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dianneking · 1 month

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The Affair - Chapter 1 (Larissa/Reader)

Hiya! As part of my weekly writing challenge, I wrote this chapter over two writing sessions, and I chose not to wait for the fic to be finished before posting. It'll probably be a couple of chapters all together.

Pairing: Larissa Weems/You Rating: Mature

Tags: Morally Ambiguous Character, Swearing, Boss/Employee Relationship, Infidelity, Second-person POV, Teacher Reader.

Link to AO3 in the title

The Affair - Chapter 1

Waiting in the snow for a married woman , you thought, moodily pulling your scarf up to cover your freezing nose as yet another car passed, how the fuck did my life come to this?

You had never been one for thrills in life. If anything, you had been pretty boring: you’d always liked English class at school, always got straight As, never stepped a foot out of line. You never felt the need to, nor the appeal of being rebellious. You’d gone on to get a bachelor’s degree and teacher’s certification, and then you’d gone on to teach English in a string of small town schools.

There was only one aspect out of the ordinary in your life up until now; you could never settle down in one place.. You felt a restlessness, a pull towards something you still hadn’t found, and after a couple of years in a place, it inevitably built up until it was too strong to resist. And so you packed your bags, applied for a job somewhere else, and started anew.

You didn’t think Jericho would be much different. Small town, 5 thousand inhabitants, only spots of interest a tacky historical reconstruction site and a school full of outcasts. The same one you had applied to. Nothing much to offer. You’d give it a year or two at most.

You didn’t really care about the fact that you were teaching outcasts. They might drink blood or howl at the moon or whatever in their spare time, but they were teenagers that had to learn to write a proper essay just like anyone else. You prided yourself in your work ethic and told that to the board when they interviewed you. Apparently they appreciated that. Or there was nobody else who had applied. There had been some accidents during the last school year, apparently. The board had repeated several times that it had been a one-off and it had been taken care of definitively.They had all seemed very defensive about the topic.

Once again, you shrugged it off. You had no time to waste on rumors and things of the past. The school had its quirks, sure, but all schools had, each in their own way. You settled in your quarters on the school grounds, and started reviewing your lesson plans taking into account the notes left by the previous teacher. You settled in for your usual routine of lessons, tests, marking that you were familiar with by now.

And then she barged into your life, throwing routine and predictability to the wind.

Even with your aversion to gossip, you’d heard about her. Larissa Weems, the best principal Nevermore had ever had, mysteriously injured in the line of work, supposedly trying to protect the school, and hospitalized for months after that. When talking about her, voices dropped to a whisper out of respect - or fear, you hadn’t been able to ascertain that.

The day she had come back, you’d have thought royalty was about to visit the school, with the amount of fretting, of preparations, of nervous energy filling the halls and rooms. You’d had to let your classes work on assignments because they had been unable to listen to one word of what you were explaining. You had rolled your eyes in the privacy of your room. Seriously, you’d seen plenty of disruptive principals in your years of teaching, but one who could be so distracting even before she had set foot back in school? That was a first.

You felt obliged to show up as well to the welcoming committee. The whole staff was there, as well as the student body. Some had even prepared signs, and there was a white banner draped along the balcony on which was written, in red paint, a very wonky Welcome back Princ. Weems .

It was cute that she was so beloved by her school, you thought, but you were also thinking of how to recover the day of missed lessons, and how to optimize the next days’ so as to go back on track. You tried not to be too miffed about it.

All of the thoughts of lesson plans and all of the lingering irritation at them being disrupted fled your brain at the sight of the first foot stepping out of the car. Shiny, varnished black shoes, showing off a milky ankle, and a shapely calf that look longer than any you’d seen (not that you made a point of looking at women’s legs all the time, but sometimes your eyes did wander…)

The skin on show was sadly cut off below the knee by the modest hemline of a woolen dress and it was at that point that Nevermore’s principal exited the car in all of her towering beauty, and your mind went completely blank, cause in all of their gossip everyone in Nevermore had forgotten to mention a small, key detail about the principal.

She was stunning.

The most beautiful woman you’d ever seen was standing before you, waving and smiling regally, as the whole school cheered. You almost didn’t notice all the jubilant ruckus, your eyes too busy raking all over her figure, as if trying to commit every single detail to memory. Her slender, elegant hands, wrapped in leather gloves. The perfectly-tailored coat, in the same fabric and color as the dress. The sparkle of her gold jewelry in the pale winter sun. The perfect proportion of her face, the way the bright red lipstick brought attention to her smile.

Her light eyes were roaming all over the crowd, as if taking stock of known faces and new entries. Finally her gaze fixed on you, and you could see a spark of amusement flicker on her face at seeing you.

You belatedly realized that you had been gaping at her like a fish out of water.

The day after you had still been beating yourself up about the humiliation at being caught slack-jawed staring at your boss when she visited you in your classroom after you were done with the day’s lessons.

She rapped against the doorframe, but strode in before you could say anything. You scrambled to your feet, awkwardly, while she covered the distance from the door to your desk in a couple of long steps. She was wearing another dress today, a tartan dress with a belt that cinched her waist, underlying the shape of her hips and chest while still being completely work-appropriate.

“So you’re the new teacher they have hired to replace poor Collins.” It wasn’t a question, but you nodded anyway. “I’m Larissa Weems. Usually, I have the final word on new hires. The board does a wonderful job but sometimes they lack a certain sort of practicality in their assessment of candidates, as it happened with the last hire. I wasn’t convinced by her spiel, but the board insisted and…well. I should have trusted my gut instinct.” Her eyes grew distant for a second, before focusing back on you with a hard gaze. You could see the speckles of lighter and darker blue mixing in her irises, and the perfectly applied make-up that highlighted their natural beauty. You tried to shake yourself out of her charm. She could be trying to fire you, and you were busy ogling her! That’s not the kind of person you were! You cleared your voice, trying to think up something to say to help your case.

“I…”

“I know you have been hired already, and I am sure you are a perfect fit for the role. I’d just like to have a little chat together, nothing too formal, just getting to know each other a little bit better.” She smiled as she said that, and while you were sure it was supposed to be a polite smile, you couldn’t help the shiver that went down your spine at that.

She looks like a predator closing in on prey , your mind unhelpfully suggested.

You swallowed, suddenly conscious of your sweaty palms and increasing heart rate.

“O-of course, ma'am." was all you could meekily say.

"Perfect." she purred. "Meet me at seven sharp at the Lilac Lounge. I'll have a private booth reserved."

To be continued...

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#dianneking writes #dianneking fanfiction #larissa weems #larissa weems fanfiction #gwendoline christie #gwendoline christie fanfiction #dragonmist fanfiction #cross posted on ao3 #larissa weems/reader #larissa weems x reader

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anxious-witch · 3 months

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Since I can't seem to stay quiet and I all but made up my mind to stay away from the tag for the next week or so, let's talk about recent discussions about jance and bokris and this...weird ship war that has been going on, shall we?

Under the cut bc while I am annoying, I will spare you the essay if you don't want to read it, god knows I write too many of these.

I don't know when we as a fandom got to a point where we are even fighting over which ship is more likely, more realistic and if the other ship is "more queer coded" or whatever the fuck. I was under the impression that the fandom is meant to be fun thing we do, but that we are all aware shipping is something that's made up. And that even if guys play into it or even if someone is indeed really dating we are aware that what we think about it is irrelevant. Factually, even if someone "was right" about the ship, our perception of it will be widely different than the truth of real people's relationship. Because these are real people, not fictional characters. They cannot queerbait, and jokes aside, even calling someone queer coded is weird, you guys. At the end of the day, we cannot assume someone's sexuality based on how they look.

As for the whole bokris-jance discourse. I don't even know why this is a thing? Bokris people, you got fantastic solo photos of both Bojan and Kris, full of symbolism and got the fire-water link between them that's just perfect for fics.

Jance people, you got joined photoshoot, with Jan and Nace clearly being very intimately connected, which you can interpret in whatever way you wish in fics and fanart. The fact that there are less pictures speaks volumes about how private whatever they have is.

Both have it's merits. Both have it's weight. I don't understand this aggression and fighting over art. Art all of them participated in creating by speaking with Damon about it before doing the photoshoot.

I have friends who ship jance more and I have friends who ship bokris more. The truth about both is that we simply don't know what's going on behind closed doors. Even more importantly, is whatever it is that we don't know worth losing the community we built here? I feel like every time I get into the tag, there is something new people are fighting over. This is just the last thing that seems relevant and that most people got involved into.

But genuinely, I am just tired. I hope things calm down when the new song drops, although god knows there will likely be a discourse over that as well, but hopefully...less than this.

And yeah, I do know this will probably get me blocked from one or the other side or both but let's just...get it over with. Since I feel like this will happen again, I might as well make my stance clear now. Which is-I am not picking a side. I don't think real people can queerbait and that they'd do a joined photoshoot if they didn't have a very deep connection to one another. I don't think they also need their virtue defended because they definitely knew people will speculate after this. But I also don't think this 100% means they are together. Yes, it sucks that queer people need to outright say these things, but I also wouldn't claim a straight couple is dating unless they publicly announced it.

So yeah can we all just please try to chill and do fun stuff again, please?

#joker out #rio rambles #jance #bokris

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triflesandparsnips · 1 year

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(eta 10/10/23: Having just realized that this is now a very easy to google explainer, please also see the full end-of-game roundup here: "when something is definitely not a game, but most definitely a gift" or my related #definitely not a game tag. We now return you to your regularly scheduled nonsense, currently in progress.)

So... so.

So this just dropped.

And listen. LISTEN. For people who haven't been following this Our Flag Means Death-related alternate-reality-shenanigan fest, the following will make no sense to you-- or, wait, fuck it--

A Brief History of the Javid Denkins Alternate-Reality Game

(I didn't intend "overly long essays about in-depth fandom-related shenanigans" to be my brand, but by god I'm here now and I will make us all suffer through it.)

Reality (As We Know It)

Established and verified gay pirate showrunner David Jenkins is a regular shenanigineer on twitter: retweets fanart, retweets cosplays, calls fans sluts (endearment), has ongoing fight with medieval cats.

Back in 2022, David Jenkins implied heavily that he had joined tumblr, but did not cough up his account name.

This is the sum total of real and actual events and identities.

Through the Looking Glass

Fans started looking for David Jenkins's tumblr. What fans found is the tumblr of one Javid Denkins, who appeared to be new, had a variant of Jenkins's twitter icon, and seemed to be cheekily maintaining an incognito by steadfastly asserting that he is definitely not David Jenkins.

Fans got weird about it, because that is the nature of fandom. I said something about it here, because I have Feelings about the Rules of Incognito and also about Not Being Weird About People Who Make the Content We Like. I put it as a reblog to the post, as per regular tumblring, no response requested/required because babes, if I'm going to be perceived, I want it to be organic. (ahem... FOOTNOTE 1)

I kept a cursory eye on things, because it can be Really Lonely to be a famous person who just wants to have a regular online experience, and if that's what whoever was on the other end wanted, then that's what they should get to have imo. Unlike a regular tumblr that I might reply to directly or engage with on a same-level kinda way, I let them set the rules of engagement because unless/until they came clean, they would always be Schrodinger's Showrunner to me, and therefore subject to my internal Don't Be Creepy ruleset.

My second Javid reblog was pretty much what I would do to any other newbie tumblr person (as they professed to be): adding on to a gag by referencing the "color of the sky" meme and also a seagull, for OFMD-related reasons (which fit within the ruleset, because Javid was actively connecting himself with OFMD type things). And Javid reblogged it, so hey, I was winning at tumblr interactions, a thing that is normal to want and possible to achieve.

Time passed. Javid dropped (what will be revealed to be the first of many) photo manipulations. (FOOTNOTE 2)

On the same day, Javid posted what looked like an accidental smashkey. I reblogged with a seagull, because again, established rules of engagement and me winning at tumblr interactions. He reblogged himself, though, with what looked like another smashkey, but was actually a goddamn Caesar cipher-- and started using the tag #definitely not a game.

From there, Javid started up a stream of fairly fun puzzles. I didn't keep up with it fully, but since it looked like Javid wanted people to interact, I interacted (while trying to ensure that other people could keep having fun too). He also started subtly changing his icon, his tumblr header, etc., expanding the bounds of the puzzle space, as it were. (And if you want a complete rundown of the puzzle history and the associated answers, this twitter thread is enormous and thorough, thank you @eefaevie.)

The seagull made an appearance every once in a while; I threw together various season 2 bingo cards in response to these potential spoilers; I spent my time largely keeping back so I could eat popcorn and Not Be Creepy. But... but.

The thing was, Javid's method of posting (in a "heeeere fishy fishy fishy" manner) seemed, to me, to be the actions of someone trying to play with the audience and/or provide enrichment for the enclosure. So after some thought and, again, remembering the loneliness of being a Creative Person but trying to be mindful that this person was still incognito and could be the actual dude, I started using the seagull to reblog extra content, links, whathaveyou, with the tag #enrichment can go in BOTH enclosures-- with the idea that, if Javid wanted to look, he had the option to do so-- and if he did, he'd be rewarded with, again, no demands on him or his attention, but just: some content. Some enrichment. Some fun. A "picking up what you're putting down" kind of vibe from one person to another, both of whom are, at the very least, interested in communicating with an audience.

To be clear: For me, at the end of the day, it had to be a choice. I needed to provide room for Javid to choose to enter the magic circle of my additional game play-- but I also wasn't going to hold my breath about it. This was Javid's space, with intentions and purposes I had no way of knowing (nor should I)-- I was just, metaphorically, bringing another set of dice and maybe some graph paper with an extra room drawn on it that he could easily enter if he wanted, to play in a space intended to complement his. He was putting in a shitton of labor for what was essentially just a gift; I wanted to show appreciation for that labor, while putting in some of my own to gift back.

So when the first round of puzzles ended, and a new one began, I linked the answers to one of his anagram puzzles inside some seagull gifs-- but I figured, why not add something extra? I used his pigpen cipher to dare him to use a book code next. To even see the dare he'd have to want to decode the gifs-- and if he ultimately didn't want to engage, no skin off my nose. (That's why there's a border around the magic circle with clear entrances and exits.) Either way, I was having a nice time.

The next puzzle type was a stereogram. (Neat.) The puzzle after that, though? I get tagged and informed that Javid has, in fact, posted a motherfucking book code. (FOOTNOTE 3)

Enter the Thunder Parasocial Dome

This is the point where I first have to be pulled down from the curtains by rational people who have only my best interests at heart.

(Having a whole Thesis Statement about why I was engaging with Schrodinger's Showrunner is one thing. Having possible evidence that my engagement was, like, actually engaged with is quite another.)

By sweet and loving friends and family I was reminded that:

Other people are, in fact, allowed to be clever about things too.

That all sorts of pre-planning may have gone into all this, and that therefore the timing was a coincidence.

That there are a limited number of easily accessible ciphers out there, so the code type could also be a coincidence.

And that either way I still have my important Don't Be Creepy code of ethics.

So. I took a deep breath. Cool. I was totally and absolutely cool about this.

...And in a totally normal manner I proceeded to lay an elaborate trap.

AHAHAHA JUST JOKING what I mean is: I replied to the tagged post, acknowledging that the sphere of potential puzzling had now expanded beyond tumblr. I used Javid's own fake-link trick to link to a seagull laugh. And in the tags I threw in a lot of potential internet-related alternate reality stuff.

But also, crucially... some more ideas for Javid to use. (FOOTNOTE 4) If he wanted them. If he was actually looking.

Since I was now playing In Earnest, I spent some time putting together a youtube channel, an alternate tumblr, a neocities account -- a whole new field of play, if Javid wanted to engage there. I pulled out the dusty memories of a Yuletide fic I wrote several years ago that used similar shenanigans to tell an interactive fiction story about Monty Python. (Hilariously enough, my first RPF.) I continued to play with all these new and fascinating toys.

A Strange Ship on the Horizon

What with one thing and another three years pass, a Javid puzzle eventually lead to an AO3 account-- which to me definitively opened Schrodinger's box: maybe this was a member of the production playing with fire, more likely it was a clever fan whose brain is fucking fascinating, but it most definitely was not David Jenkins.

But. Javid was still in incognito. And I still don't know if I had been perceived.

I read the fic the Javid account is writing (which is still a work in progress and pretty great ngl)-- it's a fandom AU, where Ed and Stede are fans of a gay pirate romcom called Blow the Man Down, featuring Sam Bellamy and Olivier Levasseur. The showrunner is named Javid, who doesn't have social media but gets cornered into agreeing to join twitter (rather than our universe's tumblr). And Ed decides, on a lark, to start a fake twitter account, tag it #definitelynotjaviddenkins... and then freak out because a large contingent of fandom shows up on his metaphorical doorstep saying HELLO, JAVID.

As if this weren't enough: beyond the fic itself, suddenly a whole multimedia alternate universe suddenly appeared, with multiple twitter and AO3 accounts beyond just Stede and Ed, forming an entire fucking fandom, Goncharov-style, around Blow the Man Down. It was and continues to be fucking wild. It's also amazing. And the porn is surprisingly approachable. (BUT SEE AGAIN FOOTNOTE 1)

Grappling Hooks Breaching the Parasocial Divide

The thing is, though. The thing. That is.

I have officially reached Level 2 Curtain Clawing.

As I read the fic and the accompanying universe, I started to. Notice things.

References to soap (but... but surely that's normal. Many people talk about soap, not just amateur history enthusiasts like myself).

References to obscure scents (LABDANUM. Someone referenced labda-motherfucking-num. But surely. Surely it is not an entirely unheard of thing; I am not the first person to discover it or the fact that it gets combed from goats jesus christ the goat thing I forgot about that--)

References to the drilled coin from the wreck of Sam Bellamy's ship, which appeared as a random bit of possible future lore for Javid in this bit of enrichment (but I put in lots of possible lore! I had a whole thing going about figureheads! Bad luck to kill a seabird! I had a whole thing for a while where I thought maybe the digraph code Javid was hinting at was actually a Playfair cipher! I have been wrong many times before and added lots of random possible narratives. SO SURELY THE COIN IS A COINCIDENCE).

References to... okay not really references, and I've never articulated it quite like this (though this is definitely my vibe), but references to the idea of these puzzles and enrichment being a conversation in and of themselves, held at a remove and existing entirely in call (Javid) and response (the audience).

Finally... I started to notice that Stede decodes/interprets Ed-as-Javid's puzzles in a long twitter thread (like... like the one linked above) but also... sends back puzzles. Like, well, me.

"But STILL," I screech from the top of the curtain rail. "This could ALL BE COINCIDENCE," I yowl as friends and family try to bat me down with a broom. Even, by god, today's drop... which uses a password-protected url shortener. The exact same one I used in an earlier enrichment. But! It's not like there are a lot of those! Maybe this was just the first one that cropped up for Javid, just as it was the first that cropped up for me! (BUT THEN AGAIN, MAY I REFER YOU BACK TO FOOTNOTE 4)

The fic is at chapter 14. There are, if AO3 is to be believed, 7 more chapters to go, plus who knows how much additional extra-universe material. There is so. much. here.

...And so many more opportunities to climb all the curtains.

“It's a great huge game of chess that's being played—all over the world—if this is the world at all, you know.”

So at this point... what, in fact, is happening?

I'm inside a Schrodinger's box whose sides are entirely composed of parasocial uncertainty.

Maybe Javid is here. (HELLO, JAVID.)

Maybe he isn't! (HELLO, THE MIRROR IN MY ENCLOSURE.)

Maybe I'm not actually being referenced at all, but the writer of that twitter thead, @eefaevie, is (HI EEFAEVIE WHAT'S UP HOW'S THE PARASOCIAL AIR IN YOUR ENCLOSURE DOIN')

I don't know. I can't know. Unless someone opens the box.

and my god, what if they never do?

tl;dr. This is the most enriching fun I've had in months, and if the magic circle is going to widen to include me, then friend, I intend to BRING MY A-GAME.

---

FOOTNOTES

1. During the course of that mini-essay, I say the following:

"If it's someone who is not the dude but just a tumblrite who managed to catch on really quick? Well goddamn, good for them, and also A+ Wink-Nudge acrobatics. Real dude can have a peaceful time reading critical analyses of Goncharov, Javid here can quietly start introducing strange lore and running gags and other fun-with-plausible-deniability shenanigans".

One day later Javid starts answering questions about characters with enigmatic season 2 spoilery things; a little less than ten days later, we get the first fake link (which, imo, is the real start of the game).

2. This is now only 24 days after my "strange lore and fun with plausible deniability" post.

3. My dare: January 26. Javid's book code: February 4.

4. My tags on the post wherein I acknowledge that the dare has, possibly, been taken up, read: #you know what's cool? besides how #enrichment can go in BOTH enclosures #is how much you can do with html #like sure sure we've all seen the embedded links #but I remember the days of hidden source code messages #websites with delayed redirects #passwords hidden on one site to open the locked contents of another #you know #~normal things~ #I'm certain none of this will become relevant #because this is #definitely not a game

#OH HEY also eta 10/10/23: changed 'augmented' to 'alternate' because that's a more accurate description #definitely not a game #our flag means death #enrichment can go in BOTH enclosures #the absolute wildness of narrative and alternate reality games #a brief history of #javid denkins #and probably someone needs to start spritzing me with a spray bottle or something because this is #this is a lot

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wettestnjaay · 1 year

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”NO NEED TO BE JEALOUS SWEET BOY”

NEEDY!JEALOUS!SUB!JONATHAN BYERS x MEAN!BIMBO!DOM!BLACK!READER SMUT

BASE OFF OF THIS ASK

JOIN TAGLIST TO BE @'D.

TAGLIST | REQUEST | WATTPAD

I JUST NEED A FEW MORE @/'s FOR THE TAG-LIST, IF YOU DON'T WANT TO DO THE APPLICATION CAN YOU CAN ALWAYS COMMENT WHAT YOU'D LIKE TO BE TAGGED IN, LOVE YOU ALL, DONT FORGET TO SIGN UP OR COMMENT!!

WARNING !

r is a little mean not really but yk, dom!r/sub!j, calling self dumb/stupid, racist/sexist talk?, face riding, babying r and j, praising/downgrading kink, marking kink, claiming kink kinda?, j is insecure, a whole lotta jealousy, different positions, bubbly!r (BIMBO BEHAVIOR) ma'am/mama kink,, r is a little bit bipolar and hot-headed, r is in control for the most part, little bit of yandere Jonathan, pleasing and pleasure, pet names such as; good boy, sweet boy, baby, my love and mines.

YOU WERE IN THE HALLWAY OF HAWKINS HIGH, TALKING TO A FRIEND, Barbara Holland; you guys were talking about the last grades you've gotten in Mr. Rollins History class.

"Honestly, I might just go jump off of Bellwood Quarry.." you mumbled looking in your locket,

"Y/N don't say stuff like that." Barbara called out which made you feel even more dumb, you rolled your eyes.

"Right, sorry." You whispered with a attitude a bit, "I just hate his class, I'm starting to think he just pick on me.., what if he is a racist?" you started going on, "He probably can't stand seeing a black women be successful, you know-he could be a racist and a sexist!"

"I don't know about all of that, but maybe?"

Just as you closed your locket, and turned around you were met with a couple of popular boys,

"Hey Y/N?" the one named Riley started, as he friends followed behind him.

You rolled your eyes before looking at him and giving off a bubbly smile, "What do you want, Riley.."

He smirked your way before reaching a hand out to touch the fat exiting from your fishnets, you squirmed away from his touch before Barbara slapped his hands away.

"Don't you dare touch a girl without her permission."

He looked at her with angry eyes before he spat at her, "Who do you think your talking to, who even are you-leave."

You could tell by his voice he wasn't playing, he was dead serious.. you hoped and prayed that Barbara would stay and she did.

"Bara.. just go."

Just as you seen the fire in his eyes and his mouth about to open again you quickly pushed Barbara away telling her you’d met her in the cafeteria, which she disliked but did it anyways.

“Thank you, Y/N, I just wanted to ask you to help me with the essay.. right like you said you will.” He said soft but seriously, you sighed and nodded as he winked at you and kissed your cheek.

And then started to walk ahead.

Just as you let out a breath you turned to see Jonathan looking at you, sorrow eyes but filled with anger and disgust.

"Jonathan!"

Just as you called out his name he turned and looked at you for another second before moving along and rushing into a empty classroom.

You head went empty as dropped your book into your locker slam the mini-door and ran towards the classroom, "Jonathan?"

As you got walked further into the classroom where were a breath on your back causes all of the hairs on your body to raise.

"Jesus.. J you scared me!"

Just as you were turning around you felt him grab ahold of your hand, tightly twisting you around as you were met by his forehead press against yours.

"Hi, Jon." you said calm and sweetly, he pulled you closer wrapping his arms around you.

Laying his head on your shoulder as you giggle at the open mouth kisses he was laying onto your neck.

"Can you stop playing and let me know what's wrong?" you giggle to him as he is nose brushed off of your skin.

"Why does he always come and talk to you.. like sitting by you in class-aka my seat and kissing you cheek and winking at you??"

The questions sinked into your for a while, you started to realize his voice was breaking as he was till trying to stay calm but was getting angry and flustered at the thought of him with you.

"I don't know J.. I don't think it's that serious."

"No, no.. he can't-he's just trying to take you away from him." he said while looking down on the floor disgusted by you not noticing the little things..

"J?" you reached for his hand as he moved his away from yours.

You carried your hand towards his face cupping his cheeks as you forced him to look into your eyes.

"Jonathan.., baby?" his eyes were place all around the room as you were trying your best to get his attention, "Baby.. there is no need to be jealous sweet boy."

"No.. I want you to stay.. your mines?"

"I'm always yours, never still stop being yours." you said as he patted his cheek twice.

Just as the words came out your mouth you can see the more lovable and lust full up his eyes, he blinked once before pressing his forehead against yours once more.

His breathing increase as you wrapped your arm around his waist.

You always knew he loved to be babied and you were the only one to do that for me.

You breathed slowly watching him very closely almost forgetting how to breath as you caught a deep breath as his lips were finally touching yours.

You immediately respond to the kiss, pulling at his hair was he eyes shot back open just as his mouth did looking into your devil eyes.

Your fingers all attached to his scalp, as his hands gripped onto your shirt so closely wanting more of you and need it desperately.

Chuckling into the kiss even more as you gripped his shoulders and jump, lashing your legs around his waist as he quickly wrapped the arm around your hips holding you still.

Just as he was losing his balance to busy worked about you can craving more, he pushed desks together as you both fell on top of it, he stop caught his breath and crashed his lips against yours for the 2nd time, over and over on repeat,

Feeling him touch all upon your body you intended to giggle and laugh craving him just as much as he is craving you.

His kissed went from your lips to all over your neck, and on your collarbone, he pulled at your button-up shirt before looking up at you with his buried lips and a small smile.

You smiled and pulled him up to you kissing him lustfully on his lips before nodding, "Yes baby,, show me how much you want me to only be yours!"

He unbuttoned your shirt and gave you kiss on your chess and the middle of your breast before he asked you to lift up a little,

Just as you did what you were asked you felt his hands crawling on your body as he got your shirt fully off and unclipped your bra slowly before gripping onto your skirt and the liner of your fishnets.

You nodded once more before he kissed your belly button and your waistline dragging your skirt down your legs, making your squirm around at the exposer of your unclothed clit rubbing against the fishnets so closely which was most definitely leaving marks.

He backed away just as he admired your body for a minute or more, before taking off his shirt, and hovering over you as his belt was dropped to the floor.

Just as he gotten closer to you and kissed your stomach, you wrapped your legs around his shoulders.

"Mm..not that, you have to tell me what you want baby, okay?" you told him.

Jonathan just started to whine, as he tried to kiss the bottom half of your stomach once more but you trapped his hand.

All he could whimper and whine, he wanted to tell you so bad but no words were forming nor coming at.

"Jonathan." you called out to him just as his name but he just couldn't respond at all.

"Maybe, if I shove my pussy in your face you'll start speaking?" You questioned him just as he nodded a little, "Ain't that are J-baby?"

"You just a little pussy-drunk, sweet boy"

As the word came out of your mouth, you loosen up a bit, pushing Jonathan onto his knees and sliding your body to the edge to the table just as your legs were onto your shoulders.

His arms wrapped around my hips while licking your slit, looking up at you with pleasing eyes.

You moaned to him as you smiled and nodded as he sucked your clit, rocking your hips back and force on his face grinding that nub against his nose to add yourself more pleasure.

Back arching as his tongue entered you caused you both to moan as you pushed back against him.

Feeling yourself get closer and closer to your orgasm, your hands reach for his hair as you got him closer, pulling at his hair and all.

You were going to cum, and he knew you were as well.

"Im gonna cum.. honey oh goodness-where do you want it?" you asked in a whining whisper,

He moaned against your private before licking and sucking more wanting you to cum so badly.

“J-jonathan !” gripping onto his hair as you yelp, pulling him away.

“Stop being so naughty as answer me, okay..” you said harsh a bit as you seen him

He pouted looking up at you, as you slapped his face a little wanting him back to reality.

'Yes ma'am, sorry ma'am." he whimpered looking up at you as you smiled and move your hand from his red cheek to the top of his head.

He moaned at the patting of his head and the feeling of you messing and pulling at his hair, just for a moment staring at his glossy lips that were filled with you juices you had a idea.

"I'm gonna cum all over you face, okay baby?" you added as he nodded, "Maybe I'll even make you walk out this classroom with my juices upon your face, huh?"

He just moaned loudly at your words, trying to push himself back between you legs to hind his face, but you didn't let him at all.

"Please.. mama-sorry!" you smiled at his mistake and chuckle, before pulling him by his hair to face you.

"Say it again.." you whispered in his ear.

"Please?"

"No you know what I'm talking about, say it again or you won't cum." you demanded to him as he whimpered at the gripping of his hair.

"Im sorry mama.. Im sorry!"

You were in awe for a second, empty minded and do hungry for him now, "Get me to cum on your face right now, and then ill let you fuck me.. and maybe I'll cum in that mouth of your again after."

He slimed before kissing your shoulder and gripping you lower waist before pushing his darken dick against your unclothed cunt.

"Better get to work but you have blue balls."

Just as that was said you pushed him back down to his knees as he gripped your legs and thighs with one hand and the other he was palming himself, secretly but you didn't care.

You wanted to be mean and embarrass him with all of your cum on his face as he leaves out the room.

But then the other half of you wanted him to know he was yours and that you were only his and you loved him more then anything.

You mind could go empty and the only person that would still be in there is Jonathan he was your top idea, top accomplishment, he was your success, he was what you needed and what you want.

Your head fell back as you felt him rolling the fishnets around your clit as he sucked onto both, making you melt onto the desks.

"Close.. close!" You were closed to cumming and close to him bring the emptied minded bimbo out of you,

you just knew, and you could feel that this was going to be a mega orgasm.. you can tell by how he was eating you like a starving man.. you were going cum hard,, and mean it.

Just after your mind started going blink as you felt him slide two fingers inside of you curling them up repeatedly bring you closer to the climax.

"Please-Ahh! oh-oh Jonathan baby-oh my godddd! Aaaaghh~-" you grip his hair as you started to shake and grind onto his head, brushing his nose near your entrance and rolling off of the nub as he suck harsh and quickly onto your clit,

"Out.. Im gonna cum.. let me cum in on your face,, out-aaaaAh~~ please!" you moaned as your eyes gotten burry and you couldn't see nothing be Jonathan between your legs and the sounds of him lapping you up and down, quicker, faster and more and more.

He pulled his fingers out just as you told him, just as you came straight onto his face with a loud cry, with a mixture of a whimper and moan, so much pleasure just in a little amount of time.

You body fell back unto the table of the desk just as you groan from the pain, but moan at the pleasure as Jonathan was still lapping up all of your juice not leaving a single leak.

Just as you whined for him to give you a break you were in a different positive, 'mixed missionary',

As he kissed your neck, and upon your shoulder to your cheek, and then you lips you just wanted more and more.

"Please hurry.." and when that was said from you he pushed in cock into your warm wet and sloppy cunt.

Both of you feeling each others pulse, and moaning at the pleasure, one of your legs wrapped around his back, pushing him further inside of you,

While the other is wrapped up on his legs holding on tight as you hands are on his shoulders pulling him closer as they met once you get them around his upper chess.

Pressing his thin-harden nipped against your larger breast, adding more pleasure.

You kissed him as he quickly reposed by entering his tongue into your mouth, "Please.. mama-can I-ah~ mama please!"

He moaned into your mouth as you tap his tongue with yours, letting them both collide causes you both to moan and cling to each other more and more.

Jonathans placed his hand on the back of your head and make you tilt your head to the side a little, as you guys were full on French kissing, making out moaning back and forth into each others mouths.. pulling away closely as he held your head against his forehead,

needing to feel you breath, and see the pleasure in your eyes.

There were a few more peck here and there as he pull out, making you cling to nothing but a enough hole, just as he slams back into you making that moan come out very loudly as he laughed as your mouths brush against each other before doing it again.

You mind was going empty, you could think about anything, it was just the sound of skin slapping and the sight of Jonathan above you, pleasing you, and you letting him know you were all of his.

He didn't even bother going at a slow pace in the beginning he hit hard and fast thrusts, looking deeply into your eyes as he pressed another kiss upon your lips to make sure you were comfortable.

"God-Jonathan.., stop worrying about me-be a good boy and cum for your on good,, love ahh~!" you spoke soft to him as you kissed him once more, as he whimpered to you.

One last kiss before he place you head into his left hand and moved his right to add pleasure to your clit, you moaned and whined at the movement from under, and tried to push and run away.

"Please-ahh~ I don't think I can hold it... again.. again~ Aaaah~!" You babbled

You were going anything, your body started to twitch just as you called out for Jonathan he pushed back away from you just as you squirted onto your lower stomach and his dick and lower chess.

He moaned in surprise as he left you squeeze him inside of you pushing him deeper as the juices form you pussy leak and rushed onto him just as he thrusted more and you squirted more and more until you came onto his dick.

Jonathan head fell back as he pulled away, while pulling out and cumming onto your wet sweaty fishnets and belly.

"Did I do good mama?" he asked with sparkles in his eyes as you panted and nodded your head.

He sat your up, onto the edge of the desk once again as he gotten back onto his knees and kissed your thighs and biting wanting to mark you, and to hear you voice.

"I love you sweet boy.. okay?" you stated looking down at him, "Im yours and your mines,,"

He nodded his head as he opened his mouth waiting for you to do something, which you did.

You placed your fingers into your dripping hole, and took a scoop on before placing it into his place, letting him suck them clean.

"Open, my love.. open your pretty mouth for me." you said to him as he obeys, just as his mouth was fully open you spat into it smiling down at him as he melted into you thighs,

Just as you spat down your belly telling it travel to your wet cunt and placed two of your finger down to mix it in as you and Jonathan stared at each other the whole time.

_________

JS A FEW MORE @/S FOR THE TAGLIST, IF YOU DONT WHAT TO DO THE APPLICATION CAN YOU CAN ALWAYS COMMENT WHAT YOU'D LIKE TO BE TAGGED IN, LOVE YOU ALL, DONT FORGET TO SIGN UP OR COMMENT!!

ANY MISTAKES/MISSPELLS TELL ME.

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training4theapocalypse · 11 months

Text

Finders Keepers Ch 6. (Cormac McLaggen x fem!reader)

Rating: Explicit 18+

Word Count: 4.8k

Warnings: SMUT, Oral Sex - F & M receiving, Face Sitting, 69

Summary: Your letters over the Christmas break are driving McLaggen mad. He wonders what you'd think about meeting up in London the day before you need to catch the Hogwarts Express?

A/N: I would very much enjoy suffocating this man.

Masterlist

Tag list: @countlambula, @lolitstiana, @ratsys, @aweidlich

Chapter 6: First Name Basis

Dear Cormac,

By the time this owl arrives, I expect you to have at least four training sessions under your belt. You’ll note that I’ve kindly given you a day off for Christmas.

It’s a shame we didn’t have more time before the holidays together. This is the first Christmas break that I’ve ever wished I was at Hogwarts. I’ve heard the castle is extremely empty this time of year. Who knows how anyone passes the time with nobody around in all those deserted classrooms?

Anyway, I hope you’re having a good break.

xoxox

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Merry Christmas!

I wasn’t sure how to address this back because I think that was only the second time you’ve ever called me Cormac… Are we on first-name terms now?

We spent Christmas Eve at Rufus Scrimgeor’s party but it was different this year… I’ll tell you more in person in case this owl is intercepted. My dad, uncle and I were still extremely hungover for Christmas Lunch the next day (yes, even worse than on the train home after Slughorn’s). Mum was not happy.

You might be disappointed to hear that training has frankly been the last thing on my mind. Every time I think about Quidditch my mind wanders to the last time we were on the stands. We were having a conversation that I’d be keen to continue… if you know what I mean.

CM xx

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dear Gryffindor’s Reserve Keeper,

I hope your hangover is less painful today.

Has anyone ever told you that you are such an unbearable show-off? I can’t believe you name-dropped the Minister for Magic in your first letter to me. How likely is it that these owls will be intercepted do you think? I’ve never really considered the possibility of anyone else wanting to find out information from my letters. But then again I’ve never written to such a big-shot with important Ministry connections before.

I told my mum and dad all about my invite to the Holyhead Harpies tryouts. They’re muggles so they’ve never really got their heads around wizard careers but they love football (kind of like muggle Quidditch) so sport is something they can understand.

I am in fact disappointed you haven’t been training hard over the break - although I can understand your preoccupation with our last conversation on the stands. My mind keeps wandering too. It was probably my favourite conversation I’ve had involving Quidditch - which is saying something.

Let me know what you think about the chances of interception. I got a Polaroid for Christmas ( muggle camera) and I have a photo I think you’d like…

With love,

Ravenclaw Captain and First Choice Keeper

xoxoxo

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dear Holyhead Harpies Future Keeper,

I’m pretty confident that nobody else is reading our letters. And I’m not just saying that because I’m dying to see whatever it is you want to send me. Your letters have been arriving so quickly that there’s no way anyone has had time to read them before they got here. Or maybe you just write exceptionally fast because you miss me so much.

The past week has been agonisingly slow. Usually, the Christmas holidays come to an end far too quickly but another week without you is driving me mad. The last few weeks of term when we weren’t speaking to each other feel like a wasted opportunity.

I’ve been too distracted to finish Slughorn’s Potions essay. When I think about Potions, I think about you. And then I think about that dress. Fucking hell. Although it’s not a patch on the protective headgear you wear playing Quidditch. Obviously.

Speak soon.

Big Shot Junior Minister for Horrendous Hangovers

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dear letter inception squad,

Please be warned that I am attaching with this correspondence an explicit photo of my tits and cannot be held responsible for any serious side effects that may occur upon viewing (dizziness, uncontrollable hard-on, etc.)

My beloved boyfriend has informed me that he is being driven mad by my absence and it is my only desire to help alleviate his pain. Well, maybe not my only desire.

Cormac, if this letter ever finds its way to you without being censored by the powers that be. I need you to know something…

It’s you who’s writing quickly, not me. You miss me more.

With love,

Redacted

xoxox

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

To my girlfriend (apparently),

Fuck.

It took me several minutes (hours? Days? What year is it?) of staring at your picture to realise muggle photographs don’t move. Or maybe they do. I should probably check again, just to make sure. Yep. Still not moving. I sincerely hope you didn’t need this photo back. It’s in significantly worse condition than when you sent it to me.

If I say I miss you more, will you come and meet me in London a day early? Say the evening before the Hogwarts Express leaves? It’s not like me to beg… But I’ll say anything. Do anything.

Then again, maybe I don’t need to beg as you just asked me to be your boyfriend. So you clearly miss me more.

Love,

Your unbearable showoff xx

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

On the afternoon of the second of January, once you’ve put your things in your room at the Leaky Cauldron, you come downstairs to find McLaggen waiting for you in the pub. It’s not like you forgot during these past two weeks apart how hot he was. But in person, he’s like the quintessential English boyfriend from every muggle rom-com you’ve ever seen.

You greet him and he pulls you into a kiss, cupping the back of your head. You need to stand on your tiptoes to reach his lips - this was much easier when you were sitting on his lap. Your cheeks burn hot just thinking about it. “Maybe I did miss you after all,” you murmur. He smells sweet and spicy, just like you remember.

“Good. I missed you too,” he says simply and kisses the top of your head.

He takes your hand and you leave the Leaky Cauldron. Despite it being the day before the Hogwarts Express returns, Diagon Alley is eerily quiet. Most of the shops are boarded up and the few people who are out, go about their business in a harried, closed-off kind of way. Recent Death Eater activity has everyone frightened. Except for you two reckless idiots, apparently.

“Things felt so normal back home. Not much has changed in the muggle world. Not yet at least,” you say, as you wander down the deserted cobbled street. “Anyway, tell me about Christmas at Scrimgeour’s. Since you’re such a big deal and couldn’t put it in a letter.”

“Well, to be honest, it was pretty tense,” he tells you in a hushed voice, his face is serious. “That’s why I ended up so drunk.”

“Oh.” Your face falls. You sort of thought he was kidding. “So, were he and your dad talking about Ministry stuff all night or something?”

“No, it was me he wanted to talk to, actually. He kept asking me about Harry Potter and if I knew anything about his private lessons with Dumbledore. I had to pretend I didn’t know he was even taking lessons with Dumbledore.”

“He is?”

“I’ve just heard rumours. But Scrimgeour’s questioning pretty much confirmed it.”

“So you didn’t say anything? Even though your dad works at the Ministry?” you ask, thinking of Marietta’s mum and Umbridge.

“Nah,” he says casually. “He’s pretty high up. Got a decent bit of leverage. I’m not worried.”

Wouldn’t a position of power in the Ministry mean he was more at risk? But then again, what do you know? Your parents are muggles.

You look up at him - you’re actually impressed. Would you be able to hold your nerve if the Minister for Magic wanted information from you? “Well… you’ve got guts, McLaggen. I’ll give you that.”

He shrugs like it was nothing.

Eyelops Owl Emporium is one of the few shops open, so you go in to pick up some owl treats. “My parents found the owl thing hilarious at first, you know,” you tell him. “They still don’t really get why they can’t phone me - that’s how muggles communicate long distance,” you add when he gives you a confused look.

“And they didn’t mind you leaving them a day early?”

“Sort of. My dad wanted to watch a football game with me today. He says I’m losing touch with my non-magical roots so he writes down all the scores and sends them to me every week,” you smile fondly and pay for your owl treats. “What about your parents?”

“Dad doesn’t know, Mum was distraught until I said I was meeting you. Then she was delighted.”

“Oh?” Not quite ready for that conversation with them, you had told your parents you were meeting Cho and Marietta.

“She was worried about me coming to Diagon Alley so she tried to convince me to bring you to ours instead. But it’s a bit early to subject you to that. She and my dad met at Hogwarts, you see. I think she was anxious that I was in my seventh year and hadn’t ‘settled down’.” He rolls his eyes. “When they were at school everyone ended up married to whoever they went out with.”

You laugh as you exit Eyelops and the bell above the door tinkles. “As if the dating scene ends after Hogwarts.”

The two of you aimlessly wander around a few more of the only shops that are still open, catching up about your break before making your way back towards the Leaky Cauldron. “So… tell me about football. It’s like muggle Quidditch, right?”

You try and explain the rules as you walk down the cobbled street.

“The keeper’s the only one that can use their hands?” He looks at you sceptically.

“I promise it’s more exciting than it sounds… Speaking of keepers, any sign of you getting a game this year?”

“I doubt it. Weasley would need a serious injury for Potter to consider replacing him.”

You enter the pub and find a quiet booth near the back.

“Well, you never know.” You say, sliding into the seat opposite him. “I heard from Padma that Lavender is getting annoyed about him and Hermione spending so much time together. Maybe she’ll do you a favour.” He shifts uncomfortably. “Sorry,” you grin. “Too soon to bring up your ex?”

He runs a hand through his hair. “Depends, is it too soon to ask if you’ll be cheering on your ex-boyfriend Smith at the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff game? If they beat us the cup is basically yours.”

“Only if Weasley is playing.”

“Yeah? So if I play you’ll be in the Gryffindor stands?”

“Yeah, alright then.” You scrunch up your face as if you can think of nothing worse but actually, you’d like to watch him have his chance to finally play a game. “You can give me your Gryffindor jumper to wear.”

“You realise I’m going to have to break Weasley’s leg or, I dunno, poison him or something because that sounds extremely hot.”

McLaggen goes up to the bar to order drinks and when he comes back he tells you all about the Quidditch world cup two years ago while you listen to his every word longingly.

“I wish I could have gone to the final - it’s just that my parents want to see me as much as they can during the summer. And it’s not like they could have come with me with all the anti-muggle protection stuff,” you add wistfully. “I hope they can see me play a game one day.”

“What, they didn’t watch you play growing up?”

“Well, I didn’t play growing up, did I? I picked up a broom for the first time during my first flying lesson at Hogwarts.”

He puts down his drink. “What?”

“Keep up, McLaggen, they’re muggles.”

“No, I know that. I just never really thought about it. Blimey, it’s really not fair, having to learn to fly years after everyone else.”

You’re more than used to it by now. “What about you? When did you start playing?”

“My dad got me my first broom before I could walk, or so he tells me.” You smile. There’s something sweet about a tiny toddler zooming around with a miniature quaffle.

There’s something else on your mind. “Do you think your parents would be alright with you going out with someone who’s muggle-born?”

“I mean, you know Mum is already desperate to meet you. My dad is a bit more… old fashioned though,” he adds, a little awkwardly. “But he’ll come around when I tell him.”

You laugh “My dad’s the same. I haven’t told him either.”

“He wouldn’t be alright with you going out with a wizard?”

“Wizard? Fine. English? Not so much.”

He laughs like it’s a relief that it’s not just his dad’s prejudice that would be a problem. “Does that mean we’re definitely going out with each other then?”

“Oh.” You remember your letter. “Yeah, let’s say we are. For the sake of us not falling out again.”

“Very heartfelt of you.”

“Sorry, I’m really bad at this,” you admit. “I mean if I’d just told you when I fancied you that would have made things a lot simpler.”

“Easier said than done,” says McLaggen fairly. “I could have told you too.”

“When was that, by the way?” You ask coyly, leaning on the booth table and resting your chin on your hand.

He clears his throat. “I dunno…”

“Oh, come on, McLaggen.”

“I’ll tell you if you tell me.”

“Alright then -“ you take a sip of butterbeer. “- I suppose after the first Potions lesson this year. When you caught me in the corridor and I realised you smelled like the Amortentia we’d just made.”

“Wait a minute…” he knits his eyebrows together. “Do you use perfume or something that has coconut in it?”

“Yeah?”

He leans in and says quietly, so the other patrons don’t hear him. “I just realised the Amortentia I made smelled like you, when I had my face between your tits after Slughorn’s party.”

You feel your skin flushing hot. “Cormac.” You squirm a little, thighs clenching together, remembering his soft little moans as he inhaled deep in your chest.

“If that made you blush I definitely can’t tell you when I first fancied you.”

You shuffle in closer still towards the table.

“Tell me, please,” you whisper.

“Alright… it was last year when Ravenclaw lost to Gryffindor in the final.”

“Don’t remind me. Before or after McGonagall was about to expel me for threatening to set fire to Harry Potter’s broom?”

“Hah, no it was well before the final whistle. You were really anxious in goals - sort of wriggling on the seat of your broom with a kind of anguished expression on your face, watching the Ravenclaw Chasers cock it up.”

“And that was… that was what made you fancy me? That I was stressed out?” You raise an eyebrow and take a sip of your butterbeer.

“Well, yeah. I thought if you sat on my face the way you were sitting on your broom, I could get you to make those faces again.”

You almost spit out your drink. Your face is positively on fire. “Oh my god, Cormac…”

“I’d probably make you say that too,” he adds with a smug smile, and in spite of yourself, his attitude makes your lower abdomen tighten. He is so full of himself and every bit of common sense tells you that should hate it. But you don’t.

Sitting back in the booth, you look him over silently as your wet dream from weeks ago, the one about him going down on you in the Potions classroom swims to the front of your mind. Your legs wrapped over his broad shoulders, and the way his stubble had felt between your legs had all felt so real.

“Was that too far?”

You snap out of it and shake your head, realising you had been biting your bottom lip. “No, I just… I was wondering what it would be like.”

He leans in over the table towards you and so you do too. He takes your hands in his significantly larger ones and whispers seriously. “So you’ve only been with girls before, right?”

“Yeah.” You knew this was coming. At some point or another, you’d need to tell him that the closest you’ve come to touching a penis is when you felt his against you when you were sitting on his lap.

“Then I’ll probably be terrible at eating you out. You know - in comparison.”

That fucker.

You can tell from his stupid smirk that he knows he’s good. His dimples appear at the corners of his mouth as he looks into your eyes. Everything surges up in your molten hot and you swallow, mildly embarrassed by how turned on your feel just from that arrogant smile.

“Not Cormac McLaggen admitting he might not be the best in the world at something?” you tease, trying to downplay how eager you are to find out.

“Oh yeah. It’ll be awful. Really, really sloppy.” He pulls your hands towards him and kisses your knuckles slowly. You look around the bar from your deserted corner booth. None of the few patrons are even glancing in your direction.

You take a deep, steadying breath. “Some - some people would say sloppy is good.” You know from your own experience that sloppy is great. But honestly, you’re worried about telling him that you’ve got no idea what the definition of good is when it comes to giving head to a man.

“Mhm,” he murmurs and slips his tongue between a gap in your fingers. God, your pussy feels slick, desperate for him to give it the same attention that he’s so brazenly paying to your hand. He maintains eye contact with you, the pupils of his green eyes dilated in the dim light of the pub.

“Cormac, I know you’re joking about being bad but I - I’ve never… I mean, I’ve never even seen a - “ you mouth the word ‘penis’ “- before.”

Cormac stops kissing your hands and places them on the table with a reassuring squeeze. “Don’t worry. Mine is like this- ” He gestures with his thumb and forefinger, almost pinching them together.

You narrow your eyes. “Shut up. I felt what you were packing on the stands.”

“You don’t need to worry about it anyway. Don’t feel like you need to do anything you don’t want to.”

Oh, you want to alright. But when you asked Cho and Marietta what to do with one that night you came back from the Quidditch stands it sounded complicated - beyond terrifying. And the pressure you put on yourself to be great at everything doesn’t make it any less daunting.

But God, the way his cock felt when you were pressed up against him kissing him the last time you saw each other - it was as if your body was begging you to have him put it inside you. Your pussy clenches, imagining the feeling of rubbing up against him again.

“Are you finished your drink?” you ask, the heat between your legs aching for him now.

“Almost, will I get another round?”

“Maybe later when I’m finished sitting on your face.”

“You are something else.” He doesn’t need to be asked twice and abandons his drink, letting you lead him upstairs.

You open your room door, turn and grab the front of his jumper and drag him inside. You stand on your tiptoes again to kiss him furiously. He kisses you back, shutting the door behind him.

“Fuck,” you say between kisses. “You are such… an arrogant… git.”

“Yeah?” he lifts you up so you can wrap your legs around his waist. “Well, you fucking love it.” He says, carrying you over to the bed where he throws you down and climbs on top of you. You feel the hard bulge underneath his jeans pressing into you under your skirt and you raise your hips, pushing yourself up against him, pressing your clit against the protrusion.

He lifts your t-shirt up over your head and unhooks your bra before tossing it carelessly aside. McLaggen swirls his tongue around your nipples, desperately sucking and slobbering all over your chest like a starved man.

“I mean the picture was good but fuck, your tits are perfect in person,” he groans, trying to fit as much as he can into his mouth. His neediness makes you grind harder into him - you’re practically humping the fabric seam of his jeans.

“Fuck, Cormac…” you whimper helplessly, the burning friction from your pussy pressed up against him is all you can think about. You can already feel your orgasm flickering in the pit of your stomach.

“I need you to stop saying my name like that. I’m gonna cum right here if you do.” He grips the bottom of his jumper and pulls it, along with his t-shirt up over his head. You breathe heavily, looking at his muscular chest and abdomen in the low light of your candle-lit room.

He watches you hungrily as you slip your skirt and underwear off and he lies on the bed to pull you on top of him, directly over his head. You sit on his chest, your knees bedside his ears and look down at him, biting your lip - it’s like he was made to be here like this between your thighs.

“You look so fucking good like this,” he says, running his hands along the back of your thighs and settling them on your hips.

“How do I do it without suffocating you?” You’ve never had anyone go down on you in this position.

“Do whatever feels good. If I die, I die,” he grins up at you. “Just let me taste you.”

You shimmy forward and he grabs your ass so he can press his face against you.

“Oh, fuck,” you whimper. McLaggen sucks and rolls his tongue all over your pussy like he’s kissing your mouth. He laps up your juices, wet warmth enveloping your already soaking-wet slit, making you feel even slicker.

He pauses to kiss your inner thigh. “Play with your tits for me.”

You do as he asks, pushing them together and pinching your nipples as you keep your eyes locked with his. His technique maybe isn’t as deft as you’re used to but, oh my god, he’s enthusiastic. McLaggen’s tongue flicks back and forth over your clit but you want his whole mouth again, so you leverage your hips slightly.

He feels your adjustment and moans in encouragement, fingers kneading into the flesh of your ass. This is what he wants, he wants you to lose yourself completely like this on top of him. So you decide you will.

“You feel so good,” you whimper and lace your fingers through his dark blonde curly hair, grinding yourself on him. On his lips, his wide tongue, his stubbly chin. He keeps licking sloppily as you use his face to get off.

“Fuck, Cormac…”

“Don’t or I’ll cum,” he warns between licks and while the thought of making this huge, hulking man under you cum just from eating you out and hearing you say his name sends a jolt of electricity through your body, you want to make him feel how you feel right now.

“Can I suck your dick first?” You ask, halting your hips from moving.

He pauses. “You’re sure?” You nod. “Just keep sitting on my face. Please.”

You flip around to face the other way, sitting backwards on top of him. You undo his jeans and he pauses, anticipating your reaction. The feeling of his hot breath on your skin makes your hands tremble as you push his jeans and boxers down.

His cock springs up, hitting his toned stomach and your eyes widen. You already knew that it wasn’t what he had implied earlier but…

“Jesus Christ, Cormac.”

“Oh come on, don’t react like that. I thought you said I was arrogant enough as it is”

Fuck.

You extend your hand tentatively and grip the length of his cock. It’s prettier than what you’d imagined from Cho and Marietta’s vivid descriptions. Not that you’d tell McLaggen that - his already inflated ego really would be unbearable if you did. You could never have thought you’d actually want to suck it, from the details they’d given you when you asked them nervously how to do it. But you really, really do.

You lean forward and, still gripping him in your hand, you swirl your tongue around his head. There’s a pleasant vibration as presses his lips against you again to moan against your pussy.

“Is this okay?” You pull back to ask tentatively.

“Fuck… Yes.”

The shakiness in his voice encourages you to open your mouth wider and swallow as much of him as you can. He’s so tall that you can’t reach the base of his cock without moving forward and when you try, he clamps his hands down on your hips to stop you from moving away from his face.

And then you feel his mouth devouring you again, his lips and tongue attacking your clit without mercy. Fuck.

You try to whine but your mouth is full. From the way his fingers dig into your hips, you can tell he appreciates the noises you’re making all the same.

You bob your head up and down, gliding your tongue around his cock. His own tongue moves in firm circles round and round, bringing you closer and closer to the brink. Pulling your head back, you gasp for air but keep jerking his length, now slick and wet from your saliva with your fist. “Fuck, Cormac… I’m…”

Bliss floods your body and he groans loudly but keeps pace as your cunt twitches on his face. Your orgasm rips through you, white-hot and tingling. You can’t help yourself repeating his first name over and over until it becomes a babbling stream of words, feeling his face pressed right into your pussy, his tongue dragging all over your clit and his nose between your folds.

Cormac tries to keep licking through the aftershock but you wriggle away from the overstimulation. You move down his body and this time swallow his cock as far as you can, lips almost reaching the base.

“Wait, I’m… fuck…” He grits his teeth. “Careful, baby, I’m gonna cum.”

Baby. It’s the first time he’s dared to call you that.

And you like it.

You feel his thighs tense under your grip. He makes a conscious effort to stop his hips jerking upwards, letting you continue to take the reins at your own pace.

“Mhmm,” you hum in encouragement - ready for it.

He stares at your beautiful pussy in front of him - all flushed and rosy and wet in the low light. He did that. He made you a mess like that. It drives him over the edge as the sounds of you sucking and swallowing around his cock fill the quiet room.

“That’s it. That’s - Oh, fuck -” He swears incoherently and it’s your cue to take him as deep as you can. Cormac empties his load directly down your throat, and you suck, draining him of the hot, salty liquid. You swallow and gasp for air. You had needlessly braced yourself for it to taste much worse.

Exhausted, you slide off him and cuddle into his chest, practically glowing with pride. The two of you lie there, your hearts still pounding as you listen to each other breathing raggedly for a few moments.

“You’re… fuck. Unbelievable,” he pants eventually, interrupting the silence.

You smile, tracing your fingers along his chest, silently adding 'sucking cock' to your list of achievements. It feels like you’ve passed an exam with flying colours.

“Well, for the record, you weren’t awful at that.”

“Compared to your comments about my flying, that’s as good as praise from you.”

“Don’t get used to it.” You tilt your head up to look at him as he stares at the ceiling, feeling his heartbeat under your hand slowly returning to normal. “What is it about your own name that gets you off, by the way?”

He laughs. “I know I can be a dickhead but you don’t think I’m that bad, do you?” You run your fingers through his tousled hair, a bead of sweat glistening on his brow. “It’s not just my name, it’s when you call me Cormac. You only call me that when you’re turned on.”

What? “I- I do not!” You splutter.

“Yeah, you do. You did it on the Quidditch stands, then in your letter and then again tonight.”

He’s got you there. “Or maybe I only call you McLaggen when you’re irritating me… McLaggen.” You laugh and kiss the crook of his neck.

He squeezes you tighter and presses his lips to the top of your head, inhaling the scent of your coconut shampoo.

“Yeah, that makes sense too.”

Chapter 7: Fine

#freddie stroma #cormac mclaggen #cormac mclaggen x female reader #cormac mclaggen x reader #harry potter and the half blood prince #harry potter fanfic #harry potter fanfiction #hp fanfiction #hp fanfic #hp fic #hp fanfcition

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friendofcars · 10 months

Note

Please drop the essay you refrained from writing in the tags and would also love to hear your thoughts on the mask dream! I think it's one of the most interesting dreams ronan has, especially in tdt. Always really enjoy your thoughts and meta :)

hi so first of all thank you for this very kind message and second of all the 'essay' i mentioned was in fact about the mask dream. and third of all thank you for waiting for my belated response. i wrote the remainder of this post over multiple weeks and didn't proofread any of it and i'm almost positive it gets incoherent in places so please let me know if you want anything clarified.

so, the post i'm referencing is this one by parrishwife about adam and ronan's rather unhinged desire to simultaneously become and be with each other. i coincidentally read it immediately before reading chapter 17 of the dream thieves for the trc book club and my brain exploded a little because i think the mask nightmare plays with the same idea- not explicitly, and maybe not primarily, but there's an element of ronan both fearing and desiring the possibility of adam becoming ronan (or at least like ronan).

i think the most straightforward and plausible interpretation of this chapter is that ronan fears losing adam (to post-traumatic dissociation, to his bargain with cabeswater, as a rejection of ronan's desire for him, etc.) (btw parrishwife also has a brilliant post analyzing the mask dream.) i'm also suggesting that he has a simultaneous fear of adam reciprocating the attraction, which, for ronan, comes hand in hand with self-loathing; desire is fear, it is horror, it is anger; he fears rejection and miscommunication while also fearing that adam will experience self-hatred too. because ronan hasn’t realized his second secret yet, the fear/desire/self-loathing/projection is particularly muddled. This interpretation hinges on my observation that adam is profoundly ronan-like in the dream.

because of my complete inability to omit details, i’m going to put the meat of my observations + analysis under a cut:

first, before i write an absurdly long response, here was my initial comment in the trc book club server after reading the chapter:

and my follow up after some discussion:

and now after musing on this chapter for the past month, here’s a more detailed analysis, almost line by line:

first, in the dream, we're told that “the mask was his father's.” it's ambiguous as to whether niall dreamt, made, or bought the mask, but it's as if ronan has inherited the mask (along with the secret keeping, dreaming, perceived imbalanced devotion in romantic relationship, etc.). the important detail, aside from mask, of course, is father: a) ronan's self-hatred, grief, and depression are directly tied to guilt over niall's murder, all of which inform the way he dreams, unguided and alone, b) adam's bargain with cabeswater kicks off a plot that serves as a metaphor for adam's healing from trauma from his own father, which informs the way he isolates and hides himself from others and c) here we have two boys, traumatized by their fathers in different ways but still with the consequence of repression, with ronan fearing that adam will break/succumb to the fallout of his dual sacrifices (pressing charges and leaving the trailer/giving up his hands and eyes to cabeswater). i mention all of this to start drawing connections between ronan and adam's experiences, how they relate to one another, and how in which ronan's self-hatred manifests in a concern for adam ending up hating himself too (becoming [like] ronan).

we can also consider the setting of the dream: the original mask is at the barns, out of reach in multiple ways (hung high on the wall, on a property from which ronan is banned, and his subconscious won't let him return home in his dreams either) but the consequences of the dream do lead him back to the barns (he manifests the night horrors, which he buries at the barns with his friends; enlisting gansey to help literally kill his demons and everyone else to dispose of the bodies brings him home- it's something he can't do alone -> recurring fear of isolation, the magic of connection, etc.). but ronan already has access to the apartment at st. agnes- adam already lets him sleep there, on the floor, and he's only there in the first place because ronan helped him move there. ronan plays an active role in establishing and maintaining the apartment as adam’s home. and in the dream, the mask is at eye level, both within reach (and, of note, probably where you'd hang a mirror). greater proximity to ronan = greater risk of adam realizing (and reciprocating, or mirroring) ronan's attraction towards him.

all of this is to say that ronan's subconscious is asking him: what if adam was within reach? would you squander the opportunity? what if he's too far gone to cabeswater, out of reach in the wake of abuse? what if keeping adam close is putting him in danger? (there's a line about their changing proximity at the very end of the raven boys that i'm thinking about as i write this.) what if he falls and cuts himself on ronan?

like i mentioned, I think the more straightforward reading of the dream is ronan's fear of losing adam, whether via adam’s trauma responses/dissociation/bargain with cabeswater or as a rejection of ronan’s romantic interest. i'll try to be briefer here since i know it's been discussed (reading this a couple weeks later…i was not brief at all lol). shortly before the dream, cabeswater goes missing. due to the ambiguous consequences of adam's bargain with cabeswater, there's reason to fear adam will also disappear (or at least his hands and eyes, or what they represent -> his skill, his perception, his survival instincts, etc.). then there's the fear of the figurative consequence: adam disappearing in the sense that he completely withdraws and isolates himself from ronan and the others. gansey fears that adam's spirit will break; adam fears he will turn violent (which is why he withdraws). it's not clear which ronan fears, but it might as well be both, given the obscuring nature of the mask and adam's violence in the dream. i don't think ronan fears that adam will purposefully hurt him (given his prophetic refusal to hurt adam, even to save his own life) but he fears he will hurt adam by confessing feelings to him, or by trapping him in henrietta, etc.

in the dream, ronan tells opal (at this point, orphan girl) that cabeswater is gone, which triggers adam’s appearance in the dream (to emphasize the possibility of adam disappearing too). adam says, “far away isn’t the same thing as gone,” which is probably a rare display of optimism from ronan, especially as a counterpoint to the dreamt miniature white plane that is lost to the lake (this symbolizes the potential outcome of losing adam in the context of adam’s doubt/disbelief, which is dismantled by the end of the book when he figures out that ronan paid the rent and loves him, which coincides with ronan realizing he doesn’t hate himself, that the world will not end if adam knows how he feels, and thus the white nigh horror is born as a symbol of adam’s capability of belief in ronan and both of their acceptances of ronan’s feelings). whew.

we then get a description of adam in the dream. he's wearing his aglionby uniform, perhaps to represent a repressed adam hell bent on assimilation to pursue his ambition, but in my interpretation a detail that clues us into some mirroring/becoming of ronan. i'm specifically thinking of the flashback in trb chapter 20 in which adam recalls the catalyst for pursuing aglionby: a confident, affluent, friend-possessing aglionby kid who probably wasn’t but might as well have been ronan. as a counterpoint to the aglionby uniform, adam’s fingers are black with oil, an obvious nod to adam’s fear that his job as a mechanic and poverty betray his attempts at escaping his roots (side note- sacrificing himself to a sentient forest literally roots him further in henrietta/on the ley line), but i can’t help but draw a comparison between the oil mentioned here and nightwash- something we don’t even know whether ronan has canonically experienced yet, but still a visual parallel that signifies limiting, restricting factors in each of their lives (class, disability, etc.) that anchor them to henrietta. if this connection is a coincidence, which it very well could be, the shame both adam and ronan experience remains true in the text, in terms of adam feeling stained by his non-academic yet necessary-for-survival work and ronan’s complex relationship to dreaming. ronan also endures unmaking/nightwash in trk after adam, demon-possessed, chokes him and ronan has the same “will not choose hurting adam to evade death” experience, so this really does all connect in my “no coincidences in trc” brain.

adam takes the mask without asking permission nor hesitating, which seems out of character and ronan-like (read: impulsive), although adam does indeed reach for the mask without asking first when they visit the barns. in trb adam is constantly asking permission, clarifying invitations, hesitating, etc. until he makes his sacrifices, so perhaps ronan’s dream is exploring an adam that acts more and fixates on consequences less (which is quite ronan). the summative effect of these details is ronan’s perception of adam’s own insecurities, curiosities/introspection, etc. which, perhaps unintentionally, make me simultaneously consider ronan’s own difficulty with reconciling his home life, identity, secrets, social position at school, etc. the touching without asking might also prod at a warped sense of intimacy for ronan, especially regarding the nature of ronan’s relationship with kavinsky, but i feel like i need to consider this perspective more before elaborating further.

then, adam holds the mask up to his face- nobody puts the mask on adam; it’s an autonomous choice. autonomy and choice are critical to both of their character arcs, especially in trb for adam and in tdt for ronan. then, adam “becom[es] something else” and the distinction between adam and the wooden mask dissolves as a nod to the concern that adam will become indistinguishable from cabeswater (also predominantly of wood). lots to comment on here: that adam must eventually accept that he isn’t cabeswater, much like he isn’t his father; adam becoming less human and ronan grappling with his human-ness/creature-ness, ronan grappling with the distinction between himself and his manifested dreams, which include cabeswater, etc. if adam is merging with cabeswater and cabeswater in its forest form is inherently an aspect of ronan/his heart/his soul/his mind… much to chew on, even if its founded on their insecurities. adam becoming a creature, like ronan; becoming magic or getting intertwined with it… also rolling around the concepts of a wooden mask, a wooden boy, lies (secrets), autonomy, atypical creation, etc. in my head and coming up with pinocchio which is probably absurd but. i had to admit this. ronan wanting to be a real boy (greywaren choosing humanity) is not not canon in td3. on adam seeming to be carved from wood, maybe a brief exploration of a fear of a lack of distinct identity (ronan fearing adam becoming cabeswater or a part of himself against adam’s wishes); Adam wants to be self-made, not made by anyone else…maybe references pygmalion, galatea, etc.

in the same paragraph, as adam becomes even less-adam like, his teeth become hungry, his jaw starves. teeth are frequently mentioned when describing the lynch brothers, and hunger is a predominant theme for both adam and ronan (“they were both hungry animals, but adam had been starving for longer), and chapter 11 of tdt loops in the gray man and the concept of a hungry knife; i'm not articulating this well but there’s something to say here about ronan being raised to think of himself as a weapon and him fearing adam will succumb to the same, and sharp teeth are the imagery by which i'm connecting these dots (?). adam’s eyes are “desperate and incensed.” he is not only afraid but angry (a very ronan combination of emotions), and the adjective “incensed” even links to ronan’s internal experiences being frequently described as fiery, burning, etc. a vein stands out from adam’s neck; veins stand out from ronan’s body later in the chapter when he’s awake but not yet back in his body. vulnerability, anger, desperation, tension, vitality. the physical parallels are numerous. or maybe just repetitive writing, but i read trc very generously in terms of assuming intention.

then, the dream becomes a nightmare. the mask becomes indistinguishable from adam’s face- anger like a second skin, second secret, tamquam alter idem, horror movie twins, double-headed night horror and all that- it’s a nightmare BECAUSE ronan could be into this (and by “this” i mean the conflation of adam returning his attraction and them becoming more and more like each other), and at this point in the narrative, this desire to be and to be with is obscured by ronan’s depression. adam is described as a creature, a word used to describe ronan too (a genuine compliment from gansey, but an alienating burden of a descriptor for adam and ronan). adam becomes a night horror, which, like cabeswater, is a manifestation of an aspect of ronan- like calls to like, and this is terrifying to ronan.

the night horrors are explicitly described as representations of ronan’s heart and are “in love with his blood and his sadness.” the word choice of “in love” when the night horrors are manifestations of self-hatred and depression and shame is more proof of ronan conflating desire + guilt. ronan’s heart is auto-cannibalizing. do you know what I’m trying to say. as a side note, the mentioned rhythm of ronan’s heartbeat works as a physiological and metaphorical tie to the very feeling of a nightmare. just some nice texture in the nightmare for me as a reader! re: adam, “adam was the horror now” -> adam has become inextricable from ronan/cabeswater/magic -> adam has become one with ronan’s self-hatred adam isn’t the horror for trying the mask on, he’s the horror for realizing and reacting to the mask (here i had a lightbulb moment and had to close my word doc to calm down lol)… and if we equate ronan himself to the mask (the teeth! the hunger! the eyes! a psychological prison only the prisoner can break!) and the nightmare is built upon this dream adam’s rage and terror at his union with the mask… we circle back to the two-headed fear of adam’s rejection AND reciprocation of ronan’s attraction. of course the merging of adam and ronan takes on a completely different connotation in greywaren when they are both eager to merge souls and their codependency and inability to maintain a stable reality without the other is… a lot to think about. Re: “toothful king” more teeth = lynch-like, as we’ve established, but ronan has also been described as a king in his dreamscape; this usually implies creative power but is that what Adam has here? maybe king is more intended to throw focus towards his power over ronan? also, in a ater paragraph, “tooth upon tooth upon tooth” makes me think of rows of teeth…which is sharklike. like the bmw (“if it was sharklike, it had learned how from [ronan]”.)

i'll also make a couple comments about the line “to think about it was to be immobilized with the horror of watching Adam be consumed from the inside out.” 1. the immobilization, whether literal or figurative, is notable in the context of ronan, who is often kinetic, restless, hyperactive, adrenaline-seeking, etc. but is also immobilized post-dream manifestation; taken together, ronan in motion and ronan frozen tell us that for ronan to stop moving and obscuring the secrets he hides in a maelstrom of posturing is to make him vulnerable- and this line is shortly before nightmare adam attacks him. to stay still is to look truth in the face and confess it and bear his heart to it- and his heart itself is the secret. ouroboros. i don’t know. also, cannibalism, probably. that's not really my wheelhouse but it’s in here a little bit. and ronan dreams creatures to love- chainsaw, matthew, opal. he's revulsed by the possibility of creating an adam that loves him, that is made of him or in his image, that lacks autonomy/mobility in relation to ronan.

then comes the violence. before it, ronan takes adam’s arm (as he does at the barns, later) and says his name- saying adam, not parrish, presumably, which is another marker of vulnerability. this line reminds me of “cabeswater: call it by name” or an act of creation, affirmation, that adam is adam (human, a man), and not a monster. despite this act of tenderness, of acknowledgment of independent identity, nightmare adam lunges for ronan while simultaneously trying to remove the mask from his own face (this brings me back to the idea of duality, violence vs. love wielded inwardly and outwardly, double edged swords, the two headed night horror, the self vs others, etc.). his fingers hook ronan the way the night horror hooks in the following chapter- a premonition that gets subverted with the eventual declaration of “claws and beak”/”unguibus et rostro.” adam's face is gone and the mask becomes invisible- the distinction between ronan’s feelings towards adam and adam’s feelings toward ronan is gone. however, perhaps condradicting what I literally just claimed (lol), ronan cannot kill bring himself to kill adam, even this nightmare version, but has not yet realized that he doesn’t want to kill himself either.

“the mouth gaped, door to bloody ruin.” the mouth, not adam’s mouth, not the mask’s mouth. disembodied. there's a whole thesis to write on adam’s relationship to his body and his dissociative experiences, the reintegration he experiences as he repairs the ley line, etc. an open door, especially a door-like mouth, is a confessed secret (think of ronan’s closed door at monmouth), and here, a path to the worst possible outcome.

ronan removes the mask from adam and discovers that it’s easily removable, that the distinction between adam and the mask and that which it represents can be recovered simply and gently, but the removal still ruins adam. a petal peeled from a flower-he loves me, he loves me not… and the strange beautiful flowers ronan dreams… that love is beautiful and not inherently violent… something adam and ronan must individually learn for themselves. adam must distinguish himself from his trauma, from his family, from his bargain with cabeswater. his self-loathing creates an additional prison within the limiting circumstances of his poverty. but as gentle as the removal is, ronan’s heroic action still results in gore- his father’s, rather than his mother’s, account of his birth. adam is reduced to muscle, bone, teeth, eyeball- a collection of parts, but no holistically integrated face. a miracle of moving parts but gruesome. life leaks out of him like nightwash out of ronan. unmasking, confession, secrets you can’t take back, irreversible bargains… ronan says he’ll put the mask back on, will restore adam’s dignity and grant him a shield against vulnerability, but the damage is done. we get a rare “please” (“please work”) from ronan, maybe a prayer, maybe in the same vein of the “please” he thinks when he sees adam for the first time (cdth chapter 5).

and finally, the lab blood dna line around which i will talk in circles because I can’t do it justice, but after ronan wakes with the bloodied mask he wonders “whose dna…would a lab find in that blood?” this is THE merging of adam and ronan line imo that makes all of my tenuous claims that the nightmare is about adam becoming ronan hold actually hold water. it’s like if the narrator in kevin atwater’s my blood is your blood hated themselves and their partner too because their love felt like violence and guilt. and because both adam and ronan, due to their (father-related) trauma, struggle to distinguish between pain and attraction and desire and resentment, there’s an implication that reciprocated feelings between the two of them would also be mutually inflicted harm- that they’ll both make each other bleed. spring awakening word of your body. it reminds me of when dogs get into a fight and in the aftermath it’s hard to tell whose blood is whose, if one is bleeding or just covered in the other’s; ronan’s nightmare explores: who is capable of harming (loving) the other. because ronan’s refusal to harm adam as nightmare adam harms ronan is love, even if twisted up. ronan can’t extricate desire from violence at this point since he hasn’t woken up to his second secret yet (and undergone the character development required to realize it). the blood might as well be both of theirs.

Some other assorted details: the overlap between ronan’s self-hatred and his projection of this onto adam (ch 9: ronan had seen a face about to break in the mirror etc. terrible paraphrase but you know what i mean) so his nightmare is an exploration of him projecting onto adam; there’s a dual desire for adam/reciprocation but also a fear + assumption that adam is simultaneously terrorized by his own feelings (which tbh is not wrong) so adam being the horror in the nightmare is to say he’s Ronan since the horrors are an extension of Ronan’s depression, grief, guilt, etc. esp. regarding his faith and sexuality which are symbolized via the dreaming, and since ronan could not kill him (it wasn’t a choice! foreshadowing! he sees himself as a corrupting force on adam, etc.), ronan is eventually subconsciously led to the realization that he cannot kill himself either- he has to believe in himself (cheesy, but since the climax of tdt crucially involves adam’s belief in ronan and the dreaming and the second secret, it’s real) and to believe that his love for others is beautiful rather than dangerous, and that this love can be wielded back at himself too. “why do you hate you? I don’t. he woke up” is the same damn thing as “it was only for adam it had been a prison.” pretend i pasted in the spiral eyes emoji 1000 =x here. (adam’s own self-loathing, isolation, bargain w cabeswater, etc…. so very eight of swords. if only he would take the blindfold off etc.)

and this all ties back to the two headed night horror… tdt opening with ronan’s secrets and the plane and adam’s doubt in ronan’s dreaming and the first introduction of the black night horrors and the eventual acceptance of mirrored attraction or at least acknowledgement of ronan’s second secret and adam witnessing the manifestation of the white night horror which is double-headed and signifies both internal and external love/acceptance… i’m running out of steam here but it all ties together. it’s all connected I promise.

but in this chapter, before the plot of tdt plays out in full, we're left with the conclusion of what if adam reciprocates ronan's attraction? that's what he wants (this is why he pays the rent. this is why the dream is in the st. agnes apartment, where ronan has put adam.), but because at this point ronan can't differentiate between desire and self-loathing, adam wanting him back would make him a mirror of his desire and self-loathing, and the fear of this is explored in the nightmare. i hope this has made sense!

i think this was pretty comprehensive and perhaps too speculative but aside from opal's role in the dream, which i'm still thinking about, but i'd love to hear someone else's take on her in this chapter (or anything else about the mask nightmare!).

#ask #rchl #trc #ronan #adam #i seriously hope this is at least partially intelligible and that we can chat about this!#also this is over 4000 words so I’m a little sorry about that #ronan lynch #the dream thieves

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thequeenofthewinter · 11 months

Text

Work-in-Progress Wednesday

Helllllooooooo Hellions and Hellsite users, 'tis I. Your hostess with the most-est, Winter. And things are just getting started for the Moot. Today, I have for you: Mythical. Magical. Mystical. Idgrod Ravencrone.

Side Note: Things with writing this chapter have been going a bit slowly because I was sick last week, and well, I'm in the middle of primetime grading university essays. It is somewhat likely I won't be posting this week. I am working though! I have 4500 words...and I have only just started writing Moot things. It's likely this chapter is going to be pretty long when I do finish.

Tagging: @oblivions-dawn @sneaksandsweets @blossom-adventures @mareenavee @rainpebble3 @rose-like-the-phoenix and anyone else who would like to participate. I love seeing what others write. <3

Voices begin to swell in the background as the room buzzes with the sounds of gossip. It would seem that not even Jarls are immune to the draw of a good scandal, even if they would want to avoid being talked about themselves. If nothing else, this is certainly an interesting way to commence today’s events.

“If you would all quiet down and take your seats, I’d like to begin. We have a long day ahead of us.” Vignar makes his way to the head of the long table.

Quickly, Ulfric and Dahlia find the last available chairs which happen to be next to Idgrod Ravencrone. They both incline their heads in respect towards the older Jarl despite her prior affiliations and despite the strange visions she claims to have.

Idgrod returns the gesture, first nodding to Ulfric himself and then extending a hand to Dahlia which she reluctantly takes. It is not that she doesn’t wish to take it, but rather that she is afraid of what she will see. While some do not believe in Idgrod’s power, the Dragonborn has had enough brushes with the fantastical and surreal to know that one does not make such claims lightly.

Deep grey eyes narrow as Idgrod grips Dahlia’s hand tightly before turning it over and running wrinkled fingers over the lines of her palm. Soft noises, hums, and mumbled words, fall from her her mouth as she makes a thorough inspection of her palm—all with no explanation or further elaboration.

All the while Ulfric is the only one who pays her any mind, watching carefully with sharp eyes as it appears that Idgrod has lost herself to her cloudy-eyed visions. After all, why should the other Jarls give her a second glance? At one time or another, they all have fallen victim to her parlor trick, and none of them have found anything extraordinary in her cheap magics. Besides, they all have far more important things to attend to. Their eyes are all trained with apt attention to the welcoming words Vignar offers them.

However, Ulfric is ready. One of his hands has already made its way down to the head of his war axe. Should she make one wrong movement—

“Jarl Ulfric, I mean your wife no harm.” Idgrod snaps his attention from his blade up to her, as she gives him a cryptic smile. “I bid you and your family good tidings.” She pats the back of Dahlia’s hand before letting it drop suddenly.

Dahlia blinks back at the aging Jarl, not sure what to make of her words to Ulfric, and frowning sightly.

“Don’t frown at me, child. The expression doesn’t suit you,” she tells her but not unkindly. “Besides, we are going to have an interesting next few hours, don’t you think? And you’re going to have some very interesting days ahead of you. You’ll need all the smiles you can manage. We all will.”

#skyrim #skyrim fanfiction #ulfric stormcloak #dahlia wintersnow #ulfric x dragonborn #winter writes #wip wednesday

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midnightraine131 · 4 months

Text

Pairing: Armin Arlert/Annie Leonhart

Tags: Fluff, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Teenage Love, Awkward First Times, Slow Burn, POV Armin Arlert, Bottom Armin Arlert, Wet Dreams

Warning: R18 contains sensitive topics

Summary: They say the most judgmental people are those who attend church on Sundays.

Despite growing up in a Christian household, Armin Arlert felt overburdened by the pile of ministry activities assigned to him. So he made a pact with himself to never follow in his father's footsteps and become a pastor. With the goal of saving enough money to persuade his parents to let him move to another state after high school, he started accepting paid essay projects in school in secret.

Everything in Armin's busy life seemed manageable until he met Annie Leonhart, a Californian girl whose parents had moved her against her will to Vermont. Upon discovering Armin's secret business, Annie approached him with a unique request- to write love letters for a long-distance lover. To craft the perfect love letters, she would help Armin embark on a journey of firsts— his first kiss, first hug, first date, and first everything in a relationship.thing in a relationship.

———————————————————————————————————————————————————

Four pairs of eyes glanced at each other. No words had been spoken for the past ten minutes since Eren climbed up to Armin’s room.

The blond was racking his brain to find a better word to explain their situation in the room to his best friends, without them misconstruing it. At some point, the taller boy couldn't hold it anymore. He dropped his knapsack and the one big bag of potato chips hanging on his right hand to the floor. He gestured to Armin, instructing, “To the bathroom—now, young man!”

Armin quickly stood up from the bed, but as soon as he started to walk, Eren took his hand and dragged him inside the bathroom. Mikasa followed and locked the bathroom door behind them, leaving Annie alone standing in the middle of the bedroom, bewildered.

“Armin, what the fuck?” Eren asked, pinning his friend against the wall. The blond winced as he hit the wall.

“Eren, don’t be too harsh on him. He’s still hurt,” Mikasa reminded him of Armin’s injury, to which the turquoise-eyed boy raised his hand as a gesture for Mikasa not to worry.

Armin sighed, “I told you. Nothing is going on between me and Annie.”

“Armin, your mom is literally in the kitchen, and you have a girl staying in your room. What will you do if she finds out?” Mikasa interrogated.

“She won’t find out,” Armin replied, his brows knitting together.

Eren’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. Armin knew he couldn’t get away too easily. “I’m sure you are aware of her reputation. Don’t tell me you lost your V-card to her?”

“Oh, come on!” Armin threw his hands up in mock surrender. “I know she’s been staying with me for quite a while now, but she’s a good person. She actually saved my life.”

“What do you mean?” Mikasa asked, totally worried about their friend.

Armin opened his mouth to tell them what happened last night but got interrupted when they heard Annie knock from the other side of the door. Mikasa opened the door behind them, revealing Annie just standing there with her bag on her shoulder. “Y’know what, I must go. I don’t really have plans to stay over. I just came by to check on your friend.” She turned to leave, but Armin noticed she carried a bigger backpack this time. He assumed she brought her own pajamas so she didn’t need to borrow his. Confident in his assumptions, he never failed to catch her lying.

Mikasa and Eren looked at each other, feeling bad for being rude to her. Eren was the first one to talk, “Hey Annie, if you really want to stay tonight, it’s okay. I will just sleep on the carpet.”

Armin turned to him in disbelief, “Eren?”

Mikasa held his shoulder and spoke loud enough for Annie to hear, “We promise we won’t tell anybody about this. Trust us.” Armin trusts his best friends more than anyone in this world, so when Mikasa assured him, he was totally convinced. “You heard them, Annie. Please stay,” Armin tried to convince her. She turned to him to see a pair of begging big blue eyes.

Twenty minutes had passed, and they had settled on Armin’s bed, talking about the incident. Eren spoke most of the time, telling Annie what happened in school, which made Annie curse at Historia. Armin told her not to blame her since it was his fault to begin with. He noticed Annie was silent for a moment, as if she was sunk deep into her thoughts.

“Annie…”

“You need that money, right?” Annie asked out of the blue.

Technically, yes. Armin had already prepared a two-year financial plan, and it would be a hard setback to lose four hundred dollars. Annie seemed to understand the answer before Armin could reply. “Alright,” she stood up and took her pajamas out of her bag. “I’ll sign up for the camp.”

“Annie, you don’t have to. I can earn that money back,” Armin protested. It was not his intention to drag someone into his mess just because he made a mistake.

“Not until you kill yourself overworking. My decision is final. I’m going to the camp with you.” She glanced at him, too cold for Eren’s and Mikasa’s taste, but Armin understood that deep inside her heart, she cared about him.

Before Annie could enter the bath, Mikasa spoke up. “I’ll sign up too.”

“Mikasa!” Eren and Armin called out in unison. Green eyes sparkled and the blue ones were hopeful.

“Tomorrow, we have to go shopping, Annie. I can’t afford for the church people to assume that Armin’s friends are all composed of a witch and—” Mikasa purposely cut what she was about to say.

“—a whore, I know. I finish my shift after five,” Annie continued.

“It’s settled then!” Eren stretched his arms, yawning. “Tomorrow, I will help to cover Mikasa’s shift while they go shopping.”

“Eren, do you know how the counter works?” Armin asked, totally having doubts about his best friend's working etiquette.

“You are working with me, right?” Without asking, Eren set himself on the foot of the bed and dozed off. Armin rolled his eyes, knowing he would have a long day tomorrow at work. But it’s better than working alone anyway. So he replied, “Yeah.”

Mikasa lay on the mattress, on Armin’s left side. As soon as her head settled on the soft pillow, her eyes closed and drifted to sleep. It was obvious on her face how exhausted she had been today from taking care of him. Armin brushed his palm on top of her crown and whispered, “Thank you for today, Mikasa.”

Armin heard Annie emerge from the bathroom; she had changed into her pajamas, and her nape was still moist from the shower. She settled herself on Armin’s right side. When he lay down, he turned to face her, and she took his hand, placing it under her cheek as if it were part of the pillow.

“How can you be so careless?” she asked, trying to stay awake but her eyelids were slowly closing.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered and smiled at her before falling asleep.

Sometime in the middle of the night, Armin heard a loud thud that woke him up. He craned his neck to check what was going on. Eren, who used to be sleeping at the foot of the bed, had moved to Mikasa’s side to cuddle her. Now, four teenagers awkwardly squeezed into a queen-sized bed. When Armin looked at his right side, it was Annie who had fallen off the bed. He heard her groan “Ouch,” but she was too tired to stand on her feet, so she just resumed her sleep on the carpet.

Armin took his pillow and a new blanket from the cabinet before lying next to Annie on the carpet, carefully placing the pillow under her head, waking her up a bit. Her beautiful eyes opened slightly, her pale blue irises glanced at him. Armin didn’t move, scared that he might further disturb her sleep, but instead, Annie threw her arms and legs around him, probably mistaking him for a bolster. He felt something soft underneath her clothes. Realizing she wasn’t even wearing a bra when going to bed, Armin wasn’t sure, but his feelings were torn between "Lord, I don’t deserve this, but thank you for the blessings" and "Oh dear Holy Spirit, please save me."

It took Armin a while to calm whatever he felt down south; he didn’t even want to think about it. Annie stayed over with good intentions and not for anything else. She faced enough scrutiny outside of this room, and he didn’t want her to feel the same when they were together. She didn’t deserve it just because she wanted to be herself and wear the clothes she wanted. He was wrong before. Girls like Annie just need acceptance from other people and not to be told what to do.

And it’s okay to be friends with other girls like her without feeling other things, just like his friendship with Mikasa.

It’s alright. He feels safe with Annie, and he does the same for her. They had become each other’s safe haven ever since the night she first snuck into his room.

Armin couldn’t tell what time he fell asleep, but not too long after, Annie tapped his shoulder to wake him up. “Armin, get up. I will help you change the bandage on your arm. You need to prepare to go to school soon.” She whispered, and he followed suit.

As soon as they entered the bathroom, Annie kicked down the toilet cover and cursed at whoever had used it and left it open. She then asked Armin to sit there. With eyes half open, Armin watched as she prepared the plasters the doctor provided for him a day before. She was already changed into her misty rose-colored scrubs suit, fully ready for work, but for Armin, it felt more like he was in the hospital with a private nurse taking care of him.

Annie noticed him staring at her clothes and guessed he was curious about why she was up early. “Hange has scheduled an operation at nine. I have to be at the clinic an hour before to prepare the operating room. She’ll pay me overtime, so I agreed,” she answered without him asking.

She crouched on the floor and held out her hand, “Let me see your arm.” Armin hesitated, gripping tightly on his arm. He was not used to getting hurt since his parents protected him too much as a little kid, to the extent that they didn’t allow him to play outside the house. So Armin could only count on his fingers the events he got serious injuries. Armin also knew the first replacement of the bandages hurt the most because the gauze still stuck into the clotted blood; one wrong pull and the wound would bleed again.

“Trust me, I’m more trained in humans than animals.” She gestured to take his hand, and he gave in eventually. Slowly she peeled the bandages off from his wrist up to his elbows and threw them in the nearby bin. She then proceeded to pull the first gauze, earning a wince from him, but she didn’t care as she continued peeling off the gauze. When it was already too much for him, he suddenly tugged his arm away from her. His face reddened, and a tear threatened to leak from the corner of his eye. Annie sighed, “You have a terribly low pain tolerance.”

“It’s really painful, Annie,” he cried. They spent a good five-minute staring contest before Annie checked the time on her wristwatch. It’s fifteen minutes before seven; it's just a matter of minutes before his mother climbs up to his bedroom to call them for breakfast. She carefully took his arms again and said, “Look away and pinch your other arm as hard as you can so it divides the pain.” Without any other choice, Armin followed her instructions. At least Annie is more considerate than the doctor who took care of his wound yesterday. Before he knew it, all the gauze was already dumped in the bin. True to her word, it was less painful when you pinch yourself. If Armin had known that technique before, his life would’ve been easier. However, it left a small portion of bruises on his other arm. He pinched himself too hard.

Annie used wet wipes to remove the glue stains around the wounds, then she asked Armin to lean in the bathtub so she could rinse the wound in the shower at the right temperature. While letting his arm dry with a towel, she prepared a cotton pad soaked in saline solution. Armin watched her face as she slowly dabbed the pad on his wounds. It didn’t hurt anymore, but the cold effect of the solution made him a little uncomfortable. Then to finish the procedure, she covered his wound with new plasters. She turned his arm to each side to check if the wound was properly sealed before she raised to her feet and tapped the tip of his nose twice. “Good job, tiger.”

Armin watched as Annie cleaned the mess on the sink. “It’s still too early to leave, Annie,” he said, standing up. He felt a bit giddy but managed to steady his balance.

“Yeah, but I have to grab coffee on the way. Coffee shops are usually crowded at this hour,” she replied, stepping out of the bathroom. She grabbed her bag from the foot of the bed and slid its straps to her shoulders.

He rushed after her, “If that is the case, then I will make you coffee every day so you won’t have to leave early for coffee shops.”

“You okay with that?” she turned to him before realizing, “Oh yeah, you make coffees for a living.”

“It’s just a part-time job, and it’s not like Starbucks-level coffee, but I can make a decent one.”

“I bet your coffee is better than Starfucks.” She walked towards the window, opened the glass panels, and slid herself out of his room. “I’ll see you again tonight.”

“Thank you, Annie.” He stood by the window, watching her climb down from the roof to the tree branches to jump onto the streets. He watched until her figure disappeared into the distance.

As if on cue, his mom suddenly opened his door, startling him. “Kids, time for breakfast!”

Being reminded that his best friends were cuddling the last time he paid attention to them, he looked back toward his bed. For some reason, Eren is back at the foot of the bed, sleeping soundly while Mikasa has just woken up, her hair disheveled as she shifted herself to a sitting position, scratching her left eye. Armin let out a sigh of relief.

His mom shot him a questioning look. “Honey, are you okay?” She walked toward him and pulled him into a hug like a five-year-old.

“Mom, I’m fine, and my friends are here. Can you just let me go?” He protested, his face buried in the corner of his mom’s neck. Sometimes he hates being treated like a kid.

His mother ignored him, dragging him out of the room like a ragdoll. “Mikasa, wake Eren up now before the breakfast gets cold.” He heard Mikasa respond with a yes to his mother before going down the stairs. His two friends followed behind.

His father was already sitting at the dining table, sipping his coffee as he scrolled down to his iPad. The teenagers selected their seats and settled, with Eren still in a dreamy daze. His mother served each plate with pancakes, scrambled eggs, and bacon. She then prepared each batch of bread in the toaster. Mikasa took a carton of milk to fill their glasses.

“How’s your wound, Armin? Who changed the bandages?” his father asked, which caught him off guard for a minute. He realized he forgot to prepare a spiel to explain to his parents his newly cleaned arm.

Mikasa, noticing her friend was in crisis, she butted in, “I helped him clean his wound earlier, but we realized we woke up too early so we went back to bed.”

“Huh? Mikasa, you know how to— ouch!” Mikasa kicked Eren’s foot under the table. Armin felt like his soul almost left his body when his parents glanced at each other.

Realizing his best friends wouldn’t be able to salvage the situation any longer, he spoke, “Mikasa watched a bunch of tutorials on YouTube last night. Remember?”

“Uh- yeah? Yeah, I remember now. That’s right,” Eren replied, nodding. Mikasa glaring at him to keep his mouth shut.

Good thing, his father didn’t press anymore; instead, he decided to change the topic. “Anyway, next week, my cell group —which includes Eren and Mikasa’s parents— will be here for dinner, and we want you guys to join us. You have to set that on your schedule. Understand?”

“Yes, sir.” The teenagers responded simultaneously as they dug into their plates.

His mom placed the tray of toasted bread on the center of the dining table. “Also, Pastor Dreyse just got back here in Woodstock and his family will be coming too, so, Armin…” she emphasized his name to get his attention. “Whatever you have to do next Friday night, cancel it.”

Armin narrowed his eyes as he chewed on the bacon, “Mom, is this AruHitch phase of yours still ongoing?” he asked, horrified.

Eren suppressed a laugh but failed, “The fact that you already have a ship name made it seem official.”

Armin rolled his eyes at his best friend.

“Ship name? I’m afraid I’m not following these new terms.” His father butted in, totally confused.

“It’s like combining two names in one. We usually use this for characters in a series if we want them to be together romantically,” Mikasa explained, gesturing her hands like she was giving a lecture at a university. “Soon you will understand, pops.”

Armin’s father winced at the word pops. To Armin’s relief, they seemed to forget about the teasing part and finished their breakfast. Armin kissed his dad and mom goodbye before starting his day.

He wore a long-sleeved sweater to cover his arm. Luckily, only a few students in school are aware of the incident. Armin tends to keep quiet about it to avoid issues against Historia. During lunch break, Armin walked past Historia’s locker, but she wasn’t there. Armin starts to believe she didn’t come to school today. He wanted to send her a text message, but Mikasa was against the idea and suggested it was better to give her some space for a while. The heavy burden in his chest dragged on as the hours passed by. Armin had busied himself for some distraction so he wouldn’t think about it too much. He had done his assignments and essays in between breaks. His shift with his best friend wasn’t too bad either, but he noticed that there were more customers today in the shop than usual. Most of them are middle school girls. He assumes it is because of Eren and his growing popularity with the girls. Armin couldn’t deny how much Eren’s look improved over the years. He was more concerned about what to wear for the day and he’s up-to-date with the current fashion trend. But of course, with Mikasa’s influence, his fashion is more goth or pop rock-inspired, black t-shirts, metal studs, big belts, and fake hoop earrings around the helix of his ears, just like Annie’s but hers are genuinely pierced.

Armin glanced at his reflection from the display cabinet. He has had the same hairstyle since he was five. Full bangs that usually poke his eyelashes when he blinks, golden strands that just end below his jaw. Growing up, Armin used to be bullied because he looked too feminine and frail for a boy. Now that he pays attention to himself, he can tell he still looks like a girl until now and his voice didn’t help either. Most of the boys around the school had outgrown him, and their voices start to boom a bit deeper. Some of the church aunties tell him not to worry about his looks; he probably was one of those rare cases of a late bloomer. Armin sighed. His puberty was long overdue, no wonder no girls showed interest in him.

His shift ended after seven. Both boys handed over the cashier to Sasha, who was scheduled to work in the closing shift. Eren was picked up by his father while Armin separated from his best friend to meet up with Hitch for dinner.

Hitch is Armin’s longest friend— longer than Eren and Mikasa. She was born in a Christian family too, just like him; her parents are both Pastors. The Arlerts and the Dreyses co-founded the community church in Woodstock. However, Pastor Dreyse frequently traveled around Asia for biblical missions while Pastor Arlert stayed in Woodstock to preach and run the church.

Being born in the same year, same environment, and same upbringing, Hitch has become like an older sister to Armin. If only she never had beef with Mikasa, she could’ve been included in Eren’s circle of best friends.

After ten minutes of bantering and tugging each other on the streets about which restaurants to eat at, both of them agreed to settle on DIY hotpot at Armin’s house. They passed by the grocery store to pick up some mushrooms and vegetables. Armin remembered his mom storing leftover beef slices in the fridge, while Hitch kept taking packs of crab sticks, tau kee, and some type of bean curd he couldn’t name anymore. Armin took an extra trip to the coffee aisle, taking a pack of espresso roast coffee beans and a carton of ready-to-froth milk. Armin was sure his dad kept a French press somewhere in the kitchen cupboard. After they had paid at the self-service counter, each of their hands carried a bag of groceries as they walked home. Armin intentionally didn’t mention his arm. Knowing Hitch, once she finds out about the incident, there is a huge chance she’d storm in at Historia's place for a fight. She was worse than Mikasa. Armin learned the hard way.

Hitch crouched at one of the cupboards and took the single induction that had been tucked away behind the kitchenware, as if she knew every inch of this house. Armin prepared the pot before proceeding to wash and chop the vegetables. He took the electric kettle, filled it full with water, and left it on until it boiled. He grabbed the chopping board with veggies and moved across from Hitch on the island counter as she adjusted the heat on the induction before putting in beef flanks and vermicelli noodles. Her hands propped her chin up while she stirred the soup idly.

“Armin, you know you can’t be too greedy,” Hitch deadpanned, watching Armin’s chopsticks take another bundle of enoki mushrooms and slowly laying them on top of the boiling tomato soup.

“If you don’t like mushrooms, then I will eat them all,” Armin said, raising his small bowl to fill it with soup. He was leaning on the counter, ignoring the highchair on his side. “It doesn’t matter if I eat a little much; I will still maintain my abs, though.” He raised the hem of his shirt to show his still well-toned abs.

“Right, those extra calories are being trapped in your cheeks instead,” Hitch retorted, using her chopsticks to push the mushrooms aside to make space for her bean curd.

“Don’t fat-shame my cheeks.”

“You started it.”

“Because you called me greedy.”

Hitch's eyebrow shot up, catching the smug expression on his face before shrugging it off. She took her bowl and filled it with tomato soup and bean curds. She busied herself with her iPad, looking through the worship songs they had to practice for the camp.

The electric kettle automatically clicked off, a sign that the boiling water was ready. Armin took the pack of espresso roast and measured the ratio before placing the grounds in the French press and filling it up with measured water. He took a few careful stirs before covering the cylinder with its lid. He returned to their meal as he waited for the coffee to steep. The smell of coffee wafted around the kitchen, making Hitch crave a cup even if it was already a little late in the night. Armin noticed her watching him make coffee.

“Why are you making coffee at this hour?” she asked.

Armin hummed before answering, “Just practicing.”

“What? Are you going to start working as a barista at Kiyomi’s shop too?”

“No.”

“Then for what?”

Armin squinted his eyes, knowing he couldn’t get away too easily under her scrutiny. “Do you want coffee?”

“Of course, but you haven’t answered my question.”

Dodging the question, Armin refocused his attention back to the French press. He used his palm to press the plunger down, carefully preventing the grounds from escaping into the coffee.

“So, uhm, have you practiced our song for the camp?”

“You haven’t answered my question.”

“How’s Pastor Dreyse? I heard he’s back from Singapore.” Armin took the frother to prepare the milk.

“You haven’t answered my question, Arlert.” Hitch crossed her arms, a sign that it was the end of the stretch of her patience.

Armin sighed, “Fine, I’m making it for—” he got interrupted by a sudden loud thud from his room. Horror struck across his face, realizing Annie should be back from shopping. He glanced at the clock. Shoot! It’s already a quarter past eight. It is definitely Annie in his room.

Hitch flinched in shock. Her face questioning Armin, “Aren’t we alone in this house? Did someone break into your room?” She stood up, suddenly shifting to protective older sister mode instinct.

“Oh, Hitch! It’s— it’s nothing?” he dashed around to Hitch's side to stop her from walking up the stairs.

“What do you mean? What if someone wants to kill us?”

“Hitch, you are just being paranoid. It’s just— a ghost?” Armin winced after letting out those words; he wasn’t this bad at lying, but panic had taken over his mind, scared of what would happen if Hitch found out about Annie. There was a huge chance his mother would find out about his secret.

Hitch took a baseball bat from behind the storage room door and silently stepped onto the staircase. “Don’t be ridiculous. There’s no way this house is haunted. There is definitely someone up there.”

Armin moved in front of her to block her way, “A poltergeist?”

She shook her head, tightening her grip on the baseball bat. Before Armin knew it, Hitch was already in front of his bedroom door. She was always fast; never in his life did he beat her in a chase. Hitch placed her ear on the door, and when she heard silence, she kicked the door open. Armin prayed so hard for Annie to leave or hide somewhere.

They both entered the room; there was no sign of anyone there but the small white kitten in the middle of Armin’s bed, looking back at them. The kitten tilted its head slightly before jumping onto the floor and ran towards Armin’s feet to brush its tail. Armin sighed in relief as he glanced at the small cage and then at the cat. Did Annie release the kitten before they got into his room? Then if so, where is she?

Hitch turned to him; she was as confused as he was. “Weird. This room even smells like girl’s perfume.” She walked towards the bathroom and forcefully pushed the door open; there wasn’t anyone in there. Then she went to check his closet.

Armin’s eyebrows creased, “I have a feeling that I need to demand a search warrant.” He crossed his arms, masking his nervousness behind a smug expression.

Failing to see anyone in his room, Hitch finally gave up on searching but shot him a warning. She pointed her forefinger at his chest, “You know very well you can’t hide anything from me. I have known you since we were infants. We grew up together in the same environment and the same situation, so I know when you are hiding something. You are like an extension of my body.”

“Oh, please, Hitch. Don’t make it sound weird,” he grunted; his shoulders slumped as he sighed before snatching the bat from her hands. His right arm wrapped around hers as he led her out of the bedroom. “I told you, you’re just being paranoid.” Armin glanced back inside his room before shutting the door closed. He got a glimpse of Annie’s arms emerging from under his bed, taking the kitten from the floor to hide with her. So that’s where she hid herself. It was a relief for both of them that Hitch didn’t think of checking underneath the bed.

Armin placed his head on Hitch’s shoulder as they headed down the staircase. Hitch moved her head to rest on his crown. “You know you are a bitch sometimes.” She started.

“Oh? Why am I the bitch this time?”

“Don’t you think I didn’t know you were the one who ratted me out to my mother about the boy I was seeing? Now everyone in school thinks I ghosted him.”

“I told you he’s not good for you.”

“Is it because he wasn’t a Christian?”

“No. But that guy keeps telling everyone in school who he slept with.” He raised his head and gasped. “Don’t tell me…”

“Shut up! I’m still a virgin— or else mom would shave my head off.” She defended herself before falling silent.

“What’s the matter now?” he asked worriedly.

“There’s a question in my head that I keep thinking about lately—”

“Shoot.”

“Armin.” Hitch pulled him down to sit on the tread, looking at him directly in his eyes. Emerald green eyes lingered on his cobalt blue. “What if one day you met someone who isn’t a Christian and fell in love with her? Would you convince her to be baptized?”

It took a whole good ten minutes of staring contest; Armin swallowed a lump that had formed in his throat, but he was the first one to drop their gaze, looking down at the symmetrical angle of the stairs. Shadows drew illusions through the warm lights coming from the living room, making it seem they were far away from the ground. His mind sought an answer. As a Christian, he knew the exact verses by heart to answer this question correctly, but the back of his head told him to answer honestly. He almost brushed the latter idea off.

“Hitch, you know the answer in the Second Corinthians chapter six verses fourteen to sixteen when Paul said…”

The teenagers cited in unison, Hitch sighing, dejected, “Do not be yoked together with unbelievers. For what do righteousness and wickedness have in common? Or what fellowship can light have with darkness? What harmony is there between Christ and Belial? Or what does a believer have in common with an unbeliever? What agreement is there between the temple of God and idols?”

“In short, we as Christians shouldn’t form a bond with unbelievers because it would pull us away from Him.” He trailed off, pointing up his forefinger. “We must influence unbelievers without them influencing us.”

“I know you would answer that.” Hitch hugged her knees, burying her face in the curtains of ash-brown strands.

Armin thought for a second when suddenly his mind pictured him being with Annie. He didn’t understand why, of all the people in the world, it was Annie who he would think of. He considered giving away his honest answer before he spoke again. “That was my answer if you would ask me as a Youth leader. But if I would answer as an extension of your body—” he used his finger to air quote. “I would say, I don’t want to push those teachings that the church engraved in me as a kid onto my future partner— if she was hesitant to accept that.”

Armin expected Hitch to laugh at his stupid, honest answer, but unexpectedly, she remains silent. Her eyes landed on the same symmetrical angle of the staircase, the same spot he was gazing at a few seconds ago. There was just comfortable silence and two teenagers and increasing warm lights from downstairs. Hitch tucked her hair behind her ears while her mind digested his answer.

“Are you thinking of someone else?” asked Armin, moving closer to her to whisper. Although they are alone in the house, he feels the need to talk softly to his friend.

“Are you jealous?”

“No.”

“Thanks.” She jests, her voice almost just came out airy.

“Do I know this guy?” he pressed further; this time less serious.

“No! no! I’m not thinking of some stupid guy!”

“Stupid guy?” Armin paused to rack his brain for the moments Hitch mentioned hundreds of boy names she had a crush on, he archived a list in the small corner of his mind just in case he needed to blackmail her in the future when one name had clicked the bulb on, “Do you mean Marlowe Freu—” Armin was interrupted by a sudden impact, pinning him to the wall. Hitch's hands covered almost half of his face. “Let go of me! I can’t breathe!” he muffled behind her palms.

“Marlowe is just my partner in literature, and he is stupid for doing most of the job! And he has a stupid haircut! Jeez!” Hitch flushed, pressing her weight on him. “If I’ve known better, you were thinking of other girls too, right? Who is it?”

Armin shook his head but still managed to chuckle at the thought of catching Hitch off guard despite her weight pressing on him.

“Honey, we’re home— oh?” Armin’s mother called downstairs but was surprised at the sight of their position. Hitch was hovering above Armin while her legs spread wide on his stomach. Armin had his injured arm above his head so Hitch wouldn’t hurt him. Both faces are painted a shade of crimson. Hitch was embarrassed while Armin was suffering.

“What are you kids doing?” His father poked his head from the staircase before his face flashed the same surprised expression as his mom had.

“Hi! Pastor and Mrs. Arlert. Uhm— we were having dinner earlier and decided this was the right time to kill each other.” Hitch butted in, finally freeing Armin.

“Hi, Mom, Dad.” Armin acknowledges his parents awkwardly, shifting his body into a sitting position.

Both of his parents glanced at the kitchen island, the soup still simmering in the pot, and a hot coffee resting beside Hitch’s bowl before returning their gazes to them. Armin doesn’t want to think about what his parents are thinking about. The last thing Armin wanted was for his mother to tease him more about Hitch.

Dumbfounded, his mother just nodded, flashing an awkward smile. “I see.” Armin knows that face really well, and at this moment, he just wanted Hitch to strangle him to death rather than suffer from his mother’s teasing.

“You two spare each other for tonight. Let’s have dessert! Mrs. Braun baked some egg tarts for us.” His father offered, raising his other hand, holding a box of tarts.

“That looks good with my coffee.” Hitch skipped a few steps from the stairs to take the box, and Armin followed at a much slower pace, ignoring his mother’s glare from his peripheral vision.

All four of them sat on high chairs at the kitchen island to finish the hotpot Armin and Hitch cooked earlier, having casual updates about school and church. Armin secretly sneaked some tarts onto a separate plate for Annie later. The tarts were sweet and freshly baked. He was sure she’d like that.

After the pot and the box were empty, Hitch gulped the last drop of coffee from her mug before calling it a day. “Thank you, Lord God, for always blessing us with delicious meals.” She finished off her prayer before clapping her hands twice. His parents followed with an amen.

“Alright, thank you for your time tonight, Hitch. Let me drive you back home. I’m sure Mrs. Dreyse is already looking for you.” His father offered.

“Thanks, Pastor!” Hitch gathered all her things to shove them inside her tote bag before glancing at Armin, “Don’t forget to practice our set for the camp. If you mess up our praise and worship, you’ll owe me dinner!” she reminded for the nth time before walking on his mother’s side to kiss her on the cheek. “See you later, Mrs. Arlert.”

“Bye, Hitch.” His mother smiled, gathering their plates to place inside the dishwasher. Armin waved at Hitch before he jumped from his chair to help his mother with the dishes.

When they heard his father’s car roar on the street and the sound slowly faded into the distance, his mother broke the silence, “Hitch is a good girl, Armin.”

“Mom, please don’t get me started.” He sighed, uncapping the dispenser to place a dishwasher pod, and then he threw one inside before closing the machine. He ran the lightest cycle before leaving it to do its job. He reached out at the center of the kitchen island for the plate of tarts he saved for Annie before giving his mother a good night kiss.

“You will still eat in your bedroom?” his mother inquired, placing back clean plates into the cupboard.

“Yeah, midnight snack. Good night, mom, love you.” He kissed his mother on the cheek before rushing up the stairs.

“Good night, honey!” his mother answered back from the kitchen.

Armin slowly opened the door; the creaking sound caught Annie’s attention. She was now changed into her pajamas, her hair curled in different directions as if she just untied it from a tight bun. The kitten snuggled comfortably on her lap, occasionally flicking its tail on her thighs. She caressed the white fur, now cleaner and healthier than when he found the poor thing in the middle of the road.

He walked to her side of the bed, placed the plate on the bedside table, and sat near her feet. His eyes lingered on the kitten as it purred, its round back moving up and down with calm breaths. Armin wished to embrace this kind of peace forever.

“Those tarts are for you,” he started. The sudden shift in the bed’s balance from his weight awakened the kitten. It raised its head to look at him for a second before going back to sleep. “I’m sorry,” he mouthed at the kitten, which made Annie slightly curve her mouth into a smile.

“I already had dinner with Mikasa before I came here, but I wouldn’t say no to tarts,” she whispered. “They look nice.” Armin nodded, smiling as he watched her take a piece and push the tart into her mouth. She hummed in approval.

“So, how was your shopping with Mikasa?” Armin asked, crossing his legs and tucking his hands underneath his calves.

Annie snickered, “You didn’t tell me. Mikasa’s fashion sense sucks.”

Armin chuckled, “I think Mikasa just wanted to be safe for both of you. I know that’s not how you dress, but that’s how people in church look like.”

“I know.”

“Thanks for doing this for me.”

“I just wanted to be there for you, in case you get yourself in trouble.”

Armin bit his lower lip, his face turned a bit serious. “You don’t have to look after me.”

“I know I don’t have to, but if it means that it’s my only way to be with you, then I’m willing to do it.” Her eyes pierced deep into his heart. If he stared at her eyes for a little longer, he might fall, so he dropped their gaze.

“Uh, right.” Armin shifted his position, his face reddened, unsure whether he understood the meaning of what she just said or if she meant nothing by that. He didn’t want to overthink it too much, so he changed the subject. “About the favors you asked me…”

“Yeah? What about it?” she replied dryly.

“I want to help you write those letters.”

For a moment, she looked surprised but amended her expression back to her usual cold façade. “You don’t have to. I already spent my money on shopping.”

“It’s fine; you can pay me later,” he offered. “You tell me what you feel, then I will write it on paper. Deal?”

“Just that?”

He hummed, nodding.

She crossed her arms, her eyes darting to the ceiling.

“Then you better keep your ears open at all times.”

#lovelettersfromtheskiestothewestcoast #armin arlert #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #aruani #aruani fic #annie leonhart #annie leonhardt #armin arlelt #arminarlert #aruannie #annieleonhardt #aruani ao3 #ao3

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forabeatofadrum · 8 months

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It's been two months! I have been in a reading slump and around 2 weeks ago I slowly got back to book-reading, and I am rereading Check, Please! (I am wearing my Samwell Hockey hoodie as I type this), but now I am also back for some fic reading!

I finally read Restoration Ecology - The Remix (Baz's version) by @royalasstronaut. If that sounds familiar, it's because it's, as the title says, a remix of Restoration Ecology by @captain-aralias and y'all know I fucking love that fic. Like RoyalAsstronaut, I was also super interested in what went on in Baz's mind and they delivered. I held off reading this fic for *cha cha real smooth* smutty reasons, but God I love Restoration Ecology (my beloved)!!! I loved reading Baz's side and I also love how things were added, like Baz's relationship with Mordelia and his friendship with Dev and Niall. Is Baz going to bring a plus-one, and how will they react?

(also, yes, Aralias, I did see your reply to that long ass essay about smut and I will reply to it one day!) (hopefully it will not take another year)

I also have been keeping an eye on Lavender hearts by @aroace-genderfluid-sheep. I know I told Ace in a tag that I would probably not read the fic "on release" because I needed to be emotionally prepared for it, and yet, the moment it dropped I read it cause I needed to. I am depressed now. In a good way? Basically, it was harrowing and painful and desolate, but that was how it was, and it was a good fucking fic.

In other COTTA news, I have also been keeping an eye on @wellbelesbian's Shoulder To Shoulder, Hand To Hand. As I said in the comments, I am so ready for it. I am a bit nervous cause ya know AIDS crisis and all that jazz, but I am so excited.

On a more fun note, @caramelcoffeeaddict started posting Avoiding My Secret Admirer and I absolutely love the premise. You know what they say right? Miscommunication as a plot device can be so fucking stupid BUT if it's a comedic plot device, then it's the best thing ever.

So that is it. Like I said, I am slowly getting back to fic, but I got a lot of books that I have to read first, since I borrowed them. I do want to give a shout out to Small Beauty by jiao qing wilson-yang, which is a book about a trans woman named Mei who moves into the house of her recently deceased cousin and by doing so, she learns about herself and her family's queer history. I just finished it and it's really good.

#tagged in #fic rec friday

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thegraysquirrel · 5 months

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Title in Progress

(Foreword: Hi! (^.^)/ I got semi-challenged into writing some sort of Fanfic Dissertation since I've been dropping large comments on AO3 that kind of count as an essay but in my opinion not quite, so I tried my hand at an actual essay on a topic of my own choice.

This is for the fandom Genshin Impact (Video Game) and in particular for a fanfic about the pairing Childe/Lumine that had gripped me and still has a hold on me. The following below is 3.5k words in which I try to take someone along for the journey of reading said fic.

If you don't know anything about the fandom in question but feel curious to read my insights anyway, there are links in the body of the text and me pointing out when to read it. I do dive into more general theory on why I picked this subject in particular for an essay that's not exclusive to this fandom. Otherwise, feel free to skip past it.)

What is the first thing you make note of when deciding if you’ll read a fic? What can make or break clicking on a fic for you if all the other parts were the same? There are a handful of things I focus on when deciding to read a fic:

The title

The summary

The tags

There are more factors, of course. Some people factor in it being recommended by others, amount of bookmarks or kudos or comments, but all of those are influenced by fandom while the title, summary, and the tags are solely the choice of the author. They are the representatives of the fic itself, and some are diplomatic and serious in their duty for it while others are a reflection of… being close to the people in how unhinged it can get (I say this with great affection!).

For today’s fanfic dissertation, I want to take you along to tackling one of my most favourite parts of a fic when thinking about what to comment: the fic title. I could ramble for a long while about various differences in fics with titles for their story, their chapters, or lack of a title. Perhaps you are thinking of a particular fic which title you hold close? Did it have meaning to you prior to reading or did it only get that after you read the fic?

Let’s dive in:

no amount of fear will keep you safe by dovelious

What’s your first thought when reading this title? What kind of themes might it tackle and what contents might the story keep its focus on? Since the title isn’t the only representative of the fic, I’ll hand you the summary and the tags as well since I had them when diving in:

There will not be a peaceful ending to their story. Their final confrontation will test every limit they have. This is the climax of his story, and it is just another chapter in hers. But in this world nothing is ever for certain, and they can only hope it will end with their hearts intact. (Lumine thinks about what circumstances will lead to childe’s final fight on teyvat.)

With this extra info, it’s time to type out a first thought on the meaning of the title and, by extent, what the author considers an important part of the story.

The story title is something that you could find in a fluffy fic of learning about bravery, especially if the perspective of the title is from Lumine (who holds the perspective in the summary). With the death tag, however, it’s prudent to look at it through an angst-y pair of glasses. I’ve done the legwork for us and added something that might have been kept silent for both our characters:

About Childe: No amount of fear will keep you safe (from dying) About Lumine: No amount of fear will keep you safe (from grieving)

I have a big reason to think of it as being from Lumine’s perspective beyond the argument of the summary being from hers, too. Childe doesn’t seem afraid of dying to the point of throwing himself into battles with anyone strong. The only fear he might seem to have is fear for his family’s wellbeing, which might likely extend to Lumine as they grow closer. That, however, feels like a reach but it would become:

No amount of fear (from me for your wellbeing) will keep you safe

It’s still a possibility, of course. What is a given here is that there is a major character death and it won’t be Lumine’s. Whether it’s Childe’s or that of another important character remains a question phrased with desperate hope, I’d wager that the title is important to the two main characters—they’re the two main characters, after all! So, the angst-y pair of glasses will do its work: Childe will die in the end. Let’s bring in the first chapter title to continue this discussion:

allies or enemies? this will be the death of me

It doesn’t matter if Lumine and Childe are on the same side or opposing sides, Ajax will meet his end. As enemies, I can see it clearly too; Lumine survived with two elements against Childe in the Golden House (who admittedly didn’t go all-in from the start, but the point remains that he failed to finish the fight). At the end of her journey, she will have seven elements and have fought and won against more gods and harbingers than Childe has. If they fight as enemies at the end, Childe will lose. If Lumine were an ally, though? The fate of the world is balancing on this and there will be bloodshed to ensure a better world—apparently, Childe will be unable to keep up with Lumine and lose his life in a double battle.

About Lumine: Are we allies or enemies? I’ll survive this, but I won’t come out the same on the other end. About Childe: Are we allies or enemies? It doesn’t matter which, this will be the death of me. Literally.

This is something Lumine would ponder; the Big Thoughts™ on Childe’s inevitable fate compared to the inevitability of her own long, long life. Whether this will be the death of her in the fluffy sense of Childe working on her nerves with his cheer or in the angsty sense of making her care about him and then dying, Lumine will live on with the memories.

I won’t copy paste the chapter, but if you’ve been discovering this fic as you’ve been following along with me, this is the moment to progress to reading that first chapter.

Lumine knows she’s important to Childe because she has eyes. Lumine thinks further ahead after Childe sought her out to spend time adventuring with. She’s going to be a big part of his story, while he remains contained to one chapter, and that difference in scope? It might creep up on Lumine just how far Childe is willing to go for something as short-sighted as “fighting to the death” with a comrade. She might not even be aware of Childe being the death of her, in a way.

Maybe you knew already, maybe you didn’t, but when you search for the fic title on the internet, you’ll find it’s a lyric from Keep You Safe by the Crane Wives. The same can be said for the chapter’s title: Allies or Enemies also by the Crane Wives.

Of course, the title has a bigger chance of remaining important to the overall story while the chapter titles are usually contained to one chapter, so let’s start big again with the story title and then wind our way down to the chapter title.

Listen to the song, open up the lyrics and see if there are things jumping out to you. I did the same and can offer you this:

When I watched my friends/ Rise to the tops of the trees/ With the risk of fall

When Lumine watches her friend Childe rise to the top of the world with the risk of death, she isn’t ready for it. No matter how strong Lumine is, she never wants to rise to the top of the world; she just wants to find her brother.

Time is not your friend

“Though we need not rush, sister. I have more than enough time to wait for you. We have always... had enough time.”

Time had always been a friend to Lumine or worst case scenario: a stranger. There are now people Lumine will care about who do not have enough time to wait for her and there will come a time when it’s impossible for her to wait for them (because they are long gone). If she takes having time for granted, it will stab her in the back in due time. It’s neither friend nor stranger but a secret third thing: an adversary.

The older I get/ The more fears I collect/ I gather them from/ All the people I meet/ Their stories reveal/ Regrets their smiles can’t conceal/ I carry them/ I carry them with me

There is a reason Childe is a chapter in Lumine’s life. She will carry him with her, as the moments with him were enough to be worth a chapter. Childe will be the death of her, and Childe will give her a fear she did not have before meeting him.

What if the steps I take turn out to be mistakes?

What if when she flips the coin in a decisive battle, it lands on the wrong side?

“Come what may.”

This is something Childe has long since mastered. If he dies, he dies. If he doesn’t, he’ll find a next battle. If they spend the night together at the beach, come what may, Childe will make the best of it.

Title: no amount of fear will keep you safe

No amount of fear will keep Lumine safe from continuing on in Teyvat, and then it might just be Childe who will, come what may, brave the risk of falling down, down, down.

We took a look at the song behind the fic’s title, so what about the song behind the first chapter’s title? Play it in the background, open up the lyrics, whatever floats your boat.

Instead of picking out lyrics as I did with the previous song, I’m asking a question. What do you consider among the most important things to have happened this chapter?

I have multiple things I notice. Childe makes Lumine promise they will fight one final battle together (as allies? Or as enemies?) before she leaves. Though Paimon was hesitant to take Childe up on travelling together temporarily, Lumine had little problem with it. Why? Because meeting Teucer gave her a new insight. Childe hearing about Lumine’s brother gives him a new insight. I propose that the song is not a reflection of Childe and Lumine’s current predicament. Instead, the song is a reflection of a character most impactful to the chapter and in this case, it’s Aether.

Aether and Lumine are at the end stage of the song, being together as kids and now not knowing if they are allies or enemies. It's the crux of this chapter—yes, it's great that Childe and Lumine are travelling together and that Lumine confides in Childe with her reason for getting stronger, but that's the centerpiece: Lumine can't fight with Aether and if she would have to go separate ways from him, period, it will be the death of her. Aether appears so shortly, but he's lurking in the narrative and is a focal point for Lumine and her connection to Aether of allies or enemies.

As for Childe and Lumine? They are at the start stage of the song. They're at the stage of being able to crack up and smile instead of holding on to the fight between them or staring at the other as they wonder if they should clap each other on the shoulder or drive a blade through it. Because they are at the start, they are going to head for the end of the song too, and Lumine and Aether's connection of allies and enemies will be reflected and paralleled in the relationship Lumine and Childe will build up.

(That’s my guess going of the title, tags, summary, and this first chapter and its title anyway. I’ve been right in my predictions and I’ve been wrong. I think there is a reason for the tag Lumine & Aether as well as Childe & Lumine, and it’s paralleled with this chapter title.)

I’ve got another thought about this chapter’s title, but since I’ve only come to realize the hypothesis after reading the second, let’s march onwards to chapter two.

safe ship, harbored

Since there was a theme with the previous two titles, it’s an easy choice to do an internet search and find that it is yet another song by The Crane Wives, creating a theme thus far for the two of seven chapters planned. To listen to the song on YouTube, click here, and find the lyrics here.

What does it mean, a safe ship harboured? Like all of us shippers know, a ship wants to set sail to truly be alive, whether through fandom or crumbs of interactions from canon. It can be dangerous to go out there, but the alternative means the ship is stagnant.

When I read the song, I am reminded of one person in particular.

The Tsaritsa.

She is a ship Childe should not waste his bottle on for blessings. Where does his faith fall in her? She lost all of her good years on that throne while the Fatui planned and planned for centuries for this, and she hasn’t fared across the world all that time. She is the Goddess of Love, yet she hasn’t seen the people in Teyvat to love as the plans unfold and cause death and desolation. She is not born a safe ship; she is made one because Celestia cost her everything.

I then proceeded to read up to the second paragraph—I suggest you do the same.

My verdict after reading it is that the Tsaritsa absolutely is the safe ship in the harbour (an archon safe on her throne in the palace). Lumine proves she herself isn’t a ship safe in the harbour by being on the move: last chapter, she was in Liyue and right now, she is in Snezhnaya and braving the worst blizzard to get to the throne room.

The question I was left with is if it will be Lumine who withholds the bottle of blessings on the ship or if that’s our favourite Harbinger. I’m holding out for Childe because to Lumine, the Tsaritsa is just another archon. To Childe, it’s been the archon at the ice palace that will finish what she started centuries ago. When glancing at the tags, you’ll note that there is a Childe & Tsaritsa tag, signalling that their relationship is important to a section of this story, and that’s why I’m rooting for something this chapter for Childe.

Take this as your signal to read the second chapter in full. I’ll be talking about its contents, whenever it comes up now.

Childe had the choice between dying for his Tsaritsa or yielding. As if he understood the message his Tsaritsa is silently screaming to her followers, Childe opted not to waste his life to bless the Tsaritsa on a journey she might not even make. Childe yielded, and Lumine even hints that the Tsaritsa wanted to teach Childe a lesson here. Don’t break the bottle, don’t waste your blessings on me.

Now that we’ve got most of the second chapter out of the way, we can make a short side-step and make ties to the previous chapter and overall story.

The thought of bloodthirsty blue eyes crossed her mind, and she gripped her blade tighter. [...] This will not be an easy fight, and she knows that delaying the inevitable will not get her anywhere.

There are soft call backs to the story title's song in this chapter: time is not your friend, and delaying the inevitable will not make you braver. So Lumine does not delay and moves forward.

This chapter's title: safe ship, harbored, ties so nicely with the story title. no amount of fear will keep you safe. The ship might be in the harbour, it might be seen as safe, but its fear of setting out in the harsh world won't keep it safe because danger will find its way to it eventually.

(The danger here, of course, being Lumine.)

Similarly, no amount of fear would keep Lumine safe in her battle with Childe, but for the time being, it was keeping Childe safe. Lumine defeated three Harbingers already and mentioned that the numbers of Fatui had thinned—I doubt she has given the other Harbingers the same grace she gave Childe, because even when he is an enemy he’s an ally. A friend. Something she reminded herself of by getting that mask off so she saw her friend Childe instead of the imposing enemy Harbinger. I know how I will interpret it, but it’s up to you what you read between the lines.

At the end of the chapter, Lumine and Childe make plans to travel together. What does that mean in the context of this chapter’s title?

Instead of staying safe in the Snezhnaya, they set out on their dangerous journey. Instead of staying docked in the harbour, they set sail with the risk of getting hurt, and seem to avoid what happened to the Tsaritsa. Remember, however, that the Tsaritsa was not born a safe ship. Something or someone wore her down, and it could be “Celestia” being the culprit but most importantly: losing someone very dear to her broke her. Just like the previous chapter seemed to have Lumine and Childe at the start of the narrative of the song, it could be the case here. They go around the world, but one of them will sink and the other will remain docked in the harbour because of the scars that experience left. With it being the end of Childe’s story and only the end of a chapter in Lumine’s, you can fill in the blanks who of the two becomes a safe ship, harbored.

This brings me to the final metatextual point: this whole fic’s premise. #thinking about all the ways childes character will end.... All these chapter titles and other relationships so far have been warning signs of Lumine’s (and Childe’s) future, similar to how certain aspects in the game’s narratives have been warning signs of Childe’s future, particularly how he’s toeing the line with death. The chapter titles all have a bearing on someone else’s present and are the writing on the wall for Lumine and Childe’s possible future.

Since you read Genshin fic, you’re likely playing Genshin Impact. In the various quests and hidden in the lore that describes the history of Teyvat through books, weapons, artifacts and other writings, you’ll find that the same stories are happening over and over again. I’d argue that every time a story gets repeated, though, it goes just a fraction better. (Alhaitham’s story quest has Alhaitham, whose design and characterization is inspired by King Deshret, outright rejecting the collective consciousness King Deshret worked towards with the Golden Slumber. I have high hopes for Mondstadt to end up differently than Khaenri’ah, what with all the parallels between Aether’s connection to Khaenri’ah, ours to Mondstadt, and just general connections between Khaenri’ah and Mondstadt.) The people in the current stories make a better choice and avoid greater tragedy than those in the past. That’s why I can’t lose hope that all these warning signs of death to Childe and warning signs of isolation for Lumine remain that: they take the better path because those in the past took the tragic road.

And if it does end up with Ajax dying far too young, then the warning signs were all there. While I can’t say, “I knew it,” I did know it remained a possibility. Even though I’ve thrown all these words of analysis on the titles in the fic, and I will do so on future chapter titles too, I’m no closer to finding the answer of how this fic will end. Future chapter titles will prove if the current theme I’ve settled on will hold:

The song is by the Crane Wives

The title is primarily about someone else or a relationship Childe or Lumine has with someone else

The title is secondarily about Childe and Lumine, acting as a warning sign of their future

I have many, many more thoughts about the fic, but they don’t revolve around the subject I carved out as my focus: titles. I will, however, point you to read the first chapter again and then read the last scene between Lumine and Childe in chapter two. The parallels. Read it again, and then look down:

Talking while watching the stars (Lumine's home, in a sense) - talking while watching the snow (Snezhnaya, Ajax's home). Lumine sharing a part she doesn't tell just anyone (her most important person: Aether. He hasn't showed up yet, but he's so important, lurking in the narrative, being Lumine's main quest) and then Ajax doing the same here, with the sun rising (his name! something he still has of before he became Fatui. Before he got lost in bloodshed. Before he fell in the abyss. When he was a bright-eyed kid listening to legends told by his father when ice fishing). Childe reached out to Lumine to travel together for a bit in chapter one and in chapter two, Lumine reaches out to Childe to travel together for a bit. So many delicious parallels that, just like Childe said in chapter one that Lumine is important to him, it’s clear in chapter two that he is important to Lumine.

I’ll wrap it up now, as this has reached beyond what could fit in two comments on AO3.

The title is the first thing we see as a reader, yet it might very well have been the last thing the writer decided on for their story. The title is the beginning and the end, as we uncover more and more through the story about what the author considered—one way or another—the most important representation of it. The title is just a random combination of words at the start you hold no connection to, yet as you progress though the story, your understanding of the fic grows with every word, every paragraph, every chapter and everything else you can get your hands on as being meaningful to the title.

Somewhere down the line, the random combination of words will hold meaning of its own. Somewhere down the line, the title in progress just became the title and heart of the story.

#Chilumi #Genshin Impact #Lumine #Childe #Tartaglia #gray and the adventure of commenting #I'm also quite chuffed about the meta of my own title #I also just want someone to screech with about the fic #It's a bit introspective about both Lumine and Childe so far #AND other characters too which reflects back on them #I've been losing my mind over it and am due a reread

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