#Sixth Cohort

[toomanycharr]

A comic about Blood Legion (Specifically Claw Warband, Sixth Cohort.)

Artist credit

[raiyenvaladian]

He really does want to learn…

Noticing the approaching Gilnean Blacksmith, the Ren’dorei let out a slight groan, thanking his lucky stars that upon returning from deployment he had already deposited his kit at home. The older gentleman drew closer, the ever present scowl fixed upon his features. His gaze shifted over the Ren’dorei and he grunted a little.

“Come then lad, you wanted to train. Get to the smithy.”

“Ackerman we have only -just- retur–”

“And? Do you want to train or do you want to slack off, Valadian? I am -not- going to waste my time on you, boy.”

Raiyen scowled, his ears flattened slightly as he had to stop himself making a retort.

“Apologies….’course I wanna train… I’ll ‘ead over to the smithy now…”

Plodding over to the blacksmiths, Raiyen noticed a box with his surname stamped to the top of the box, tilting his head a little he peered at the box for a moment before suddenly Thrydwulf Ackerman, the Sixth Cohort’s Blacksmith stood in front of him once more.

“… What are you waiting for? An invitation? Your name is on the bloody box boy. Come on.”

Biting his tongue slightly, Raiyen moved to the box and opened it. A set of the Seventh Legion standard issue in plate was inside, he turned to look back at Thrydwulf for a moment, who simply looked at him and nodded before going back to hammering a long piece of stormsteel into shape. Lifting the pieces out of the box, he pulled each piece on in turn, carefully making sure that it was on correctly. Although the plate was heavier than his leathers he was used to training on a daily basis, so it wasn’t as bad as it could have been.

A small grin formed on his features as he noticed it had all been custom built for himself, his height being taken into consideration as well as his speed. Given that he is and always would be a Riftblade, it was nice to feel that each joint was expertly crafted in order to give for maximum movement, as he finally and almost lastly pulled on his gauntlets he grinned a bit more. There was a small magpie stamped into each gauntlet just below his thumbs.

“It fits really well… Thanks Acker–…”

Thrydwulf simply waved his hand at the Ren’dorei.

“‘rm… No need to thank me, boy. You do what you do, I do what I do.”

Raiyen rolled his eyes slightly at the strange reply but knew that it was better not to question him. Turning his attention back to the gauntlets he examined the magpies, they had been carefully hammered into the metalwork during the forging and they both glowed with a dull hint of magic. Just as he was about to ask about it, Thrydwulf shoved a polearm and shield into his hands.

“Take these, go train on the dummies.”

“… ya made them already? I ain’t even been ‘ere… ya know right length and weigh–…”

Again he was cut off as Thyrdwulf scowled at him. The Gilnean stomped towards him and although he had to look up at Raiyen he was bloody intimidating all the same. Swallowing slightly, Raiyen had to stop himself from stepping backwards.

“Are you questioning my skills, boy?”

“No, Sir. Just marvelin’ at ‘em.”

Thrydwulf stood and stared at him for a long moment, as if there was some hidden agenda from the Ren’dorei, it made Raiyen feel uncomfortable and he simply busied himself with the weapon and shield. Shifting slightly he muttered; “I’ll… go ‘nd test it all out…” leaving Thrydwulf in the blacksmiths.

Thrydwulf shifted a little and watched him go, he let out a grunt. “Well…. At least it fits the tall bastard.” before he moved to stand outside with the helm that had been left in the box, watching the Ren’dorei test out the armour, shield and polearm. A thin smile formed on his features before the Gilnean sighed slightly, although it was good to see someone else training in a medium they were not used to, it did remind him of his son in law, painfully so given that all of his family bar his Grandson had perished from the Worgen curse upon Gilneas. Still the older man watched, the helm tucked under one arm as the Ren’dorei gave it his all, a smirk formed on his lips as he thought to himself; “He really does want to learn…”

[mayasaura]

I think the best possible time travel fic would be to slingshot Harrow from the end of Harrow the Ninth back to the beginning of Gideon the Ninth. Highest hilarity potential, highest angst potential, highest pining potential

Things Harrow knows now that she didn't before:

Who Alecto was

The names of God and his lyctors

The secret of lyctorhood

That the lyctor trials are a death trap

Gideon could be easily persuaded to die for her

Gideon dying for her is the worst thing possible

She would do almost anything to prevent Gideon from dying

Gideon's sword is haunted by a very angry and oddly familiar-looking woman who bears a remarkable resemblance to Gideon

Things Harrow still doesn't know:

What Alecto is

Gideon's parentage

Jackshit about BOE

Mercy and Augustine are both traitors

Things Harrow knew then and still knows now:

Gideon—this Gideon here and now—hates her

She owes a debt of two hundred lives and a future to the Ninth

The survival of the Ninth depends on her becoming a lyctor

[arithmonym]

as much as i love abigail pent, i forget sometimes that she’s very much annexing the fourth house and the teens have complicated feelings about it!

[windmillcrusader]

hm hm hm... ianthe and kiriona wearing white and silver instead of gold... white and silver being eighth house colors... hm...

[hedge-rambles]

Ok @the-genderfluid-antichrist your tags have me Thinking.

#the fourth fifth dynamic has been fascinating to me especially since the cohort intelligence files#because they make it really clear that the fifth is in charge of the fourth in all but official terma#but they also spesifically say that Abigail was maneuvering to dynasticlly merge the two houses#she set up a marrige between Isaac and her nephew#the nephew that was a future heir to rhe fifth since Abigail didn't have kids and was going to pass the fifth to her brother#so in only two generations (if Cytherea hadn't happened) the fourth and the fifth would have been ruled by the same person#it's also an interesting note because normally inter house necromancer marriages aren't common#ugh the workings and politics of the dominicus system and the nine house empire generally are fascinating#and we know so little about it all despite spending the most time with a collection of nobility then god and his polyclue#the locked tomb#remember

So I lean a bit more towards the Fifth primarily being concerned with in-system management rather than out-of-system stuff but I guess that's not necessarily relevant here. What I'm interested in though is the idea that this would forge a very strong alliance between the Fifth and Fourth, potentially including, as you say, a situation in which the same person stands to inherit both. Though, it's possible the nephew in question is not the one set to inherit after her brother. None the less, that would still potentially lead to a situation in which the head of the Fifth's brother-in-law was the spouse of the head of the Fourth.

Reading the Cohort Intelligence Files again I wonder...Pent's grandfather was Admiral of the Undying Fleet, and Judy questions where her anti-cohort sentiment comes from. I suspect that information from him may have been the start of it tbh.

The Fifth have political capital and information, but they lack for martial power. I almost wonder if Abigail, and possibly her mother before her, may have had some serious schemes in the works that would be easier if, say, the military power of the Fourth was on your side...wild conjecture I know but from AYU we know Corona and Ianthe also had questions about the way the Empire was being run. And if they had noticed something was off about it, it's hard to believe Abigail "fuck the Cohort" Pent wouldn't have.

What do the Fifth House actually do?

Sure, yes, ghosts and tradition and the Heart of the Emperor, and Watchers Over the River - but none of those things give you the kind of assets that mean you can dress your cavalier in a coat that "probably cost more than the Ninth House had in its coffers" for a dinner party.

It's made clear very early on that the Fifth are a power to be reckoned with. When they first receive the letter about the Lyctoral pilgrimage, Gideon assumes it would be on the Third or Fifth. Harrow, meanwhile, has frequently-repeated anxieties about the Ninth being subsumed by the Third or Fifth, to the point that she worries that the anniversary party invitation may be an attempt to wipe out the other Houses. Teacher describes the Fifth's relationship with the Fourth as "hegemonic". The Fifth loom so large in the cultural imagination, they even inform the name of the made up porn magazine that Gideon offers to Crux.

The links between the Third and the Fifth that both Gideon and Harrow make seem to reflect both the fact that these two Houses have particular power and influence, but also that they frequently cooperate. Judith writes about the close cooperation of the Second, Third, and Fifth, a relationship which becomes a source of tension as the scions seek to establish authority after the Fifth are murdered. Judith says:

“The Fifth are dead. I take authority for the Fifth. I say we need military intervention, and we need it right now. As the highest-ranked Cohort officer present, that decision falls to me.” “A Cohort captain,” said Naberius, “don’t rank higher than a Third official.” “I’m very much afraid that it does, Tern.” “Prince Tern, if you please,” said Ianthe.

Which makes it sound as though Abigail might technically have been considered the highest ranking person at Canaan House (likely because she was head of her House and not an heir in waiting like Judith or Coronabeth), and that following her death there is some question as to whether the Second or the Third should take control, but notably no suggestion that anyone else might.

We know what the Second do: they are the leaders of the Cohort and the Bureau, the military and intelligence that forms the core of imperial expansion. Most of the information that we get about the other Houses talks only about their cultural or ritual roles in the empire - we get very little in the way of gritty details of what happens outside of the Dominicus system.

We know a little bit about what the Third does - according to Tor they are cultural trendsetters and players in soft power, but the one detail we get in GTN itself is revealing: when Gideon imagines her glorious future in the Cohort, one of the assignments she considers boring is the prospect of being "in some foreign city babysitting some Third governor." Which makes it sound rather like the Second are conquering the planets and the Third are then running them. But the books are even lighter in details about what the Fifth do, beyond ghosts and manners.

However, there is one suggestive detail: an important topic in HTN is stele travel - the necromantic FTL used by the Nine Houses. And Mercymorn, in describing a stele, specifically states that Fifth House adepts are required for their construction. Which rather makes it sound like the Fifth have a monopoly on the manufacturer of the technology required for FTL travel. Now that in and of itself could be the basis of their enormous wealth - selling aerospace tech to an ever expansionist military is probably quite lucrative.

But there's another element of House imperialism that only gets mentioned in passing that doesn't seem to be entirely accounted for, which Judith describes in As Yet Unsent:

"Their other line of attack is the business contracts. They claim that the services asked of them by the Emperor were set down in lifetime contracts by previous generations, who assumed the contracts would be terminated upon the Emperor’s death."

There are obviously some unanswered questions about the imperialist project of the Nine Houses - both Augustine and Coronabeth question quite why it works the way it does - but from the above it sounds like in many respects it functions exactly as you would expect an empire to: as a vehicle for the exploitation of others' resources.

Perhaps the Cohort themselves administer these business contracts. Perhaps they fall under the purview of the Third House planetary governors. But if you're exporting resources from the living planets of your empire to the mostly desolate planets of the Dominicus system, you're going to need some FTL ships and a whole lot of bureaucracy.

And if there's one other detail that we get about the Fifth, it's that there is something significant about the political power of their bureaucracy. As Judith puts it: "Quinn himself is a Fifth House bureaucrat with all that entails."

Are the Second, Third, and Fifth so close and so powerful because they form the bedrock of the empire: the conquest, control, and exploitation of planets beyond the Dominicus system?

[fortjester]

honestly, i just gotta imagine anybody from the Houses not involved with the Cohort hearing abt tlt events would be wild. like

random fifth house citizen: all....all of the house heirs died?

their random fifth house citizen friend: [nodding] except for Ianthe Tridentarius of the Third and a Ninth nun. they’re the Emperor’s new Lyctors.

random fifth house citizen: [imagining the Lyctor trials as Battle Royale style death matches]....but everyone else died??

-

random fifth house citizen’s friend: hey did you hear? the sixth house installation got cooked in that recent sunflare!

random fifth house citizen: 

random fifth house citizen’s friend: also the Emperor has a daughter

random fifth house citizen: oh shit really? congrats to him. chaotic time to be raising a kid tho, imo

random fifth house citizen’s friend: she’s like, nineteen

random fifth house citizen:

-

random fifth house citizen’s friend: [poking their head into the room] hey, just letting you know, the tomb’s open

random fifth house citizen: the what’s what

random fifth house citizen’s friend: the tomb is open. the locked one. on the ninth house. it’s open.

random fifth house citizen:

[azdoine]

stolen planets

this is a minor point of order, mostly unrelated to the stuff about the River that I'm trying to get to later, but it's an idea I've never seen anyone post about in their consideration of John's empire and agenda.

early on in AYU, while dwelling on her miserable slog through convalescence, Judith mentions overhearing an inscrutable bit of BOE slang:

The stomach pouch was removed on a previous excursion to what they said was an abandoned “steal planet.” I understand that they use the word “steal” for what we would term “shepherd.”

I say slang because why else would you use the present tense verb in place of a past-tense adjective here, if not as colloquialism? however, this slang appears nowhere in NTN, where we spend great chunks of time airing out BOE vernacular.

Reading between the lines a bit, we can easily guess what the BOE troops meant by "steal", because they spend the rest of the short story trying to get Judith connected to one:

The ship was a Gorgon-class vehicle... it was the last time they had tried to design a light craft that still had room for a stele. Blood of Eden must have captured or stolen one intact.

However, this is still an unusual way of speaking; we've never exactly heard of a "stele planet" before, and we know BOE had to get their stele from Mercymorn, as opposed to finding one in the corpse of a flipped planet.

Looking for 'plot holes' and errors in the continuity of a magic system is rarely productive, but if we comb back over HTN, AYU, and NTN, there appear to be some interesting inconsistencies in the presentation of stelae.

In HTN, John describes stele travel as vaguely dependent on obelisk infrastructure, forcing his Lyctors (who can travel freely) to lay down more of them - the reader is encouraged to that stelae are warp drives, and that obelisks define the regions a stele can transit between.

God said, “We came up with the stele instead, and the obelisk, which are less to do with travel than they are to do with transmission. But there will be times in your future when you will have to move unfettered by needing an obelisk, and even times yet to come when you will fulfil the sacred Lyctoral duty of setting obelisks...”

“Where we are going there are no obelisks for a stele to hook on to,” said the Emperor.

Certain asides in AYU and NTN double down on this interpretation, making references to "obelisk anchors", and establishing the need to locate an anchor at one's intended destination before embarking on stele travel:

Someone else said more clearly, How will we know where the anchor is? And the voice said, I’ve given you the blasted co-ordinates, haven’t I? It won’t be in the ship’s stellar registry, so you’ll have to do the input work yourself. And you must follow the route I’ve given you afterward.

“The Ziz isn’t Cohort standard. And it’s not as big on the inside as you think. Look at the windows—see how there’re none on the back end? It’s mostly engine. Not plated either. It’ll get to sublume without many problems … but it definitely doesn’t have room for a stele. Camilla is right. It can’t travel by obelisk anchor.”

However, AYU makes it clear that a stele also has a role to play as an anchor:

Under this duress I told them I understood how the stele worked but had no ability to use it myself... I said one necromancer alone would not be able to use it as an anchor and that it needed to be energised on a thanergenic planet, so it would never be of any use to them.

NTN even seems to flip-flop around, with people locating a stele to anchor onto, and using obelisks like an array of engines rather than to define one end in a point-to-point transition.

"The Warden convinced the Oversight Body, convinced the Sixth House to come with us. We showed them the secret of the installation. We helped them find a stele that would anchor such a big thanergy transition … which means, we helped them move."

"How’d you get it through a stele? With the weight of that thing, you’d never survive River displacement.” “Five hundred and thirty-two obelisks,” said Camilla.

Here's my tinfoil hat for you: if a stele and an obelisk both have similar roles to play in FTL travel - as suggested by their both being named after words for monuments - then the obelisk should have a similar necromantic nature. They may both be similar names for the same thing, or two different versions of the same thing, at least.

If nothing else, given that they're clearly both "anchors" rooted in Fifth House spirit magic, obelisks and stelae must have similar demands for upkeep and maintenance. And how can a Lyctor possibly set up such an obelisk out in space?

We know that each anchor relies on great quantities of freshly oxygenated and thanergy-enriched blood - that is, each anchor is sustained by a thanergenic fluid still flush with thalergy, per Pyrrha's comments to the effect that blood wards are more thalergy-rich than bone wards. Such anchors also have to be charged with power from thanergy-rich planets.

Mercymorn was able to produce an automatic oxygenation unit via the use of flesh magic, but blood cells need external organs to stay alive. For purposes of sustaining a very large anchor with life and death, a simpler option might be to make your runes with very wide chisel cuts or specially treated surfaces, so that they can't be blotted out by debris, and then leave them in a liquid ecosystem. Place them at the bottom of a water basin teeming with microorganisms, and then allow the micro-ecology to start dying off in the same thanergenic background radiation that you're using to charge up the anchor monument.

For example, by carving into the seabed under the salt-water ocean of a dying planet - a stele planet.

[raedas]

where in the locked tomb universe are we?

or: a tentative guide to the solar system in the locked tomb and which houses go where :)

[id: a diagram of the solar system, including pluto, with additional white text overlaid over each body. the sun is labeled dominicus, mercury is labeled the sixth, venus is the seventh, earth is the first, mars is the second, jupiter is the third, saturn is the fifth, uranus is the fourth, neptune is the eight, and pluto is the ninth. /end id]

note: i'm pretty sure people have put together similar analyses before, but i wanted to try my own hand at it! and please feel free to share if you disagree with me on anything & your own evidence and thoughts <3

evidence & analysis under the cut!

THE NINTH HOUSE:

okay, this one is pretty much just a freebie. if you didn't know that the ninth house was on pluto, then, uh... sorry! i'm not going to exhaustively go through all the evidence for this one, but some things that stick out are the cold, gideon's awe at how close the first house is to the sun, and the fact that it's the "ninth" to begin with—the house that wasn't really meant to exist, perfectly in line with the planet that isn't really a planet THE FIRST HOUSE:

this one is given to us just as much, if not moreso, than the ninth. with that in mind, i'm just going to do a quick run through of the evidence that the first house is earth: it's very blue and covered in water, there are ruins of civilization, it's "the first", so on and so forth. home, sweet home :)

THE SIXTH HOUSE:

Then he said, "The sun has stabilized. Hope the Sixth House didn't get cooked in the flare." (Harrow the Ninth, 490)

this line is pretty much the entire selling point for the sixth being on mercury, the closest planet to the sun! (until they run away to the other side of the universe, that is)

THE SEVENTH HOUSE:

There were other planets that made their homelands closer to the burning star of Dominicus--the Seventh and Sixth, for instance--but to Gideon they could not imaginably be anything else than 100 percent on fire. (Gideon the Ninth, 67)

the implication here is fairly obvious: the seventh and sixth are on venus and mercury, or vice versa. thankfully, since we have the sixth squared away as mercury, it's pretty obvious that the seventh is located on venus

BONUS MYTHOLOGY FACT: venus is the roman goddess of beauty! (also known by her greek name, aphrodite). "seven for beauty that blossoms and dies", huh?

THE EIGHTH HOUSE:

"I squeal so long and so loud that they hear me from the Eighth." (Gideon the Ninth, 26)

while this line is obvious hyperbole, to me it implies one of two things: either the eighth is the farthest planet from the ninth, or it's right next to them. and since we know that mercury already has its hands full with sixth house, i think it's safe to assume that the eighth is on neptune, the ninth's next door neighbor :)

THE SECOND HOUSE:

"We went through the same shitty questions of what to do. What about the Mars installation, what about the fusion batteries?" (Nona the Ninth, 74)

john helpfully offers this tidbit to us when he's recounting everything that happened leading up to the apocalypse to harrow. i think it says a lot that there was a mars installation even before the apocalypse properly hit, and it makes sense that said installation would eventually become a proper House, with a capital H

BONUS MYTHOLOGY FACT: mars is the roman god of warfare (known in greek as ares)! looks at the second house and how closely they're associated the cohort... yeah, i think that speaks for itself

THE THIRD & FIFTH HOUSES:

"I thought we'd end up on the Third or the Fifth, or a sweet space station, or something." (Gideon the Ninth, 56)

"We are not becoming an appendix of the Third or Fifth Houses," continued the necromancer opposite." (Gideon the Ninth, 58)

okay, here's this bit where things begin to get a bit hairy. repeatedly throughout the books, we're told about how the third and fifth are the two "big" houses. harrow's scared of them and worried they'll make the ninth one of their appendixes, gideon originally thinks the entire lyctoral meeting will be on one of their planets, so on and so forth. with that in mind, it really isn't that much of a stretch to think they'd be situated on the two giants in our solar system: jupiter and saturn. we'll come back in a moment to sort out which is which!

THE FOURTH HOUSE:

aaaand uranus is the only planet left! congrats, fourth!

THE THIRD & FIFTH HOUSES (again):

"Naturally [Isaac] is Pent's protégé. I hear the Fifth takes special pains with the Fourth... hegemonic pains, some may say." (Gideon the Ninth, 170)

from this quote, as well as the whole of jeannemary & isaac's relationship with magnus & abigail, we can surmise that the fourth house is very close to the fifth house (hegemonic though it may be). it's reasonable that that metaphorical proximity is reflecting (or caused by) something else: physical proximity. with that, i think it's fairly safe to assume that the fifth is on saturn, putting the third on jupiter

DOMINICUS:

aaand finally, the center of the solar system itself! i really, really don't think it needs sharing that dominicus is the sun, as long as you accept that the locked tomb takes place in our own solar system. however, i do think the meaning of dominicus is worth sharing. coming from latin, it translates roughly to "lordly", "belonging to god", or "of the master." very subtle, john, very subtle.

[evilweasel]

Locked Tomb Necro-Cav Dynamics

I'm probably either reaching or stating something really obvious, but - if the necro/cavalier partnership is supposed to be a metaphor for marriage under patriarchy (in being that it was created by a guy who seemed to have taken bullet points from the previous society and its power dynamics, in which one party holds all the power and the other is supposed to submit and serve blindly), then a lot of the necro/cav pairings we see in Canaan House reflect a lot of marriage tropes from Earth.

Judith and Marta

They seem to reflect a "stereotypical" necro-cavaliership, akin to a stereotypical marriage. Judith and Marta appear to have known each other in school ("I have studied energy transferral aptitude with Lt. Dyas since our school days." [GtN: P.456]) and were sworn to each other not long after school , not dissimilar to how a lot of very "traditional" marriages begin in high school and are quickly consummated after. They are also very professional and close with each other, and through Cohort military training are the pinnacle of everything a necro and cav should be, even down to Judith having to watch her cavalier die for her lol.

Ianthe, Coronabeth, and Naberius

Necro-cavalier bonds are typically partnerships, HOWEVER in this case Ianthe makes a third, and so she and her twin have to share a cavalier, which is very much frowned upon. My initial thought is this is a metaphor for polyamory, despite Ianthe and Corona being twins. But also them being twins hasn't stopped them from being very... attached to each other, to the point where several characters in the novels make references to their incestous-bordering relationship. (Palamedes comments about it to Nona I can't find the exact quote rn it's very late). So maybe it's not that far fetched.

Isaac and Jeannemary

The "arranged child marriage" trope, as they are the youngest necro/cav pair, having been sworn to each other at age 9/10, and Jeannemary being modelled into Isaac's cavalier from birth ("Intended to be Isaac's cavalier from birth, swore the oath with him and gained the title at age nine." [GtN: P. 460]). This is not unlike a lot of marriages between throughout the ages as families betrothe their young/unborn to strengthen ties and forge alliances.

Magnus and Abigail

Magnus and Abigail are a weird one again, because I'm saying the necro/cav relationship are a metaphor for marriage, and yet Abigail and Magnus, who ARE married, are reviled for it. The metaphor isn't perfect, and I'm willing to be wrong about this. Honestly just read this post by @katakaluptastrophy because honestly it was this that got me thinking in the first place.

Silas and Colum

Silas and Colum are a play on many marriages being incestuous; it's not unheard of for medieval marriages to be between uncles and nieces or aunts and nephews, especially to keep blood purity in noble families, which is very much a mindset of the Eighth and their need to "breed batteries". (Source)

Harrowhark and Gideon

Honestly, for these two I'm... not sure which part would be the metaphor. The sham nature of their necro/cav partnership? The power dynamics of an indentured servant being boosted up to the partner of a figurehead? All of it?

And from here I can't think of other marriage tropes that fit the others. The two left are the Sixth and Seventh but as we don't know anything about the relationship between Dulcinea and Protesilaus (since both are a bit... out the picture during GtN), it's hard to comment on. Unless, that's the commentry? Cam and Pal also don't fit anything that immediately comes to mind, apart from maybe mild incest again? But then, we have the Eighth to fit that trope already,,,

Let me know if you think this idea has any merit!! It's 4am, I'm tired, and I'll go back and fix sourcing issues at another point lol.

[magneticecstasy]

clandestine ✤ joel miller part i — new horizons

series masterlist & foreword | ao3

moodboard is not an illustration of how reader should look, just for the ~vibes~

fic summary: it’s september 2016, you're in your final year of sixth form college and joel miller joins the teaching staff as your new history teacher. over the course of the academic year, boundaries are blurred, crossed and ruined when joel begins to reciprocate your insatiable crush on him; what should be so wrong just feels so right.

rating: E | pairing/AU: teacher!joel x student!fem!reader

chapter warnings/tags: (6.5k) this is an 18+ fic so mdni! dubcon (due to student/teacher relationship, both parties are consenting otherwise), age gap (reader is 18, Joel is in his early 30s), power imbalance, inappropriate relationships (teacher!Joel is not a good teacher), fetishization of new-adulthood (if you squint), some pervy!Joel, inexperienced!fem!reader is hornee™, pet names (Joel calls reader darlin’, sweetheart etc.), minimal description of fem!reader where possible, reader has hair and is generally able-bodied, otherwise undescribed where possible.

a/n: ahhhh the first chapter of my first fic finally out!! i won't lie i am so nervous to post this but reading other lovely fics from the pedro pascal cinematic universe™ written by some amazing people has inspired me to write and post my own. any feedback is greatly appreciated, especially as a new writer. i hope you all enjoy the teacher!joel brainrot as much as i do.💞

account tags (let me know if you'd like to be added): @sugadolly can't wait for you to read this! hope you enjoy!💓

Tuesday 4th September

8:44am

The calm corridor echoes with the sound of your shoes hitting the ground hard as you run to your registration period before halting suddenly.

“I’m here, Mrs Marvelley,” you holler at your form tutor as you tumble into her classroom in a rush and fluster. “I’m here before quarter to,” you pant, heavy rucksack in tow, having just bolted up two flights. You arrive just as she calls your name on the attendance register, narrowly avoiding a late mark that you were keen to avoid on your last first day of school.

She rolls her eyes, and mumbles something along the lines of “You’re lucky.”  

Usually punctual to form registration and lessons, you were delayed countless times this morning by classmates wishing you a belated ‘happy birthday’ for last Sunday, your 18th. Born at the start of September, you're among the oldest in your year, one of the first in your cohort to reach adulthood. Many of these conversations with friends animatedly recapped the events of your party the previous Saturday. The gathering was a typical teenage house party: no parental supervision, loud music, junk food, with a few bottles of booze and packs of cigarettes acquired on the sly through nefarious means, with way more people that you’d initially invited. Luckily, your close friends helped with the cleanup operation the next day, and your parents' trust in you remained intact and you stayed in their good books for the time being.

Realising the time, you part ways with your friends, each heading to your respective form classes, a wave of contentment washing over you. Unfortunately, someone had to go and ruin it.

Taunts of ‘look at her, MILF in the making’ , and ‘best time to start an OnlyFans is now, babe’ from a crew of boys you’ve never liked echo down the corridor. Their cruel laughter at their own remarks colour your anger a violent crimson. 

“Oh, get fucked ,” you seethe through clenched teeth, flipping a middle finger in their direction, all the while praying you won’t get caught for the foul language. Turning on your heel you swiftly retreat, eager to escape the confrontation.

A few metres down the corridor, you overhear the boys’ guffaws being cut off by a chastation from a voice that’s foreign to you. Rounding the corridors’ corner, you decide to hang about and eavesdrop on the hecklers’ punishment.

“Now boys, I know y’all don’t know me yet but I don’t think this is a great introduction for my first day here.” The voice is deep, gravelly, laced with an American accent that you guess as Southern—maybe Texan if you had to be precise. Must be someone new, maybe a teacher? A member of Senior Leadership? You’re sure you’ll find out during registration if you were to ask around.

“I-I-It was only a joke, sir,” one of the crew pleaded to him. Not so big and bad now, eh?

“Oh sure , sure.” The voice drawls, laced in sarcasm. “Funny ‘cause it was lookin’ like you were botherin’ a young lady.”

“Oh sir, don’t be like that, it was just banter,” another boy pipes up.

The unknown voice lets out a deep huff. “Do you need your heads checked? Y’all were spoutin’ some real sexist things, and that ain’t a joke, boys — it’s not ‘banter’ ,” the gruff voice now raised, seething. “Seein’ as your ‘jokes’ have now landed yourselves in after school detention tonight, I think ya’ll need to come with me to get your detention slips signed.”

The group of boys groan in unison and you hear one swear under their breath. Oh shit, they’re in for it, now.

“Hey!” The pitch of his speech deepens, harsh and guttural, a threatening aura now looming in the air. “Let’s not make it two after school detentions in a row for insubordination.” The boys are now deathly silent. “I recommend y’all shut your traps and follow me. I’ll email your tutors and let them know why you’ll be late for registration. What a disappointin’ start to the year, boys…” The husky voice trails in the opposite direction, still berating and scolding the group.

You’re itching to text your friends about the clash that just went down, but just as you’re about to hit send, the bell rings for morning registration. Shit. You tuck your phone away and hustle towards your form classroom, hoping to avoid a late mark.

9:03am

Your form group was small, fewer than 15. A few of them were familiar faces from your early years in primary school, while most were friends you had made during your time at the local high school. There were also a few new acquaintances from other schools in the area, including Chelsea, notably absent from your registration period this morning.

Despite only meeting her last year when you joined the college, she’d quickly become one of your closest friends. She was in your History and English Lit/Lang classes so you often spent time together, as well as studying and revising at each others’ houses, and over time your friendship blossomed. The first year of your A-Level courses were a journey for you both: you laughed together, cried together, comforted each other through the meltdowns triggered by the towering workload and disheartening feedback on essays you’d slaved over.

This morning’s registration period is extended by 20 minutes, seeing as it’s the first day back and there’s a lot to catch up on; new schedules to coordinate and potentially revise in the case of any timetable clashes. This was to be followed by a ‘Welcome Back’ assembly held in the main hall of the sixth form college, that you don’t doubt will be boring as hell.

Your head is buried in your new school planner, setting it up for the upcoming year, when you feel a tap on your shoulder. Turning around, you are greeted by the beaming face of Chelsea.

“Chelsea! Hey!” you say, surprised but happy to see her. “Dude, you are so late.” You stand to pull her into a tight squeeze of a hug.

“Babe, I know —my car was being a bitch this morning, took forever to start,” she exhales, exasperated. She breaks the embrace, drops her backpack on the floor and sits at the desk next to you.

“Shows you for driving an absolute shitbox,” you tease, attempting to lean back into the rigid plastic seat.

“Hey, don’t talk about Gizmo like that, it’ll hurt his feelings.” Chelsea throws a mock frown at you. “Not like your hunk o’ junk is much better.”

“Guilty as charged,” you banter, arms up in mock surrender.

“ Anyway …Happy belated birthday!” she exclaims, pulling out a small, colourful badge from her bag. “I know I couldn't make it on Saturday, so I wanted to give you this now. You gotta wear it all day.”

You look at the badge; it is vibrant and cheerful decorated with hearts and stars, with a playful ‘Birthday Girl!’ written in glittery bubble letters. A mix of emotions washes over you. You are so pleased by the thoughtfulness of her gesture—Chelsea was always a giver—but a little embarrassed by the idea of wearing a badge in front of everyone on the first day back.

“Awh, Chelsea, you didn't have to…” you start, but she cuts you off.

“I know, I know, but I wanted to. You deserve a little extra celebration!” she grins, pinning the badge to your blazer proudly.

You feel a warmth spread through you. It is touching to know she had thought of you and made the effort despite missing the actual day. You glance around, noticing a few curious glances from your classmates. Embarrassment mingles with gratitude, and you smile at her warmly.

“Thanks, Chels," you say sincerely. “This means a lot.”

Chelsea flashes a wink. “That’s what friends are for, right?”

With that, you begin recalling the details of the altercation you overheard between the boys and the new staff member. You provide a concise rundown, explaining how the boys suddenly started harassing you, describing how this new, mysterious person defended you after you had presumably left. Chelsea is as astonished as you are to hear the entire story.

“Wait, you have no idea who it was? And he was American ?” Chelsea raises an eyebrow, then narrows her eyes, probing you further for details.

“Southern? I dunno. And, nope, sorry, no idea, hon,” you shrug, “I didn’t think to get a look at him. Didn’t want to get caught eavesdropping, y’know.”

Chelsea ponders, drawing out her words. “Hmm, interesting...”

“Do you know of any new teachers taking over this year?”

“Not a Scooby-Doo clue, mate,” her shoulders rising and falling in a shrug. She pauses a moment, lightly tapping the desk with her fingertips and pursing her lips. “ So … Did he sound hot?”

“Chels! You can’t say that!” You gasp, shocked at her question, hitting her arm playfully.

“Oh come on, I just wanna know the deets!”, she defends whilst punching you back in jest. “Did he sound old, young—you gotta give me something to work with?!”

“I dunno how to describe it, umm… he was…” you trail off, replaying the snippets of what you overheard like a movie. 

The voice was a rich, gravelly drawl that sent shivers down your spine. His tone had a weathered maturity, a deep, husky resonance that carried the weight of experience. There was a touch of warmth, even when he was angry, like a low rumble of thunder on a hot summer night, both comforting and electrifying. It was the kind of voice that could soothe a troubled mind or set hearts racing with a whisper. The kind of voice that you were desperate to hear again, that sparked your curiosity.

“It was, like, deeper, husky— I don’t fucking know , Chels!”, you attempt to surmise before breaking out into a giggle and your cheeks warming into a blush.

“A-ha! So, he was hot! You jammy bitch.”

“We don’t even know what he looks like, so we can’t say for definite if he is or isn’t hot yet.”

“Well if he sounds fit, he probably will be.” There’s a proverb in there, somewhere, if you look hard enough.

“You’re an idiot, you know that?”, you jest. Chelsea laughs and it’s infectious, both of you giggling at your wild hypotheses.

Your conversation is cut short when Mrs Marvelley calls for the class’ attention. She begins handing out your new timetables for the year, and you grab yours from her eagerly, hoping that it’s not terrible.

“These are your timetables for this year. I’ll give you a few minutes to check them over. If there’s no issues, head up to the main hall for assembly. If there are issues, you need to go down to the admin office and speak to Mr Jones. I repeat, you need to see Mr Jones.” She spots a hand raised amongst the group. “And, no , Dan, he won’t change it so you get Fridays off, no matter how much you beg and bribe him.” A few quiet snickers ripple across the class.

Looking at the timetable, your eyes are drawn to a different set of initials where you expect to find AW, for Mr Walker, one of your lecturers who seemed as ancient as history itself.

HIST/A2

JM

Rm. 93

A few of your other peers also spot the change too and break out into a slew of overlapping speculative discussions.

Is he dead? Wouldn’t surprise me—My sister heard he had to get a hip replacement, second one musta gave out finally—I guess Mr Walker ain’t walking anymore, hahaha, what? C’mon, it’s just a joke, Miss, be chill—Who’s JM? You reckon it’s a guy or a girl? I hope they’re nice, not like Mr Hall. He’s a dick—Can’t believe they haven’t sacked him yet. 

“You good? Everything okay?” Chelsea asks, standing to collect her belongings.

“Yeah, no issues here.” You follow suit, packing your bag to leave. “‘Cept Mr Hall is still teaching History.” 

“ Ugh , tell me about it. Let’s hope this fresh meat isn’t as much of a twat as he is.”

“That’s wishful thinking, Chels, but I got my fingers crossed. Anyway, time for us to be bored out of our minds for an hour. Let’s go.”

10:28am

As you’d predicted, the Welcome Back assembly dragged on for what seemed like millennia. You’d been sitting there that long that your ass had gone numb. Led by the assistant headteacher Mr Faulkner, it was the usual presentation, welcoming everyone back after the summer, a few announcement of extra-curricular activities commencing this week, with some interesting musical performances from the Music students and a refresh of the colleges’ rules, expectations and consequences: 

Try your best.

You are a representative of the College, in and out. Conduct yourselves in a manner that does not put the institution into disrepute.

You are in your last year now, make it count.

Surely, this all could have been in an email . It was basically the same trifle they spouted last year. 

Before you feel yourself fall asleep out of boredom, the last announcement catches your attention, and urges you and Chelsea to sit up in your seats.

“Before we end our assembly today and let you go to break, I have one last announcement—an introduction, actually,” Mr Faulkner announces, wrinkled hands clasped tightly together. Microphone feedback echoes awkwardly through the speakers. 

Shallow murmurs ripple across the hall. In sync, you and Chelsea flash each other a knowing look. This could be the end to the mystery that plagued you both all morning.

“As you may be aware, we had to bid farewell to our longest serving member of teaching staff, Mr Walker. Over summer, he underwent some surgery and he felt that it was in his best interest to retire after an illustrious 45 year career in teaching. He sends his best wishes for your year ahead and apologises for not being able to do so in person. We thank him for his many years at this College and wish him a speedy recovery.”

Chelsea leans to you. “ Jesus Christ, he doesn’t half go on, does he? Just get to the fucking point, man, ” she whispers before Mrs Marvelley quietly shushes her and raises a hand in a silent apology. You chuckle under your breath, silently agreeing with your friend. A shiver of excitement races down your spine, making your fingers tingle, a slow and steady anticipation building within you.

“I’d like to formally introduce you all to our newest member of staff to join our College. He is a former lecturer from across the pond and we are so grateful to have him join our department of Humanities and Social Studies. So please give a warm welcome to the stage, Mr Joel Miller.” A lulled applause breaks out across the hall. Mr Faulkner takes a step back from the mic and your eyes scan towards the front, looking for this ambiguous Mr Miller to join the stage.

And that’s when you spot him. Probably one of the most attractive people you’ve ever laid eyes on. The kind of person that makes your breath hitch, cheeks hot and heart skip a beat. You’re silently praying to a higher power he has an American accent as he climbs the few steps up to the stage.

Time feels like molasses as your eyes drink him in. His hair is a rich brown and pairs deliciously with his eyes, falling across his head in tousled waves. The boyish curls, a little dishevelled, frame his face perfectly and suggest a softness that beckons you to touch them. Though sparse in places along his strong jawline, the uneven growth of his facial hair adds an irresistibly raw, untamed allure, hinting at a blend of tenderness and roughness that you find insatiable. A textured beige blazer drapes over his broad shoulders, accentuating and hugging his physique with each movement. Underneath, you could see a burnt orange button-up shirt, which complements the warmth of his skin. An undone top button reveals a slight glimpse of his chest, firing your desire to see more .

Lost in him, your mind wanders as you envisage how his salt-and-pepper scruff would feel against the soft skin of your cheeks, peppering wet, sweet kisses trailing down your neck and body, and before arriving at the delicate creases of your thighs. Sweat drips down your back as your tummy flutters and tightens, and you cross your legs to seek any sort of purchase to relieve the building pressure in your core, a wetness beginning to pool in your underwear, cheeks blushing at the sight of him. Almost immediately you decide that you want him to absolutely ruin you.

A familiar voice drawls across the hall’s speakers, snapping you back to reality. You glance around to see if anyone noticed your reaction. Thankfully everyone is facing the front, focusing on the assembly.

“Uh, hi folks, thanks for having me,” Mr Miller utters into the microphone, a soft nervous smile blooming across his face. Bingo. Mystery solved at last.

You whack Chelsea in the side in an effort to get her attention and she whips her head round. It's him, you mouth silently, that’s the guy.

“No, shit. I told you he was gonna be fit.”

Saying he was fit felt like an understatement. He was immaculate, a commanding masculine energy radiating from him. To you, he's a masterpiece that's rough around the edges, sultry perfection with a touch of brooding reality.

“I ain’t one for public speaking so I appreciate y’all being so kind in welcoming me here today. And thank you to Mr Faulkner for that, uh, introduction,” he says, a soft chortle escaping his mouth. “I’m honoured to be joining such a prestigious department and hopefully live up to Mr Walker’s legacy. No pressure, amirite?”

He chuckles again, joined by a comforting wave of murmured chuckles from students around you. You’re transfixed, hanging onto every word he says.

“In all seriousness, ‘m looking forward to settling in, getting to teach history, doing what I love — thank you,” he finishes, punctuating the sentence with a slight nod. Taking a step back from the mic to allow Mr Faulkner to finally wrap up the assembly, you choose to ignore the assistant head and pour your focus entirely into Mr Miller.

Head tilting like a curious puppy, you pay close attention as he slides his glasses up his aquiline nose with his middle finger and runs his large hand through his hair, touseling his curls. You begin to fiddle with your delicate chain necklace, fingertips barely grazing the sensitive skin of your neck as a warm giddiness prevails over you causing your cheeks to burn harder. Jesus fucking Christ, he’s perfect.

“What? ” Chelsea whispers, poking her finger into your side. “ What did you say? ”

“Huh?” you murmur. Confused at first before awareness sets in, your eyes widen like a deer in headlights, realising what you’d whispered aloud. You’re about to respond and promise to tell her at break, when Mrs Marvelley's sharp whisper cuts through the air, causing you and Chelsea to freeze in your seats like statues.

“Girls ! That’s enough.” Arms crossed tightly across her body, she leans in to avoid drawing attention to herself as she delivers a quiet but harsh scolding. “Stay here at the end of assembly. You have detention for constant whispering. Now, be quiet . So incredibly rude,” she hisses. 

Avoiding Mrs Marvelley’s scathing eye contact, both you and Chelsea offer mumbled apologies, a mix of sorry Miss and won’t do it again . For fuck’s sake. Detention was the last thing you needed on your first day back.You’re kicking yourself for sitting at the end of the row instead of the middle, where you would have quietly gossiped without getting caught usually.  At least it was only technically 50% your fault with Chelsea involved, when you thought about it. You pray she didn’t overhear you gushing over the new teacher—the thought itself makes you feel nauseous.

The assembly rolls to a close at long last, and students and staff begin to file out of the main hall. In the hustle and bustle, you lose sight of Mr Miller and a feeling of longing waves over you as if you miss him already like a pathetic puppy. Meanwhile, you and Chelsea remain seated, bracing yourselves a stern lecture from your form tutor. You exchange glances every now and again, struggling to stifle your laughter despite your present situation. It’s always funny how being forbidden to speak makes everything seem so much more amusing.

11:07am

Mrs Marvelley escorts you back to her classroom at breaktime and delivers a scorned lecture as she logs the detention on her prehistoric computer, almost punching the keys of the keyboard. The computer was probably as old as you, if not older.

“Girls, I cannot believe that you were being so rude, whispering constantly like that. Every single time I looked over, you were just talking . You’re meant to be the good girls in my form class — really let me down today. Imagine what impression that makes on Mr Faulkner or even Mr Miller who’s new to this college, the pair of you gossiping like that.”

Neither you or Chelsea interrupt her, knowing better to just accept the scolding than to argue back. Admittedly, she’s laying it on a bit thick, it wasn’t like you’d committed any serious infractions or catcalled and harrassed another pupil like some people you know. It was just gossiping. All the same, you feel a pang of embarrassment in the pit of your stomach.

Mrs Marvelley twists her thin wrist to check the time on her watch.

“Alright ladies, you’ve got 10 minutes left of your detention but I need to pop out to speak to someone next door. It'll be a few minutes. Can I trust you both to stay here until I get back?”

You and Chelsea nod without saying anything. Mrs Marvelley leaves without a word and you’re both left to your own devices.

You fidget with a loose piece of thread on the hem of your skirt, running it through and round your fingers before pulling at it to snap it off. Readjusting in your seat, you let out a lengthy sigh. The previous arousal in your underwear feels a little uncomfortable now, both literally and figuratively. It’s not even lesson 3 yet and it’s been a helluva day , you muse.

“Mr Miller got you all worked up, eh?” Chelsea teases, nudging her leg into yours. It was like she read you like an open book.

“Don’t you start,” you warn, rolling your eyes, your slight irritation palpable in the sideways look. But she was right. You’d barely laid eyes on him all of 5 minutes and he was already driving you crazy. “Was it obvious?”, you ask quietly, bracing yourself for the worst possible answer that your new crush on Mr Miller was clear as day.

Chelsea’s familiar hearty laugh echoes through the room. “Only because I know you so well by now. Oh, and the fact you admitted that he was, what was it? ‘So fucking perfect’ ?” She teases, her fingers waggle in the air, forming imaginary quotation marks as she quotes you.

You groan with embarrassment. “I can’t believe I said that, I’m such a dick .” You groan again, louder this time, flopping into a pathetic lump on the desk, head buried into your arms. If the ground beneath you could split open and swallow you whole, you’d welcome it with open arms. You would prefer it actually than being stuck in college for the rest of the day.

Chelsea rubs your back, her hands radiating a warm heat as she circles your upper back, maintaining a consistent pressure. Usually when she rubs your back like this, you’re throwing up into a toilet the morning after a heavy night of binge drinking in a random field somewhere—the session hidden from your parents obviously—but it’s still comforting all the same.

“You’re alright, mate, honestly.” She insists, hands moving down to give attention to your lower back. “Nobody heard ‘cept for me. Hell, I barely heard you, but I got the message.” 

Peeking out of the lump, revealing your flushed face, your eyes meet Chelsea’s. You pout at your pitiful demeanour. 

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

There is one last thing you need to do to feel fully assured of yourself. You offer Chelsea your little finger. “Pinky swear?”

She locks her petite finger with yours and offers a tender smile, gently nodding. “Pinky swear.”

2:04pm

The rest of the day passed without any further mishaps. You had double Spanish followed by independent study and lunch before your last period - History with the enigmatic Mr Miller. Lining up in the corridor, it feels stuffy even when you remove your thick blazer and loosen your tie. The rhythmic tapping of your fingers against your thigh does little to settle the butterflies in your tummy. You’d made a tactical judgement by standing towards the end of the line; you were waiting for Chelsea and you didn’t want to seem too keen. The shrill ring of the bell pierced through the rustle and bustle of the corridor, both clouding your mind so much you barely take notice when the rest of the line heads into the class. Mr Miller is standing at the door welcoming your class in.

His eyes lock with yours and your heart does a flip. As you make your way into class his lips curve into a soft smile, inviting and warm, and you feel like the air’s been punched out of your gut. Shit. You return with a weak smile and enter the room before you pass out.

Usually decorated with replicas of historical artefacts, boxes of old dusty textbooks and old wall displays of work from students who’d long left the college, the classroom was bare, empty like a blank canvas. The desks had been rearranged from rows of tables into groups, allowing for four people to sit. You decide to take a seat towards the front, near to where you sat last year with Chelsea. She trails in not long after you and smiles with a ‘hiya’ under her breath.

“Well, this is different.” She says scanning the classroom, unpacking her bag before sitting in the seat adjacent to you. “Least it’s not as dusty with Walker’s junk everywhere.”

“His stuff wasn’t that bad. It was just too much of it.” You follow Chelsea’s lead and get your equipment out for the lesson. As you’re getting your notebook out, your elbow nudges your pencil case and its contents spill on the floor. 

“Fuck’s sake ,” you whisper under breath. Flustered, you’re about to get out of your chair when you feel a shadow over you.

“S’alright, I got it.”

Mr Miller looms over you before getting down to grab the contents of your pencil case from the floor in one swift motion. Since this morning he’s removed his blazer and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. The sight of his forearms, tanned, strong and just so masculine , makes your heart flutter, a quiet thrill running through you at the thought of those arms wrapped around you, entangled together.

“There you go, darlin’.” He says, holding them out to you, a soft laugh reveals his smile lines. “Saved you gettin’ up.” Taking the handful of pens out of his hand, you swear you feel electricity in the split second his hand gazes against yours.

“Thanks, sir,” you manage to say without squeaking too much.

“You’re welcome, sweetheart.” His velvety words dance across his tongue and you almost want to believe that he’s being this hot on purpose to torture you personally. 

Returning to his teacher desk he settles in the leather office chair and begins logging in and setting up his teaching resources. He completes the attendance register with no hitches; apart from the way he says your name has your head spinning. Satisfied that he can start the lesson, he rises from the table and stands near the board, ready to present, clicker in hand. 

“Alrigh’ folks, welcome to final year History, you’ve made it this far.” He leans casually against the wall in the space between his desk and the board before continuing.

“I’ll be level with you. It's period five on your first day back. It’s my first day. Your lil’ brains are probably information overloaded right now bouncing ‘round your heads.” He pauses and run his hand through his curly hair which is a lot more dishevelled compared to this morning. “I’ve had to meet almost too many people to meet within a day.”

He sounds gruff, like he’s worn his voice out from lecturing all day.

“Bet some of y’all are wondering how you’re still upright after the day you’ve had. Hell, I'm wondering how I’m still standing.” He chuckles, a rich, deep sound that seems to vibrate through you. A few from your class join in with a soft laugh. His irreverent humour puts your mind at ease and you appreciate his honesty.

“‘Won’t overload you with too many of the scary details of what’s going to happen this year but we’ll do an overview. That sounds good to y’all?” The class and you let out a mumble of agreement. “Let’s jump in then; this is your intro’ to The American Dream: reality and illusion, from 1945 to 2003.”

For the next half an hour, he shares an outline of what this year’s course will entail in terms of assessment: formative essays every few weeks to check your progress with course content, a historical enquiry assignment due in April, followed by your final exams in June. He goes on to describe some of the key events you'll study this year with confidence: the Cold War, the Civil Rights movement, the rise of popular culture and media, Watergate, the war on drugs, 9/11, and the U.S. invasion of Iraq. It’s quietly ironic that the college has asked him to teach on this module, and you wonder what Mr Miller’s perspective could offer when teaching some of the topics that he’s probably lived through himself.

The broad scope of subjects felt overwhelming looking at them in one go, yet it was the challenge you craved. History as a subject was one of your passions, even when it pushed your limits. A poor grade on a painstakingly crafted essay would upset you, but it didn't dissuade you either; it ignited a fierce resolve to prove yourself. Your old teacher Mr Walker was always so supportive of your interest in his subject, keen to hear your opinions and debate with you. His feedback on your essays was always fair, highlighting both the strengths and drawbacks in your analyses and opinions:

I like the way you’ve considered this, it enriches your main, overall argument. However, in paragraph 7, it feels a little weak and undersupported. Next time, you should consider looking at these sources I’ve suggested and how they may alter your argument. Good work on the whole — Grade: 20/25.

It was a shame that your work wasn’t appreciated by your other History teacher. Mr Hall's biassed grading, favouring certain students with A’s while giving you C’s and D’s, felt unjust. And it wasn’t because you thought your work was better; you’d heard through the grapevine that this particular group would pay seedy websites to produce their essays in all their subjects, slap their own names on the work and submit them. Others complained to Mr Walker about it but it fell on deaf ears, and lacked concrete evidence to prove the plagiarism so the issue never went further, despite it appearing to be an open secret. However on results day, your quiet determination paid off. You revelled in the sweet victory of an A, while the boys, once so favoured, faced the sting of D’s, E’s and U’s. You wondered if you’d be believed now if you brought the issue up again.

Throughout the lesson you earnestly take notes whilst you listen to his lecture, to jot down the important information and to show him that you’re listening intently, aching for a crumb of approval from the new teacher. The way he speaks commands the room, drawing the attention of the whole class, oozing a confidence that only comes with experience. Each word rolled out with a noticeable Texan accent, dripping with a natural, unforced charm. 

The introductory lecture draws to a close, to your disappointment. You could listen to him talk for hours.

“I hope I ain’t completely frazzled your heads, anyone got any questions?” Mr Miller offers a slight smile as he scans the room, his brown eyes meeting yours. For a second you feel his gaze on you, praying he doesn’t see your cheeks starting to warm for what feels like the hundredth time, your uniform feeling unbearable against your skin. As luck would have it, the bell rings, saving you and the class begins to pack up their belongings.

“Oh—before you go, I have this handout you need.” He turns to collect the stack of papers from his desk. In the meanwhile, you put your blazer on and start to clear away your things at an unhurried pace, waiting for everyone else to clear the room before you ask Mr Miller about what happened this morning with the boys. Chelsea’s ready to go, looking at you expectantly.

“Chels, I’ll meet you outside. I wanna ask him something.” She nods in understanding and offers a knowing wink as she leaves. 

The almost vacant classroom suddenly feels stuffy as if it will swallow you whole. Mr Miller has his back to you, shuffling and organising his already messy desk as you approach him.

“Umm, hi, Mr Miller…” you start, nibbling on your lip so hard you almost draw blood. You hear your blood pumping in your ears, heart pounding like a relentless drum.

“Oh, sorry darlin’ I didn’t realise you had a question,” he turns and sits, leaning back in his office chair, relaxed. “How can I help?” A dangerous question for your little wound up mind. I don’t know, maybe bend me over on that desk right there and fuck me so hard I forget my name?

“Uh, no, actually. It’s about something that happened this morning.” You say instead, taking a seat on the edge of the desk closest to his. Mr Miller’s expression changes, a mixture of concern and confusion, unsure of what you’re referring to. Thumbing the sleeve of your blazer, you begin to explain. “I think it was you I overheard dealing with a group of lads being a bit gross this morning…” you trail awkwardly, dropping his eye contact, hoping he catches on.

“Oh yeah, I remember now. What about it?”

“I just wanted to say thank you for sticking up for me, I—err—appreciate it.” 

“ Oh… ” Realisation washes over him and he sits up in his chair. “Those boys were bothering you , huh? I’m sorry they were being like that. Ain’t right to talk to a lady like that,” he murmurs, his finger grazing against his bottom lip. The way he says it, dripping with charm, makes your heart swoon.

“You don’t need to apologise for them, they’re dickheads, anyway.” You offer a soft chuckle, feeling a little awkward about the situation.

“Dickheads they might be darlin’, but they needed to learn a lesson on how t’be respectful. Guess they don’t teach that over here.” He shrugs nonchalantly and a slim smile appears briefly on his lips.

Leaning forward in his chair he perches elbows on his knees, his large hands interlaced, he catches your eye and looks at you intently. “They bother you again, you tell me, alrigh’? I will deal with them.” He murmurs, voice deepening, eye contact unwavering. “I’m serious. Any word or comment, you come to me .” 

Shit. I’ll come for you if you want. You swallow hard and you feel slick arousal begin to dampen your underwear again in response to his command. 

“Yeah, ‘course. I’ll let you know,” you try your best to sound unaffected by his commanding allure.

“Not a problem, darlin’. Now, get outta here and enjoy the rest of the day.” His smile is like a gentle caress, as warm as his gaze. He rises from his chair to see you out. You hop off the desk, bag slung over your shoulder and walk over to the door.

“One last thing,” he stops just short of the door, his tall frame towering over you. You look up to him; you guess he’s shy of 6 foot. He holds the pink, sparkly ‘Birthday Girl’ badge from Chelsea, still attached to your blazer, like he was inspecting it. 

Your mouth forms a small ‘o’ shape in realisation and you sigh softly, attempting to hide your embarrassed face before meeting his gaze. “It was my 18th on Sunday and my friend got me this because she missed it, and made me wear it all-day.” You let out a nervous laugh, realising how silly the situation was to explain aloud to your teacher.

A lingering smile tugs at his lips, his eyes flitting down and up your body. “Well,” he pauses, his voice dropping to a low murmur, his thumb brushing against the colourful badge before his hand grazes down your arm, sending a jolt through your body. “Happy birthday for Sunday, darlin’, I hope you got everything you wanted,” he coos.

You have to swallow hard to stop yourself from letting out a whimper in response, aching for him to touch elsewhere instead.

Your thoughts are spinning like a record of the things you can’t say right now; I want you for my birthday, that would be the best present. I want you to touch me, suck my tits, fuck me, make me cum before you ruin me. Make me feel like no one else has. I wanna make you feel so good, I wanna be good for you. I’ll be so good, I promise. 

“T-Thanks,” you stutter, breath hitching. You excuse yourself before you let illicit thoughts pour out of you and make your way to the car park to meet Chelsea. Your head is spinning, replaying the interaction over and over; the sound of his gruff voice, the way he looked at you, his light touch over your blazer, the way he had you like putty in his hands. It drowns yet excites you, teetering on edge between being turned on and utterly overwhelmed, the cruel truth dawning on you.

You have a crush on your teacher and you’re probably—definitely—absolutely fucked.

Thank you for reading this to the end! If you enjoyed please extend a like or reblog (with a comment if you'd like, I love reading them <3) to support writers, it helps a ton!💞

[over-bi-the-wayside]

Unhinged tlt theories until I get Alecto news: day 3

Somewhere in the deep archives of the Sixth is a copy of the King James Bible. Specifically that one — no one’s quite sure who King James is, but the Bible is one of the greatest novels ever written, depicting metaphors. Every child studies it to learn metaphor — they’re pretty sure that Jesus is a metaphor for the Resurrection, and the apostles are the cavaliers. Maybe Jesus is a necromancer, they aren’t sure.

Of course, when Kiriona showed up, it turned into an academic disaster, every theory they ever had about Jesus is thrown into to flux, a generation of scholars are pissed to have to redo all of their projects, and suddenly maybe Jesus is a metaphor for the intense power held by the Tower Prince. But then what does that make the apostles? The houses? The cohort? They aren’t really sure.

John finds this entire situation hilarious and sends them a file box of Jesus Rock, pamphlets from other sects, and a different Bible. This is the greatest mystery of the millennia

[abluebluesun]

Are they a virgin: everyone at Canaan House

Judith Deuteros: no? Hard to imagine who she got with in between pining after Marta and pining after Corona, but also she’s in her 20s and in the Cohort, so she must have.

Marta Dyas: no.

Coronabeth Tridentarius: no.

Ianthe Tridentarius: no. And she definitely lost her virginity first and was weird about it.

Naberius Tern: no.

Isaac Tettares: yes.

Jeannemary Chatur: yes.

Abigail Pent: def not. Married 11 years.

Magnus Quinn: def not. Married 11 years.

Palamedes Sextus: no?? Palamedes seems too curious to be a virgin by his mid 20s. He was always in love with Dulcinea, but I don’t think that relationship included sexual exclusivity. Also the Sixth House doesn’t give me a very monogamous vibe. Then again his options for people to fuck who aren’t his cousins are severely limited.

Camilla Hect: no. If Palamedes is too curious, Camilla is too competent, despite having the same lack of options problem.

Dulcinea Septimus (the real one): probs not.

Protesilaus Ebdoma: no. Married with children.

Silas Octakiseron: no, prays about it regularly with guilt and shame. Not because the Eighth House is anti-sex per se, they’re just anti-fun. And seem to be fairly anti-pleasures-of-the-flesh.

Colum Asht: honestly quite possibly yes.

Harrowhark Nonajesimus: so much yes.

Gideon Nav: (tragically) yes, through no fault of her own.

Teacher: I mean. He’s like hundreds of souls all glued together. And I don’t think the Lyctors who made him cared about collecting only the souls of virgins. So Teacher’s collective pieces, no, probably not all virgins. But Teacher as he is now, I’m gonna go with yes.

The other Canaan House Priests: see above.

Cytheria the First: absolutely not.

[anneapocalypse]

There are a lot of characters in Gideon the Ninth to keep track of on a first read and I remember feeling like Palamedes and Camilla kind of appeared out of nowhere and then very quickly became super important to the story. I don't think I was wrong. On a re-read it is astonishing how little the Sixth catches Gideon's notice at first. They are conspicuously absent from her initial sizing-up of the gathered houses, and it seems like they don't really come to her attention until I think the sparring match.

And with the story so deep in Gideon's perspective, one can kind of see why. Cam isn't Gideon's type, Palamedes is even less Gideon's type, and neither of them conjure up either Gideon's fantasies of a Cohort future or uncomfortable feelings about her miserable childhood. Muir is amazing at a tight third-person POV, my personal favorite, and you're so deep in Gideonbrain in this book that you don't even necessarily realize how much her perspective is coloring the narrative until you're given a different one.

[saintsenara]

In Marauder era (or 1st Wizarding World era) fics, all the characters that we know from the actual books/movies (i.e., The Marauders + Lily, the Malfoys, Bellatrix, etc.), or just characters that are more known, are all put in Hogwarts together at the same time, and it confuses me.

They couldn’t have all been at school together, could they? And even if they were, most of them would have to be years ahead, no? It especially confuses me when Bellatrix is the one in school with them, but her and Narcissa are the only ones that are ever mentioned. Andromeda is literally not that much younger than Bella and older than Narcissa, so you would think that she would appear, yet she doesn’t. Why exactly are they always all bunched together? And what are their actual ages?

this is a bit of worldbuilding which i'm not fond of either, anon.

i get why it happens - hogwarts is a school and, therefore, requires a large cast of characters as fellow students, and since marauders-era writers don't have the advantage that lightning gen writers do of being able to lift these characters directly from the text, the few names we do know from canon of people who lived and died during the first war get used to fill in the gaps.

there are also - obviously - some inconsistencies in the text itself caused by jkr's functional innumeracy. if we take the date of birth given for bellatrix on the black family tree she drew in 2006 - 1951 - then she would graduate hogwarts in either 1969 or 1970, depending on when in the year her birthday is. but sirius says in goblet of fire that she was friends with snape at school.

i ignore sirius and go with the given date of birth because it works better for my worldbuilding - and i have andromeda born in 1953 [leaving hogwarts in 1971 or 1972] and narcissa born in 1955, as per the family tree, but in the autumn [therefore leaving hogwarts in 1974 - and married in 1975, allowing narcissa's wedding to be the last time sirius sees bellatrix, since, as he tells us in order of the phoenix, this took place when he was fifteen] - but i think authors can shift the sisters' birthdays later if they do want to have them overlap more with the marauders generation without it being too much of a problem.

lucius malfoy's date of birth can be worked out fairly easily from canon. in the autumn of 1995, he's forty-one - as we're told in order of the phoenix - which means he was born in 1954 [or - if he has a winter birthday - late 1953] and was at hogwarts between either 1965-1972 or 1966-1973 depending on when in the year his exact birthday is - if it's october 1953-august 1954, he's in the former cohort; if it's september 1954 [which is when the article in which his age is mentioned is published] then he's in the latter. we know he overlaps with the marauders cohort very briefly - since he's shown meeting snape in the prince's tale - but, since he's either a sixth- or seventh-year at the time, i find it unlikely that he paid james and sirius much attention, or that they paid him much attention in turn.

[lucius must - let's be real - go rather under the radar, since he's clearly able to recruit death eaters while at school - and immediately after leaving it - without being noticed.]

what i'm much less inclined to be flexible on is the fanon which has characters like dorcas meadowes, marlene mckinnon, emmeline vance, and so on all be at hogwarts with the marauders - which doesn't work for me for the very basic reason that the order of the phoenix is not an army of child soldiers.

the implication of canon is definitely that the four marauders and lily are an exception to the make-up of the rest of the order - likely for the sensible tactical reason that dumbledore had all the ministry infiltrators he needed, but didn't have people who would be able to provide information about voldemort's recruitment of younger death eaters, which the marauders were clearly able to do by virtue of having been at school with them all [and - in sirius' case - being related to two of them].

it's also clear in the text that dorcas meadowes [who is the only person in the first war other than james and lily we know was killed by voldemort himself] must have been an important political figure - otherwise the dark lord would have left her for one of his minions - and that james and lily don't know marlene mckinnon well enough for her to have been a school friend.

[if she was - as is the common fanon - sirius' teenage girlfriend, i would like to hope that lily's letter to him mentioning her death would devote a little more space to the event than it canonically does...]

what i love to see is the rest of the order - hardened aurors and civil servants who've been locked into the war with voldemort since the marauders started school - being a combination of faintly amused and supremely irritated by the group of cocky young bastards who've just turned up at their meetings, and who seem to think the whole "being a paramilitary" thing is a big laugh.

[especially because it's then so much easier to explain why everyone involved could believe that sirius was guilty...]

[katakaluptastrophy]

I think what's so interesting about Gideon as a narrator at the anniversary dinner is the fact that there's clearly tensions that she's just not picking up on because she's only there to eat a dessert.

But these people are all the immensely powerful leaders of the Houses and consider themselves to be in competition for literal godlike powers and the favour of the emperor.

There's so many little snippets that are potentially intriguing: why is Teacher trying to prime the Ninth to consider the Fifth a threat? Why are the Third and the Sixth "sizing each other up like prizefighters"? The Fifth absolutely knew what they were doing when they sat the teen heads of the opposing cults near each other.

Through Gideon's lens, Magnus' speech is a little awkward jokey thing. But...the seneschal of the House that is known to be actively trying to absorb another House is saying it's such a shame they're all so remote from each other and what do they all have in common (and it's so quiet you "could have heard a hair flutter to the floor") - that had to feel a bit different to people who aren't Gideon.

Palamedes' is dissecting the meaning of "Master Warden" and at one point compares it to a prison warden. 'Dulcinea' asking about whether Magnus and Abigail have children is perhaps less small talk and rather more pointedly political. Harrow's apparently stilted conversation with Protesilaus is clearly her actually probing his limitations like he's a bad Chat GPT-run chatbot.

And then 'Dulcinea' tells Gideon she liked the dinner because it was "useful". In her typical "I never lied to you" way, Cyth wasn't lying when she said Abigail had to die because of her hobby - Abigail Pent let loose on the Facility would have risked blowing Cyth's cover sky high. But what does a Canaan House look like where after the dinner party, the Fifth go down to the facility, get a key, and survive to continue their 'the Houses are going to get along or else' agenda? We've seen Fifth House soft power on a smaller scale in HTN: and it looks like inviting a teenager round for coffee, lulling her into a false sense of security with small talk, and then physically preventing her from leaving the room until she does what you want, while smiling the entire time. A series of little coffee chats could probably have led to a lot of cooperation in Canaan House, one way or another.

Gideon jokes about Silas marrying Ianthe because of their similar colour pallete, but it does raise the fact that there seems to be some tension around the Third, its succession, and the *point* of Ianthe. Why is Silas openly saying Ianthe should have died at birth? Combined with Judith's comments in the Cohort Intelligence Files about succession on the Third, it feels like there's something else being said here that Gideon isn't picking up on.

And of course, Harrow wasn't the only one desperate to become a Lyctor because her con was unsustainable. Presumably at some point Corona and Ianthe would be expected to marry, or at least take on more separate roles as Corona prepared to take over the throne and Ianthe was funneled off elsewhere. At some point, their package deal would have become unsustainable and Corona's cover would have been blown. But much as Harrow wants to become a Lyctor so she can reveal the state of the Ninth without repercussions, Ianthe is probably in part motivated to become a Lyctor for the same reason. Because otherwise, what would Ianthe's expected role have been? Amidst the suggestion of anxiety about the Idan succession, the dinner party also presents the fact that the reason Abigail and Magnus' infertility isn't a succession crisis for the ruling family of the Fifth is that Abigail's younger brother dutifully married in his early 20s and had kids. We know there are branch families in Ida - Babs is from one. He may be a prince, but he's not treated well, and you do get the sense that the stakes to stay in power in Ida are high.

We don't learn anything about the political situation in the Houses themselves during HTN or NTN, but in the wake of Canaan House, you have to suspect there are a number of tensions and concerns.