#and i *don’t even dislike moustaches*

[mumblesplash]

every time i’m reminded invincible exists i think wow what a good show i should browse fanart of it and every time i am shocked to discover a lot of it is horny art of omniman. no matter how much this happens it’s always a surprise. i’m not even disgusted there is no judgement in my heart my brain just cannot retain the fact that it’s possible to be attracted to that man

[ecoterrorist-katara]

you don’t have to be a Zutara shipper to dislike Ka/taang

Most of my irl friends are not shippers and the word “Zutara” does not exist in their vocabulary, but they think Ka/taang is weird. Because a prepubescent boy with a teenage girl is weird. He’s a child. She’s a teenager. Anyone who stops and thinks about what they were like at twelve vs fourteen knows those were some long years.

I started getting the ick for Ka/taang in The Headband and it reached its apex in Nightmares and Daydreams. I didn’t even start liking Zutara until The Southern Raiders. I liked Katara with Haru but the creators sank that ship with a strategically placed moustache

I am a ZK shipper so things like parallels and symbolism and Katara’s development as an adult matter to me. But even without all that, I didn’t like Ka/taang. Because before my analytical brain jumped in, my lizard brain said “ick.”

[sephirthoughts]

Vincent’s lingering obsession with Lucrecia is excellent drama, but their story is not a doomed romance.

This is an unpopular opinion, but I don’t think Lucrecia deserves nearly as much pity and excusing of her actions as she gets. This is not character-hate post, it's an analysis of a character I think gets short shrift as a Mother-Mary in a bell jar, and deserves better.

Lucrecia is morally grey. Charcoal grey. I love complex, morally grey characters, particularly when they're women, since usually women are relegated to roles that infantilize and objectify them, particularly in video games, which have historically been a very backward, androcentric medium. I strongly dislike brainless victims, subject to the whims of the male characters, without much agency, and Lucrecia was not such a character.

Lucrecia was an adult with agency and brains. She was a grown ass adult. She was a brilliant scientist. She made decisions with her eyes open, and even sacrificed her unborn child to her work. She is a very interesting character. The fact that she didn't idolize motherhood as the end-all of female existence, and that her obsession with her work was stronger than her desire to be a 'good mother' makes her far more interesting than otherwise. The fact that she regretted it later and wanted him back doesn’t magically make her a good person, or change the choices she made. It demonstrates guilt and remorse, which are part of character development. The bottom line is that she committed atrocities in the name of science, then felt guilty about it later, once she realized how devastating the consequences were to her personally. To say she didn’t know what she was doing or Hojo manipulated or controlled her is to infantilize and disrespect her character. She’s not some sacrificial angel who was a victim of circumstances; she was a willing participant in her own downfall.

Lucrecia is a tragic character, but she's not a romantic lead. Except in Vincent's head. After all was said and done, she had one of those too-late changes of heart that make tragedy so emotionally impactful. She had a human reaction to Vincent's death and felt terribly guilty for her role in all of it, as she should. That doesn't mean she loved him, it means she wasn't a monster. She lost her son, and gradually, Hojo's callous inhumanity and her inability to escape the net she wove with her own hands closed in on her. Did she deserve to never hold her baby son and never see him even once? No. But she caused it, with her own actions. That's tragedy. She was miserable, bereft, and riddled with guilt, so she made a last-ditch effort to make something right...by doing more insane science shit that turned Vincent into a monster. Seeing that she'd only made everything worse, she tried to kill herself, but was unable to, and thus ran off to become a crystal statue in a cave (this is a trope that I dislike, but that's the story, so that's what we've got).

Vincent is a bad judge of the circumstances. Vincent persists in seeing her as a lost love, and someone from whom he was unjustly separated by circumstances. The fact that he is so blinded by his feelings for her that he places her on this pedestal and can't blame her for what she did is excellent characterization, and I love it, but it's because he’s wrong. He loved her. She didn’t love him (I think she was in love with his father, but that's just icing on the tragedy cake, at this point). His lingering attachment, not to the real Lucrecia, but to the idealized version of her he has in his mind, is a very sad reality that adds so much delicious pain to his character. In the end, he is unable to blame her, because he loved his image of her (and Hojo is a way easier target for anger, because he's literally the worst), which speaks far more to his personal bias in the situation than to her actual role in it. She’s not moustache-twirlingly evil like Hojo but she’s not Vincent's star cross'd soul mate tragically torn away by cruel fate. Lucrecia was her own person.

In summation. Their story is not a doomed romance, it's a complicated, messy, ugly tangle of thorns, and one of the best written tragedies in a game that literally bleeds tragedy from every orifice. It's got one-sided love, obsession, mad science, betrayal, jealousy, fetal experimentation, murder, corpse reanimation, and a guy who can't die, and is left to deal with the consequences of everyone else's actions by himself forever. No one is innocent and no one comes out unscathed…strike that. Vincent is innocent and Hojo comes out unscathed. But still. Lucrecia is not a holy mother, she's not a brainless victim, and she's not Vincent's lost love. She's a person he loved, and who didn't reciprocate. Most importantly, she's a person. A whole-ass, complex, morally grey, fully developed person, who made terrible choices, then made even worse choices, and in the end, couldn't escape the fate she wove for herself.

And then wound up encased in crystal so she could be a pretty statue forever cause the game devs just couldn't help themselves I guess.

[orions-tears]

Before Us - Ominis Gaunt [Part 2]

Pairing: Ominis Gaunt x Gryffindor Masc!Reader

Themes: Fluff

A/N: I think this one is really cute so I hope you guys enjoy it too!

Part 1, Part 3 and Part 4 are linked :)

“Do you even think Ominis will come?” you ask Sebastian as you walk up to the forest.

He puts his hands on his hips and looks back at the castle. “If you’re here? Definitely. He never wants to listen to me but he’ll listen to you.”

You look over at the castle and rub your hands together. You’ve never been I the forest so you don’t know what to expect. Does Ominis know what lies inside? Is it bad? You feel Sebastian’s gaze on you and you look back at him. “What?”

He laughs and shakes his head. “You just look nervous. Never seen that before. It’s odd.”

You shrug. Of course you’re nervous. Every time Ominis comes around you freeze up. It’s embarrassing. Thank god you came here at night so no one can see you expose yourself as a fool. Not that Ominis could see it anyway but he can probably hear you sweating. You and Sebastian continue to talk for a few minutes until you look over at the stone bridge and see Ominis walking over. Sebastian turns to see and claps once.

“Perfect! I knew you’d come. Excited?”

Ominis shoots a look in his direction and stops in front of the both of you. “This isn’t a good idea.”

Sebastian sighs. “Nothing is a good idea to you.”

You look away, flushing red at how close your are to Ominis. “Just think. We can get some…uh…Bubotuber pus and mix it with…er…dittany. Make..eh…moustache paste. Yeah moustache paste.”

Ominis tilts hid head, confused. “Moustache paste? With Bubotuber pus and dittany? Do either of you even have moustaches?”

Sebastian bursts out laughing. “Absolutely not. Maybe we can give the recipe to the Headmaster and get points for our houses. You think I’d look good with a moustache, though?”

“Absolutely not,” replies Ominis, obviously done with the conversation.

Sebastian pretends to look at a watch and makes some phony excuse that he has detention and has to go before he gets in more trouble. You stare at him wide-eyed as he runs away, leaving you and Ominis alone outside of the Forbidden Forest. You see Ominis put his hand on his forehead. What do you say? Anything? What can you say? You’ve never been so at a loss for words before now. Why is it so hard to talk to him? Every time a girl has flirted with you, you’ve had no problem. Every love letter, every box of chocolates, every request to smell Amortentia. None of it’s tripped you up. Not like this. But Ominis…You can’t help but to admire his jawline, the beauty marks, his hair…it looks really soft…

“(Y/N)?”

You blink a couple times, coming back to reality. “Sorry?”

“Are you alright? Did you hear what I said?”

You feel your face get hot. You have no clue what he said. You were too busy thinking about how beautiful he was to listen. “Sorry…I uhm…sorry. What’d you say?”

He shifts and gestures towards the forest. “As much as I feel I’ll regret going inside, are you ready?”

You take a deep breath. You and Ominis alone in a dark spooky forest. What could go wrong? “Uhm, sure. Let’s do it.”

The two of you walk into the forest side by side. You try your best not to look over at him, knowing if you do you’ll just get distracted again. You stare down at the forest floor, wondering what exactly you two could do here other than attempt a moustache paste recipe. Maybe you’ll find centaurs, but maybe that’s not a good idea. Maybe you can follow the butterflies? You remember someone at the Three Broomsticks talking about that. You could..maybe…

“-me.”

You look over. “W-What?”

He presses his lips together and turns his face toward the ground. “That doesn’t exactly help to deny my suspicions.”

“I’m sorry Ominis. I swear I’m not doing it on purpose. Please repeat what you said.”

He tilts his head back up and puts his wand away. “I just have this feeling you dislike me. I’m not sure why and unfortunately I wouldn’t be surprised, but I am curious as to why you agreed to do this if you do feel that way. It just seems like you refuse to speak to me.”

You feel your face burn when he says this, a lump forming in your throat. “N-No Ominis! I swear, I- I wouldn’t. I-“ you take a deep breathe, putting your hands on your hips and turning away. Ominis hears you step away and frown, furrowing his brows. After a moment you finally feel you can talk again. “I do like you. I’m not ignoring you I just…find it…hard.”

“It’s hard to speak to me?” he asks, sounding a bit sad.

You cringe and step toward him a bit. “No, Ominis, not like that. I’m sure normally you’re…uh..very easy to talk to, but I just…I don’t know. I get…nervous or something.” You cringe a bit harder and look away.

You look back at him and he genuinely looks a bit sad. “I apologize for making you nervous. I don’t plan on hurting you if that’s what you’re afraid of…”

“No!” you gasp. “Not like that! You- I just- It’s the way you look.”

He looks at you confused, touching his face. “The way I look? Is it my eyes? When I was a first-year I was told they were off-putting…”

“No! No Ominis it’s not your eyes. I actually, uhm..really like them..” you say, trailing off. “You just…you’re kind of…pretty or something…”

“Pretty?”

“Like…you look nice, I guess,” you mumble.

Ominis laughs slightly and shakes his head. “Is this your attempt at flirting with me?”

You feel your face go bright red and thank Merlin he can’t see it. You turn around, frantically trying to find something to do. “I, uhm, I need Bubotuber pus, so, uhm, let’s go this way…”

Ominis is silent as he pulls his wand out, following you deeper into the forest. He’s not going to be a very big help on finding Bubotubers but at least you think he’s pretty. He likes being called pretty by you.

Tag list!

Let me know if you want to be added to it or taken off!

@prestigeghoul

[secret-diary-of-an-fa]

Doctor Who: The Church on Ruby Road Review- A Nice Big Plate of WTF?

So… I have… questions? Many of them aren’t even things I can express in words- they’re just helpless looks of confusion happening in my head and a general, non-specific yearning for answers. I’m not saying I disliked The Church on Ruby Road. I’m not saying I liked it, either. I’m saying that it’s so bafflingly other that I’m not 100% sure how to process my feelings about it. Consequently, this is going to be quite a short review. I mean, when Wild Blue Yonder and The Giggle blew me away, I knew exactly what it was I was enjoying and why. When The Star Beast disappointed, I knew exactly why it disappointed me (it felt like a first draft). I don’t even know what emotions I experienced while watching The Church on Ruby Road or if those emotions even have names, so it’s kind of difficult to talk about.

Okay, let’s start with something easy. I like Ncuti Gatwa’s take on the Doctor. That’s something I’m certain about. He’s breezy and bright and- occasionally- a tiny bit bitchy. I think he’s going to be an interesting addition to the line-up. Also, I think it’s really cool and progressive that he’s the first Doctor… WITH A MOUSTACHE! So yeah, he’s a perfectly fine actor for the role. I could have done with a slightly stronger, more sure-footed introduction- something like Ecclestone’s “Run!” or David Tenant just straight up grabbing a Sycorax energy-whip by the business end and yanking it away… but I get that he’s meant to be the fun, easy-going Doctor and I accept that his intro has to suit the character, which means a gradual, laid-back sort of interweaving. So yes: nice work on establishing Fifteen, Ruby Road.

But then there’s the goblins in flying wooden boats. Doctor Who had goblins now, and that’s fine… but they’re never really explained. We’re told they can surf the waves of time, but we’re never told where they came from. Are they just on Earth all the time? Have they always been here? Are they from space? Another dimension? We’re just kind of asked to accept them and the fact that they regularly abduct and eat babies (yet this has somehow never come up before). I mean, I’m okay with goblins, but I’m not sure how I feel about inadequately-explained goblins in a sci-fi show. Doctor Who has every right to be extremely silly- it’s practically in the charter- but there’s a razor-thin line between ‘silly’ and ‘stupid’ and I’m not sure which side of the divide big-eyed mischievous goblins in flying boats fall on. Especially when they start singing.

Ah, yes. Maybe I should have led with that. The goblins sing. And I don’t mean unearthly, alien singing of the kind befitting their essentially inhuman nature, nor even the type of shanties that would match their outfits and flying, old-fashioned sailing ship. No, no. They sing a full-on, carefully-orchestrated and choreographed, extremely catchy pop song… about eating babies. It’s fucking mental. I mean, it’s obviously meant to be funny and it made me laugh… but I’m not sure I was laughing at the intended joke or if I was just having a breakdown in response to seeing something so fucking inexplicable. I mean, when the Celestial Toymaker interrupted The Giggle for a musical number, it made sense. The Toymaker was characterised in such a way that murdering people to music perfectly fitted his character- he’s bloody psychotic. But with the goblins it just comes completely out of left-field.

I thought the overarching themes of family being about more than blood and people forming intricate webs of connection that depend more on love than superficial genetic ties were pretty solid and universal. On the other hand, making new companion Ruby Sunday such an enmeshed part of an adopted family meant her personality didn’t get much chance to come through properly, despite her more-than-ample screen-time. She always felt like a part of something larger- particularly with the fairly extravagant and entertaining personalities of her other family members (one in particular).

I think what’s weird about this episode is that it’s meant to be the start of a soft-reboot with the potential to draw in new fans, yet if you’re not familiar with Doctor Who already, it presents a bit of misleading picture of what the show is. It centres mythic and magical creatures over the show’s more standard cosmic and alien fare or scientific-disaster-style stories, while previous events are referenced with little or no context. As a long-time Who fan (who even forced myself to watch the execrable Chibnall/Whitaker episodes necessary for an appreciation of the plot), I understood what was being alluded to and also knew to make allowances for this being a daft, knock-about Christmas episode that won’t be typical of the season to come. But new fans? They’re likely to be completely bloody lost.

All things considered, I quite liked The Church on Ruby Road- it’s a bit of fun and it’s a reasonably good palette cleanser after the heavier themes of the previous two specials. Plus, it’s just nice to see a new Doctor in action and know he’s going to be good in the role. Does it set out to do what it was meant to do, though (i.e. set out the stall for new Whovians and provide a real flavour of the show? Erm. No. And, however enjoyable it might be overall, its more confusing elements do make me worry about showrunner Russel T. Davies’ mental state. At least we only have to wait until spring to find out just how mad he’s gone.

[rxgerthatt]

even satan used to be an angel

Pairing : Lloyd Hansen x reader

Summary : Lloyd Hansen is an ass. You’re in denial.

Warnings : smut/18+/descriptions of gunshot

A/N : man I’m on a roll! Enjoy babies!

“So angel face, I hear we’re working together.”

You fucking hate Lloyd Hansen.

Even when he leans over your desk now, smug smile on his face - cocky, brazen attitude on his chest like a badge - it’s hard not to punch him square in the face. You keep it together with a deep breath.

“Unfortunately,” you say, looking back down at the paperwork before you.

Lloyd chuckles, hand tilting your chin to look at him but you turn away, cut a glance in his direction - the iciest you could muster.

You’d argued with your boss - please, anyone but him, please - well, more like begged, but at that point you didn’t care. You would do anything to get out of working with Hansen, and you mean anything.

“Awh, don’t be like that sunshine!” He laughs before his voice drops lower. “We’ll make a great team.”

You’ll believe that when you see it.

—

It’s a fucking sleeper agent.

No intel, no name and this job was about to be so much longer than you needed it to be. You were sure by the end of it you will have lost your sanity completely.

To make matters worse, your lead is your home town. It had been years since you’d been home and with any other company you reckon you would be happy about it, but it wasn’t any other company - it was Lloyd fucking Hansen.

“Jesus - it’s fucking hot,” Lloyd blows out a breath of air - dramatic. “How did you live here?”

You look at him incredulously, “not all of us had a trust fund at the age of seven.”

Lloyd laughs, a deep belly chuckle, white gleaming teeth peaking out from a perfectly styled moustache. How was this guy an agent? He looked like he should be at the fucking social club.

You lead the way to the safe house - your old home.

It sat alone, an old style plantation home just outside the French Quarter in New Orleans. It was surrounded by lush nature. Ivy climbed like veins up the sides of the building - twisting and pulsing with life. Your parents left it for you - they’re only daughter - and you had little time to look after it given your job.

“You sure you didn’t have a trust fund at seven?” Lloyd asks.

“Shut up,” you reply, fetching the key from a rock placed perfectly on the patio.

The house had remained untouched - cobwebs making homes in corners long forgotten. The stairwell stretched in front of you as you walked in, white paint peeling from a wooden banister, you mothers old ornaments dusty and dull compared to what you remember.

You catch Lloyd studying a family picture. You’re 19 in it - little pink sundress with white sneakers and sun kissed skin - the sweetest smile in New Orleans. You hated reminiscing.

“You look like your mother,” he commented. “She’s hot.”

You roll your eyes, “have you always got to be this insufferable?”

“Yes,” he responds with a smile. “You’ll come around, they always do.”

Yeah - right.

—

You follow a lead to an old cafe at the end of St Louis.

It brings back memories you don’t want to unbox. A quaint little building, striped gazebo and open planned - the inside lit with warm lanterns, bathing everything in a golden glow.

You used to come here after school with friends - their pastries were to die for. Now you were here with your greatest nemesis - looking for a faceless man. Or woman, who were you to judge.

“Ah! Y/N! My darling!”

You remember Annalise. She knew your parents well, used to watch you on a Thursday afternoon when your mom was on the back shift. She pulls you into a bear hug.

“How are you Annalise?” You ask her, reciprocating her affection. Lloyd smirks as he watches the interaction. Smug prick.

Your dislike for him ran deep in your veins, and you don’t use the word ‘hate’ lightly. Typically you give people a chance - give them time and you’ll warm up to them. You’d known Lloyd Hansen for five years, and you were still waiting for the switch to flip.

“I’m well,” Annalise replies and it’s only then you notice how much she had aged. Skin like wet leather, hair as white as snow and you don’t remember her being as hunched as she is now. You imagine she was thinking the same.

You catch her looking at Lloyd and you hope to god she doesn’t ask-

“And who’s this?” She smiles. Fuck sake.

Before you can speak, Lloyd is stretching a thick arm towards her, “nice to meet you ma’am, I’m Y/N’s boyfriend Lloyd.”

You bristle, words caught in your throat because that was low. You knew he was sneaky but fuck. Annalise makes a squeak before grabbing both of your hands - you’re too busy cutting Lloyd a deadly glance to share her excitement.

“Oh! I can tell you so many stories about Y/N when she was young-“

“That will be unnecessary,” you cut her off. Lloyd begins laughing beside you and you feel your cheeks heat with embarrassment. You decide then that this is the worst mission you had ever been on.

Your boss would be signing your resignation upon return.

“We’re actually looking for someone Annalise,” Lloyd turns on his charm and you notice the way the older lady melts. If only her husband could see this.

He turns his phone with an updated picture HQ had sent in this morning. It was of a young man - the assumed suspect.

“Oh yes! He lives near the swamp. Be careful down there, lotta gators.”

You look down at Lloyd’s slip ons with a complacent grin.

“You’ll need to change your slippers.”

—

So, turns out the suspect is in possession of some really valuable intel.

You found this out when it hit you and Lloyd in the face, a cloud of colour - purple, blue and fuck knows what else because it was down your throat, in your eyes.

All in all not a great experience.

“What the fuck!” You heard Lloyd shout. He’s coughing, waving his hands about erratically - finger on the trigger and bang.

Well - the suspect is dead.

Your vision comes back, granted it’s blurry and your eyes are sensitive but at least you weren’t blind - yet.

A bullet hole, right in the centre of his forehead - leaking blood, parts of his brain in his lap and his skin was already turning a bluish grey. Maybe that was just the dingy lighting.

You’re lightheaded, skull pushing against your brain and it’s not long before you’re throwing up the contents of your stomach, skin slicked in sweat with a sudden heat that was completely unbearable.

“Hey sugar,” Lloyds hand is on your back. “We gotta get you out of here.”

Lloyd looks funny. He’s in a purple filter, face contorting every time you blink and it makes you giggle uncontrollably.

“You’re so handsome.”

That has him concerned.

He lifts you over his shoulder like you weigh nothing. The sun blinds you, the steady sway makes you titter even more and you feel Lloyd shaking. He’s laughing now too?

This really isn’t good.

—

By some miracle you end up back at your house.

A call to your boss confirms the worst. It was some kind of pollen you had both inhaled - Fibre 2.0 they were calling it - a truth pollen to put it simply. Any poor asshole that consumed it could tell nothing but the harsh punch of truth.

You’re sitting on the sofa - filter falling from your mouth and you’re telling Lloyd about your life in New Orleans. He’s listening, staring at you with eyes like cherry pies - wide and sweet and so unlike himself.

“I’ve had a crush on you since the training academy,” he blurts.

“Me too,” you surprise him.

It’s not long before he has you bent over the kitchen table, black panties at your ankles as he pounds into you from behind and oh - if your mother could see you now.

But it felt too damn good to care.

“You’re the hottest,” he grunts, pushing his cock into places you didn’t know existed and knocking the breath from your lungs in a minty puff. Your insides curl with pleasure, an undeniable pressure building in your groin and you moan like a fucking porn star as you grip the table.

“Thanks,” you manage to squeeze out. “You’ve got a great dick.”

“Thanks,” he replies, grabbing a fistful of your hair.

The orgasm hits like a wave of warm water, stealing the thoughts from your brain and you’re a mumbling fucking mess for Lloyd Hansen.

Fuck Fibre 2.0.

He finishes on your back, cleans you up afterwards and helps you to the sofa. It’s oddly caring, affectionate and you can’t help but point that out because you need to say everything that comes into your head.

“You’re being nice,” you pant.

“I’m nice when I want to be,” he slumps beside you. “Plus, that was the best sex I’ve had in my life. You deserve me being nice.”

“I’ll remember that Lloyd.”

—

You argue when the pollen wears off.

“It’s a truth pollen sunshine!” He shouts from the bottom step, you standing above him. “Which only means one thing. Oh! I know! You were telling the truth!”

“I don’t give a fuck what it was!” You scream, stomach cringing and you really hated yourself right now. “I don’t like you!”

“Boring,” he sing-songs and your fury bursts as you throw an ornament at his head. He dodges, narrowing his gaze back towards you.

“You can be in-denial all you want angel face,” he’s pointing a finger at you now - he’s hot when he’s pissed. “You and I know the truth - you want a bit of the Hansen.”

Give me a break.

You turn away, marching up the flight of stairs to your bedroom with a wave of your hand.

“Keep dreaming Hansen.”

—

It’s you who ends up dreaming.

Replaying the feeling of him deep inside you - over and over again. Your shorts were soaked through, a deep pulsing in your intimate area that had you whining because you needed that release.

The release only he could give you.

It was 4 am. He was surely asleep - you could just check. God! You were weak! Right now, your word meant jack shit. Like dirt on the bottom of your shoe and it was all because of that pollen. If you hadn’t inhaled that, you would have never fucked him and you wouldn’t be feeling like this!

Right?

A sudden thought of - what if the hatred I feel isn’t hatred at all? - crosses your mind and you want to bat it away as quickly as it comes. It sticks like gum and before you know it you’re standing outside his door.

What am I doing?

Before you can turn the door is open. He’s shirtless, eyes squinting as he adjusts to being awake and you’d never seen him so undone.

“Angel, it’s 4 in the morning-“

You kiss him, push him into the room and he’s caught off guard momentarily before he’s kissing you back. It’s a heated kiss - all tongue and teeth clashing together, but you couldn’t ignore how you felt anymore.

Pushing him onto the bed you drop to the floor, unbuckling his belt to reveal an already hard cock - staring you right in the face, judging you because -

Look at you now.

You don’t allow yourself to think anymore, taking his cock into your mouth you feel a swell of pride when he melts before you. Maybe you were looking at this all wrong because who had that affect on Lloyd Hansen?

He breaths heavy as you bob up and down, taking him like a pro, spit dripping down your chin in the most lurid way but you didn’t give a fuck.

“Holy s-shit angel,” he croaks. “You’re too good at that.”

He’s pulling you from the floor, laying you down on the bed with something about how that’s not how this works before he’s pushing into you.

Like a match to gasoline your body comes alive. You wiggle beneath him, trying to accommodate his thick girth and he takes your tit into his mouth.

“Fuck, you’ve got the best tits,” he groans. “Always knew you were hiding something special under those cat suits.”

You moan in reply as he begins to move, a steady rhythm, not like the brutal pounding in the kitchen. No, this was passionate, slow and deliberate like he wanted to make it last forever.

God, you hope it would.

There’s a squelch that starts from the joining of your bodies and it only serves to bring you closer to release. You pant, holding his arm with one of yours to keep you from drowning in the waters of your own pleasure.

He grunts as you squeeze him, the metaphorical coil in your stomach snapping with such force it makes you stretch your spine. You gasp for breath and he’s not far behind you, tucking his head into the crook of your neck and pressing a kiss there.

The question of whether he wanted you to leave was soon answered when he pulled you under the covers, wrapping you in strong arms and holding you there.

“I could be good for you,” he says so uncharacteristically. “I don’t like a lotta people sugar, but I like you.”

He’s being honest. As honest as he had been not even 48 hours ago. You knew Lloyd, you’d known him a long time. He was a good liar, but not that good.

You offer him a smile, “you’re not all bad Hansen.”

Sure - he’s tortured the fuck out of some people, but you were no angel. You had more than enough kills under your belt to warrant that trip down the River Styx.

“So when we’re back, you’ll let me take you for dinner?” He asks hopeful, you see that twinkle in his eyes.

“Sure,” you reply, laying your head back on his chest and you feel it release a pressure.

Did you make Lloyd Hansen nervous?

How many times had you answered that question differently? Let me take you out sugar? Let me show you a good time? Be mine angel face?

You suppose even Satan was an angel once.

[tabby-shieldmaiden]

Status: Mostly trying to articulate out thoughts. May not be doing it particularly well. Am open to discussion. My phrasing may not be ideal. This is kind of a stream of consciousness.

I like writing female characters. I like writing women’s stories. But I often find myself in a bind when I write female villainy, because I often have difficulty expressing my full views on all the matters at hand.

On the one hand, I believe most views on evil/villainy do tend to lean overly simplistic. Ultimately, people are the products of their environments. I don’t think people do ‘evil’ for the sake of evil. It’s all... complicated systems and mental blocks which lead to the terrors one may face. Moustache-twirling isn’t a real thing or a particularly interesting thing to me, and I don’t have a particular interest in answering ‘people get their just desserts’ in narratives about right and wrong and justice. It’s just... it’s not particularly interesting or nuanced to me. I don’t like it too much.

On the other hand, I think the difficulty with writing about female villainy is because historically there has been a narrative of women being symbols of goodness and softness. The ‘wicked’, the ‘whores’, the ‘disgusting’, the ‘impure’ did not count among being ‘real women’. There’s also the narrative of the woman who is only ‘corrupted’ because of the pain she had undergone. How tragic. Sullying a beautiful little thing like that. If only she were treated with a little more gentleness, such as a woman deserves, she too could rise again from the corruption that haft dragged her down and tainted her.

What’s I’m saying is that it’s kind of condescending. And this pedestalisation of (certain types of) women tends to 1) ignore multiple complicated systems going on (gender is not the only system of oppression going on in the world), 2) gets used to put down women who do not fit this mold no matter what, and 3) most importantly, takes away agency and complexity from more or less everyone involved.

And a part of me worries that there is a real risk of leaning into this narrative while writing female villainy from my above view of evil often stemming from complex systems in the world. I’ve written about how there’s an air of defensiveness among ‘dislikable’ female character fans, and I think the reason why it kind of bothers me, stems a little bit from this. There’s a real need to attribute the ways in which she falls short of being ‘nice and kind’ to things like trauma or particular pain that they have experienced in their lives. Which is... I have complicated views on it.

On the one hand, historically ‘bad victims’ haven’t been granted a lot of mercy for being ‘bad victims’, and it’s important to talk about ‘bad victims’ with a little more kindness. But on the other hand, I still do feel like certain discussions edge into a flattening of complexity. In the sense that... a lot of views on this whole ‘Madonna/whore’ thing aren’t so much being deconstructed. Rather, at times I feels as if people are trying to argue as to why their favourite whore actually deserves Madonnahood*. Past experiences affect how people act, but people aren’t beholden to them. At our core, we still have free will and these things do not have to be ones identity. I like discussion about how trauma and the society one lives in affects how a person thinks and believes, and what may be preventing them from believing or viewing things a certain way. But I worry about edging into saying that people are beholden to their traumas and their past. Which is, well, like I said in the past: damsel logic. I feel there is a nuance between the former and the latter (I hope? I hope I’m not just seeing things.), and well, yeah. And I can’t help but feel this... damsel logic thing happens more often with female characters than male ones, partially because of this thing going on.

I think I may want more narratives where villainous women are empowered to become better. (Maybe not even necessarily ‘villainous’ women. Traumatised women, bitchy women, whatever.)** Or at least, more narratives that deconstruct the Madonna/whore dichotomy more completely. I think... maybe my boredom for certain narratives may be because of a lack of other narratives. And perhaps what is needed is, once again, more stories.

I worry I may not be in a stage in my life where I can deconstruct this Madonna/whore thing going on. But well, I guess that’s why I have to keep writing and reading and experiencing life. I really hope that I can write such a story someday though.

*something something opposite of blackarachnia_even_when_im_good_im_still_bad.mp4.

** anthy_leaving_ohtori_academy.gif , although again, I believe the whole point of Anthy is that she can’t be slotted easily into ‘princess’ or ‘witch’. Which is another reason why Utena has irrevocably molded my sensibilities in terms of female character writing. Truly doing what a lot of people don’t.

[ingravinoveritas]

I believe season 2 was already confirmed before season 1 even aired but I will need to double check that. Also a hope for season 2 is that they get rid of that awful tash! I mean don’t get me wrong, it doesn’t dim David’s beauty by any means but I still hope it either disappears or is accompanied by a ‘staged’ inspired beard.

Ahh. Thank you for following up, Anon! I’ll also be on the lookout for any news related to a possible second season of ATWI80D.

The moustache...oof. Well, I don’t think I can see Phileas with a beard. (I’m just not sure it would work?) But let me tell you...I also disliked the moustache at first, but then it kind of grew on me (no pun intended). I think it works better on David when he has his own hair, rather than Phileas’s, which we got to see when he and Michael accepted the I Talk Telly award when David was still filming:

Maybe it’s because he’s with Michael and they’re making each other smile/giggle so much, I don’t know...but here, in this moment, I don’t mind the moustache at all. Also I love the thought of Michael taking the mickey out of him a bit and making a half-joking/fully flirty comment about David giving him a moustache ride...and then noticing the pink flush creeping up David’s neck to his cheeks in response.

Heh. So, yes, I think if they at least give David less slicked back hair, it might not be so bad. The moustache is definitely not my most favorite David look, and I wouldn’t be sad if it were gone for season 2 of ATWI80D, but I don’t mind if it comes back, either. Guess we’ll just have to see what happens...

[apricusdays]

The Council’s Retort

“Mayor Lowell, someone is here to see you. They insist it’s urgent council business.”

The mayor lifted his head up from the desk. Even after a year the expenses for rebuilding the damage to the city in terms of institutional power, people, buildings and money had been high. Not enough to cripple the city, but it was noticeable- very noticeable. Even tacos had gone up just a little. Increasing the train ticket price was floated several times, but he had forbidden it. The transportation was the heart of the city’s functionality and if less people could use it, the ripple effect would be immense. Urgent council business that couldn’t wait to the meetings almost never went through the secretary- the council contacted the mayor personally. “Who is it?”

“It’s... Mr. R, sir...”

Mayor Lowell straightened up with interest. This was a man who never showed his face for any reason. Why now? Before answering, he brought up a screen and hit a button on it- a signal to the council to listen into the room if they chose. He didn’t know too many besides Hector or Damien to ignore it. He closed the screen and hid the glowing part of his aShine behind a large cuff.

“Send him in.”

The door opened to a tall man in an elaborate black mask decorated in streaks of white and blue. His suit was equally opulent, matching the pattern. Beyond that his features were strangely unremarkable and neatly cropped hair was obscured by a hat. Mr. R. walks up to the mayor and stops a few steps short of the seats and sets a briefcase down next to him with the logo of Paradise Entertainment. “Hello, Mr. Mayor.”

“Well well... you do exist.” The Mayor took a careful measure of this Mr. R. There wasn’t a lot being given away in his posture or what little of his face that he could see. Like everyone in Paradise Entertainment, he was anonymous. Despite the his best efforts, any attempts to discover the identities of their members had ended in failure no matter who he went through. For now he was going to play it calmly. “What brings you here Mr...? I’m sorry, but I dislike calling people by anything but their first name. How should I refer to you?”

Mr. R’s chest jumped in a singular chuckle. “You can call me Plutus- Plutus Romulus. So long as that stays between us and the rest of the council I don’t mind sharing one little thing about myself.”

The mayor lifted an eyebrow and crossed his arms. “Rest of the council? Plutus, I’m afraid that ship sailed years ago. A few of the other members were willing to entertain the idea of you joining but you refused to step forward. I cannot simply bring it back up out of nowhere. Your influence over an entire district certainly qualifies you, but you need more than money and power to be a part of the city’s ruling body.”

“That didn’t stop you from letting in that self-absorbed cult leader afterward and cutting Cheshire’s district in half. You keep talking about how important everyone here is to the city. I offer more than half of them. The church? The temple? Cherry Hills? What good are they, really? You can blather on about culture and tradition all you want, but we all know where people really go when they want to have some fun.”

Lowell set his jaw and wiggled his moustache. “You really don’t get it. It’s loyalty; not to me, but to the city. They care about their people and all of them did their part to help protect their neighbors when the chips were down. You call them useless, but Lucianna took to the front line with her followers, Merek fought down General Baskerville himself, and Darcie opened her doors to the masses. What did you do? The Diamond District sat back and watched the city burn, making a suspicious amount of money in the process.”

“It’s just business, Mr. Mayor. Do you really think any of them are acting out of love or loyalty? It’s all self-interest in the end. That’s how it is for anyone no matter how much they want to deny it. I’m just the only one who really played it smart. You’re all fooling yourselves if you think you actually care.”

“You can insult me all you want, but I will not abide by you making a mockery of the brave people who gave their all to protect this city.” The mayor straightened himself up and leveled a glare at the showman. “I’ve had enough of you. What makes you think you have any right you call yourself a member of this city let alone inviting yourself into the council!? I’m afraid this conversation is over.” 

Blue light flashed around the mayor’s office and a large hard light train came out of one of the walls to rather aggressively scoop the man up and escort him out of the office. As the flash of brilliance slammed into Mr. R, he watched the streaks disappear he was still standing there. “A hologram,” He observed, “You still don’t have the will to actually speak to me face to face.”

“Well given the currently course of this conversation, I was right to play it safe, wasn’t I? Alright, fine Flavian, I’ll go ahead and give my offer now. I know how much money you all still need to rebuild back to the way you had things before Hades blew half of it up. It’s money I have and it’s money I can give to you. All I want is a seat. Let me into your little club of big shots and you have all the cash you need to rebuild. Sure, you could wait and try to do it the ‘honest’ way but will your neighbors wait for you to be ready again? Now that borders are open you’re pretty flush with foreign interests, aren’t you? Fae, Crepsculum, Kwailai... they’re all larger and more established than this city is by itself. What happens when they want to dig their claws in here? Do you have the resources to keep track of them? I do.”

“Plutus... I want to bring something to your attention. We’re not alone here.” The mayor brings up the conversation and the connection to the council members, their faces showing up on their own monitors and peering into the room. “Well, everyone? What’s your verdict?”

[fandom-puff]

Deal With It

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x reader

Requested by: anon ‘please could i request a Tommy Shelby x reader where she is significantly younger than him and he brings her to a family dinner or brings her into the snug or something to introduce her to them but Micheal’s pissed because it’s the girl he likes’

AN: okay so this is biased bc I dislike Michael sorry to all the Michael simps

Warnings: swearing

“What if they don’t like me?” You asked softly, hesitating as tommy walked with you towards the door of the snug.

“Now, YN, would I have brought you to meet them if I didn’t think they’d like you?” Tommy asked, facing you. You bit your lip and looked down, wringing your hands slightly. “Hey,” he said softly, tipping your chin up so you were looking into his eyes. “I love you, YN, and I want you to meet my family, because, well... with any luck, you’ll be truly part of it soon, alright?”

You nodded, reaching for a quick peck. You had been seeing each other for about five months after Tommy first met you while he was in London. Five months later, you were arranging to move just outside of Birmingham (you didn’t want to go straight to Arrowe House) but before you did, you and Tommy had agreed to have you meet his family. To say you were nervous was an understatement. You were younger than Tommy, and you had heard all about the Peaky Blinders, and his formidable Aunt Polly. 

Tommy pushed the door to the snug open and guided you inside, shutting the door behind him and clearing his throat. “Everyone,” he said, commanding the attention of the entire room. “This... this is YN, the girl I’ve been seeing,” 

The only woman, who must have been Polly stared at you for a moment. “It’s about time, Thomas. Have you been keeping this poor girl under wraps, worrying her head off?” she asked, arching her brows at her nephew. “Sit down, love,” she said kindly, nodding to a free chair. Tommy sat next to you. 

“That’s my Aunt Pol,”

“Don’t go getting on her bad side,” a man with a moustache and gruff voice spoke. “She still slaps us and we’re grown men,”

“watch it arthur, don’t be scaring off Tommy’s girl,” another man spoke.

Tommy rolled his eyes. “My brothers, Arthur and John,” he pointed to them in order. “The youngest, Finn,” you nodded, your brain already racing to remember all the names. “You’ve already met my sister, Ada, down in London. And my cousin, Michael,”

You nodded, smiling and murmuring a ‘hello’. You knew Michael from before you met tommy. He had brought you a drink at a club, you’d chatted for a while, but nothing more came of it. You had rejected his advances the next few times you saw him while he was in London, and had completely forgotten about him.

He, apparently, hadn’t forgotten about you. “YN, it’s... it’s good to see you, how’ve you been?” He asked quickly. Tommy frowned, lighting a cigarette.

“You two know eachother?” He asked, staring daggers at Michael.

“We met in a club last July...” you said softly, looking away and placing your hand in Tommy’s, squeezing it slightly.

“You never did take me up on that offer,” Michael blurted and you frowned. “Dinner, in Chelsea,”

Tommy arched his brows, seeing you shift uncomfortably. He couldn’t help but feel angry towards his cousin, putting you on the spot.

“The same way I didn’t take you up on a hotel room in Soho, or a nightclub near Camden Town,” you said, unable to stop your temper rising. “And I hardly think it’s appropriate to even suggest I go for dinner with you when I’m sure you know I’ve been seeing Tommy for nearly six months!”

Tommy took a deep swig from his whiskey, trying to conceal his smirk, Polly glaring at her son.

“Bloody hell, Tom,” John laughed. “Sure you can keep up with her?” Tommy snorted into his drink as you huffed, going to get some gin for you and Polly.

“In all seriousness though, Michael,” tommy said once the door was firmly shut. “You say anything like that to my girl again, you upset her like that again, I’ll cut your eyes out and throw you in the cut. Kin or no,”

The snug was silent for a moment, before Polly spoke up. “You’d better marry that one, Thomas. She’s too good for you to let slip away,”

Tags: @lotsoffandomrecs @rai-strangebr @peakyswritings @zodiyack @haphazardhufflepuff @raccoon-is-my-spirit-animal @rabeccablake @eleven-times-lively @simonsbluee @wonderwoman292 @lilymurphy03 @ @peakyxtommy @rogertaylorismycar @meaganjm @shadesofbarryallen @beth-winchester21 @inglourious-imagines @bonniesgoldengirl @little-bit-of-randomness @liliputbahn @ccosmic-illusion

[a-friendly-fangirl]

My thoughts on Sex Education, season 3.

⚠️⚠️⚠️SPOILERS⚠️⚠️⚠️

First of all, please try to remember that this is just my opinion. I'm nobody to judge whether the season was good or bad and I don't mean to hurt anyone.

With that being said, I'd like to begin by admitting that I liked these 8 episodes overall... but there were so many things that felt wrong to me.

I loved Jean's journey during her pregnancy and the way she tried to take care of everyone at the same time (although I kind of disliked Jakob for some things he said).

I loved Aimee and her desire to heal after the assault. The way she really wants to make her voice be heard was heartwarming and inspiring to me. Plus, her friendship with Maeve is one of the most beautiful I've ever watched (about this, I'll say something later on).

I loved Viv and her ambition that slowly became less important than her peers and their rights. She really wanted them to be happy in the end. I think that she didn't really understand how bad things with Hope were until the trip to France. And she redeemed herself in a great way.

I loved Lily and her journey towards acceptance of herself, even when others thought she was weird and silly. It was empowering seeing her so confident in the end.

I loved Adam's growth. It taught that even the most simple of passions can turn into something meaningful and that, no matter how bad you are, you can change.

Above all, I loved Maeve finally getting the chance to do something amazing for herself for once.

All of these things were wonderful, truly. But so many others I didn't like and I couldn't really understand as narrative choices.

Let me begin with the one I found the most annoying: Isaac's fake redemption arc. I know what you might say: "Of course you hate it! You ship Maeve and Otis!". Well, yes, I do. But it's not all about that. I might be exaggerating... but Isaac deleting Otis' message was beyond disrespectful to me. If you remember, at the beginning of the second season, Isaac was really mean to Maeve... but he had the opportunity to redeem himself. He had the chance to say he was sorry and to be a better person to her, even though he had been around for so little time. However, when it came to Otis to have the same opportunity, he decided that he wasn't worth it. Isaac, who didn't really know Otis, took away from him the chance to at least say that he was truly sorry for being such an ass to Maeve. But, what feels even worse to me is that he took away even Maeve's possibility to decide. We don't know how it would have gone, if Maeve had listen to what Otis had to say. Maybe she would have forgiven him. Maybe she would have still chosen Isaac, because Otis hurt her too much. Who knows what might have been? No one. And why? Because Isaac decided for everyone. And I don't care if he thought he was protecting Maeve or if he was angry. It. Was. Not. His. Choice. To. Make.

Also, I didn't really understand why Maeve wasn't as mad as I was with him. Sure, she stopped talking to him for a couple of days. But the moment she started to speak with him again, they hooked up. Too fast, too soon, in my opinion. He apologised? Sure. But so did Otis. And he didn't get to be so easily forgiven.

But let's move to the another point I have a lot to say about: Otis and Ruby. I really liked them together. I found them cute and funny. But still... Ruby struggled for real to accept Otis for who he is. And Otis acted the way she wanted to keep her close. For example, he shaved off his moustache for her. Now, most of the fandom hated that moustache... but again, Otis seemed to care a great deal for it. He kept repeating that he spent months growing it. But Ruby didn't like it. And he sacrificed something he was proud of for her. But okay, a lot of people would do something like that for their loved ones. But then he had to dress like her friends to fit in. To be fair, Ruby gave up that idea pretty soon... but she just reacted to Otis refusing to do it. If I had to make a comparison between her and another love interest (not Maeve, 'cause I'd be biased), I'd choose Ola, of course. She was putting pressure on him in other ways, but she never wanted him to be any different than who he was. Love, after all, means acceptance. And perhaps Ruby loved Otis for he saw the hardest part of her life, without judging her. I wish it could have been the same for him.

About this, I've noticed many people being disappointed in Otis not saying he loved her too, because it means that he was just using her. Well... no? I mean, he was the first one to admit that, if she was willing to give him more time, he might have learned to love her. Should he have made it clear to her earlier in the relationship? Sure! Can we condemn him for not feeling the same? Absolutely not! Feelings can't be forced. And I'm also sure that he thought he was done for good with Maeve. He suffocated the love he had for her so much that the clinic made him sick and that he admitted his feelings only when pressured by Maeve herself.

In conclusion, I think that Otis and Ruby might have had a wonderful friendship, if they were only given the chance. They have that kind of chemistry.

Talking about people who are better off as friends: in my opinion, that's all Maeve and Aimee will ever be. I honestly can't see anything romantic in them. The purity of their friendship means so much to me and it's, at least for me, so different from the "Friends who are more than friends" energy. We're so lucky to have such wonderful actresses to play these characters... and what I see in their gestures and glances tells me of a great friendship. They're so different from Emily and Sue in Dickinson (they're supposed to be just friends, but they're clearly not) or even Judy and Jen in Dead To Me (another pair of friends that can be ambiguous with each other).

Moving to another couple, whose development I didn't understand: Adam and Eric. I'm not a great fan of their relationship. I like them both as individuals. But the bully-victim dynamic they used to have wasn't the best one to start a relationship with. I could see the appeal though. So much that, I was truly happy for them, when they said their first I love you's. And every step Adam made in the right direction made me smile, since that it took him a long time to grow up. Eric seemed happy with him too. Until he went to Nigeria. I sincerely loved the whole trip... but something felt wrong in him founding what he truly wanted there, where he couldn't even tell his family he had a boyfriend. The scene in the taxi gave me chills. I felt the risk he was taking by going with a stranger to a gay club. A stranger that he kissed almost out of nowhere (whether it was the heat of the moment or Adam not replying to him, I'm not sure). It's the second time he cheats on his boyfriend. And I think Eric deserves far better as a character.

My question about this whole drama is: "How come Eric found out that he wanted to be free in Nigeria and not in England?". If it's true that going to the club made him realise he wanted to be among people like him, it makes the whole situation even more absurd. Because there are plenty of gay bars and clubs in England. Why not go to one of them? My theory is that they wanted to build a good romance with Adam, then build tension between them and in us and end the whole thing with their breakup (probably to make Adam fall in love with Rahim).

I swear I'm almost done. I want to discuss one last topic with you all.

Maeve going to America like that felt so rushed. It's probably another strategy to make us want to see more of the show. And it surely worked. But still, it has, at least for how they developed it, nothing to do with Maeve maturing. The idea itself was amazing. I loved her getting the opportunity of a lifetime. But she literally decides to go the evening before (which is not even realistic. In real life, you have a deadline until which you can pay to go wherever you want. If you don't, your place is given to someone else), after getting the money from her mother. Now, where does that money come from? She might as well have stolen it, since she didn't have it before. In my opinion, this part of the story could have gone differently with little effort and the same outcome. How? Well, since that basically everyone thought she deserved to go to America, why couldn't have her classmates and teachers organised a fundraiser? Even in secret, so that she couldn't get angry for their "charity". It would have been so much better and so wholesome to see everyone in that school give a little sum for her, even to thank her for the help they got from the clinic.

Anyway, I'm so sorry for talking so much, but this season didn't go as expected and I truly needed to vent :P.

Thank you for listening❤

[latinforlight]

I will say before the rest of this post that I think Paxton accidentally starting Crazy Devi was shitty and he shouldn't have said it and should have stopped it. While it wasn't the worst thing ever, and Devi even directed and enforced that nickname at herself (although to save Aneesa), it was still hurtful to her and is something he should apologize for. He is shown to feel guilty, and it's even explicitly pointed out that he doesn't enjoy it whenever someone says it. This does not excuse anything, and it was disappointing to see him do that, but it's something you should keep in mind as i explain more.

People have absolutely no right to villanize and say Paxton is worse than Ben for Crazy Devi. Crazy Devi is not a valid reason to dislike Paxton if you like Ben.

Absolutely not. I actually like Ben, but you can't turn a blind eye to one character and shit on the other. That's why I firstly criticized Paxton, because what he did was shitty, and I recognize that.

You don't even have the right to simply criticize Paxton of it if you haven't criticized Ben for: UN, insinuating she faked her paralysis, making fun of her mental health issues (not the same thing as Paxton, who wasn't making fun imo, and called her Crazy for the cheating drama, not because she had a paralysis), making fun of her appearance and her moustache (something many woc struggle with ((*devi prays for less hairy arms* "i know it's an indian thing, but...")) that is weird for women in a eurocentric society), and generally being mean to her and starting most of their spats.

Yeah, Crazy Devi is shitty. But Ben has done worse, hasn't apologized, faced ANY consequences, or felt ANY guilt, making him void of accountability. And if you don't hold him accountable for that (because the show sure as hell won't) then you have no reason to shit on Paxton, because if you can excuse and defend Ben who doesn't even care about what he did, than you can at the very least stop bringing up what Paxton did as a way to prop Ben up, because Paxton is at least shown to feel guilty, never repeated it, and didn't even mean to start it.

Im very, very tired of poc having to be absolutely perfect to not be shit on, but the white character is excused for everything.

[notmrskennedy]

Likeability

(GN!Reader x Spencer Reid)

A/N - I’ve rewritten this thing like six freaking times but oh well - I hope it at least goes over better than the last - please be gentle 

Summary - The team meets a very dislikable scientist that Spencer seems to fancy

W/C - 2.8k

Warnings - brief anatomy/bones/etc mentions (our scientist is a forensic anthropologist-ish) & a dash of swearing

Important! - this is the FIRST ending and the alternative ending that you’ll like a lot more will come along in the next day or so

----

Luke is holding his stomach in his hands. He could usually pride himself on keeping his cool, keeping his head—and stomach—together during a case. He’d seen enough dead bodies that this shouldn’t have thrown him like he’d just sailed twelve foot waves in a dingy. 

But he is, after all, standing over a mass grave. Watching a too giddy scientist dig up the bodies. 

You’ve captured everyone’s attention, for various reasons. Rossi is vaguely amused by your joyous shouting of bones and your rat moustached assistant. Luke can’t tear his eyes away from the car wreck—are you supposed to swing bones around like baseball bats? Reid seems more interested in your bad jokes and coveralls than he is in solving the case. 

The rat assistant—Stewart Walsh—squeezes between Luke and Reid, scuttling like some kind of diseased turtle. “Doctor Y/L/N!”

You barely stop pouring over the mud covered pelvis in your hands to even acknowledge him. 

“I just thought you should know that Dr. Evanston just got here.”

You look up, toss the bone to him, and snort. “Tell him the soil samples are four miles due east from here.”

“What’s wrong with Evanston?” Luke asks to no one in particular it seems, waving Stewart off to run for a group of approaching nerds in coveralls. 

Ignoring the question or maybe Luke, you just turn back to your search. Elbow deep in mud, being nice must not have been on the to-do list. Reid leans over, hands in his pockets, and whispers, “Evanston stole one of her research papers. I thought he was going to get his teeth kicked in—“

“Skull!” you holler. Luke isn’t stupid enough to miss the glare reserved for the sheepish Dr. Reid.

He clears his throat. “Thoughts so far, doctor?”

“I’m thinking beetles,” is all you say before turning back to your skull. Luke might not know many scientists, but he doesn’t think that most of them look at human skulls like its the Mona Lisa. Like this fat piece of bone held the answers to the universe inside its empty eye sockets. 

“Beetles?” Luke coughs. Rossi just shakes his head. Pretends this isn’t a conversation he’s having. Reid is still studying you like Luke might study infiltration schematics. Stewart runs up, out of breath, very rose coloured. 

You’re eyes are sparkling as you wade over to them with a new radius bone in your hands. Everyone bends like they know what they’re looking at and you point along the edge of the bone. “It’s a subtle difference but these bones have been cleaned before being buried. My guess is carrion beetles. They’re very hard workers. And—“ you switch to pointing at the radial head— “minute scoring and kerf marks. These look pretty old, so I’m assuming we’re getting close to the bottom.”

“So our unsub dismembered his victims,” Rossi begins, “then cleaned the pieces?”

You nod and hand off the bone to a very blushing Stewart. “I won’t know for sure until I’ve had a chance to examine all the bones. There’s nothing definitive yet. What a hobbyist though, right?”

You chuckle to yourself and dive back into fishing out more finger and wrist bones. Luke turns, runs his hands over his face, and hikes a thumb over his shoulder. “Where did we find her?”

Rossi shrugs, “FBI easter egg hunt.” Luke blinks, while Rossi chuckles at his gullibility. “Come on, the doctor’s the best in the field. Good kid, I can tell.” 

“Y/N’s great,” Spencer absently adds on, too busy staring at you. You’re explaining different types of dismemberment to Stewart like you’re discussing the rain. Luke grips onto his stomach just a little tighter. 

“Y/N, huh?” Luke teases, momentarily forgetting the unsettling feeling in his gut about you. “You two, uh, friends or something?”

It’s Reid’s turn to stumble. “Yeah, but it’s—we’re just—we’re just—.” 

Rossi shakes his head, slaps Reid on the shoulder. “Oh yeah, just friends. So, tell me. Do you talk about dismemberment before or after you make out?”

#

JJ wants to beg Emily not to make her go down into the basement. You’re down there. She knows it’s childish to be this avoidant—you are just a person after all. A creepy, psychopathic weirdo that makes JJ’s gut churn. She gets why Spencer’s taken to you—shared love of science and random trivia. She does. But that doesn’t mean JJ enjoys the cold ass morgue, smiling along as you ramble. Most of everyone’s limited contact with you has involved random facts and Stewart’s too intimate knowledge of fracture patterns. 

There had been ten minutes of reassurance from Emily that you were, in fact, not a horrible person. Ended with JJ making the cold and dark trek down to the morgue. She couldn’t imagine working down here all day long. No one to talk to, no one to strategise with, no where to go. Maybe it suited you. No one would have to listen. 

“—don’t know what to do!” echoes across the bottom of the stairwell, the morgue’s doors cracked open. The distress breaks JJ’s heart. Your voice stops her dead in her tracks.  

“They don’t hate you,” Spencer’s voice comes after. Gentler, softer. “They—they just don’t know you yet.”

“They don’t want to, Spence!” and JJ winces with the words. It always hurt more when the truth came out in that tone. “I get it! You know? I work with human remains and don’t bring my people skills with me when I’m on the job, but—that shouldn’t matter!” 

JJ winces again, tries to ignore how those are nothing short of teary sniffles echoing through her ears. She leans back against the wall and has no idea what to do. Spencer had obviously been down here for hours. Knew you well enough to get the teary truth. What could she do now? Interrupt? 

She’d walked into hostage situations less freakin’ stressful than this. 

“You’re right,” Spencer soothes, steadfast and strong, “it doesn’t matter. This isn’t—“

“It’s not your fault,” you sigh. JJ doesn’t want to hear the strangled touch to your voice. Doesn’t want to hear the break. “They’re your friends and I’m just your—“ 

 “Doctor!” Stewart calls and JJ could scream. You’re his what? 

At least, it’s as good as any moment to intrude. 

“What, Stewart?” you snapped, already broken away from Spencer with wet cheeks and stained glasses. You wipe them off haphazardly with the tail end of Spencer’s sweater sleeve—JJ couldn’t help but smile, even if it’s a little strangled. 

Stewart jumps like a wet cat and tosses a bundle of files into your hands. “Beetles.”

One word snatches the tears from your face. Snatches you away from Spencer’s side for one of the dozen skeletons on the tables. There was no reason to think that she’ll get her report from you now. With a rib bone in one hand and contemplation in your features—JJ can’t decide how unnerved she is—you’re a little too concentrated. 

Stewart scuttles around you. A little too attentive. A little too cherry tinted. Yep. No reports to be had from either of you. JJ turned to Spencer instead, hoping that maybe he’d be helpful. Plastered up like a billboard, JJ knows that saccharine smile isn’t going to get her anywhere. 

“Spence?”

He hums, halfheartedly tearing his eyes away. “Yeah?”

“I need the latest report for Emily, but I don’t think—“

“I’ll—just a second, JJ.” Spencer grins, sugary sweet, and slips away. JJ doesn’t miss how he places a hand on your shoulder as he passes. How you barely even notice that quite intimate contact. She also doesn’t miss how Stewart’s face sours at the action, how his eyes narrow enough that Spencer feasibly should’ve noticed. 

Reports in hand a minute later, JJ leans over to Spencer. Elbows him in the arm. “Stewart seems pretty jealous. Any reason for that?”

Spencer shrugs. “Wouldn’t know a thing about it.”

#

Rossi doesn’t have an opinion. Everyone keeps asking—oh Rossi, you’re the wisest of us all, what should we do about poor little Y/N? He doesn’t know, doesn’t care. You are just some scientist who is doing a thousand percent better job than any other forensics ‘expert’ he’s had the pleasure of working with. 

Your lab doesn’t smell. You don’t smell. Is there anything more to ask for? 

But he does get the brute of having to make the trek down to the morgue—god, his knees alone—and receives most of the reports from the not as horrible as everyone thinks Dr. Y/N Y/L/N. Who is joyfully humming while squinting over one of the skeleton’s hands. 

“Hey, doc,” he calls and you look up at him with an adorable sort of grin. “Got anything new?”

“Sure,” you chirp. Hesitate to wave him over. “If you want the details, that is.”

Rossi shakes his head, pulls up a stool to sit next to you and your subject. “I like to have as much knowledge as I can. You never know what will lead you to your un-sub.”

You settle your elbows on the table, straighten a stray finger bone. The team shouldn’t be worried about you being a psychopath. You’re dedicated, careful, attentive. Rossi hopes that if he ever gets turned into human remains, you’re the one looking over him. There’s been more care put into one skeleton than into his three combined marriages. 

“You’re in luck,” you answer, “I’ve got a lot to tell you about our attacker. You’ve got time, right?”

Rossi nods, smiles. “Plenty.”

#

Penelope still hasn’t met you and that kind of pisses her off. You haven’t made it upstairs once? She flies into some dingy Wyoming hovel of a police station for like a week and no one’s thought to bring you upstairs? Rude. 

She’s sitting in JJ’s desk chair, waiting for her and Luke to get back from interviewing a potential lead—some ex-felon who fit your makeshift profile. Reid’s scouring over some boring geographical profile, trying not to get annoyed as she nervously—angrily—rants about the case to him. She knows he’s tuning her out, but her work’s been put on the back burner until someone comes up with something to give her. 

There’s only so much a computer can find and she’s no profiler. 

It’s about five minutes after Reid snapped and left to get a coffee refill, when she picks up a call from the desk. “Hello?”

Creaking metal and shuddering breathing comes first. “Set the scalpel down” comes second.  She swallows, silent, and panicking. What the heck is she supposed to do? Paying attention to those hostage negotiation seminars that she definitely didn’t go to would’ve come in handy right about now. 

Said scalpel clatters onto some metal table, followed by a strong, “You really don’t want to do this. Please put the gun down.”

Oh god, this is happening. 

“You just—“ a male voice snips, bellowing out, “YOU DON’T LOOK AT ME.”

“I do look at you, Stewart,” you plead just as JJ and Luke clamour through the bullpen’s door. Penelope puts the call on speaker, mutes it, and screams for them. 

“I don’t know what to do,” Penelope sobs professionally, “someone’s got a gun.”

JJ runs for Emily’s office while Reid returns heedlessly. Luke puts a soft hand on Penelope’s cold one and squeezes. Newbie or not, it’s appreciated as the man’s voice returns. “I’ve tried for so long to get you to—to just—just look at me! I’ve done so much!”

“I know, Stewart,” you ease and Reid tenses. Nearly drops his coffee. “It’s not your fault. You’ve worked so hard.”

“Yeah,” Stewart sobs; Penelope can only imagine how crazy this kid must be. 

“Did you leave all those bodies for me, Stewart?” you question and everyone holds their breath. Luke squeezes harder on her hand. Reid’s twitching like a rabbit’s nose, a death grip on his mug, frozen as a Michigan pond. 

Stewart sniffles. Probably nods. Penelope doesn’t know whether to run or sit or cry. She decides it’s probably cry, but instead her fingers start moving to record the call, trace the office origin. 

“It was a great puzzle, Stewart, it was really genius. It was a fun case to follow, you know that.” You swallow hard, metal tinkles through the speaker. Please, Penelope begs, don’t let them kill each other. I haven’t met the doctor yet!

“Why did you kill these girls, Stewart?” your voice is so gentle and lulling Penelope almost forgets that she’s listening to you try to save your own life. 

 “I wanted you to look,” he says, sniffles. “I wanted you. I want you, Y/N. I want you to love me.”

It’s either her computer beeping or someone falling through a table or a gunshot. She doesn’t know. She’s crying too hard to care. 

#

Tara doesn’t know when she started to run—probably just after JJ, Luke, and Reid barrelled passed her by the bathroom shouting about the situation—but she’s almost to the morgue doors, right on Reid’s heels. Lord almighty, she feels so stupid. She’d had enough little one on one chats with Stewart to know he was some sort of psycho in disguise. To know that something was wrong with that kid. No one could last more than three minutes with your grad student assistant without wanting to take an eyeball out—his or theirs it didn’t matter. She’d let herself believe you when you told her that all forensic anthropologists seem like that. That there was nothing to worry about. 

Nothing to worry about her ass. 

Luke’s the first to storm the morgue, expecting what Tara is: you, dead, on the floor with Stewart on the brink of killing himself. But they stop and they stare and Reid beams on with the absurd look on your face. 

You’re shaking with rage, pointing a gun at a very unconscious, crumpled, bleeding Stewart Walsh. Your teeth are bared in what Tara would consider out of a comic book—ludicrous and of someone who’s completely lost their mind. JJ makes the mistake of asking if you’re alright.

“Alright?” you chirp, feral and ravenous. JJ and Luke shrink back as you shout, “I lived in Honduras for three years! This isn’t even the worst thing that’s happened to me. It’s my third fucking kidnapping!”

“T-third?” Luke croaks. 

“Third!” you shout again and recklessly set your gun on the table. Spencer grins, which sets you off further. “I’ve been nice. I’ve been accommodating. But this is my fourth psychotic grad student! I fucking swear—!”

Stewart groans—thank god he’s alive—and Spencer, thankfully, rushes forward to catch you before you can take anything else out on the kid. Tara’s heard rumours about mysterious other instances of your being under arrest. Illegal transportation of goods was one thing, police brutality was another. The scalpel sticking out of his knee is bad enough. 

She helps Luke haul Stewart to his feet, reeking of desperation and a much needed psych eval. JJ follows close behind, closes the morgue doors behind them. But not before they hear your muffled sobs and Spencer’s smiling. 

“You got him, Y/N.”

“No, Spence,” you correct, and Tara can’t help but be proud, “I kicked the snot out of him.”

#

Emily is pulling on her coat when the commotion starts. Penelope, JJ, and Luke are clamouring all over you and Reid, all asking a million too many questions for you to answer. She smiles as you hold your ground next to Reid, arms crossed and relatively relaxed. Emily hasn’t been asked to weigh in on the debate, but she likes you. 

And she hopes the reason will come out in the next five seconds. 

Penelope ensures that it does. She cuts through everyone’s chatter with a flourish of her hands. “Y/N, Spencer,” she demands, “you have to tell me: are you dating or what?”

It takes all of half a second for the pair of you to break out into laughter, fumbling over each other, bent up in hysterics. Emily hopes her own chuckles are well hidden. You elbow Reid hard, barely breathing enough to get the sentence out, “Tell ‘em, Spence.”

Reid shakes his head, elbows you back. “Siblings, guys, we’re siblings.”

“But—!”

“That can’t be—!”

“Biological?”

Penelope shakes her head, throws herself physically into the conversation. “Wait! No! I looked you up! You aren’t the other Dr. Reid, you’re Y/N Y/L/N!”

“Did you change your name?” JJ coughs. Her eyebrows can’t possibly get further up into her hairline as you nod. “Why? Why would you do that?”

You snort. “You don’t want to know.”

Readjusting her scarf, Emily doesn’t bother to hide her shit-eating grin. “Do something illegal, Y/N?”

“Of course not, Special Agent Emily Prentiss. I, a very upstanding citizen and Spencer’s lovely younger sibling, would never do anything that caused me to change my name lest I be arrested in six different countries. No, of course not.”

[whatthehelliswrongwithme]

Voltron Part 29

Okay, guys, gals and nonbinary pals. It's time for the season 6 finale! As always I'll also put my thoughts bout this season as a whole into this part. Hope you enjoy!:

Lotor, hows the weather like in there? You know? Up your arse. Because you're so fucking full of yourself

Is Keith's scar-thingy permanent?

Lotor: "Omae wa mou shindeiru"

Voltron: "NANI?!"

This asshole is worse than Abra with all these teleports

Remember when I said that this show couldn't get more anime, when Sailor Moon appeared? Well now they've got a sword...... that's on fire

Pidge you just send you lion head/Voltron's fist flying towards Lotor. Weren't you sitting in that?

Allura, why won't you leave Lotor in the quintessence-realm? Do you still have feeeeliiiings?

Is it done? Is the ass dead?

Let the joyous news be spread, that wicked old ass at last is dead!

Good. Won't miss him

Noooo! Not the castle!

Sailor Moon hasn't said a word the last few episodes. But simply by standing next to Allura, I know that this ship exists

I love the idea of them saving the universe, while having all of their shit packed into the lions

They're just glorified U-haul trucks now

Hunk, what kind of eagle-eyes do you have to have seen this castle-diamond-thingy?

I don't really care about Shance. But I appreciate the scene of Lance angsting over Shiro

Heeeeey!!! "Shiro" is Shiro again!

But why the fuck is all of his hair white (gray?) now?

Also, wouldn't it feel fucking weird to just like not have your body anymore. And instead someone else's. Even if it's an exact replica of you....

But, also: SHEITH!

They're finally going to earth!!!! I've predicted it since season 2 and now it's finally happening!

Thoughts on the season as a whole:

I really, really liked this season

Seriously, better than season5 and much better than season4

Many good episodes, fave was probably "Cheaper by the dozen, but it's just Shiro" because of !Sheith!

But the DnD episode was also really good

I disliked that Keith aged 2 years on the space whale, to bond with his mom

Because it wasn't acknowledged AT ALL. Even though 2 years is such a long time!

I'm still conflicted about this whole "Shiro was actually a clone" thing

Might actually make another "Rant"-post about this

(Also, in terms of foreshadowing: Apparently "Kuron" literally means clone. So I can see how that theory existed.)

(I just knew, that "Kuro" means black. And I thought that this was supposed to mirror the Shiro-white thing)

{Huge thanks to @living-for-fiction and especially @non-plutonian-druid for explaining!}

It's nice to have Keith back in the MAIN-main cast. Feels good to have him back. Missed him

Shiro is his own whole situation. I'm glad to have him back. I just hope that the writers won't fuck his character up

Lance had some serious self-reflection since season1. And I actually kinda enjoy him now. Being so smitten by Allura is kinda cute

Allura is weird. She's got that whole angst/confidence issue going on, because she was fooled by Lotor. But honestly, she's kind of right. She really should have been more suspicious of him

(Also: Why didn't you "die" this finale?)

Pidge is my sassy, unhinged nerd daughter. And no one can take that away from me

Hunk is my nerdy, sunshine boy who's a little bit too much into cooking. But I still love him, and he had some good scenes

Lotor's dead. Good. Finally. Hated him from the start. He was irredeemable ever since he killed Furry

Moustache man is great. I'm still mad that the fandom gave Shiro the title of "Space dad", when he's clearly so much more deserving of it

Krolia, Sailor Moon and space wolf..... seem interesting? They haven't had any real time to shine

Though I still absolutely love Sailor Moon's design

Sheith! There was so much Sheith! And that's great! So much content! And honestly, these two just have the best dynamic between all the characters

Allurance is cute. And I'm kinda rooting for it now. I just hope, that it won't be as one-sided anymore

Lotura had a kiss! But also, one of the people involved in this ship died. So.... I'm sorry for any Lotura shippers

Klance, Plance and Punk had a few crumbs here and there

Shallura starved the past few seasons, and is now a skeleton in the corner. It's cute, but there's like no canon content/potential anymore

Predictions/Hopes for season 7:

Are they gonna do a space road trip to get to earth? Will they make truckstops, sit in a diner and drink milkshakes?

When Voltron combines, do you think that everyone inside can just walk from one lion to another? I want them to just, float through space, combined as Voltron, living out their lives.

Seriously, just imagine them, basically using their giant-murder-robot as a house

Sorry, Allura. But I want Keith to replace you again. You can do your own thing with this castle-diamond-thingy and the team-constellation of S1 and S2 returns

ACTUALLY ACKNOWLEDGE THAT KEITH AGED 2 FUCKING YEARS!

Season 1+2 felt like one big arc, and it ended in a mech battle against Zarkon. Season 3-6 felt like one big arc and ended in a mech battle against Lotor. I'm gonna guess that S7+8 are the next big arc, which will also end in a mech battle, probably against space witch

I'm honestly expecting the worst, because everyone seems to dislike S7. So.... maybe I'll be positively suprised

I've noticed that the parts, where I just review 1 episode are getting more notes? Are these smaller, bit-sized parts better to read?

Anyways! Once again, thanks for all the support I've been getting! It's really fun to read your guy's comments! Appreciate all kinds of notes! Love Y'all!!!❤

[writings-of-a-hufflepuff]

School House Blues

Fandom: The Mandalorian

Collection/Series: Western AU- Putting Down Roots

Pairing: Din Djarin x Female Identifying Reader

Writer: @writings-of-a-hufflepuff​ aka @hufflepuffing-all-day-long​

Warnings: N/A

Request from Anon:  Hey so I saw your post that said requests for certain characters were open and I was wondering if I could ask for a din djarin x plus size reader with this prompt please? : (19th c) I’m the town’s school teacher and you’re the gruff wanderer/traveller/cowboy/outlaw/etc. That’s come to town. You help me fix the school house and wrangle the little demons I teach. I was thinking the kid could be one of her students! Thank you so much in advance ♥️♥️

Summary: When the bounty hunter strolls into your little mining town you don’t think much of it, but with a little boy in his wake and your school house in disrepair, he becomes more than just a passing visit, but a welcome constant.

Notes: You know me too well, Western AU/historic AU Din is so good as a concept and ughhhhhh this was so wonderful to have requested and I hope desperately that it’s good!

Reader isn’t really specified as plus size just because it didn’t really come up in the story? Although she is described as being quite soft and sweet in appearance. 

Archiveofourown

He comes into town with one hand clenched around his horse’s reins, guiding the bay and white creature with a bounty hogtied swearing and cursing over its rump, and the other hand holding a little boy of no older than six at his hip. It’s quite the sight, one that momentarily distracts you from your grief at the fact you’re teaching your children out of a saloon now since your schoolhouse was burnt to the ground. 

He’s imposing or he would be if the little boy wasn’t smiling up at him with big brown eyes. It’s hard to be imposing when you’re clearly the world of a small child and it makes you smile from the porch of the saloon. You’d been organising the boxes of donations the townsfolk had put together, since all your books, slates, chalk, paper, pencils, and the like had burnt in the fire, when he strolls past. He glances over at you and tips his head, hat dipping over his chestnut eyes and it flusters you for a second when you finally see his face. 

He’s handsome, incredibly so, too handsome to be in your small mining town you think. Deep brown eyes, a prominent nose and plump lips set in a perpetual pout. His jaw is sharp and his beard and moustache are trimmed neatly, despite the bruising on his face and the layer of dirt from the road he’s truly beautiful, a thought that flusters you further. The small boy sat comfortably at his hip and playing with the fabric of his suspenders is adorable, soft round cheeks and large brown eyes, but he doesn’t look much like the man and you’re curious what the story is there. 

The boy is old enough to be in school with you, to sit and learn his letters and to read while the older kids move on to learning about science, history, mathematics and poetry. There are a couple of children his age in your class, Timmy and Mary-Beth, both just getting the hang of gripping a pencil correctly. You wonder if he won’t be joining your class soon or if he and his guardian will be out of town before you can even consider preparing for a new student. 

You watch the man hitch the horse outside the Sheriff’s office, the one that’s not got a sheriff at the moment. You hope he’s not looking for quick pay, the lawman that resided in the Sheriff’s office at the moment was just there until they could find a new sheriff. He’d have to telegram out to get the bounty money. Your last sheriff had up and left after being shot at by a couple of drunk miners, he’d decided that was enough and quite the same day. The town had been a little more unruly since and it was beginning to make you and some of the other townsfolk uneasy without someone to keep the peace. The temporary lawman had been lazy and uninvolved thus far. It was after the sheriff quit that your schoolhouse burnt down and you weren’t sure it was coincidence. 

You watch the man place the boy on his feet and say something quietly to him before brushing his hair fondly. He grabs the bounty off of the horse, and slings the man over his shoulder. It’s impressive that he doesn’t struggle up the steps to the office even with a fully grown man thrown over his shoulder, the little boy follows after him as he goes inside. 

You return to your organisation. There aren’t that many books, not like you used to have. But, while you wait for some of your teaching associates across the country to send you items, they will do. There’s enough paper and some slates for all your students to practice their writing and get their work written down which is a relief and even a globe that the general store owner, Mr Hewitt, had found in a back cupboard for you to have. 

You’re trying to lift one of the boxes of books when he comes back out again, the little boy still trailing behind him, but this time something shiny is pinned to the man’s blue shirt. You don’t think too much about it as you struggle to lift the box, your heavy skirts not helping you move much, hindering your progress and causing you to trip each step forward you take. 

You hear his boots on the wooden stairs before you see him, he towers over you, as he takes his hat off, more polite than most men in town. You get a better look at the shiny thing pinned to his shirt and realise it’s a sheriff’s badge. The same one the old sheriff used to wear, you look from it to him and then down when you hear a little giggle. The little boy is still following after him, a sweet smile turned on you this time as he leans around the man’s legs to watch you.

“Miss, I can take that.” He gestures to the box in your hand, it’s not a question, and it’s straight and to the point. But, you’re grateful for the offer and hand it off to him without complaint. He’s stronger than you, that’s clear to see, his arms thick from years of hard work.

“Thank you…” You wait for him to tell you his name, trailing off as you lead him into the saloon that has been set out for the school day. There is a black board at the front, tables and chairs littered around the room, the liquor shelves have been emptied for books to replace them. 

The fact that Mr Karga had offered the saloon for the school was a miracle and while many in town grumbled about their favourite place of vice no longer admitting them during the day time, most were supportive of the decision to help the kids continue their school. Nevarro wasn’t a large town and mining was its main source of income, but the children deserved a chance to do more than just become miners and the school helped them do that. You helped them get into colleges on scholarships, to find jobs as clerks and apprentices in other parts of the country. 

“Din Djarin.” It’s a nice name, rolls of his tongue like honey. He doesn’t smile, not really, not properly, but there’s a little crinkle at the corners of his eyes that soften his face and make him seem warmer somehow. 

“And this little one?” You smile at the little boy as he begins to bravely step out from behind his guardian to greet you with a smile. He is a quiet boy, not the usual talkative sort you find with a six year old, but who knows what he’s been through even at this young age. 

“Grogu, he’s my…” He furrows his brow, clearly thinking hard on the right word. That alone tells you he is not his son by blood, a small fact that makes him even more interesting. Not many bounty hunters would take in a small child. “Son.” he finally says. Deciding it is the best term. Grogu isn’t his by blood, Din knows this, but the little boy he’d found all alone surrounded by death, was slowly becoming like a son to him. Aliit ori'shya tal'din. Family is more than blood. 

“Will he be joining my class? I run the school, currently we’re based here...in the saloon. Not my ideal place to teach but needs must.” You gesture around you to the makeshift classroom. You don’t like that the place still stinks of liquor or that at night it goes back to being a saloon where people drink, gamble, and fight. But, you don’t have a better place right now and the children need somewhere to learn. You can teach in any building, even if you dislike this one. 

You fit the image of a school teacher he thinks. You look like a respectable young woman, dressed appropriately, all neat and proper. Your hair pulled up and pinned away like it’s supposed to be. Everything about you is proper. Part of him wants to see you become ruffled, stop being so demure. It’s a thought that makes him frown at himself, the thoughts inappropriate especially towards a lady like yourself.

“Yes. We’ll be staying for awhile. What happened to the school house, Miss…?” He took on the job as sheriff the moment the lawman offered it, the pay was good, gave him his own accommodation and it meant he could settle down for a bit, give the kid an actual childhood. Bounty hunting was something he was good at but it wasn’t exactly safe to do with a six year old in tow. At least this job used his skills catching lawbreakers and put them to use in a place the kid could grow up. It helps that the teacher of the town is pretty too, he thinks. 

You give him your name before answering his question, “Well, after the last sheriff quit, the schoolhouse burnt down and along with all the things we had in it. Luckily it was at night and none of us were in the building. Burnt right down to the ground, nothing left…” You say it with a heavy sigh, thinking of that sweet little schoolhouse. The white painted wood, the familiar rows of desks with names carved in them, your favourite collection of university level texts at the back for the older and more advanced kids to explore. You had been teaching in that schoolhouse for the last five years and in a way it had become a second home for you, if you weren’t at your own little home, then you were in the schoolhouse marking work or planning lessons for the coming days. 

“Anyone know what caused it?” 

“No. We didn’t exactly have the mind to investigate and if it wasn’t an accident it was probably just some drunk who didn’t know any better. But, we make do and Grogu,” You crouch down next to the small child, moving your skirts to do so comfortably, “will fit right in, I think, don’t you?” The little boy smiles at you and giggles, before hiding behind his father’s leg again. 

“Have any plans been made to rebuild the schoolhouse?” Sheriff Djarin it seems is very straight and to the point, his tone isn’t unkind or aggressive, but his words are clipped, short, brusque as if he’s not quite used to being more flowery or saying much. You supposed a bounty hunter didn’t typically need to say much, but you hope he’ll become more comfortable with talking, at least to you, as time goes on. 

“No...i’ve been trying to put some pressure on the mayor to get it done but...he just doesn’t seem to care all that much now there’s a temporary solution.” You say as you begin unpacking the box that he brought inside, exercise books are brought out and sorted into piles, ready for the children to write their names on the covers and start afresh. 

He frowns, brow furrowing deep, lips turned down at the thought of the schoolhouse just never being rebuilt. It’s clear to him that saloon isn’t the place for a school and it’s even clearer that you are distressed with your new working arrangement, that you miss having a building that is entirely your own and entirely dedicated to teaching young minds. 

“I’ll sort something out. Is class starting soon?”

“Yes, not...not long now.” You double check the clock realising the kids will begin arriving in less than an hour and you feel wholly unprepared for the first day of school since the schoolhouse burnt down. 

You watch him crouch in front of Grogu, hand ruffling his hair fondly, “You’re going to stay here today, get some learnin’ in ya. I’ve got things to do, but I'll be back later, promise.” You’re surprised and warmed when he puts out his pinky finger for the kid to grab, a little promise that seems to you like something more. You wonder if the boy was scared of being left again, if this was Din’s way of reassuring his new son that he wasn’t going to leave him. The little boy wraps his whole hand around Din’s pinkie not quite understanding how the promises work yet.

“Have a good day of teaching, Miss Y/N.” He nods his head at you, grabbing his hat as he walks out the saloon with a purpose. The hat is placed on his head the moment he’s out of the doors and it’s that little element of politeness that surprises you. He carries himself like a gentleman but looks like any other rough and tumble man wandering the west. But it’s his treatment of Grogu that confirms the sort of man that he is. 

I’ll sort something out. You smiled to yourself realising that perhaps the new sheriff would be the best thing to happen to this town in a while. Someone who actually got things done for once. 

“Do you want to find your seat? Maybe do some drawing before class starts, Grogu?” You ask the little boy smiling at him as he nervously shifts from foot to foot, looking back out the doors as if hoping his father would walk back in. It’s clear he hasn’t had to do this before, be separated from him and left with a stranger, but you put on your softest smile and gentlest voice and wait patiently for him to nod his head before offering him your hand. 

He takes your hand and you help him get settled into his seat, you decide to put him near the front so you can help him easily and get him settled near you. He only knows you after all, and you think being around all the kids and far away from familiarity might be too much. You give him some paper, scrap bits that you don’t need anymore and a pencil leaving him to draw while you get ready for class.

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

The school day goes...well, it’s hectic and your hair is frizzy and falling out of the updo you styled it in that morning by the end. The children are unsettled in this new environment, the older kids, those nearing adulthood frustrated by the younger kids who can’t seem to focus or be quiet. Your brain feels too large for your skull and you sigh out a goodbye to your students as they leave out the saloon doors, one or two shoving through the swinging shutters much faster than needed. 

Grogu is the quietest of your students, sweet and attentive, he doesn’t speak a word, but follows your instructions well. He is behind on his writing letters and reading, that much you know from working with him, but he’s a quick learner and applies himself with a determination you rarely see. He doesn’t always play well with others. At lunch time you’d noticed him stealing food from the other children. It continued despite giving him your own lunch knowing his father hadn’t had time to prepare him something after coming straight into town and getting to work. He doesn’t share well either, but seemed to understand when you sat him down and talked to him about it. You suppose that being away from other children and only travelling with your father figure who would share his food with you without a thought, it must be confusing. The manners that he now has to observe, the rules of society that he’s never had to worry about until now. He looks suitably admonished despite the gentle way you chose to talk about it with him, that alone makes you think he’ll likely stop stealing the children’s cookies and be more willing to share. 

“David, careful!” You call out when one of your older students nearly gets trampled underneath the sheriff’s horses’ hooves as he runs across the thoroughfare without looking. 

“Sorry, miss!” David calls back over his shoulder, still storming ahead your warning lost on him. 

You sigh heavily and rub at your temples, stress enveloping you. A tug, swift and sharp on your skirt has you looking down. Grogu has a hand fisted in the fabric, pulling to get your attention. Once he has it, his arms open, hands up towards you, opening and closing, a universal gesture to be lifted. 

It surprises you, he is...quiet and reserved. You expected time to be needed before he was comfortable with you in any respect, especially after having to tell the boy off. Instead, he lets you lift him to your hip, hands reaching for strands of your hair and twisting them, surprisingly gently between his chubby little fingers. 

You watch your students run in different directions through town, their books and lunch pails in tow. Some stop on the open green, playing games together before their parents demand them back home for dinner. The warm little body in your arms is a soothing presence and the boy almost looks like he wants to say something, but just makes a soft cooing sound instead.

“Not much of a talker are you, little one?” He almost shrugs his little shoulders before looking up at the sound of heavy footsteps and clinking spurs. The sheriff leads his horse up to you, eyes following David with a shake of his head. Clearly, just as bemused as you at his lack of common sense.

Grogu smiles and giggles happily at the sight of his father, arms reaching out for him. You pass him over to Din, trying to ignore how close you get to the man to do it. He radiates warmth and smells woodsy mixed with some sort of soap he must use. This close you can see little birthmarks dotted across his neck. 

You step back once the boy is settled in his arms and smile, soft but tired. “Sheriff, how was your first day on the job?” 

He gives you a humoured smirk, one you’re not expecting, it takes you aback slightly. He looks...charming, approachable. Little dimples at his cheeks that soften his features in a way that makes you want to step closer. With a huff, not quite a laugh, he says, “Eventful.”

“That makes two of us, sheriff.” He notices the tired creases beneath your eyes, the once unrumpled appearance now dishevelled, hair coming out of its updo and blouse and skirt wrinkled and creased. You look like you’d had a rough day and he hopes Grogu wasn’t part of the cause. He still hadn’t figured out how to discipline the kid, he always turned those big brown eyes on him and he just couldn’t tell him no. 

“Din. Call me Din.” 

“Then you should call me Y/N.” There’s a moment of silence. You stare at him, at the way his hat casts shadows over his face, at the gentle hold he has on Grogu, the open top buttons of his work shirt and the dig of suspenders into his shoulders. He stares back at you. The gentle softness of your cheek, the marks that make your skin your skin and not someone else's. 

“We’re going to start building the schoolhouse as soon as the wood shipment gets here, I sent a telegram off today to get some good lumber in.” It surprises you in the most delightful way. When you said the mayor had been dragging his heels you meant it, but you hadn’t expected this new face to come in and make a start on what the mayor had been reluctant to do. 

“We’re?”

“I’ve convinced some of the men around town to pitch in and I know a thing or two about building.” In truth he’d intimidated more than persuaded. Most of the men were lazy, and had more concern for their own vices than for helping out. But, a mixture of convincing them they’d get their saloon back and reminding them that he was now the town’s sheriff seemed to get a few of the stronger and more skilled townsfolk to agree to help. 

“You’re the sheriff. You shouldn’t be building the schoolhouse, Din. You’ve got more important things to do.” You feel bad that he’s doing this, being quite so involved, when he’s starting a new job, one that takes up most of his time. Being a sheriff is a full time job, almost 24 hours a day 7 days a week. He has people to keep in line, criminals to catch, laws to enforce, and building a schoolhouse wasn’t on his list of priorities. It’s sweet and makes your heart ache oddly, but you feel guilty for adding another thing to his plate. 

“This is important, Miss...Y/N. The kid can’t learn in a saloon forever and you can’t work here forever neither.” He can see how desperately you want your schoolhouse back and something in him wants to provide that for you, to care for you. He tells himself it’s also for the kid, that his son deserves a proper schoolhouse to learn in. That all foundlings, all little children deserved a place to learn, like he had growing up in the covert.

“At least...at least let me and the children bring food and water down once you get started. I...you’ve not even been here a whole day and you’re already doing more than anyone else ever has...Thank you, Din.”

“It’s my pleasure, meg ba'jurir” You do not understand what he calls you, but you recognise that cadence, the rhythm of the language. Can almost see the symbolic nature of the alphabet. It surprises you that he knows what you’re sure is Mando’a, having only heard one other person in your life ever speak it. Mandalorian family groups were uncommon, but where they were they seemed to keep people in order, to value community. It made sense that he would take on the job of sheriff, adopt a child not of his own blood, if that were the case. 

You bite your tongue and don’t ask, you don’t know him and it is too personal to ask about his upbringing, culture or heritage. Perhaps, after you know him better you can ask, but you can almost hear your headmistress at school reminding you about manners and decorum even in a little mining town. 

“He didn’t...he didn’t cause any trouble today did he? He’s not used to being around others or...we’ve been on the road for a long time now.” He looks down at the little boy sitting at his hip, who’s playing with the metal star on his shirt. He knew that Grogu could be difficult, sweet, adorable, hard to say no to, but undisciplined and not used to the rules that people usually abided by. 

“I...I did have to have a word with him today…” You can already tell Din’s disappointed. He clearly loves the boy, but part of loving a child is wanting better for them and getting in trouble isn’t part of that. 

Din sighs heavily before catching the boy’s eye, “Ad’ika…”The boy clearly knows what’s going on and hides his face in his father’s shirt, suitably embarrassed about his behaviour. You think that’s enough to probably deter him from stealing from other kids in the future. You also think you might bake him some treats and use them as an incentive to work hard. You suspect bribery would work well with Grogu. 

“He paid attention beautifully and he’s already doing so well with learning his letters, but he’s...he’s quite…” You try to think of the best way to say that the boy just can’t resist taking other children’s food. 

“You don’t have to spare my feelings, Y/N. You can tell me.” You look Din in the eyes, deep brown meeting your own and sigh out before speaking.

“He likes to steal the other children’s food. I gave him my lunch and he still tried to steal Charlie’s cookies and Mary Beth’s macarons. I know he’s probably used to food being a thing he can just have since you’ve been travelling as a family unit…”

“Osik... I forgot to give him lunch. I am a terrible father…” Din looks at his feet, free hand rubbing over the scruff on his jaw. You feel the instant need to reassure him. 

“You’re not a terrible father. You just came into town this morning, immediately took on a job, and instantly went to work. You’re not a terrible father.” You hesitate, but reach forward anyway, a hand on his arm giving a quick reassuring squeeze. 

“Vor entye, Y/N. Thank you. Have you eaten?” 

“Oh…” You hadn’t really thought about it, that you’d given your food to Grogu to stop him going hungry and that you’d spent all day teaching with little more than the porridge you’d made yourself that morning to keep you going.

“Don’t even think about lying to the sheriff.” You did in fact consider lying to him, but the look he gave you reminded you of an overbearing mother hen who wouldn’t let you get away with it. Combined with the fact he was indeed the new sheriff, you felt it best to stick to the truth for now. 

“No...I haven’t.” You admit, feeling suitably admonished by him and a little guilty for even considering lying about. 

Din adjusts Grogu on his hip and nods his head behind him towards the street, “Come, I’ll buy you dinner at the café.”

“You don’t have to, Din. I can make dinner at home.” You think back to the soup you were going to make that night, and even though you haven’t the energy in truth to make dinner, you can’t ask him to buy you it. It is too much and unnecessary. Any good teacher would have made sure their students were fed. 

“You kept my ad fed in place of yourself. I’m buying you dinner.” His voice left no room for argument and so you found yourself following after him across the street towards Reeva’s Café. 

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

Din’s presence in town becomes apparent very quickly. He does not allow the men to wander drunk through the streets, start fights, or harass women. He does not suffer law breakers or those who cause the peace to break. He is swift, effective, and there isn’t a member of town who doesn’t respect his authority even if some don’t particularly like having to listen to him. 

For you it is a refreshing change. You don’t worry about the children wandering around town in the evenings or about walking out of your home at night. You don’t worry about your meager belongings being stolen or a fight breaking out in the saloon on an evening and ruining the few bits you have for the school. 

He is quiet and polite, not much of a talker, but everything he does shows a man of honour and good morals. He is sweet with the children as well. 

It had become common place for him, while waiting for the lumber to begin the schoolhouse, to come into the saloon while you were teaching. He said it was because the day time left little for him to do as sheriff, but you think he just enjoys helping with the children. They make him smile. A real smile. 

Sometimes he just sits with his son on his lap and helps him with his letters, other times he wanders between tables helping those who need it or using his presence to quiet the children after an exciting lunch break. Reminding them to respect you, their teacher, and listen.

Your favourite, and the childrens’ favourite times were when he’d sit down and tell them stories of his travels. For a man who didn’t speak much, Din Djarin was a natural born storyteller. 

That’s how you found yourself taking a step back, sitting on one of the saloon bar stools off to the side as Din took your place at the front of the class. He had an ability with the little ones that amazed you, none were ever scared of him despite his height, posturing or the guns holstered at his side and slung over his back. He always managed to make them smile and laugh, always got their curiosity going and inspired them equally. He made it a point whenever he talked to your class to share stories of both men and women he’d met who’d done amazing things, you could tell he was trying to get the girls in your class to see they could be more than housewives or washerwomen and you appreciated it. 

“So there I am standing toe to toe with the biggest grizzly you’ve ever seen…” He gestures with his hands, standing at the front, arms out front to show just how large this grizzly bear was. His voice took on a different, more dramatic quality then normal. Grogu clapped his hands from his seat on your lap, the little boy having grown increasingly comfortable around you.

“Now this grizzly has to be 8ft standin’, and he’s the angriest bear you’ve ever seen and i’m sure that’s the end of me. I’m about to become a grizzly bear’s dinner, Sheriff Djarin stew!” You laugh along with the kids at the prospect of Din becoming stew for a grizzly bear, you’re never sure how much is fiction or truth in his stories, although part of you wouldn’t be surprised if they were all completely true. He was...he always seemed larger than life despite being so quiet. Like some sort of figure out of a western story.

“When out of nowhere, charging between me and this mean grizzly, comes the largest bull moose I've ever seen…” 

“What’d you do?” Mary Beth pipes up, big blue eyes open wide. 

“Well, I got the he-” He stops himself looking at you, you raise an eyebrow reminding him that cussing around the children would not do well for him, “-out of there as quickly as I could! One thing you should never do is stay around to fight a grizzly, never ends well to go toe to toe with one. That moose was being kind and giving me a chance to get away.” It amuses you that he always manages to twist a moral into the story. This time about kindness and helping those weaker than yourself, along with a healthy dose of not getting into situations with angry grizzly bears of course. 

“Well, I think it’s time I let Miss Y/N, get on with her mathematics lesson.” Groans and grumbling rises up from your students as you place Grogu in his seat and begin making your way to the front. You watch Din frown at them, hands on his belt, leaning into one hip more than the other. He is the perfect picture of a disappointed father. Lips twisting downwards, pulling on his moustache. 

“Hey, now! Miss Y/N always makes your lessons fun so don’t you start giving her trouble or else i’ll have to stop coming in for story time.” It’s a threat that promptly has them settling quietly in their chairs and getting their books and pencils out.

You rest a gentle hand on his arm when you reach him, quietly telling him thank you. It’s heavy with meaning. Thank you for being there for the children. Thank you for providing them with stories. Thank you for always settling them and reminding them to respect me. Thank you for thinking about the schoolhouse. Thank you for settling the town and keeping the peace. 

He just nods at you with the smallest hint of a smile, enough to make you feel the tiniest bit flustered as you watch him walk to the chair where he’d left his hat, holsters, and lasso. 

“Say goodbye to the sheriff, children.” You tell them as all of you watch him make his way to the doors. He stops before them and tips his hat at you all with a smile, but the moment he’s out the doors it drops and in his place is the hard sheriff who won’t stand for trouble. 

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

Once the lumber comes in and the plans have been drawn up and approved by yourself, at Din’s insistence, the work begins. The schoolhouse design had been run past you because Din didn’t want to miss anything that was needed or that would help you teach. He had told you not to worry about size, scale or cost, that the community was pitching in and that the mayor had found a fund tucked away somewhere for the school. The fund miraculously appeared after Din had a long meaningful chat with him.

He wouldn’t tell you that he’d made threats against the mayor about digging up some of his dirty laundry, but he had. The mayor had a lot of skeletons in his closet and also a nice stack of credits he was sitting on in his own personal mayoral vault. The fact that the mayor had been so reluctant to rebuild the schoolhouse when he easily could have almost made Din see red, but he didn’t think it would look good if he beat the man to the curb as sheriff. He was supposed to be upstanding and law abiding, if he wasn’t why would any of the townsfolk be? 

A few days into the project you decided it was time you made good on your promise to come to the site during lunch time with the children to bring water and some food. You and the children collect pails of water and the baked goods you’d made the night before, trudging through the streets. You held Grogu on one hip, the small child the slowest of his classmates, and carried a heavy pail of water in the other, so heavy your shoulder slumped down on that side to accommodate the weight. 

The children were happy to help, after all, many of their fathers and older brothers were working on the school site and it was a chance in the school day to see people they cared about. You were also sure they wanted to ask the sheriff a multitude of questions and beg for a story, but you’d reminded them that they weren’t there to get in the way or interrupt the work, just to offer food and water.

You’d reluctantly admitted to Reeva that you found the sheriff attractive, after the older woman badgered you day in and day out about the time you spent with him. You could admit he was handsome. His eyes were deep brown and spoke more words then he often did. He had both a look that could intimidate and also soften into something warm and safe. The beard and moustache he sported made him look ruggedly handsome and his shoulders were broad and wide. He looked like he’d stepped out of a story book or from an illustrated newspaper short story. Rugged but clean, dangerous but kind. 

You had to admit though that this was your favourite look on him. As you came upon the building site he was busy sawing a plank of pine in two. His shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbow exposing his strong forearms and thick wrists. His suspenders had been flung off his shoulders, resting at sides no longer covering the strong back that was tensed as he worked. The top few buttons of his shirt had come undone, almost indecently so to show a pronounced collar bone, strong neck, and dark chest hair and the brown hair on his head had begun to curl from the sweat he was working up. It shouldn’t have been attractive. He should have looked like any other man working up a sweat, you shouldn’t have wanted to wipe his brow and brush your fingers through the curls of his hair. But you did. 

Taking a deep breath to compose yourself you look down at the little boy at your hip, “Should we go say hello to your father?” 

“Papa!” He clapped his hands at you in confirmation. You’d slowly learnt that papa was one of the only words he said, you weren’t sure if he chose not to speak or simply couldn’t. But, given his increasing aptitude with writing his letters, you thought it likely that he simply chose not to speak. 

The call instantly has Din’s head popping up from his work like a startled deer and you watch as his eyes roam across the children until he catches sight of his son at your hip. The smile that lights his face is so bright that it’s almost blinding, there is a longing you feel whenever you see his happiness to see Grogu. Some deep part of you that desires that sort of family bond. He loves his son so deeply, it doesn’t matter to him that their blood isn’t the same and part of you wants desperately to be part of that love and happiness. 

“Children, hand out the food and water, will you? But be careful!” You remind them as they run towards familiar faces, it is still a building site after all, and the last thing you need is a child getting hurt in any way. 

Din finishes sawing the plank before striding over to you, hand pulling a rag from his back pocket to wipe the sweat from his brow. You look...radiant. The summer sun shining over you, causing your skin to glow, your hair to shine. Your smile is as soft as your eyes and you're gentle in the way you hold his son to your hip, like he belonged there. Like the two of you belonged together. Din can admit that he enjoys your company more than he probably should, he can even admit that a part of him deeply desires you, wants you to join his family unit, become part of his aliit. You’re tender and kind to all the children you teach, your children as you often call them, and you’re incredibly kind to Grogu who you treat with more understanding than most school teachers ever would. You keep order in your classroom through kindness and mutual respect, not through fear or punishment. The maternal shine to you draws him to you in a way that, had he not been Mandalorian, he might be ashamed of. But, family is everything to him, Grogu is everything to him and if he is to put down roots here, he can’t help but consider putting down roots with you.

It’s a silly thought though, you’ve not known each other long and he isn’t well to do or gentlemanly. You’re far better educated than him, kinder than him, and it is a pipe dream that he doubts will ever come to fruition. It doesn’t help that he struggles at times to even talk to you, let alone make his feelings known. 

“Miss me, Ad’ika?” He calls to the little boy, carefully pulling him from your arms when you offer him. If you allow yourself to, you can almost imagine he’s taking your own child from you, that the two of you have formed some sort of family. But, you are just his son’s teacher and he is just the sheriff of your small town. 

The boy babbles at him, not real words, nonsense, or attempts at words that don’t translate, but you can see that improving. Can almost imagine what settling down here can do for the boy, give him a chance to learn, grow, make friends, and find some stability and safety. 

“He’s been itching to come over all day, they all have. I was struggling to get them to focus on their history lesson.” You had 15 children all desperate to get out of the saloon and visit their fathers for lunch. It had been a...very difficult lesson to say the least and you still felt a little frazzled. 

“History?” The boy tugs at his father’s hair and you watch him wince as he speaks, pulling little chubby hands from brown curls. 

“The fall of the empire and the rise of the republic. Not the most riveting subject for them I'm sure, they much prefer when I tell them about different societies rather than politics.” You want to say like Mandalore and the Mandalorians because you want to draw him in, desperate to have more of his time even when he’s already doing so much for you. You enjoy the odd hour here and there when he takes over your class and becomes the teacher, where you can just sit and listen, learn yourself. 

“Mandalorians believe that our history is our future. We learn it as soon as we can walk.”

“So it is Mando’a you’ve been speaking?” It warms you to see him open up to you like this. He is a private man, quiet, and insular. While he can yell with the best, and demand attention, can intimidate and even persuade, it’s all part of his job. The face he puts on as sheriff. He is quiet about himself, sharing little and not so often. You revel in the trust placed in you wherever he tells you a little something more about himself. 

“You noticed?” Most people don’t even know Mando’a exists, let alone recognise that the words he slips into his speech are such. He finds they slip out more around you, than with others. He’s comfortable with, he is happy to share himself, his culture with you and it...it is a startling discovery about himself. He has been insular and closed off for longer than he would like to admit. 

“I can’t speak it and I..I don’t know it well, but, I recognise the cadence. I grew up in Naboo and there was a Mandalorian there, she used to speak it when I would sit and practice my letters with her.” Atin’a Caivass was a kind woman to you even if she could be hard. She had been one of your teachers, always pushing you harder, to do better. Yet, it had never felt frustrating or like a chore, the Mandalorian had always made it a desire to impress her, but also to prove to yourself that you could. She had always been kind to you and the other children, gentle but firm, like you were one of her own. You saw similarities with how Din treated the children. He was kind and gentle, but never overlooked an opportunity to firmly correct their behaviour or mistakes. A perfect balance. Not too soft and not too harsh. 

“You never learnt?”

“She was very protective of it and I...I was always too afraid to ask.” You confess. You had always been fascinated with it, like any young child when faced with a new language, but you had always believed it something sacred, and had worried that you would offend her if you asked to learn. “Ad’ika? What does it mean?”

He can’t help but laugh at your pronunciation and sounds it out for you, “Ah-Dee-Kah, it means little one.” 

“Ah-dee-kuh?” You are even more beautiful, he thinks when you butcher his language, trying so hard to get it right that your eyebrows scrunch together and your eyes crinkle at the corners. 

“Ah-Dee-Kah” The little one squirms in his arms and he places him on the ground, only to watch him plunk himself on his bottom and play with the dirt. He had always had a fascination with dirt and rocks, more so than any of the toys he had actually brought or made him. 

“Ah-Dee-Kah”

“Perfect.” You smile blindingly at his praise and he wonders if he can forgo his job as sheriff and simply teach you Mando’a every minute of every day. “You can always ask. If you want to learn. It’s nice to hear it from another person’s lips, not just mine.”

“I would like that very much...maybe when you’re less busy? You’re rather booked up at the moment, what with being sheriff, storytime for the children, and building a schoolhouse. You’re a busy man, Din Djarin.”

“I like to keep my hands busy.” You look down at your feet before looking back up at him, unsure how to respond to what you were sure was meant as a perfectly innocent comment. Din almost swears, osik, once he realises how that sounds, lifting hand to the back of his neck to rub it. 

The silence that you fall into isn’t uncomfortable necessarily, but feels almost solid, like a physical thing and not just the quiet that comes with two people not talking for a moment. There’s a tension there that is not wholly unpleasant but hard to describe or pin down. 

Seeming to remember the pail of water you’re carrying you place it in front of him, “Water, so you can clean off or if you’re thirsty. There’s some pastries somewhere as well, to keep you all fed...Can’t have you keeling over on us or else we’d never get our schoolhouse.” 

You take a step back and cast your gaze around, making note of where each of your 15 kids are. You’re caught watching Jerome splash water on Annie, about to go and tell him off when you hear splashing much closer to you. 

You thought he couldn’t excite you more than he already had. Thought that Din Djarin couldn’t possibly tempt you more, cause your well-mannered sensibilities to crumble further. You were utterly, terribly, ridiculously wrong. 

There’s something to be said about the man pouring half a pail of water over his head to rub away the sweat and dirt from a hard day working in the summer sun. He flicks his head back, long neck outstretched as water droplets fall like mirror glass over his tanned skin. His hair sticks to his skin, kissing it in a way you realise you desperately want to and his shirt clings to broad shoulders with the familiarity of a lover. 

You spin back around away from him flustered, determined not to look as you march towards Jerome. You decide in that moment that perhaps it’s best not to bring pails of water at lunch time. You might just not survive to see the school built. 

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

For the next two months your routine features lunch time trips with the children to bring water and sometimes food to the men building the schoolhouse, and the odd afternoon story time hour when Din feels confident enough to leave the others to continue working without his guidance. Each day the schoolhouse comes together more and more and each day you fall a little bit more in...in whatever these feelings for the sheriff were. 

You also have the startling realisation that Grogu has wormed his little way into your heart in a way that none of your other students have. You have a soft spot for the little boy, especially as he becomes more vocal, begins to say more little words, including the delightful name ‘Miss Y/N’. 

Din is a temptation in himself, each time he teaches you another word or phrase in Mando’a and his lips wrap around syllables or every time he works hard to build the schoolhouse muscles pulling taut underneath the weight of wood. He tempts you in a way that no one ever has and you can’t quite explain what it is about this man that makes you desire to be in his presence, to kiss him, to hold him, to be close to him both physically and emotionally. You want to know everything about him, to understand him better than you understand yourself. 

In some ways it is a relief when the schoolhouse is finished and in other ways it feels like a loss. Part of your routine, part of the day where you always see Din was no longer needed or necessary.

When you bring the children over at lunch time, it’s to show them the finished building, the one they’ll be in come Monday morning once you have the time to move all the books and other odds and ends into it. They’re all excited as are you, to see it...it strikes you in the heart so badly that you can’t move your feet, can only stare at the building with tears in your eyes. 

It’s beautiful. Not large, but larger than the old one. Freshly painted white, with a school bell hanging out front. It strikes you that this isn’t just a schoolhouse, but it’s your schoolhouse. Din had been adamant about building it for you. 

“Children, why don’t you go inside and take a look? You’ll be here on Monday!” You wave them all off as they run ahead and up the wooden steps, throwing the door open none too gently. “Careful! We only just got it!” You call out and receive a series of sorries back. 

“Shall we go find your buir?” You look down at Grogu, who’s hand is holding the heavy fabric of your skirt. He smiles up at you and nods his head with a quick little ‘papa’ that has your heart warming. 

You hear him before you see him, “Now don’t go breaking the tables when we’ve only just put them together, girls!” Already laying down the law to 3 of your children as you enter the schoolhouse. They had seemingly been swinging on tables in a most ill-mannered fashion that has you putting on your teacher-face and raising an eyebrow at them from behind Din. They promptly stop and return their feet to the floor with an abashed look.

“Sorry, Sheriff. Sorry Miss.” They call to you both before scurrying away in hopes of avoiding punishment, leaving you, Din and Grogu alone in the main room for the building. You let it go. It isn’t an issue, they need to learn to respect things, and not damage them, but that does not have to come at the cost of punishment when a quick look and a reminder does enough. 

Din spins at them calling out to you, faster than he seems to have expected, looking decidedly dizzy for a second before the mask of sheriff falls right back into place. 

“Y/N, how do you like it?” He opens his arms wide and gestures to the main room of the schoolhouse. A large blackboard already nailed to the wall at the back, rows of tables and chairs set up so every child could see you. A desk at the front for your things. It is sweet and fits your needs infinitely better than a saloon ever would. You even note the bookcases along the walls, enough space to place many of your books for the children to have easy access for when they wish to learn something more than you could teach them. 

“It’s...it’s wonderful, Din. It’s beautiful. I...I can’t thank you enough...I...I’m a little lost for words.” You can feel the happy tears starting to pool in your eyes again, the gratitude making you a little bit emotional. “I don’t think I can ever repay you for this.”

“You...you don’t need to repay me, Mesh’la. This...you and the children deserve a school, a place to teach and learn. You don’t have to thank me or repay me for doing what the damn mayor should have done in the first place.”

You nearly don’t do it. Nearly let that fear that wells up inside you and the proper manners, the belief that you were about to be far too forward than was ladylike, stop you. But, you think back to his kindness, his gentle nature, the calm and order he’s brought to town. The son of his that you have a large soft spot for. The handsomeness of his features, the sharpness of his profile. The gentle hand he always places on your back as he helps escort you somewhere. The respect he shows you at every turn and his willingness to share his culture and upbringing with you. You think of all the things that make up the Din Djarin you know and you think of what he has come to mean to you. 

With a silent prayer and an apology to your late headmistress for being more forward than is ladylike, you push yourself forward and into him. Lips soft and chaste lifting to meet his, only briefly. You do not push for more than a second of contact, but it is enough, you hope, to get the thought and intent across. That he is someone you would like to get to know more, that he is someone you could happily be courted by, even marry one day.  

He doesn’t even have time to blink, it happens so fast. One minute you are standing a few steps away from him thanking him, the next your lips are pressed to his in the shortest sweetest kiss he’s ever had the pleasure of being on the receiving end of. It takes another second for him to realise what’s happened before he’s reaching a hand out to cup the nape of your neck and drag your lips back to his for a significantly more substantial kiss that leaves you a little breathless. 

When you pull away from each other you don’t go far. Din presses his forehead to yours, hawkish nose pressing into your cheek, a soft touch that grounds you with his presence. The hand at your neck, rubs a soothing thumb across your skin. Your own have chosen to grasp at the suspenders over his shoulders, to keep in close proximity. 

“I’d very much like to court you, Miss Y/N.”

“I think i’d like that, sheriff.” 

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

Mando’a Translations

 Meg Ba'jurir - roughest way I could get to someone who educates or a teacher with meg being who and ba’jurir being educate

Osik - Shit

Vor entye - Thank You

Ad - son

Ad’ika - Little one, term of endearment for small children

Buir - Father also Mother basically parent. 

Mesh’la - Beautiful

Aliit - Family (Clan)

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

Taglist for this fic: 

@lex-ham​

[malfoymanortings]

lavender and velvet //part one

SUMMARY: she had her fathers eyes, his aristocratic looks, her grandmothers spite, her mothers heart, but the one thing she didn't have was the love of her father that her god brother received. juliet black finally meets her father who has already decided who his child is.

PAIRINGS: to be decided.

quite frankly, this idea will not leave my head. juliet has begged me to write her story, so here we are. now, sirius is slightly out of character for this, as if he really did have a child i would like to think he would want to do better than the parents he had. but, thats just not what this imagining will look like. hopefully you guys like it! if, by chance, you would like to be added to a taglist for this story, let me know xx

“I want to meet him,” Juliet said quietly, looking down at her hands. “I deserve as much, don’t I?”

Remus paused. “Of course. I just… love, he isn’t-”

“I don’t have very high hopes for him,” interjected Juliet, scoffing slightly. “He’s been out for two years now. He hasn’t attempted to see me once.”

“Jules, you have to understand,” Remus placed a hand on her shoulder, his face seeming to age years within that moment. “It hasn’t been easy for him.”

“Right, ‘cause it’s been so easy for me.” she said the words under her breath, not wanting to fight with Remus again. 

They had been fighting far too much lately. The cause of it was her father. The man who had fathered her years ago before being locked up for a crime he didn’t commit. When he finally did get out, it took two years before he thought of seeing his daughter.

“It hasn’t been safe enough for him to see you,” Remus pressed on, crossing his arms behind his back. “With the ministry still believing he was responsible-”

“For the Potter’s murders, it was too risky for him to come see me until everything was settled with the order,” Juliet recited, rolling her eyes. “Yet he saw Harry third year, didn’t he?”

Remus sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. “Juliet. We are not having this discussion again.”

“Perfect, that means I can have it with him.” Juliet said decisively, walking over to the fireplace. “Let’s go.”

“Now?” Remus asked, pausing in his pacing. 

“What better time than the present?” 

“Well, Harry just got there-” Remus cut himself off, wincing as Juliet’s temper flared.

“Harry’s there, yet I can’t go meet my own fucking father?!” she yelled, fists clenched at her side. “Fuck this.”

Juliet turned, grabbing a fistfull of floo powder. She tossed it in, ignoring Remu’s protests, and spoke clearly.

“Grimmauld Place!”

She arrived in a flurry of green flames, with no one around. She could hear voices down the hall of the unfamiliar place, and she faltered in her step slightly. She felt out of place, although she shouldn’t. Her father lived here. This was her father’s house. 

It should have been her home.

A door opened somewhere, and footsteps sounded loudly through the hallway. Remus poked his head into the sitting room, where Juliet stood in front of the fireplace feeling rather out of place.

“Come on, then,” Remus motioned for her to follow, his tone kinder than it had been before.

“Professor Lupin!” Hermione came out of nowhere, Ginny following close behind. “It’s good to see you.”

“Hello, Miss Granger,” Remus grinned, and Juliet was the only one to notice it was off. “Lovely to see you again.”

“Jules!” Ginny shouted, running towards her friend. Juliet opened her arms, engulfing the beautiful redhead in a hug.

“Hi love,” said Juliet into her hair, pulling back to examine her friend. “You’ve grown, haven’t you?”

Ginny gave her a funny look, laughing. “Juliet. It’s been a month since I saw you last. I doubt it’s possible I’ve grown since then.”

Juliet shrugged, looking past her to where she could hear more voices grow louder. Fred and George appeared then, twin grins on their faces as they hurried over to greet Juliet.

“There’s our favorite serpentine girl,” Fred grinned, ruffling her hair. “Good to see you.”

George slung an arm around her shoulder, pressing a kiss to her temple. Before pulling away, he put his lips near her ear. “Calm down darling, it’ll be fine. He’s in the kitchen with Harry and mum.”

Juliet nodded, giving him a quick squeeze back. George and Fred were well aware of Sirius being her father. She had confided in them on more occasions than one. Those two and Ginny were her closest friends out of the Weasley family. 

Ron appeared next, Harry beside him. From behind the pair, came a man with her eyes and her smile.

Juliet took in a sharp breath as she examined the man she had hurt over all these years. He had shoulder length brown hair, wavy and streaked grey with age, and a neatly trimmed moustache. His cheeks were hollow, his features aristocratic like her own. He had tattoos peeking out from the edges of his buttoned shirt, and walked with a slight limp.

He was Sirius Black, the man who had only existed for her in photographs.

“Dad,” Juliet breathed, walking towards him. 

Sirius looked as though he had seen a ghost. He looked to Remus, and back to Juliet. He watched her as she walked forward until she stood in front of him, and he hadn’t moved. 

“That’s Juliet, pads,” Remus said from behind them. “Your daughter.”

“My daughter,” Sirius said, the words sounding foreign in his mouth. “Of course. You take after your mother in looks.”

“I’ve been told I’m a Black through and through.” replied Juliet, feeling a little awkward standing in front of him. She was waiting for a hug, for something, but nothing happened. He just stood there, staring at her.

“Well, hopefully not,” Sirius cleared his throat, forcing a chuckle. “The lot of them were dark wizards, straight from Slytherin house to the Death Eaters.”

Juliet felt her cheeks flame, and she felt deflated. “I’m in Slytherin.”

Sirius paused, clearing his throat again. “Erm, right. Harry mentioned that.”

She felt her anger grow again. She tried to fight it, but it bubbled over the lid she kept concealed in. “Of course you did. Instead of meeting me for yourself, you would rather hear second hand from Harry. God forbid you put effort into meeting your daughter.”

“Now, that’s not fair,” Sirius raised his hands, backing away from her. “It wasn’t safe for me to be out in the public yet- it still isn’t.”

“That didn’t stop you from sending letters to Harry though, did it?” Juliet bit out, balling her fists up and digging her nails into her palms. She was dimly aware of the others leaving the room, Remus and Harry the only two left behind.

“He needed me,” Sirius defended. “He had no one but those muggles, I’m his godfather-”

“You’re quite literally my father,” shouted Juliet, shaking her head. “I needed you too, and you were never there.”

“Juliet, that’s not fair,” Remus interjected, placing a hand on her shoulder. “He was in Azkaban, he wasn’t able to be there due to no fault of his own-”

“I know the story, Remus,” snapped Juliet, glaring at the man. “But when did he break out? When Harry’s safety was at risk. Not for me, not for you. Only for Harry. I apparently wasn’t worth the risk or the attempt.”

“Juliet, I-” Harry began, but she quickly cut him off. 

“Harry, stay out of this,” chastised Juliet, holding out a hand. “For once, this isn’t about you. This is about me.” she looked at Sirius, who merely looked back at her with a heavy look. “This is about what I did. What Molly did. What Remus did. What you didn’t.”

“Juliet, I’m sorry,” Sirius tried again, running a hand through his hair. “But Harry needs me now. You have all those people behind you, and he only has me. He’s got to deal with Voldemort. He needs someone to confide in.”

“Like a father,” scoffed Juliet, turning away from him. “Even though you’re supposed to be mine.”

“Juliet-” Remus was quickly cut off by Juliet.

“I want to go home.”

“Well, that’s the thing,” Remus looked uncomfortable now, and gave her an apologetic glance. “You’ll be staying here for the remainder of summer. I have things to do for the Order, and it’s not safe for you to be unprotected at home any longer.”

“You’re fucking joking.”

“Language,” reprimanded Remus, once again looking older than his years. “I’ll pack your things and bring them here. Please… try to get along.”

Juliet raised her middle finger to Remus, turning back to Sirius. “So, do I get a room? Or are they all reserved for Harry?”

Sirius narrowed his eyes. “That’s no way to act. Of course you get a room.”

Juliet laughed at his words. She thought it was funny, how he had so easily cast her aside for Harry, and yet now seemed to be attempting to parent her. She refused to let him do so. It was all or nothing, and he had clearly chosen nothing.

“Kreacher,” Sirius called behind him, and with a crack a scraggly looking house elf appeared. “Show Juliet to her room.”

Kreacher gave Sirius a dirty look, glancing over at Juliet appraisingly. He grumbled to himself, only a few words audible.

“Kreacher will show master’s brat to her room… blood traitor… Gryffindor… filthy… mistresses house..”

“Without the commentary, you dirty thing.” Sirius rolled his eyes, turning away from the house elf. 

Kreacher glared at Sirius, before walking up the staircase. Juliet followed, not bothering to cast a backwards glance towards her father. It was obvious he had no interest in her. Why should she care, anyways? She had gone by fifteen years without him just fine. She would be just fine.

“Dirty Gryffindor..” Kreacher muttered, pointing a crooked finger towards an open door. “Sharing with the other dirty blood traitors, nasty Gryffindors.”

Juliet scoffed, crossing her arms. “Kreacher, is it? My name is Juliet. And, I’ll have you know I’m not a Gryffindor, I’m a Slytherin. The superior house, if you ask me.”

Kreacher paused at that, his mumbling ceasing. He once again eyed her appraisingly, this time without dislike. “Kreacher apologizes to Miss Juliet. She is not a dirty filthy Gryffindor like the rest of the brats..” again, the decrepit looking house elf trailed off in his thoughts, wandering down the hallway wringing his hands.

Juliet sighed, and stepped inside the room. She could tell from the items inside, that Hermione and Ginny already had claimed the two beds. 

“Kreacher?” Juliet called, poking her head out of the room. 

Kreacher turned, eyeing her again. “What does young mistress want?”

“Is there another room,” she paused. “Or another bed?” 

“Kreacher can make another bed for mistress,” Kreacher hobbled back over, stepping into the room. With a snap of his fingers, another bed appeared, identical to the others in the room. 

“Thank you.” 

Kreacher looked shocked at her words, and he nodded to her before wandering back down the hall. 

Juliet sighed, sitting gingerly on the bed. She plopped backwards, staring at the ceiling. She expected to feel mad, or sad, but instead… she felt nothing.

“How are you holding up, love?”

She turned her attention to the doorway, where George stood leaning against the doorframe. She shrugged, and the ginger haired boy came into the room, sitting on the bed next to where she lay.

“I think you two have just got to get used to each other,” he said quietly, taking her hand in his. “It’ll all work itself out, in the end.”

“Ever the optimistic, huh Georgie?” noted Juliet, moving so that her head rested in George’s lap. “Tell me about your summer so far.”

As George launched into an explanation of the different joke shop items he and Fred had been experimenting with, Juliet listened intently. He wove her fingers through her hair as he spoke, and Juliet found it was easy to let of her tension as they conversed.

Fred slipped in the room at some point, and began explaining their plans with George. Their voices calmed her, and she felt more at peace with the two of them in her presence.

Even if her father didn’t want her, she had her boys. They wanted her.

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