto the computer.

With a huff Craig leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. He grabbed a phone from the other side of the table then lifted it to his ear. His finger tapped on the table as the phone rang. He continued to look between the folder and the computer until someone seemed to pick up.

“Hey, Kyle.” Craig greeted, pausing as the person on the other end responded, “Well, I’m alive. Do you know how to use excel?” Craig let out a slow sigh as he listened to the other person. “I’m asking because Tweek’s parents are gone for the month so he’s in charge of the cafe which means I’m in charge of the accounting…And you think Tweek is any better at math? I handed him a calculator and he screamed when it beeped. I’m just trying to figure out how this shit works.”

Craig’s frown deepened at their response, “No, I can’t just use QuickBooks Pro. Tweek’s parents use excel so I have to use their sheet but it’s set up weird and everytime I click something an error message pops up- Yes, I did google it, smartass. Aren’t you supposed to be in charge of the finances for that shithole you and Stan bought?” Craig sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose, “I knew it was a mistake to ask you. Thanks for nothing, dickwad.”

Craig hung up the phone with a few curses spilling from his lips, probably aimed towards the person he was speaking with. I refocused my eyes on my laptop in case he glanced my way. I hadn’t planned on eavesdropping in on his conversation. It felt less like snooping and more like full blown spying now.

Spying doesn’t matter. He needs someone to teach him excel and you have 4 years of tutoring experience with excel and a desperate need for friends. Get in there!

No way. Craig radiates “Don’t talk to me” energy and I’m not in the mood to reveal that I was listening in on his conversation.

Stealing a glance at Craig, he didn’t look any more approachable. His fingers continued to tap on the table and his foot had begun tapping on the ground. The looks from the folder to the computer grew more rapid as Craig grew agitated with the work. Normally, I’d offer to help but I really didn’t want to risk being the target for whatever aggression was slowly building inside him.

Okay then. Sit there and be lonely for the next three months. Maybe we can be friends with Eric?

Oh, fuck no. I need to make some friends.

“Hey, I don’t mean to interrupt but were you trying to use excel?” I interjected, forcing the words out before I could second guess myself. Craig looked at me from under his eyebrows, not moving his head from its bowed position over its work.

“Were you listening to my conversation?” He asked.

“Well it wasn’t exactly quiet and this room’s pretty small,” I covered my nerves by sipping my drink, trying not to show how petrified I felt.

Craig stared at me for a moment, seeming to weigh the pros and cons of asking a stranger for help or continuing to struggle through these documents on his own. I continued to sip my drink, worried that if I moved too quickly I’d scare him off. His eyes left me and looked down to his papers, comparing them with the computer screen for another moment as though they’d suddenly make sense so he wouldn’t have to indulge a random person in their savior complex.

Deciding that dealing with me was better than waiting for Kyle to change his mind, Craig turned the computer in my direction. I let out the breath I’d been unconsciously holding.

“Their equations don’t make any sense.” Craig hovered the cursor mouse over a cell, double clicking to reveal a combination of cell references and absolute values. Setting down my drink, I closed my laptop and shifted to the empty chair closer to Craig’s laptop.

A few stickers covered the back and keyboard area, all of them space related. On the back, a NASA sticker covered the most space in the top left corner. A spaceship flew across the empty space next to his mousepad, hurtling towards another sticker of the moon.

I refocused on the screen, trying to understand what the equations were trying to calculate.

Just don’t fuck it up.

Thanks. That’s not stressful at all.

The cell references were located in completely random locations. The equation Craig was referring to was trying to add the word “Coffee Beans” to the amount of tips earned over the totality of last month. Who made this sheet? What were they even trying to figure out?

“Is this how the equation was when you opened the file?” I asked, eyes staying on the screen as I spoke.

Craig was silent for a moment. I broke my concentration on the screen to look at him. His eyes stared blankly at me, no thoughts appearing to be moving behind his eyes.

It’s like college all over again.

“The letters are cell references. They grab the data in that box and do whatever you tell it to,” I turned the computer to show him what I was referring to, “This equation is trying to add a word to a number which isn’t possible. Did you click this box while the equation was selected?”

Craig shrugged, “I don’t know. I clicked a few boxes but then everything got messed up.”

I chewed at my lip as I waited for him to elaborate. When he didn’t continue, I sucked in a breath and looked back at the excel sheet. My brain shifted to focus on the current set up of the page.

I clicked from cell to cell, deciphering the intended structure of the sheets and figuring out what Craig had done to fuck it up. If I compare the previous month’s finances to this month then I can find out what equations they used and apply them to the current numbers. Then I can show Craig how to follow the previous month’s structure so he knows how to fix any misclicks he makes in the future. I’ll have to teach him how cell references work too.

My eyes widened as I noticed an amortization table on the last page of the file. Are they seriously expecting him to understand this? I jumped back to my computer, flipping through the files until I found the notes from my tutoring job. I really didn’t feel like teaching someone how to do these but I doubt Craig would be able to figure this out on his own.

A slow breath left my lips as I assessed the slowly growing list of “Things to teach Craig”. Am I seriously going to do this?

Are you literally complaining about the task you offered to do?

Yeah but I wanted adventure! Not to do someone else’s financial sheets.

Beggars can’t be choosers. Your only friend right now is Eric Cartman.

I mentally groaned at the reminder. Let’s get this started.

“So we’re going to start with the basics. This is a cell, a cell sits on the grid and has a letter number label. When you open an equation with an equal sign and click a cell, that letter number combo shows up as a cell reference.” I continued to explain the functions of excel to Craig, falling back into the usual speech I’d give as a tutor.

Craig mainly listened, rarely interjecting the lecture with questions in favor of taking in the information. I became an in-person youtube video for him. I honestly felt like one too. Once I’d gotten into the groove, I began resetting the sheets back to how Tweek’s parents had them originally and added notes in the empty cells for Craig to reference later on his own.

Whenever a slightly louder bang sounded from the kitchen, Craig would look over to ensure that Tweek hadn’t broken any equipment or himself. It was endearing to see someone with such a flat disposition keep a lookout for someone else so diligently. Granted, it was probably because it would be a shit ton of paperwork and money to replace anything in this place while the technical owners were away but he wouldn’t be asking someone for help with the excel sheets if he didn’t care.

Even when his attention was drawn away, Craig returned his focus to the computer almost instantly. I hadn’t had someone listen closely to me explain how to use excel before. When I’d been a tutor, people would listen enough to get through the assignment then tap out but Craig watched the screen so intently I’d forget he was breathing.

Empty cups piled up around us as the natural light through the windows turned to overhead LEDs and lamps. When Tweek brought me a second drink, I tried to pay but he waved me off. Or I thought it was a wave. It could’ve just been a jolt of his hand. Either way, I made sure to set aside some cash to put in the tip jar before I left as a thanks. We continued to work until I leaned back to stretch and noticed the clock on the wall behind the counter sat at 5:32 pm.

No fucking way we just spent five hours teaching someone excel.

The cafe had emptied of its moderate crowd from when I’d first arrived. Craig and I were the only people who remained at the tables. Tweek sat behind the counter, eyes focused on his phone. Whatever he watched seemed to be helping him relax. A small smile tugged at his lips and his jolting movements had stilled.

Can’t believe he’s watching baby sensory videos. You do that too when you get anxious.

How am I supposed to know what he’s watching by just looking at him?

He’s an anxious dude who looks around our age. It’s an educated guess.

Craig and I wrapped up our lesson. He thanked me for helping- a flat thanks which still sounded odd with his nasally voice- which was honestly more than I expected. I left him my phone number in case he had any other issues and explained I’d be in town for the next few months. Craig didn’t pretend to listen to me. He accepted the paper with my number and put it in his pocket as he began to clean the mess of cups around us.

I awkwardly sat at the table as Craig headed behind the counter to begin preparing the cafe to close. So, do I just leave now? They don’t seem like the type to chit chat after a stranger helps fix their finances.

Dude yeah get the fuck out of there. You made the connection, now go.

I packed up my belongings, bidding the pair goodbye before heading out the door of Tweek Bros Coffee. The sun had dipped near the skyline of the mountains in the distance. Not quite a sunset but the colors of the sky had begun to shift to warmer tones. The shifted lift cast a golden glow over the street, giving the leaves of the trees along the street side a deeper color with longer shadows stretching across the sidewalk.

I watched my own shadow as I walked to the car. Its elongated legs took miniscule steps to cross the parking lot, forced to walk alongside my legs which were stubs in comparison. I felt bad for holding the shadow back with my too short legs. It probably longed to bound across the town, embracing the full range of its movement and exploring the world for all it has to offer.

Or it’s a fucking shadow and you’re projecting.

Yeah, maybe.

Unlocking my car, I slid into the seat and began my trek back to Liane’s house.

First day in South Park done. Three months to go.

taglist [reply to be added]:@n0tangeliccc , @valstarroz , @kenanonsthoughts , @axteroiid , @hand-writxen , @that-kid-fromtheplayground , @woahnotmecryingoverafanfiction, @h3artilly, @sula0kin, @ryenwritess , @emlovesredbull

#this is how long most of the chapters will be!#get ready for some mom action next chapter hehehehe #south park #south park x reader #corporatefrog #loose change

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