#old man librarian core

[egonkula]

i think about this picture of rsl all the time like ohhh my gosh he is so goober here

[sabrondabrainrot]

THEY LOOK SO CUTE I'M GONNA PINCH THEIR CHEEKS ❤️

[psychologeek]

12.08.2023 prompt - Love Among the Shelves

Barbara was at the children's section's front desk when he approached.

It was her day shift, but every instinct she developed during her over-a-decade time as a vigilant, screamed inside of her that this man was DANGEROUS.

"Excuse me, sir!" She called him, as she took a quick look at the population.

(fifteen children, ten mothers, and a teen- probably a babysitter, or an older sister).

"How can I help you?" She asked as he stood in front of her, almost 2 ft over her. She quietly unlocked her wheels, and reach for the emergency taser.

"I want to get a library card." He says.

"This is the children section, mr...?"

"Dan. Just Dan. And that not for me, that's for the hellion". He gesture to his left, only seem to notice no one's there.

"ELLIE!"

"Sheesh, Old Mold." A kid show up. "No leed to yell. MY ears are still new and working."

"You can't just disappear without telling anyone!"

"What, am I in prison now? Oh, wait, I'm not the one who's been locked up!"

"You little hazard. What did we say about telling OUTSIDERS private information?"

"Do it for fun and profit?-"

And the man just grab by the back of her hoodie, and pick her up in one hand.

"That's the Hellion. She needs a library card."

The kid move a little, trying to escape, before giving up and just looking at Barbara.

"Hi! I'm Ellie - WOW ARE YOU JAZZ'S CLONE?".

-OR-

After learning that Danielle just travel around the world on her own, Dan's core re-develope his old obsession.

(protect her)

They travel across the world as Dan& Ellie - father and daughter.

Ellie wants to go to Gotham, (They have WEIRD THINGS) and they try getting a life there.

On an attempt to get something like normal (halfa?) life, Dan take Ellie to get her first library card.

Enter Barbara Gordon, a librarian extraordinary by day, and a vigilant named "Oracle" by night.

Somehow, she keep meeting that single dad (ex-prisoner) and his daughter.

(she CAN'T be introduced to Damian. The world may not survive it).

Or: I started thinking Dan/Barbara and now I can't unsee it.

Tag some I think would like this:

@stealingyourbones @im-only-here-for-the-fandom @hdgnj

[feyclowns]

a brief look at pixie biology

goofy guys. i like these ones. sillies.

most pixies are very short and stocky, with square builds. they're the smallest of the seelie

body hair is infrequent, near non-existent

males are ever-so slightly larger than females on average, though it hardly matters

pixies function very similar to fairies, they have near identical anatomies and also get inebriated from sugar

primarily eat fantastical beasts along with magic supplements

pixies grow up a little faster due to less time needed maturing their core systems. takes them about 1300 years.

pixies take very few genes from their non-pixie parent- a hint of eye color here, a darker skin color there..

despite their funky core systems, pixies, once given the magic-using tools they need, are just as adept with magic as fairies

they all speak with the same flat tone, but tend to have difficulty masking their expressions

they have an inborn talent for numbers and repetitive behaviors- they flourish in a group where everyone has a set role that they do over and over again.

each pixie is given a set role after their rearing period has ended. some pixies show the rare ambition to climb some ranks but most are generally comfortable with where Head Pixie puts them.

all fairy-based seelie buzz their wings but pixies are especially guilty of buzzing when agitated

pixies used to be quite rare, with small mixed families, usually employed by fairy companies to deal with paperwork and other tasks- librarians, attorneys, secretaries, etc

honorable mention: the curious case of Head Pixie

so many people cannot stand this guy.

this guy is weird. the council does not like weird. he is like, biologically, the biggest outlier for the pixie species ever

side note: my HP doesn't look as old as canon due to the way my fairies age (and pixies generally live longer anyway since they consume magic rather than produce it) but he is still, in fact, very old

fey dad, pixie mom. HP's pixie status was debated hotly for a long time due to the main factor that he had a functional central core- in fact, it was too functional; HP produces too much magic for his system to handle on a regular basis.

HP handles this in two ways; lots of offspring and lots of using his magic to power things. man, building a business empire is easy.

he's larger than the average pixie as well, by 7 inches (this makes him look huge)

all of HP's kids are normal pixies (barring the handful of fairy children)

HP is old. really old. he's about to hit a million. he's older than jorgen's nana. he's showing his age but he looks pretty good. his fey lineage and magic overproduction are the primary reasons for this, but he just likes to say he lives off black coffee and pure spite. he is staying around forever, baby.

[biggie-chcese]

rain code age headcanons because i have literally only ever been choosing ages based on what's funniest but now i wanna cast away my grand layers of irony and be genuine for a moment. also. this goes pretty in depth so be prepped for the long haul when you click read more lmao.

spoilers for the whole game below and it's because of one specific character iykyk

Yakou - this man has the soul of a guy in his late 40s going through what would be his midlife crisis if not for the fact that he's fully aware he passed the midpoint years ago. but that soul is trapped in the body of a guy who doesnt look a day older than 28. what moisturizer does he use? i doubt he even uses anything other than that 13 in 1 shampoo. anyway, i think he's 32.

Halara - 26. nothing really to justify this other than they've got that mid 20s swag but 25 didn't feel right. adult enough to be as competent as they are yet young enough to look like that. moving on.

Desuhiko - 19. i think he's the youngest of the NDA because. well. idk man have you read his dialogue? he's got a whole lot of growing to do and is still very lost on his direction in life. he's giving 'bitch fresh outta high school (or in this case, detective training) and relishing in his freshly obtained freedom."

Vivia - 28? yeah i got nothing for this i am going purely on vibes here. 28 just feels right.

Fubuki - 23. she's clearly still a bit young but is also clearly a grown ass adult who wasn't raised right so i think this makes for a happy medium, especially if she's already been on some worldwide adventures n shit before the game. works out quite swimmingly methinks.

Kurumi - 18. for my personal comfort bc we'll get to yuma later but im not gonna sit here and ignore the way the game constantly grovels at the audience's feet to ship them so id rather she not be any younger than this. anyway, more about her: she tends to hold her own as an informant with more competence, maturity, and effecience than most of the NDA. but she also has a pretty childish black and white view on things, like believing her beloved detectives are always right (girl if you were real you would be ENTRENCHED in stan culture oml do NOT get into minecraft youtubers) but i've... seen 18 year olds on the internet that are exactly the same so whatever

Aetheria girls - putting them all at 17-18 because, based on honorifics, they are treated as upperclassmen by their peers in the Japanese dub. i think waruna is the youngest and kurane is the eldest.

Yomi - 25. he has that vibe. old enough to be taken seriously as an adult but young enough to act like That™. yknow?

Martina - 32. she's giving older woman sexy librarian vibes and generally carries herself with a certain level of poise and maturity but is also a freak in a way that can best be explained by being a woman in her 30s. not elaborating on this

Swank - 41. to me he's like those awful surly businessmen who go to cabaret clubs to drink and smoke their office job woes away and cheat on their wives. but he also has extreme mafia boss swag about it so i kinda love him for that. dunno what this has to do with age tho. moving on.

Seth - 22 because he's giving youngest brother. i think he's the youngest of the peacekeepers in general. guillaume definitely bullies him about this.

Dominic - 34. bro is built like a jojo character what else do you want me to say. he's still got that youthfulness about him that makes me think he's still not going through his midlife crisis, so i wouldn't place him any older

Guillaume - 23. guillaume is so girlypop manic pixie dream girl core that she's definitely got the energy of someone who is young but also strikes the balance of being someone who has a job and a mortgage. dunno how she does it. id like to think she isnt even much older than seth but still bullies him for being the baby of the peacekeepers. do u understand my vision. please. they have so much annoying coworker potential.

shinigami - idk like 1000. she's a death god who cares.

yuma - okay. yeah. look i dont give a singular fuck about age discourse- headcanon whatever you want- but from looking at canon material i genuinely think that he could not possibly be any younger than 21. 20 if we wanna push it. yes, i know he looks young. i have eyes. but also, im in my 20s and the most common thing people tell me when i reveal my age is "oh, i thought you were 15." one time a person asked me if i was 12. at my job. that i was actively working at. i was 20. adults can look young, and contrary to the classic 1000 year old loli dragon trope he doesnt act overtly childish. he acts like a normal fuckin guy. yes he cries but like. you wouldn't in his position? bro speedruns lifelong trauma so skillfully that he's backwards long jumping into alternate universes where everything is somehow worse. i'd be freaked out if he didn't cry. also im aware that the child prodigy detective trope is a thing and that kodaka has written that before but... he was number one three years ago. and the training takes two years. which means, if he is a minor in the game's present day, he started working at the WDO at 12 and became number one at 14... at the oldest. have you ever met a 14 year old? forgive me for not suspending my disbelief here. and really the kicker for me is that yuma has a line where he says he's not sure if he's drinking age (which would be 20 in japan), but you know who would be sure? you know who knows yuma's age better than yuma?

makoto kagutsuchi - this megacorporation CEO has a fully stocked minibar installed in his penthouse. <- sentence i cannot bring myself to believe if it's about a child. since i also cant picture him becoming CEO at age 14 without yomi at least once angrily pointing that out (he only ever mentions that makoto is an outsider, or has his head in the clouds), id like to think both him and yuma, at their youngest, earned their top spots at their respective organizations at 18. it keeps their gifted kid syndrome and young prodigy-ness without making things comically ridiculous or uncomfortable for the sheer amount of sexual situations yuma gets put into.

anyway that's my silly little ramble on age headcanons. this was actually really fun to think about. shoutout to kodaka for leaving out the ages. funniest choice he could've made

[puppetmaster13u]

Who wants some Gotham area Ecto-Entities?

Xir Duke Gotham (Air Core) An old city spirit once beautiful now brought to the edge of constant agony by the curses zey hunt, & is one of the older city spirits resulting in them being territorial

Marquess Bludhaven (Water Core) A winged city-spirit covered in blood who becomes bloodier with every death in the city, though who loves his vigilantes very much, like little cousins

Marchioness Arkham (Earth Core) A young adult spirit who is roughly 103 years old who acts as though the building is her dollhouse, & who appears utterly mad to mortal minds

Bill (Poison Core) A low-level criminal who was in the wrong place in the wrong time who the Joker killed one night after a failure that wasn't his fault

Mime (Light Core) A grayscale woman with black tear streaks and striped sleeves & pants who acts out her words, unsure as to how she died

Matches Malone (Fire Core) A man who gave his blessing for Bruce to use his identity so he isn’t forgotten & regrets several of his crimes that happened in life

Esme (Shadow Core) A small girl who usually prefers she goes unseen who died locked in a cupboard & likes to hide in Batman's cloak for safety

Landgrave (Portal Core) A ghost who captains the guards of Gotham’s Lazarus Pits from interference & has a grudge against Ras

Owlet (Metal Core) A young dead Talon who had begun to break the brainwashing & wants to save the other ones if they can manage

Thomas Wayne (Water) Bruce’s father who lives in Gotham’s Ghost Zone & continues to act as a doctor to everyone who needs it

Martha Wayne (Crystal) Bruce’s mother who lives in Gotham’s Ghost Zone & violently protects her son & family from the other side

Stygia (Electric Core) A former mobster who doesn’t remember who or what killed her & is searching for answers 

Playwright (Fire Core) An old librarian who died when the library caught fire whose hair is still a gentle flame akin to a comfortable fireplace

Crescent (Ice Core) A teen who helps Bruce after he helped solve ver murder & where ver body was being hidden & who acts like an informant

[thegodemperorsmycopilot]

I am surprised that no one has created or published their own Space Marine Chapter named the Twilight Kings.

There're the Angels of Twilight and the Twilight Lords, as shown below, but no Twilight Kings. Nor Princes.

So, here's a random addition to the lists of homebrewed Astartes.

Twilight Kings

The Twilight Kings are a Space Marine Chapter of unknown provenance, rumoured to be a Chapter created in secret during the second or third Foundings.

The truth is that this Chapter's original core was made up of Night Lords Great Crusade veterans - loyal to the Imperium, Terra, and the Emperor of Mankind - left behind by their Legion to ensure continued Compliance and forgotten before the Heresy truly began. The rest were survivors from the Shattered Legions, lost Dark Angels, and excess troops from the Ultramarines & Imperial Fists.

Given a far-flung system on the edges of the Imperium as their fiefdom, and a protectorate prone to Xenos-induced rebellions and Old Night heresies, their tactics and culture evolved over the millenia as their geneseed did the same, with a little help from Mechanicus biologists.

The Twilight Lords are now akin to knights of noble orders with the capacity for brutality that is only exercised for the most savage and demanding of foes. The mutations in their geneseed leave them with alabaster skin, fully white eyes, and a propensity for clairvoyance, which has led to the Chapter's Prognosticars, a unique combination of Librarian & Chaplain.

However, the geneseed is challenging for aspirants' bodies to accept, and their Chapter's numbers have been dwindling for some millenia.

Bellisarius Cawl's Primaris reinforcements were a miracle for the Chapter, bringing much needed numbers and a legacy to impart.

However, rumours circulate that the Twilight Kings' Primaris geneseed may actually be of Night Lords' stock, despite Lord Guilliman's decree.

The Twilight Lords are on the very edge of Imperium Sanctus, dealing with the Imperium-splitting Warp rift on their very doorstep as well as a Tyranid splinter fleet they've marked as Chimaerae.

Allegiance: The Imperium of Man

Faction: Adeptus Astartes

Heraldry: The Chapter's symbol is a gold crown, with subtle lightning bolts creating its pinions, on a midnight blue background. Companies are indicated on their right pauldrons by half skulls of ivory stamped with their company number occupying the aft halves and Noxean runes for squad designation & number in the bottom forward halves over a midnight blue background.

Colours: Deep purple with dark blue highlights and bleached bone accents.

Iconography: Veterans of the First Company wear suits of bone & ivory. Assault troops bear crimson helmets. Leadership positions are denoted by crimson vambraces/gauntlets and blood drops on helm and/or pauldrons. Banners are crafted from the flayed hides of their enemies and hung from squad & hero backpack poles. Symbols of death, such as bones & skulls, adorn their armour.

Homeworld: The Twilight Lords have a fortress monastery and facilities upon the moon Nyxes, which is one of three moons that orbit the planet Noches, the system's namesake. However, the Chapter's forces are stationed on defense facilities within the massive asteroid rings that surround the system itself.

System: Noches

Protectorate: The Quartraghast Nebula, Upper Eastern Fringe

Motto: Crepusculum in caligine. = In twilight shroud.

Colours (hexcode) :

- #59003e Ford Purple

- #0d407f Citadel Macragge Blue

- #ffecc1 Bleached Bone

[daimyosprincess]

PART II: INTRODUCTION

—PAIRING: Professor!Boba Fett x F!Librarian!Reader

—SERIES RATING: Explicit, 18+ only — MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

—SUMMARY: Professor Fett helps you learn a few new things about yourself through some old-school discipline.

—WORD COUNT: 7.9k

—TAGS & WARNINGS: second person narration, no use of y/n, explicit sexual content, alternate universe, professor!Boba, age gap relationship between an older man and younger woman (reader is mid-twenties and Boba is late forties), reader described as having enough hair to grab, dom/sub power dynamics (Dom!Boba and sub!reader), BDSM elements, reader is a BRAT and I love her, some self-discovery, some pinches of soft Boba for good measure, spanking, praise (so so much praise), use of pet names, making out, dirty talk

As always, let me know if I missed anything that needs to be tagged!

—AUTHOR'S NOTES: Ok so this ended up being wayyyy longer than I thought so I broke up this scene into two parts (don't be mad at me 😭). Also I like to think that life has been a little bit kinder to Professor Boba and thus he's a little softer around the edges when it comes to expressing emotion.

Read on AO3 — Series Masterlist — Taglist

<Part I — Part III>

The two of you don't even make it through his door before you're on each other like a couple of teenagers, groping and gasping, grabbing whatever parts of the other you can get your hands on. Your purse and his keys are flung carelessly to the side—anything that wasn't the warmth of his or your body entirely unimportant. 

“Fuck,” he hisses in your ear, his breath hot and seductive against your heated skin, “this is what you wanted all along, isn’t it, princess?” The raw, molten want makes Boba’s voice even deeper—its rumble shakes your very core and it makes you gush as its ridges ripple over you. Bunching the slick material of your dress in his hands, Boba pulls the garment over your hips so you can straddle him properly when the pair of you collapse onto the couch.

Now freed to follow your desire, you slot your knees around his hips, a smart-mouthed reply ready on your lips. Before it can make it to his ears, however, Boba grinds his impossibly hard bulge into your aching center, pulling you against him roughly. Electric pleasure skitters up your nerves and he feels so damn good pressed tight between your thighs. All those nights you dreamed of this, all those self-indulgent daydreams, couldn’t come close to the tectonic gratification of Boba sliding against your throbbing cunt. 

The mewl that tumbles from your lips when he ruts into you again is positively pathetic, the sound of your desperation on full display despite your pretense of self-control. Your cheeks and ears burn with embarrassment, and you try to hide in the crook of his neck to pull yourself together—you don’t want to give him the upper hand, not just yet; you’ve still got some fight in you and you want him to earn it. His body under yours is more than you could ever imagine and still woefully not enough, you want him, you need him in the way a drowning man needs air. The struggle to get it would make your reward all the sweeter.

A laugh rumbles dark and heavy from the depths of his broad chest. “Don’t hide now, little princess, not when you were so eager just a few moments ago.” One of his large hands leaves your hips and skims up your side to cup your jaw, angling your face to back up to his. The hungry look in his umber eyes recalls images of gnashing teeth and hard-bitten pleasure, of sin itself in all its tantalizing glory.

You do your best to glare at the handsome man before you, but you know the battle is already lost, the cracks of your resolve echoing in your ears. “Wasn’t hiding,” you insist, your eyes rolling back behind fluttering lashes when the seam of his pants scraps along your center with luscious friction. Your hands slide up his chest to latch on to his lapels in an attempt to ground yourself against the unrelenting tide of him.

“No need to lie, not when I can feel that needy little pus-”

Your courage rallies at his taunting and you yank him forward by his collar to crash your lips into his, nipping at his lower lip in defiance. “You sure do like to talk,” you pant between the hot press of his mouth, “must be why you became a professor.”

Boba drops his hand down to your neck, wrapping his fingers around your throat and squeezing. You squeal, your hips grinding down on his lap on their own accord. Fuck, I want him to do that while he’s balls deep in my guts. His large hand wrapped around your airway sets off an urgent, primal need that has been locked away in the mantle of your being, hidden and unanswered. It’s going to burn you alive, char you over until you’re nothing but a pile of ashes; it’s terrifying and exhilarating. Boba Fett is the answer to a question you didn’t even know you had, and by the fire in eyes and the set of his jaw he knows it.    

“You talk to everybody that way?” he grunts, tutting as he releases the pressure on your throat to just firm enough to be a reminder of its presence. The words stick to your tongue, so you answer with a disparaging expression that makes his eyes flash and your heart race. “Looks like you’re going to have to learn some manners then, little one, because I am not everyone.”

The obsidian gravel in his tone is tearing your sanity to shreds and by all the gods in the heavens you can’t find it in yourself to care—being whole never felt as good as this. Boba tugs you towards him by your neck, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “But that’s what you like, isn’t it?” he taunts, pure confidence dripping thick from his words, “You want someone who knows just what to do with a mouthy little brat like you, don’t you?”

The magma of his words melts your bones. Your composure is a shard away from shattering under the enormous pressure of your desire for everything Boba Fett has to offer. All you have to do is throw the final stone. “And I suppose you’re just the one to teach me some, then?” you retort with all the derision you can pull together.

“Oh, little princess,” he growls, deep and throaty, the vibrations of his desire magnifying your own, “I’m going to teach you a lesson you’ll never forget.” He sears his assurance into your very soul with a white-hot kiss that’s all sharp teeth and fire, leaving you nothing more than a molten, gasping thing when he pulls back. “And you’re going to beg me to do it.”

You moan a curse, the sound long and heady. The rush of sensation, pleasure, anticipation, and pure carnal hunger fills your lungs, displacing any oxygen left in your chest. Rather than feeling fear, however, all that burns through you is craving, a perverse longing for predatory violence. You cant your hips over his straining erection like a creature in heat, chasing the relief that only he could ever provide.

As soon as the coil of pleasure in your belly begins to splinter, Boba tightens his fingers around your throat and presses you still against him. You writhe in his grasp, desperate for more friction and more of him. Blood is in the water and it’s overwhelming everything else in you.

“Easy now, you’ll get what’s coming to you, don’t worry, princess,” he assures calmly. “Now I’m going to let you go and you’re going to sit still.” There’s not even an inch of space left for disobedience in his tone. He releases your throat, massaging the delicate skin lightly before removing his hand completely to fall back to your hip.

It takes all your willpower not to wriggle and grind your soaked panties on his crotch. Biting down hard on your bottom lip, you suck in a deep breath to try and settle your screaming nerves, your eyes sliding shut. Rather than fighting him for control, you’re fighting yourself—and you don’t have much left in you.

Boba’s thumbs rub soothing circles into the softness of your sides. “There you go, that’s a good girl,” he coos in his smoldering timbre, a smile dancing on his words.

A bolt of pure lightning strikes down your spine straight to your slick core, splitting you in half and fusing you back together ragged and sharp all over again. Good girl good girl good girl. You’re on his lips in an instant, moaning and fervid. Fuck, that’s the hottest thing I’ve ever heard, I’ve never wanted anything so bad, I’ve never been this turned on in my whole fucking life-

When Boba tears you away from his lips with a hand around the back of your neck, you whine high and pitchy at being denied once more. “Hush,” he orders sternly, his handsome bronze features lined with seriousness. “Behave or this ends now.” 

The heat of the electricity pumping in your veins runs cold and you freeze, staring at Boba with wide, anxious eyes—you might just die if this stops. And dying without knowing him and what all this man is promising you is a fate even worse than death, so you do your best to swallow back the desperation in your gut.

“You going to be good?”

You nod fervently, eager to show your remorse so he doesn’t completely deny you. How in the hell is he keeping it together? I don’t think I’ve ever seen a man with a harder cock in my life.

“Answer me,” he prompts, then adds more gently when your brows crease in confusion, “Use your words, little one.”

“Y-yes.” Your voice comes out tentative but sure. “I promise I’ll behave.” 

Who is this and what have they done with the girl who thought you were? Since when were you one to promise a man such a thing? And since when did you want to? Boba was right about one thing: he is certainly not like everyone else. If anyone else asked such a thing of you, even called you a single one of the little names he did, you would bite their head off. You never were one for bossy men in the bedroom—or life, for that matter—so why are you positively aching for it now?

“Good.” Boba rubs the back of your neck with a warm hand. “Good behavior gets rewarded,” he instructs, placing a chaste kiss on your lips. You do your best to stay still in his lap. “Tell me, princess, have you ever done something like this before? Let somebody else be in control?”

“Why, what does it matter to you?” You prickle at the thought that he would care about such a thing. 

“Easy,” he repeats patiently, “I’m asking because we need to make sure we’re both comfortable and on the same page if that’s what you want.”

Oh. That’s not what you were expecting. “Oh, um, no, not really. I’ve only really had, you know… regular sex?” You bat back the anxiety of disappointing him that gnaws at your ribs.

Boba hands settle at the small of your back, his calloused fingertips brushing light shapes over your satin dress. “So what makes you want something else with me?”

“You,” you blurt out before shame can stop you, only to feel the heat rising up your neck a second later. Scrunching your nose, you wince at your answer. 

Boba’s eyes sparkle with mirth, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth that staves off some of your embarrassment. “Don’t be ashamed, little one, honesty is vital. What about me?”

Chewing your lip, you consider his question, fiddling with one of the shiny buttons of his dress shirt. “I don’t know… no one has ever made me feel this way. I didn’t know I could feel this way.” Boba doesn’t rush you, his fingers continuing their soothing designs. “I never thought I would want a man to tell me what to do or treat me like… like what you’re saying. But ever since I met you, you’re all I want… you make me think and want all these crazy things…” The burning desire in your belly has quelled to embers, but they still burn hot.

Peeking through your lashes at him, you turn the question around. “Do you want… what do you feel about me?” Obviously, you both want to fuck each other’s brains out—there’s no doubt in your mind about that—but Boba’s query has you wondering about his own feelings now.

Reaching up slowly, Boba brushes a scarred knuckle over your cheek to under your chin, holding you in place while he studies you. The sudden softness amongst his thunderous desire and being so plainly seen is a little unnerving, but you can’t bring yourself to look away. 

“You've got more nerve and a bigger mouth than any person I’ve met. You push buttons just to see what happens and you’ve got a fire in you that can't be put out. You’re stubborn and confident and have a wit that can cut a man to pieces,” he lists out. 

You gulp, dropping your gaze, unsure of what direction this is going to take. Boba swipes the pad of this thumb over the petal of your lip and you flick your eyes back up to his. They’re warm and excited, making you brighten. “You’re everything I crave, princess, and it all drives me fucking crazy.”

A warmth—a different, happy warmth—glows in your chest. You’re sure you have a big dopey smile stretched across your face but you couldn’t care less. Boba wants me just as much as I want him and he likes me. “I have that effect on people,” you giggle, nipping at his thumb below your lip playfully.

Boba arches a meaningful brow—behave—but the smile stays on his lips. “I bet that’s why you want someone to put you in your place so bad, isn’t it, little one?” He rolls his hips up into you, stealing all your focus with the promise of pleasure. “You’ve never had someone who could reign you in and give you what you really want, have you?”

You bite down around the moan bubbling up from your chest, clawing your way back to controlled composure, Boba’s efforts to the contrary be damned. Hell, how does he have such an effect on me?

“And just what exactly do I want so bad, hmm? Since you apparently have me so figured out,” you fire back, eyeing him up and down. All his talk is fanning the coals glowing in your core, making it harder and harder to stay still.

Boba leans back into the cushions, shifting his hips forward and bringing you with him by the hand splayed across the small of your back. You catch yourself with your palms pressed into the thick muscle of his chest, the heat of him sinking through the crisp material of his shirt into your waiting skin. 

“What you want,” he begins, his voice low and certain and his eyes dancing with dark fire, “is someone to take charge. Someone to make the rules and punish you when you break them, and reward you when you're good. Someone you can trust to shut that smart mouth up when no one else can.”

His thumb drags down your bottom lip and you clench to keep whimpering, your mind scrabbling for the last dregs of control as simmering arousal begins to pool hot and torrid in your belly. “Someone who knows your body better than even you do, someone to explore the limits and boundaries of your pleasure. Someone to take care of you, treat you like you deserve, worship that gorgeous body and send you back out into the world with more than just a memory of who that pussy belongs to.”

Boba leans into your neck, tilting his lips up to your ear and you tremble when the warm puff of his breath hits your damp skin. “But most of all, princess,” he whispers, a glinting lilt to his syllables, “you want someone who can make you beg for it.”

You’re unable to stifle the moan that tears from your chest this time, it scrapes up your throat and hangs heavy in the heated air between you. Your nails dig into his shirt’s fabric and you pitch into him, caught in the magnetic field of his words and promises. “Please, Boba,” you gasp, desire swelling in your throat, “please can I kiss you? I want-want to kiss you… please!” 

Your words shake, quivering with the last of your resolve—you want this, you want everything he said so fucking much and he knew it before even you did. Boba Fett did, in fact, know exactly what you want and it’s going to be the end of you.

“Look at my smart girl already learning some manners,” he praises, an air of teasing enveloping his statement. He feathers light kisses down your jaw and up to your lips, pressing a final kiss there before pulling back. Your lips follow his and he smirks at your neediness, clearly pleased with his effect on you. 

Lava creeps through your veins, melting you into the mold you never knew you wanted so desperately to fill. You’re burning to death in your own skin and you can’t wait for the sweet release of the reaper if it means he’ll give you everything he said.

“Let me hear you say it, little one, tell me what you want and it’s yours,” he prompts softly, his fingers tracing the soft outline of your clavicle.

The last of the fight bleeds from your body, sealing your demise—the old you is now dead and buried. The new you forms itself from the minerals of your bones, the iron in the soil, and the heat of his burning sun. Your forehead falls against his and your hips bump together, making you both shiver into one another.

“I want it, Boba,” you breathe into him, “Want everything you said, want it all so fucking much. Want you to show me. Want to be all yours.” The simple act of admission unlocks the cage you weren’t aware you were trapped in—all the choppy energy roiling inside you finally finding an outlet in Boba’s strong, able hands. 

His lips find yours this time, avid and keen on stealing the little air left in your heaving chest. You cross your wrists behind his neck, pressing every inch of you into every inch of him in an offering of desire. You confessed your sin and you’re ready to be blessed with his atonement.   

“It’s all yours,” he promises in urgent honesty against your lips, “I’m all yours, princess.”

You kiss in a hazy bliss for who knows how long, relishing in the confirmation of shared attraction and devotion, affirmations sealed into skin with the press of a lover’s lips. When the rhythm of your hips starts to speed up once again, Boba breaks away, much to your dismay. He’s set on ruining all my fun, you gripe internally, knowing that complaining aloud wouldn’t do any good on the man underneath you. The concentration set in his brow gives you some solace, however; you can see the restraint cording the muscles in his neck. 

“We need to set some rules first, princess, that’s how this works,” he explains. “Rules make sure no one gets hurt, they keep us safe, and they're what builds our trust.”

You tilt your head to the side. “But I do trust you.”

Boba smiles a warm, soft smile and chucks up your chin. “And that means more to me than you’ll ever know, little one. But, we still need to agree on a few things, negotiate what we’re comfortable with so when things get heavy we don’t accidentally cross each other’s boundaries.”

“So you don’t make all the rules, even though you’re in charge?”

He nods in confirmation. “That’s right. We’re equals in this exchange.”

“Oh.” Boba gives you time to ponder over everything he’s told you, rubbing his palms up and down your thighs slowly. “And can we add to the rules if we find out we don’t like something?” you ask after a moment.

“Of course,” he acknowledges, giving your legs a soft squeeze, “our rules grow and change with us.” 

You bite down on your lip, turning over his words in your mind. It all made sense now that you think about it; Boba didn’t seem like the kind of person who would want anything else, he is sure of his power and doesn’t need to steal it from others. That’s what makes him so damn attractive, it’s what made you trust him.

“So what are your rules? I don’t really know what mine would be,” you admit. You hope your uncertainty doesn’t stop him from tearing into your panties tonight. Judging from the hard press of him between your thighs, it doesn’t seem like it will, but you’re soaked and desperate for him. All the vibrators in the world wouldn’t make up for his touch if he denies you tonight, even if it’s for the best.

Boba smiles, pleased with your openness. “First is honesty. When I ask you a question, you need to tell me the truth and vice versa. If something hurts too much, tell me. If something makes you uncomfortable, say so.” His tone is firm enough to set a boundary, but soft enough to invite clarification if needed. “I will only ever give and accept honesty when we’re like this.” 

That’s nothing I can’t handle. You nod. “I can do that.”

“Good. Second is respect, for yourself and for me. Respecting yourself means listening to what your body tells you, making sure your needs are met, and asking questions when you’re unsure of something. Respecting me means using your manners and trusting me when I say enough. Even if that sweet little pussy tells you otherwise.” He taps his fingers on your back for emphasis.

You duck your head, heat rising in your cheeks at the thought of him finding out just how sweet you can be. “O-okay,” you stutter, the warring desire to give up control and snatch it back is nearly giving you whiplash. You wriggle a little around Boba’s thighs, itching for an outlet for your energy building in your core.

He soothes his hands down your ribs, their callouses catching on the satin of your dress. “You’re doing so good for me, princess, being so patient when you’re all worked up. Look at me,” he commands softly, and you peek back up at him, warm with his praise. “We’re almost done but I need to know that you’re listening.”

Sucking in a steadying breath, you shift your weight back against his legs, sitting up straighter. You want to please him, earn more of his approval any way you can.

Satisfied, Boba nods and continues, “My third rule is a little different, but I think it will help since this,” he gestures at the space between you, “is new to you. I want you to try whatever I ask of you at least once. If you don’t like it, you can tell me and we won’t do it again.”

You can’t imagine he could do anything to you wouldn’t at least like a little bit but you nod in agreement. That voice of his could get you to try anything he asked.

“Which brings me to my next point.” Boba tilts his head in curiosity. “Have you heard of a safeword before?”

“Like the thing a person says when they want to stop?” you answer tentatively, your fingers loosely looping in the bunched material of his shirt.

“Exactly,” he beams, “Knew you were my smart girl.”

His praise makes it feel like the sun itself is shining through your ribs, dazzling and quenching a thirst you didn’t know your soul had—it’s utterly addicting. Just another way he’s going to absolutely ruin me.

“When one of us says the word, everything stops immediately, no questions and no consequences. We’ll talk about what went wrong, maybe not right then if it’s too overwhelming, and we can work through it together. Does that make sense?” he asks, searching your face for understanding.

“Yes, it does.” As you stare into his brown eyes, a sudden, overwhelming wave of fondness for the man before washes over you, dragging you under the weight of the bone-deep feeling. You lurch forward, wrapping your arms around his neck and tucking your face into the dip of his shoulder.

“Hey… hey,” Boba murmurs softly into your temple, running reassuring hands over your back, “I know it’s a lot to take in all at once, babygirl. It’s alright, nothing has to happen tonight. All this can end right now. Forever, if you want it to.”

Babygirl. Of all the pretty names he’s called you, it's the softest, most endearing. A promise of his tenderness and protection.

“No, ‘s not that,” you mumble into his shirt after a moment. He’s so warm, so perfect, so strong and patient… hell, he even smells like everything you’ve always wanted, cool earth, warm wood, and balmy spices. And the sound of his voice… oh, the sound of his voice when he calls you princess and babygirl, it's the most delicious music to ever grace your ears. Is it possible to love someone after just four weeks?

“Take your time, I’m right here,” his voice rumbles from his chest into your own. You let yourself melt into him, all your muscles going loose. He traces nonsense patterns over your shoulders and spine as you ride out the staggering emotion rolling through your body. Everything about him is so new, so unlike anything you’ve ever experienced, and yet he settles into your soul like a long lost piece. It’s overwhelming.

Eventually the tide of it all pulls back and is replaced by a renewed fire flickering to life in between your thighs. Now that your body has caught up with your mind, your desire is bright and sharp. Easing up from your cradled position, you place a quick kiss on Boba’s soft lips. “Thank you… I’m good now.” You brush your palms over the broad expanse of his chest as if you can sweep away what just happened, skirt the magnitude of it all to get to the pleasure. “Where were we? Safewords?”

“Not so fast, little one. Remember the first rule, honesty? I need to know what’s going on up here,” he taps a finger against head, “before we can continue.”

You groan, letting your head fall back against your shoulders. Feelings are hard and… embarrassing.

“Do I need to remind you about the second rule?” he asks more firmly this time. 

You huff and bob your head back to the front. “No, ‘respect for me and you,’ I remember.” Exhaling a long breath, you force your eyes to meet his. “It’s just that… that…” His gaze is too hard to hold while you try to get your sentiments to coalesce into actual words, so you scrunch your eyes closed. “It’s just that you’re so fucking hot and perfect and patient that it’s like you walked out of a dream and I don’t want to wake up if this is a dream and I’m so wet I think I’m going to lose my mind and-” 

The feeling of Boba shaking beneath you makes you stop mid-sentence and crack open an eye. You’re met with an amused grin and sparkling brown eyes. “What’s so funny?” you demand, folding your arms over your chest defiantly.

“You really are something else, princess,” he chuckles, his mirth intertwined with affection. “But I didn’t mean to interrupt, go on.”

“No, not if you’re going to laugh at me,” you pout, turning your chin up dramatically.

“Hey, come on now,” Boba coaxes, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth, “I can’t help what you do to me either.”

What I do to him. The idea that you do to him anything like what he does to you is an alluring one. Humming in consideration, you let yourself be led back into him like a flower turning back to the sun. “Fine. Let’s just say that I really, really like you, professor.”

Holding your face steady with his fingers on the swell on your cheek, he brushes his lips over yours. “That’s good to hear, pretty girl, because I really, really like you, too.” Boba lets you capture him for a languid kiss, his hands finding their way back to your hips to pull them flush against his own, his half-hard cock swelling as it grinds it against the lace of your panties. 

This time, you’re the one who breaks the kiss. “Now hurry up and tell me what else I need to know to get you inside of me,” you demand, dragging slow circles against him with your hips. You can only be expected to be so patient, after all.

“Needy little thing, aren’t you?” Boba teases, raking his eyes over your rumpled appearance. “You’re lucky I don’t have it in me to make you really wait. Now, rule number four is important, are you listening?”

You still in his lap, looking up at him with rapt attention, eager to hear what else he has to tell you. You nod, then remember he likes to hear your affirmation out loud. “Yes, I’m listening.”

“Good.” Affixing you with a libertine stare, his fingers dig into your hips. “The fourth rule, little princess, is no coming without permission.”

The skittering beat of your heart skips in your chest and the rushing sound of hot blood fills your ears. Your nails dig into his pectorals and your mouth goes dry as the bass of his words reverberates in your ears with their salacious implications. When you try to swallow the weight of it down your throat, it sticks to your tongue like sand; he would hold your everything in the palm of his hand, you would be at his complete mercy.

Your legs shudder at the fresh arousal slicking your folds and Boba smirks, his eyes dark and electric, the embers of his irises sparking with things promised. His gaze falls to the futile bob of your throat before crawling back up to your face. “That’s all for my rules, anything you want to add?” 

“N-not that I can think of right now… sir.” The epithet drips from your parched lips thick and sweet, dribbling down your chin like the dark juice of some exotic fruit. Paired with your hungry, sabled eyes, the sight makes Boba’s straining cock twitch against the heat of your inner thigh. Your tongue swipes over your lips and his eyes follow its movement with total attention.

“What do you want the safeword to be?” he asks after a tense couple of heartbeats, the heat of his desire curling up the edges of his words.

You think for a moment, then answer, “Kamino.”

“Looks like you really do hang on my every word.”

“Looks like you’re stalling.”

“Hmm, you look so pretty though,” he hums, “sitting in my lap all hot and bothered.”

Slitting your eyes in a siren stare, you lick your lips. “Bet I’d look even prettier underneath you naked and stuffed full of your cock.”

Boba groans, a strained huff puffing from his barrel chest. “Oh, I’m definitely going to have to teach you a lesson about patience after this one, little brat.”

“Can’t wait to attend that class, professor,” your murmur, swaying forward to steal a kiss from his soft lips.

Your joke earns you a quick chuckle from him before his face falls into something more serious. “So do all the rules sound good? Do we agree to them?”

You force yourself to actually sit back and consider all that he said instead of blindly agreeing to get to the part you want—him fucking you into whatever surface he throws you over. You’ve definitely jumped into bed with less forethought in the past, but those times weren’t this, they weren’t him. Your heart wasn’t on the line, and for once you truly care that your partner’s is too. “Yes, Boba, I agree,” you answer after a minute.

A smile like the sun shines forth from him at your acceptance. “Then these are our rules until we decide to revisit them. And it's ‘sir’ when we’re doing this. Repeat everything back for me, princess,” Boba directs. The glowing affection in his face and voice show his genuine appreciation for your cooperation as well as hint at his desire for what is to come.

The combination of his restraint and respect only heightens your intense need to have this man so deep inside you that you feel him in your very soul. “Honesty, respect, try things once, and n-no coming without permission. Kamino is our safe word. And I call you ‘sir,’” you list off obediently, doing your best to show him you took it all as seriously as him despite the arousal slicking up your thighs. 

“Good job, my smart girl! Now, I’m going to make you feel so, so good, sweetheart. So good, that when I’m through with you, I'm going to be the only thing left in that pretty little head of yours.” His purred promises and the unholy tint of his dark eyes have you clenching and squirming in his lap, the burning ache between your legs almost painful.

 Sliding his hands over the curve of your ass, Boba grips the back of your thighs and stands, hoisting your legs over his hip bones. You yelp, slinging your arms around his neck for balance and his chuckle buzzes in your ears and rumbles through the space in your chest. Carrying you down the hall, he nudges a door open, revealing the cozy interior of his bedroom. “You’re all mine now, princess, all mine to do whatever I like with,” he announces scornfully, “that’s what got you all riled up, isn’t it? Bet you’re so desperate you’d thank me for whatever scraps I give you.”

You know he’s baiting you, testing to see if you can keep your mouth shut and manners in place. Although it’s been barely two seconds since you rattled off the rules, you’re already sure you’re going to break the second one—probably often, if you’re being honest. But, if he wanted a docile, governable woman in his bed he certainly wouldn’t have picked you in the first place. “You gonna talk all night or are you gonna fuck me?” you challenge, biting down on his earlobe and tugging.

Boba claps an open palm against the plush of your ass and you cry out in surprise. It stings.

“Best show me some respect, pretty girl,” he hisses, “because punishment for breaking the rules is whatever I think you deserve, and I have plenty of ideas that’ll make you sorry.”

“Oh, what? Like you’re going to put me over your knee and spank me? I’m not a child,” you retort, rolling your eyes, your heart thundering in your chest. There’s no decorum to save you from his wrath now. But I’m not here for salvation.

Boba lets out a sharp, acidic laugh. “You’re right, sweetheart, you are all grown up. That means I don’t have to hold back… or stop when you beg me to.” With that, he sinks down to sit on the mattress and slings you face down across his lap like a rag doll. 

Blood is pooling in your brain, your muscles burning with tense adrenaline and your hands scrambling to cling to his leg at your sudden change in position. The thought of Boba doing just exactly as he promised has you clenching around nothing, much to your horror. Using his ankle as leverage, you crane your neck back to glower at the smug man. “You wouldn’t fucking dare,” you warn, though the lurid gleam in his eye tells you he absolutely would. 

Boba grins like the damn devil, his scarred hands shoving your dress up to reveal the bare skin of your cheeks in response to your threat. He lets out a low groan at the sight of your lacy crimson panties and traces a finger over the delicate material, sending a shiver rattling through you. 

“Oh, my pretty little princess,” he purrs, the dim light glinting off his canines, “you want this so karking bad, don’t you? You want someone to shut you up so damn much you’ll throw yourself right into the lion’s den to get it. Don’t worry, I know just what to do with brats like you.”

It feels like every last drop of moisture evaporates from your throat while your heart howls in your ears. You’re about to be burned at the stake and all you can think about is handing him the fucking match. “Do it then,” you spit out, digging your nails into his leg.

“You remember your word?” he confirms, his voice rough with authority.

Am I really going to let his man spank me? You swallow, your cunt burning against your panties. Both of your questions end up being answered by your mouth a second later. “Y-yes, sir.”

He smooths his broad palms over the globes of your ass, warming the skin up. “Good girl,” he praises, “Maybe there’s hope for you yet.”

Your face flashes with the dual heat of mortification and desire. The pool of arousal in your lower belly begins to scald your insides as his flames lick up your legs.

“Now, I was going to give you just five. But since you wanted to run that big mouth of yours so much, you’re going to get ten to make sure you learn your lesson,” Boba taunts, harshly palming the flesh in his hands. “And you’re going to count each one out loud for me, understand?”

Your brain is boiling with the opposing urges to try to twist out of his grasp or kowtow to his every demand. Boba runs his thumb under the waistband of your lingerie and snaps it against your skin. You squeak and shuffle in his lap, your answer spilling from your lips. “Yes, sir!” Evidently, your mouth had a mind of its own. 

Or do I actually want all of this as bad as he says I do? Before you can ponder that revelation any further, however, a crack splits through the room and stinging pain erupts across your right cheek. “Shit!” you cry out, your back arching up off his thighs at the searing blow.

“What, you thought I was going to go easy on you?” Boba barks out a laugh and shoves you back down, rubbing a soothing hand over the prickling skin. “You little brats always think you can just do whatever you want and get away with it, that’s why you need someone to mark you up and remind you who’s in charge. Now remember to count or you get more.”

The number comes out as a croak. What had you gotten yourself into? Why is this making you even wetter? And why do you want him to do it again?

All those questions scatter as the next four strikes land in quick succession, sharp and precise across the expanse of your backside. Each one sends you sprawling across his lap and Boba rubs a comforting hand over your abused flesh as you squirm back into position. Your voice sounds utterly wrecked when you stammer out the number five.

Tucking an arm around your waist, Boba leans down to gently scratch his fingers against your scalp. The juxtaposition of his pain and pleasure is dizzying in the best way, like the golden buzz of sweet wine mixed with the harsh burn of honied whiskey. “You’re doing so good for me,” he hums, deep and warm, “taking your punishment so well. Knew you could do it, my strong girl.” 

The satisfaction of pleasing him burns bright in your chest. More dangerously, however, it makes you want to do whatever it takes to hear it again.

He retracts his hand a few moments later and you groan at the loss of the pleasant scratching, your head following in its wake. Boba chuckles and rearranges your weight over his thighs. “You’re almost done, you can do five more, can’t you, princess?”

Screwing your eyes closed, you press your face into his calf. “Yes, sir,” you grumble into the fabric of his pants. 

“Can’t hear you,” he taunts, kneading the heated flesh of your ass.

You repeat your answer louder. How is this so hot and embarrassing at the same time?

“Atta girl.” 

His next smack collides with the outside of your left cheek and you can’t decide if it hurts more or less when his hand comes into contact with new skin. Number seven and eight make you make you reconsider each time, and nine sends a plea rushing from your lips.

“Aw, is it too much for you? Too much for my little princess?” he mocks, his voice flush with false sympathy. “Maybe next time you’ll actually think before you open that disrespectful mouth.” His worn hands massage the pain into your rear as he continues on, his voice dropping to almost a groan, “You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting to do this, sweetheart, waiting to teach you some goddamn respect. That’s why you act out, isn’t it? You’re desperate for someone to put you in your place, filthy brat.”

“Please!” you moan, your head swimming with want. You hear Boba’s breath catch and a curse hiss from his lips. Shit, did I say that out loud?! The final blow lands directly over the damp fabric stretched over your slit and you cry out in a mangled moan, jagged thrills of pleasure spiking through your core. “Ten!” you wail, relief swelling in your chest. It feels like your ass is on fire, pin pricks of pain needling your abused flesh.

Boba scoops you up, his powerful arms tossing your knees around his hips and he seals his lips over your own. “Fuck,” he pants into you, his cock twitching against your thigh, “you did so good for me, taking it all like the good little girl you are.” When you break for air, his hands come up to cup your face. “How’re you feeling, everything okay?” he asks, brushing his thumbs over the tops of your cheeks, “You can talk to me regularly, princess.”

You wince as your tender skin comes into contact with his thighs, but the pain is quickly dissolving into a warm, corrupted pleasure—like rubbing away the pain of a bruise. Your eyelids drift close, your cheek coming to rest on Boba’s own, seeking the comfort of his skin on yours. You don’t know just what you feel, not exactly and not yet. There’s so many feelings and thoughts flicking through your head, of desire and emotion and revelation, that it’s all a blur like a swirling sea. Boba stands as the one island in the vastness of this churning ocean, strong and steady—a refuge to weather the storm in. 

Rule one, be honest. Rule two, respect myself, listen to what my body tells me.

“Can… can you just hold me for a moment?” you whisper against him, leaning into his inviting warmth.

“Of course, babygirl, come here,” he murmurs, the domineering edge to voice gone. He eases you forward into his chest where you immediately find your favorite spot in the crook of his neck. “Is it too much?” he questions softly. “We can stop, I won’t be upset. This is about you enjoying yourself.”

“No…” you sigh into his neck, inhaling the comforting scent of him. “It’s… it’s just that I am enjoying myself. But I’ve never felt all these things and I’m not sure if I should be embarrassed or ashamed that getting spanked and talked down to makes me so fucking turned on. What does that say about me?”

An affectionate, comforting sound rumbles from his chest as he strokes the nape of your neck with light fingers. “Thank you for being honest, I know it can be hard.” He lets you snuggle up against him and continues once he feels the muscles in your shoulders relax. “There’s nothing wrong with enjoying these types of things, it doesn’t mean you’re weak or any less of the confident, assertive woman you are.”

“So why do people enjoy it, then? Giving up control?” you press, hoping his experience would tell you something about your own. He always seemed to have all the answers. 

“Lots of reasons. Some say they like to give all the decisions to someone else, to clear their mind and just be told what to do. It lets them let go of everything and explore parts of themselves they don’t usually get to or don’t feel comfortable doing in the ‘real world.’ For others, they like pleasing their partner and the act of ‘being good.’ Some even find it empowering, letting their partner know exactly what they need them to do in order to experience intense pleasure. It can be a mix of these reasons or none of them at all, it’s different for every person,” he explains, resting his chin on top of your head.

While you see the appeal of those reasons, you’re not totally sure if any of them are what you’re looking for. It makes you wonder what Boba seeks in all this. “What about you, why do you like being in control?”

His chest rises and falls with a couple breaths, carrying you with him, before he answers. “It… it feels good to me, almost natural. It calms my mind and lets me focus, really and truly focus. Knowing that I decide the when, where, and how of someone else’s pain and pleasure… it’s powerful. The trust that my partner has in me is another facet of it, I enjoy making my partner feel safe and looked after.”

“You make me feel safe,” you sigh contentedly. “But I never… I’m not supposed to need looking after. I can take care of myself, I always have.”

“As you should. But everyone needs someone to care for them once in a while, princess, that’s why people like to do it in the bedroom. I like taking care of my partner, spoiling and rewarding them as much as I do punishing or denying them.”

Realization snaps into focus in your mind and you sit up, staring into the dark depths of Boba’s eyes. You can almost feel your pupils dilate as your thighs tense around his broad frame. Your mouth falls open but no words come out, your eyes pleading for his understanding instead. While the cage of your true desire had already been unlocked, it’s only now that you understand why.

“Oh,” he breathes, his chest shuddering with a sharp intake of air, “that’s it, isn’t it, little one? You want to be taken care of, spoiled… to have someone give you everything you’re too scared to ask for. You need permission to give it all up, don’t you? You need to know it’s okay to let go?” His eyes burn with the fires of your rebirth and you’re ready to be thrown on the pyre.

You nod hastily, earnest and eager, your teeth biting down on your lip. You need to know it’s okay to give up control of the blaze in your chest, that it would be fed and tended to carefully and with good intentions—that it wouldn’t be doused or tamped down to crushed coals. And maybe, if you were so lucky, it would even be funneled and fanned by expert hands that knew how to harness its power. 

“Oh, sweet girl,” Boba croons, the gravel of his rasping voice smoothed over with adoration, “precious thing, I’m going to take such good care of you. You can let go, my pretty little princess, I’ve got you, it’s okay. I’m going to treat you like you deserve, babygirl, don’t you worry anymore. Just let go.”

And just like that, your entire universe erupts into full color, your stars aligning with his planets to unlock your deepest desires. All it took was letting go.

<Part I — Part III>

[burnwater13]

Paz Vizsla using his flight pack to fight the Imps who were attacking Din Djarin and Grogu on Nevarro. Image from The Mandalorian, Season 1, Episode 3, The Sin. Calendar from DateWorks.

Grogu didn’t know a lot about Paz Vizsla. Yes, he’s a Mandalorian. Yes, he’s bigger than a brick privy (he’d heard Bo-Katan say that). He thought he should have been given the Darksaber when Grogu’s dad managed to get it away from Moff Gideon. Oh, and he’d once saved Grogu and his dad from the Imps and bounty hunters on Nevarro. But that was it. 

He didn’t know if Paz Vizsla liked music, ate frogs, or drank Spotchka. He didn’t know if the huge man liked dancing, debate, or wrestling. Could he recite the planetary capitals for the Core Worlds? Did he polish his armor every day? Did he back talk the Armorer? Who knew? Not Grogu.

Why this was important was pretty simple. Paz Vizsla had a famous Mandalorian ancestor and Grogu knew everything anyone could know about Tarre Vizsla. Every Jedi did. That’s how special he had been. You couldn't study Mandalorian history and culture at the Jedi temple and not learn everything there was to know about the only Mandalorian Jedi. 

Yup, that’s right. Tarre Vizsla, who had been Mand’alor a thousand years earlier, and who had created the Darksaber, had also been raised as a Jedi. As if that wasn't enough, he’d been of those rare people who had left all sorts of records on both Mandalore and Coruscant that provided future students of the Jedi-Mandalorian conflicts with a guide to understanding what was important to and what motivated Mandalorians. 

Of course, to access those records you needed to know that they existed, that a Mandalorian-Jedi had created them, and that they were never meant to be used to harm either the Jedi Order or the Mandalorians who challenged them so routinely. Grogu wasn't surprised to find that no one had accessed those records but him. At least the ones on Coruscant. 

He was sure Master Yoda would have had words of wisdom to share about balance in the Force and stuff like that, but really Grogu had just been trying to avoid the cheek pinching librarian and darted down a corridor that he’d never bothered with before and found himself walking through a space filled with all sorts of artifacts the Jedi had collected for millennia. 

Boxes, trays, plinths and shelving units overflowing with artifacts were sort of organized. If you call creating a winding path than only someone the size of Grogu could easily navigate ‘organized’. He suspected, much later, that it was because of this type of organization that he was the person able to find the the small metal box that held the records that Tarre Vizsla had created. Anyone else who even tried to walk through the room would have caused an avalanche of artifacts which they would have had to use the Force to suspend and even then it was going to leave a mark. 

Having seen Din Djarin’s new armor, as compared to the bounty hunter’s old armor, Grogu realized that the box he had found all those years earlier must have been made from beskar. It was shiny in a kind of understated way that didn’t match what he knew about other metals. Even in the dim light of the huge storage space he could tell that it had been created by a highly skilled craftsperson. Of course it was the same size as he was and he was looking at it from about ten centimeters away and had plenty of time to just stand there and appreciate it. Most people hadn't had that chance since it was built.

There were three indentations on the box and a very fine line separated two of them from the third on a horizontal plane. Grogu put his hand on the indentations and realized that they were handholds, or probably finger holds for a human or a species of a larger size than him. He pulled very gently but nothing happened. Dank Farrik! The box was locked. Now he really wanted to figure out how to open it. 

He wasn’t just curious about the contents. He could sense that something in the box wanted him to open it. But if it was locked, how was he going to do that?

Then he thought he heard a whisper. Really just a wisp of a sound that slipped into his ear and tickled the tiny hairs in it. “Oooo reee vaaa dddd”. Huh? What kind of word had that been? “Ohhh riii vvvv aaa ddd”. Oh ree vad? Grogu didn't know that word. What language was it? The only word he knew that was even close was ‘Ori’vod’ which was Mando’a for ‘Big Brother’, really big friend or special friend. Oh! 

Softly as he could Grogu whispered ‘Ori’vod’ and hoped his accent was okay. He found Mando’a must easier to speak than Gal Basic, but he still didn’t speak it very often. Almost no one at the Jedi temple spoke it and the few times he had offered up some sort of answer or advice using it, he got all the strange looks and comments about speaking something people understood from his classmates. 

It must have been okay because he heard the slightest sound of a latch being lifted or shifted to one side. He couldn’t tell for certain which it was but something had happened and that was enough. He put his hands in the indentations again and carefully lifted the ‘top’ of the box and found himself staring at an orb, maybe made of crystal, or perhaps a polished gem of some sort. It was dotted with tiny symbols and when he carefully lifted it from the box, it glowed with an internal light and was startled to see the images that where painted on the walls and ceiling all around him. 

At first he thought they were stars, but then he realized that they were something closer to topics. He brushed a finger carefully over the surface and pressed gently on a symbol that reminded him of a fish. The whole display changed and that very, very soft, faint voice was whispering in Mando’a again. He wondered what he could do to change that. He liked Mando’a but he didn't really have the vocabulary to understand it all that well. Perhaps he could tune into the object using the Force?

As soon as he did that he heard a voice speaking Gal Basic.

“Welcome to the Encyclopedia of Tarre Vizsla, friend. May you learn and reflect on what you have learned.”

Grogu was so surprised at that he almost dropped the orb. Instead he said “naak” and watched the light dim and the orb seemed to shut itself off. He was grateful for that. He carefully replaced it in it’s box, closed the lid and said “naak” again. When he tested the box, it refused to open. He was grateful for that. 

He retraced his path and managed to sneak out of the library and made his way to the cafeteria. Everyone at the temple expected to see him eating with a happy grin on his face. It was the perfect cover for having discovered that amazing artifact and it made all of his future visits to the library far more purposeful. 

One thing he could say about Paz Vizsla, based on what Grogu knew about his ancient relative, always expect the unexpected. You never knew when they were going to save your life or give you a guide to the galaxy. You just had to be patient. Not much of a Mandalorian trait to be honest, but Grogu was also a Jedi and no one ever saw that coming.

[whumpbby]

So, like, the fact adult Jin Ling tries to keep his uncle out of sect politics to protect him from being pulled into any mess/used again really gets to me.

In the abo au it would be even sweeter - Jin Ling is about the only person alive that knows his uncle is an "omega of a sort". Even though they've never talked about it and Jiang Cheng never got to the bottom of why exactly his secondary gender changed (thinking about the Core Transplant is out of question, he doesn't think about it, he cannot), Jin Ling isn't stupid. As he got older the inconsistencies became obvious and he started to put some things together and noticing that his jiujiu isn't like anyone else around.

His uncle is an alpha - he smells like alpha, he has alpha instincts, he can use alpha voice. Gods, can he use alpha voice. (Nowadays, Yunmeng Jiang is known for omegas that at most scoff at alphas trying to direct them with their voice. It's terrible, neighbouring sects learned to live with it, but almost every Congress includes some poor fool learning of that fact anew.) And Jiang Cheng goes into ruts! Like an alpha.

But Jin Ling was a fussy baby and an insecure child, and he was falling asleep attached to jiujiu's breast until he was four years old. He remembers how soft these breasts were and how sweet was the milk. And that is not something alphas can do - he knows that, he did his careful realsearch when he was staying in the Koi Tower (and wasn't that an interesting conversation with the head librarian that caught the young teenager in a section reserved for older readers. Especially eyeing the anatomical drawings of other alphas!)

(Jin Ling, for once in his life, had spun an amazing tale worthy of uncle Wuxian. A young alpha, orphaned and bullied, convinced there's something wrong with him, terrified of asking his strict uncle about the things. Would you ask the head of Jiang about the thigns, sir?? Would you dare??

The poor librarian was close to tears by the end of the tale and Jin Ling got access to all medical texts he needed to lay his fears to rest.)

Jin Ling knows his uncle's chest is still softer than it should be - due to regular checks disguised as heartfelt hugs his jiujiu still allows when surprised enough - and that his scent glands are more pronounced under his collar. He knows jiujiu's waist only seems so tiny, because his hips are just a bit wider than they should be on an alpha.

He knows his uncle can purr.

Alpha voice or not, alphas cannot purr like omegas do. Alphas cannot scruff pups with their teeth and send them into calming trance with careful pressure of their second fangs. Alphas cannot make the horrific sound his uncle made that one time when Night hunt went wrong and Jin Ling almost lost an arm to a Yao.

(The Yao froze. He saw the demon freeze at the gluttural growl that carried so close to the ground Jin Ling felt it in his knees. He saw the demon's eyes open wide and it's pupils narrow into slits before it's head fell...)

Once he reaches his late teens, sorrounded by the Jiang and the Jin, cultivators and servants and common people, Jin Ling understands his uncle is unlike any other. Unprecedented. Special.

He cannot think it's a bad thing - his uncle nursed him. Raised him. For all of his (some very obvious) faults there is no one Jin Ling loves and respects more. The fact of his physical strangeness is a downright blessing that allowed them to bond on a level deeper than would be otherwise possible. Jin Ling wouldn't dare to think less of his uncle for it.

...but he knew he's one of few.

As much as Jiang Cheng was respected as a capable leader and cultivator, as a man who single-handedly raised his sect from the ashes of destruction, as an alpha that stood by his people and protected them from evil...

As an alpha.

After the nightmare of Guanyin Temple Jin Ling is fully aware that trust should be rationed. Jin Guangyao taught him a lesson the boy carries with him ever since - people in power stay in power by using others. Just like Jin Guangyao used him as a hostage, just as he used his uncle's pain to stagger him in a fight. Any information can be used by these skillfull enough to grasp it.

And he'll be damned if he ever allows anyone to use his uncle again.

His strong and brave and amazing uncle - who is so sad and so hurt and so, so lonely.

A person with soft enough voice and thick enough face can easily take advantage of that loneliness and that hurt, and Jin Ling feels a growl growing in the back of his throat every time he thinks about someone like Jin Guangyao (not evil, but so horribly selfish) using his jiujiu like that. Slithering their way into his good graces and using his strangeness for their own ends. Blackmail or threats, or even disgust and scorn - thought of any of it directed at his uncle raises Jin Ling's hackles.

No, no one can be allowed that close. No one can be allowed a chance to uncover that secret. No one is allowed to hurt jiujiu anymore.

Jiang Wanyin raised and protected Jin Ling.

Now it's Jin Ling's job to protect him in return.

[archivyrep]

Creating Your Own History: Archival Themes in "The Watermelon Woman" [Part 1]

An archivist speaks to the film’s protagonist about having a “great system” to organize archival records within the community archive.

The Core Values Statement of the Society of American Archivists says that archivists should expand access, respect diversity found in humanity, and advocate for archival collections that reflect humanity’s complexity. [1] The reality is often different from that ideal in a field that is overwhelmingly White, as a recent article about Black archives pointed out. [2] This is evident in Cheryl Dunye’s 1996 romantic comedy-drama film, The Watermelon Woman, which the Library of Congress added to the National Film Registry in December 2021 for being “culturally, historically, or aesthetically significant.” [3] The film follows the story of one Black woman’s determined effort to create her own history and connect with the past. Although this eighty-six-minute mockumentary is over twenty-six years old, its themes of archival limits, power, silences, erasure, and fabrication continue to resonate today.

Reprinted from The American Archivist Reviews Portal. Thanks to Rose and Stephanie for their editing of this article! It was also posted on my Wading Through the Cultural Stacks WordPress blog on Jul. 5, 2022. This review contains some spoilers for the film The Watermelon Woman.

In the film, Cheryl Dunye plays a videographer (also named Cheryl Dunye) who works at a video rental store in Philadelphia with her friend Tamara (played by Valarie Walker). Cheryl watches a videocassette of an old 1930s film, Plantation Memories, and becomes interested in the character Elsie, a stereotypical ‘mammy’ character credited as “The Watermelon Woman.” She then strives to learn more about the actress who played Elsie. One of the first places Cheryl looks is in the basement of her mother’s house. Cheryl tells the audience that her mother, played by Irene Dunye, who is Cheryl’s mother in real life, throws nothing away. She says that Irene’s filing system needs updating. Her mother tells her about the films she watched growing up in the 1930s and notes that she saw “Elsie” singing in some clubs.

Cheryl continues her dogged search by talking to a person with a collection of old Black films and then traveling to the local public library, likely the Free Library of Philadelphia. After perusing the stacks, she checks out as many books as she can and talks to the reference librarian, a White man who is played by David Rakoff. Wanting information about the Watermelon Woman, she encounters her first archival limit, which scholars Sue McKemmish, Michael Piggott, Barbara Reed, Frank Upward, Jocelyn Fenton Stitt, and Sarah Tyson define as barriers created when documents pass into the hands of archival institutions from those who created them, inhibiting attempts to use records to tell family stories and circumscribing efforts to reclaim records about enslaved people. [4]

The librarian dismissively tells Cheryl to check the “Black,” “film,” and “women” sections of reference books for information about the Watermelon Woman. With much prodding, he eventually searches his computer and identifies Martha Page as the film’s director, telling Cheryl that information about Page is on a reserve desk on another floor. Although reserve desks serve students and faculty with materials typically meant for university courses, Cheryl is given an exception and is able to access the relevant information for her research. Yet, she is still unsuccessful because the materials she looks at don’t have exactly what she is looking for.

© 2022 Burkely Hermann. All rights reserved.

Notes

[1] “SAA Core Values Statement and Code of Ethics,” Society of American Archivists, accessed February 20, 2022, https://www2.archivists.org/statements/saa-core-values-statement-and-code-of-ethics.

[2] Harmeet Kaur, “How Black Archives Are Highlighting Overlooked Parts of History and Culture,” CNN, February 19, 2022, https://www.cnn.com/2022/02/19/us/black-archivists-history-culture-cec/index.html.

[3] Nancy Tartaglione, “National Film Registry Adds ‘Return Of The Jedi’, ‘Fellowship Of The Ring’, ‘Strangers On A Train’, ’Sounder’, ‘WALL-E’ & More,” Deadline Hollywood, December 21, 2021, https://deadline.com/2021/12/national-film-registry-2021-list-star-wars-return-of-the-jedi-fellowship-of-the-ring-sounder-nightmare-on-elm-street-wall-e-1234890666/. The film is available for rent on platforms such as Vimeo, Hulu, Apple TV, Prime Video, and BFI. I watched it, using my library card, on Kanopy. It can be watched free of charge on the Internet Archive.

[4] Sue McKemmish, Michael Piggott, Barbara Reed, and Frank Upward, Archives: Recordkeeping in Society (Amsterdam, Netherlands: Elsevier, 2005), 205; Jocelyn Fenton Stitt, Dreams of Archives Unfolded: Absence and Caribbean Life Writing (New York: Rutgers University Press, 2021), 42; Sarah Tyson, Where Are the Women?: Why Expanding the Archive Makes Philosophy Better (New York, Columbia University Press, 2018), 148.

[razorblade180]

Class Reunion

[Bazaar]

Collei:It’s so nice to be in the city for a change!

Cyno:Is that right? It can get rather tiresome.

Tighnari:And noisy.

Collei:You two are just downers… I mean look!

A giant crowd claps and cheers several feet away as music plays.

Cyno:Nilou is probably preforming.

Collei:Wow. I don’t know if I could handle that many people watching me. Nilou sure had a talent for it.

Nilou:*walks up* That’s nice of you to say.

The trio turns their head to see the dancer sipping out of a straw with Aether standing beside her with his own drink.

Tighnari:…What are you doing?

Aether:Watching the performance and having smoothies.

Collei:Okay…but who’s causing the crowd!?

Nilou smiles and hands the girl her drink. Gracefully, she sways and dips further away towards the crowd which opens up for her. Collei and Cyno’s brain stop working as they realize the person dancing is Lisa. The academic beauty is completely at peace as she charms the crowd with deliberate and serpent like hip sways that roll up her body as she twirls to the music. It doesn’t take long before she makes eye contact with the group of friends.

Tighnari:Isn’t that-

Cyno:Yes.

Collei:What is she doing here!?

Aether:Long story. A shorter story is her winking at me and Nilou then saying “I’m gonna show you something you’ll never see outside the city.” Then proceeded to drop jaws.

Tighnari:You seem fine.

Aether:You missed the part where they both thought it would be funny to dance in a circle around me. I was panicking inside.

Collei:Hehe, I should tell Amber that.

Aether:You underestimate how gay your hero is. She knows what Lisa is all about.

Cyno:Is it gay if it’s Lisa? She’s always been like this. The fact she remembers the moves despite rarely showing up to the class speaks volumes.

Collei:…The Akademia has a dance class?

Tighnari:Pfft, they’d never make an official class. It’s more like an unspoken yet quite mandatory elective. So many people come to Sumeru to take knowledge; memorizing traditional dances and music that are deeply rooted in this land’s culture is basically preservation and in a way, a fee.

Cyno: “You shall not learn only what you want and take with you the knowledge you desired. You will leave with more. You will leave with Sumeru itself to share.” It’s one of the better rules. I’ve seen even the proudest of Inazuman’s become enriched in our culture as if they lived here their entire life.

Aether:That’s pretty cool. Wait, so you two know how to dance?

Tighnari:Absolutely not.

Cyno:What’s dancing?

If only denial was that easy. It might’ve been if Lisa wasn’t there. The Librarian of Mondstadt had slowly been dancing her way over until Cyno could no longer ignore her. Many who didn’t know their relationship were both shocked and flustered as Lisa gently brushed his bang out of his face, keeping her eyes locked on his like I viper. There were inches between them yet she dared to swing her hips like rolling waves with a smug grin before slowly walking backwards while curling her finger for him to follow.

Peer pressure doesn’t mean anything to Cyno. He’s as calm as they come, yet somehow Lisa always managed to pull invisible strings. The man let out a sigh as he smirked. He listened to the heavy beat of the drums, moving his hips with power and accuracy as he joined Lisa. They still haven’t broke eye contact! Meanwhile even Tighnari was left speechless. Lisa truly was powerful!

Cyno:Always something whenever you’re around.

Lisa:You always were my favorite dance partner. Just like old times.

Cyno:Except you’re sober.

Lisa:Hahaha~

Tighnari:I’ve seen it all now.

Aether and Collei:We haven’t…

Tighnari:…*red* No.

Collei:Please Master! I’ll even join if you teach me!

Tighnari:What happened to never wanting this kind of attention!?

Collei:When’s the last time anything has looked this fun! Our friends are here and I feel great! Why watch!? *eyes sparkling*

Aether:(Tiny Amber…) You’re not gonna deny your precious student a core memory and learning experience are you?

Tighnari:I…The song is almost over anyways.

The tempo suddenly increases. An outburst of cheer suddenly comes from a second group of people moving towards the center to join. As it opens up, Nilou claps excitedly as Kaveh joins in with flair to add to their party. His movements were more like Lisa’s, grand and flowing. Lisa may have even challenged him if she didn’t get distracted by the pure joy that was Tighnari holding Collei by the hand as they joined her and Cyno. The Forest Ranger was already attracting eyes with the way his tail swayed with the beat.

Lisa:Well look who it is! You really are feeling better.

Collei:Just promise not to laugh okay?

Lisa:I would never!

Cyno:Glad you could join us.

Tighnari:Hush.

Aether slowly turns to look at the entrance Kaveh came in. Al Haitham is watching in disbelief. For a moment, they lock eyes. Al Haitham promptly turns around and leaves the Bazaar. Aether expected nothing less, yet somehow he was still disappointed. He didn’t get much time to feel that way. Nilou had gotten close again to take his hand and drag him to the middle.

Aether:Wait!

Nilou:Nuh uh. Show me your moves. I taught you a little.

Aether:Nilou, these hips do in fact lie.

Nilou:I’ll make them talk.

He folded immediately. Some battles you don’t win. Nilou wasn’t particularly familiar with what must’ve been taught in the school, but that didn’t matter. Music was her life and following the beat was her job. The dancer not only had the most control, but was admittedly a bit of a show off. Each beat was in synch with the isolated movement she gave her left hip, using it to guide the rest of her actions as she focused on Aether. He could see Lisa trying not to giggle at him as he did tamer, yet joyful movements. It’s not that he was bad, Aether just knew he was out his depth. Still, Nilou was more than happy to share this moment with him and everyone else.

Paimon: *takes pictures* Hehehe, blackmail…

Katheryne:Take some for me too.

Paimon:!? Nahida?

Katheryne:Shh *smiles* Just a friendly face enjoying the moment.

[bonfire-at-the-crossroads]

The StoneyWoods Festival was the brainchild of Ciaran and other folk in Kiltyclogher who have suffered the loss of a loved one. It began a few years ago after several of our beloved friends and family passed away - LONG before their time.

Ciaran and Caroline’s 17 year old son went out for a jog and died along the road.

Alison and Fergus 4 year old son died of the flu.

Orla the village librarian hung herself, and was discovered by her husband.

The man who organized and ran the youth boxing club got some sort of kidney infection - and was dead in week or two. He was in his early 40’s and fit as a fiddle.

The festival was organized to celebrate their lives - and ALL lives. No matter how painful or mundane our time on earth may seem, it is WORTH THE LIVING.

Music, games and competitions for the village children - a big old barbecue for everybody in town to come out and munch a burger or two, and chat with our neighbors. It has run for several years now - and is something the village can look forward to when the days get brighter and the weather finally gets warmer…

******************************

Ciaran came out to the studio the other afternoon to pick up the clock I repaired.

In a remarkable day of clear sunshine - we sat together drinking mugs of tea and munching fresh soda bread - with the sunlight on our backs and the clock ticking away on the wall….

Peace and quiet sometimes produces good talk. Talk that might not easily happen outside of the limnal space of the studio.

We talked about the recent deaths of two men in the village.

“He went out to the barn and put a bag over his head. He hung himself. His wife found him.”

“He had an old shotgun. He went out to the field. His wife found him.”

Two men with wives and children - in their 30’s and early 40’s - committed suicide within one week of one another. This, in a village of less than 200 souls. This in a silent, seemingly peaceful place of gentle days and quiet nights. Blurred rain and hanging mist - blazing stars and the sharp slice of new moon.

Death dealt from their own hands…

Ciaran is rattled to his core. Something has broken

Words are blunt tools. We sit quietly side by side. The clock ticks behind us.

“Both of these men were integral to the making of the StoneyWoods Festival. I talked to “——“ that morning about organizing the fishing competition. We have €300 to provide materials and he wants to keep using the old bamboo rods anyway….14 hours later? He is dead.”

We spoke of cancer. “They tell me they got ALMOST all of it….” And we sit in silence.

A woman we both admire has gotten a terrible reoccurrence -“ and she’s not doing well.” he tells me.

“I don’t know what to do about the Festival.” He turns to look at me.

“At this point it will just be me marching up and down the street holding up your poster. There is nobody else left.”

The Festival which was built to promote life and punch back against suicide - may not take place this year.

Because the people who work and make all the plans

Killed themselves.

[heliads]

YOUR REQUESTS ARE OPEN, I’M SO HAPPY, AHHHHH!!!

Okay, so I’ve had a few ideas for requests to send in to you, but of course my first one is for The Magnificent Seven!! I would like to request my beloved Goodnight Robicheaux with a gender-neutral reader in a modern AU, where Goody’s a veteran moving into a small town and opening up a shooting range after retiring from the military (and maybe the rest of the Seven are his old friends from when he served), and he falls in love with the town librarian? Basically just kind of a cute Hallmark movie-style Southern romance. <3

Thanks in advance, bestie, and I hope you’re doing well!! 🖤

'a new story' - goodnight robicheaux

masterlist

If there’s any place to meet somebody, it would have to be the public library. Every day, from the moment you open the doors to the minute they’re closed in the evening, you witness a steady parade of all kinds of people here on all kinds of business. There’s the usual crowd of exhausted parents with exuberant kids in the childrens’ section, then the frantic researchers, the laptop-laden students. There’s always a good-sized group on the computers, not to mention the people picking up their holds or perusing the endless aisles. Always the same story. Always the same faces.

As one of the head librarians, you’ve had plenty of years to study the constant cycle of customers. You’ve had time to watch kids grow into teenagers and leave for university, plus the steady progression of literary tastes, like when avid science fiction fans start to reach for the nonfiction titles instead of just their favorite series. This means that you know most of the regulars pretty well. It also means that, when a stranger comes to town, it’ll be sooner or later before they drop by the library.

It’s a small town. Gossip spreads faster than the morning news. You’ve heard word of a house sold on one of the eastern roads of town, then a score of empty cardboard boxes piled in the front yard as its new inhabitant moved in. Although you’ve yet to see the newcomer for yourself, rumor has it that he’s a kind-looking man who tends to stick to himself. He’s supposedly opening up a shooting range on the far side of town, which would agree with the pre-conceived notion that he’s a military veteran returning from service.

A few of your friends have taken it upon themselves to go on drives together that coincidentally end up past the newcomer’s house. You’ve never joined one of those reconnaissance missions, despite their urging; why bother? At some point, he’ll end up crossing your threshold. The library’s a core part of your small town. Everyone comes here eventually.

This inevitability is apparently not a belief shared by your friends. They roll their eyes and tease you about your distaste for snooping, but happily relate their intel anyway. The man’s name is Goodnight Robicheaux, likely a nickname from his military days. They’ve invited him to a few social events along with the rest of the town, but he rarely shows up, and on the odd occasion that he is there, will only linger for a few minutes before leaving again. They would scorn him for it, but it’s obvious that the man is quite shy, so his absence can’t be blamed on any disinclination for the town.

Your patience is rewarded a week or two after Goodnight’s arrival to town when he darkens the door of the library one sunny morning. You’re at the circulation desk, as per usual, so you have the perfect view of the front door when he shows up. The man must be Goodnight; you know everyone else, so you can’t resist a few curious glances snuck his way. Silver occasionally threads through his dark hair, and his eyes continuously scan the room, as if searching for someone hiding in the shadows.

Goodnight hesitates by the door, looking as if he’d like to approach your desk but a little too wary to commit to the task. You’re trying to decide whether you should wave at him or something, but you’re interrupted by a young girl running up to your desk to ask where she can find books on rocket ships.

You answer her with a smile, listening to all of her eager facts about outer space before pointing her to the childrens’ science section and giving her a call number scrawled down on a Post-It note so she can find a few books. This little encounter must win you over in Goodnight’s mind, because you can see him smiling at the scene out of your peripheral vision, and once the little girl leaves, he takes her place in front of the circulation desk.

“‘Morning,” he says cautiously.

“Good morning,” you return, “You must be Goodnight.”

The corners of his lips flick up into a grin, and it occurs to you that you probably shouldn’t know this, having never met him before today. “I think you’re a little more acquainted with me than I am.”

Your cheeks heat up and you look at the desk in front of you, it’s less triumphant than his smile. “My apologies. Gossip flies around here.”

“Oh, I can understand that,” he says. “I’ll accept your apology, but only if you give me your name, too. I reckon it would be unfair if you knew me but I didn’t know you. It’s hardly a proper way to start a friendship.”

You risk a glance up towards him, but his smile is warm this time, so you give him a smile in return. “I’d like that very much. My name is Y/N, Y/N L/N.”

He nods. “Y/N L/N. Lovely name. It suits you.”

You laugh. “Do you flirt with every stranger you meet?”

“Only the nice ones,” he supplies.

“I’ll take that,” you allow. “What can I do for you today, Mr. Robicheaux?”

“Call me Goodnight, please,” he insists, “And I’d love to sign up for a library card, if that wouldn’t cause you too much trouble. There are a couple of books I’d like to check out on running a small business. It can’t hurt to stay informed.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” you breeze, rummaging through your desk for the application form and a pen.

Goodnight retreats to a nearby table to fill out the form, although he returns to you straight away, and the two of you end up talking for far longer than is strictly necessary to turn in the form. You’ve just met him, but you’re already quite fond of his company. He’s got a certain cadence to his words that gives you the sense that he’s choosing them carefully, like he needs every syllable to be perfect so he can win you over. It makes you feel important, and although every new man in town probably wants to make a good first impression, you swear Goodnight is trying extra hard with you.

Eventually, he’s forced away for business, and he tells you his farewells with no small amount of reluctance. You watch him leave, one hand propping up your chin so you can pine appropriately.

One of your coworkers swings by, eyeing the closing door with intrigue. “You know, I think that’s the longest conversation he’s had with anyone here. Interesting.”

“If you consider other people’s day-to-day conversations interesting, I suppose it would be,” you say crisply, choosing to fix up a stack of bookmarks on the corner of the circulation desk instead of meeting her fascinated gaze.

The other librarian laughs. “I do when the two of you are flirting that much. I didn’t realize working up front gave you that much invitation for good-looking men to smile at you like that, or I would have tried to switch positions with you ages ago.”

“That’s your loss,” you laugh, but you can’t help a proud smile from lingering on your lips. 

You quite like the idea of Goodnight sticking by you the longest, even if it probably means nothing. The idea that it could mean something is quite exciting to you. The reason for that is, of course, pointless to describe, but the aftereffects are nothing short of captivating.

When a week passes by without a single sight of the man, though, you’re starting to think that you may have misread things after all. Just when you’re giving up the last of your hopes of a meet-cute situation, the bell over the door chimes and into the library walks Goodnight Robicheaux. Smiling. Looking directly at you. 

Unable to help yourself, you smile back at home. Ignoring the aisles of books on either side of him, Goodnight walks to you and stops on the other side of the circulation desk, hands in his pockets. 

“So,” he says.

“So,” you repeat.

He gives you a look of faint, humored consternation before continuing. “I tried coming in here once before, you know. You weren’t there.”

“I apologize on behalf of my schedule,” you smile. “I’m sorry to have missed you.”

“It’s not your fault,” he says hastily. “I just didn’t want you thinking that I didn’t try to come sooner. We’re both busy, that’s all.”

“That we are,” you agree. “I’m glad to see you back, though. If that counts for anything.”

Goodnight’s face comes alive with a smile. “It does. Say, since we’re both so busy, how about I get to know you outside of work? I’d love to take you out to dinner sometime, if that’s not too forward of me.”

You do your best to maintain a straight face, but it’s hard not to let a beaming smile slip through. “I’d like that a lot, Goodnight.”

“Good,” he says, looking relieved, “Good. How about Friday night? I can pick you up.”

You tilt your head to the side, considering this. “What about if I come to you? I’d like to see your range, if that’s alright.”

Judging by the proud look in his eyes, that’s more than alright with him. “I’d like nothing more,” he admits.

You think that you would quite happily stay there talking all day, but you’re called away soon enough on librarian business, and Goodnight has to return to his range, and so the two of you are split up again. This time, though, the parting is sweeter than before, because you know you’re going to see him again soon.

Friday can’t come quickly enough. You put on your finery and catch a ride to Goodnight’s shooting range. You haven’t actually been here before, too scared to show up without him inviting you and be obvious in your need to be around him, so you’re glad for the excuse to walk around.

It’s fairly obvious that you’re not dressed for shooting, so you linger in the lobby instead of going too far inside. One of the employees is lingering by the reception desk, his black hair pulled into a knot near the top of his head. He’s talking to a woman behind the counter, but he straightens up when he sees you.

“Hi,” you say cautiously. “I’m looking for Goodnight. Is he around?”

The man smiles. “You must be Y/N. Yeah, he’s just down the corner, I can walk you over there myself. I’ll see you later, Emma.”

The woman– Emma– smiles and waves him off. You and the dark-haired man set off down the hallway towards the center of the range. “I’m Y/N, but I think you already knew that.”

The man chuckles. “Trust me, Goody talks about you enough that all of us had a general picture. I’m Billy, by the way.”

You nod. “It’s nice to meet you, Billy.” You pause, and then, unable to resist, ask, “So Goodnight’s been talking about me?”

Billy shakes his head ruefully. “You’re the only thing he wants to talk about. Only good things, I promise. He’s a good man. I’ve never known him to badmouth anybody, least of all you. Truth is, I’ve been hoping to meet you for a while now. Goodnight’s one of my oldest friends, we met back during our military days. If someone’s important to him, they’re important to me, too.”

You hum in agreement. “I didn’t realize he had friends in the area, I thought he just moved here.”

Billy nods. “He did, but we moved here first, and he wanted the company. Most of us joined the service to pay for college, and Goody’s been pushing it off for as long as he can. Just got back recently, he did, but we’re all plenty glad to see him again. He’s a good man, Y/N. He deserves good things.”

You meet his gaze steadily. “I know. I hope he gets them, too.”

When you don’t back down, Billy manages a half-smile, as if you’ve passed some sort of test. “Goody’ll be in his office. We’re almost there.”

You glance around at the rows of equipment. “Does he teach classes?”

“You’ll have to ask him,” Billy answers firmly. “That’s Goodnight’s story to tell. The rest of us manage when we can, although I’ve always been more fond of knives than guns.”

The two of you reach the door of Goodnight’s office. Coming to a stop, Billy says, “It was nice to meet you, Y/N,” and you get the sense that he genuinely means it.

“It was nice to meet you too,” you answer him. 

Once Billy leaves, all that’s left to do is knock on the door. Goodnight answers almost immediately, calling for you to come in. He’s seated at his desk when you arrive, but looks up when you open the door. His jaw actually drops when he sees you, and he straightens up at once, standing up to walk over to you.

“Don’t you look special,” he says. “I must be the luckiest man in this whole town to be the one who gets to go out with you.”

You laugh. “Funny, I was about to say the same thing.”

He chuckles, leading you to the door and back out into the sprawling complex of the shooting range. “Everything seems so well organized here,” you marvel. “I can’t believe it all opened up so recently.”

Goodnight sighs ruefully. “It’s been plenty longer than that in the making, trust me. I was fortunate enough to have friends who were willing to pitch in on my harebrained idea.”

“Yes, I met one of them when I arrived,” you comment. “Billy, I think. He was very nice.”

Goodnight perks up when he hears that you met Billy. “Yes, he’s one of my oldest friends. I take it the two of you hit it off?”

“Very well,” you answer.

“Perfect,” Goodnight muses. “He’s an excellent man. Quite knowledgeable about just about everything.”

You nod, glancing around you at the mess of customers coming and going. “I agree. Oh, I meant to ask– do you ever teach classes here? I wouldn’t mind brushing up a little for some self defense.”

To your surprise, Goodnight shakes his head firmly. “Not in the slightest. I don’t take well to guns. I used them plenty back when I was still a part of the service, but those days are over. If I never picked up a gun for the rest of my life, I’d be quite happy about it.”

You frown. “Why’d you open up a place like this if you don’t like being around guns? If you don’t mind me asking, that is.”

He just lifts a shoulder. “I don’t mind. Truth is, I’m not too sure of that myself. My best reasoning is just that it’s the only thing I know how to do.”

“I can understand that plenty well,” you agree. “Regardless, business seems to be doing well. By all accounts, your venture seems to be a success.”

Goodnight looks at the ground, evidently pleased. “Well, I’d be glad to receive a compliment from you any day. Enough about business, though. I believe we have a date, and I’d like to start on that as soon as I can.”

You laugh. “That’s perfectly fine with me.”

You allow Goodnight to lead you out of the complex and into the crisp night air. Evening is falling fast, and the streetlights shine a path forward to the rest of the town. This is only the beginning of the story, hardly even the first chapter, but already, you can tell that it’s going to be a good one. There will be more dates, more laughter, more quiet smiles shared over candlelight. You intend on chasing each and every one.

requested by @faerieroyal, i hope you enjoy!

magnificent seven tag list: empty for now!

all tags list: @wordsarelife

[nvrcmplt]

i have to ask, do any of your muses ( namely the newest ones ) have any connections to one another ?

My latest lads? O:

WELL I'M GLAD YOU ASKED.

-taps whiteboard-

Galo is connected to Tzvult and Lumah - My trio of human turned mage-gods for the fae community. They are an old set of folks that were tossed across time and space through Tzvult's violent grief over the death of his family, people and kingdom in a sense. Though misplaced in the universe, they aren't that strange to the elements of today's world; they left a version of Earth to this Earth. They are all connected to Tzila, Uyahrin, Hendrikson and his group. :D

Gunter, my hell horse is connected to Beschutzer and Weissager, he is an equine of hellish delights, a rare offspring of Apocalypse horses. War and Death to be exact. He is a breed known for running through the aftermaths of War to swallow souls and bring the lost to damnation. He is pretty much the opposite of a Valkyrie! He was often used in the times of Earth's horse era - under Beschutzer's order to blend in. He misses the role it was a fun time! ( He is also Beschutzer's horse in Ancient Egypt, thus he knows of Atem, Beschutzer's true love and knows of Weissager's lover, Nanami's soul. ) He and Weissager are on good terms, often to play board games of Chess or Checkers in the background.

Eli is connected to Tyler, Vorvya, Lilu - my demons :D He is a summoner consultant, he is very good at understanding one's core, mind and magics thus he'll give the advice needed for newbies to when it comes to contracts and the likes. He is rather greedy with Grimoires, mostly for a collection need, but also because he has a fate drawn duty to look after books of the oddity on Earth's realm.

Melphis is Arius' Lich Magacian, he was killed udner false charges at a King's feet with his family, friends and pretty much his entire village. Arius came across him when he was but a younglin Necromancer and promised him aid in revenge. Melphis was a strong sorcerer, and with the corruption of Necromancy - his holy magics twisted and contorted into a mass of black magic - anti-magic to that extent too. He is a powerful beast, that found his peace, but with a new desire to look after Arius.

He likes to call himself the Librarian of the castle walls too.

Isami is Naruto verse only, atm - I don't think i'll make him anything else, because it's not in my mind for that. He is Naruto versed all the way so I'll keep that to that bubble! Heavily involved with @stovthearted's Asuma!

Osamu, my newest bleach shinigami is besties with my Uekawa too, they hang out sometimes when he can run away from duties. They eat together often, Osamu one of the few that can witness Uekawa's face without the masked man feeling self-conscious.

Baeorn is part of Hendrikson's crew! Thus he is a good friend with Einri, Mat'phew, Locien, Luit, Vuir, Pistrix, and Pistris. He is a spearman, and with a wooping height of 12 ft 3, he's a big big boi. Part Giant uw u

Václav is a stand alone ATM, but am thinking Clarence knows of him, cause he always knows all my mafia/yakuza based boos. He is a mix of bad and good, a property owner but also a loan shark at the same time so he's got his fingers in the pies. I'd like to say he could pay Fushimi for protection money in some areas for his homes. but am still thinkin' it over! uw u Still debating if I wanna keep him human or make him like Itachi w/ a animal clan -wink-

Any more questions? :D

[noirandchocolate]

I posted 3,176 times in 2022

271 posts created (9%)

2,905 posts reblogged (91%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@thefloatingstone

@rukafais

@uncannycory

@ordinarytalk

@toldentops

I tagged 2,923 of my posts in 2022

Only 8% of my posts had no tags

#terry pratchett - 317 posts

#discworld - 294 posts

#stardew valley - 181 posts

#gnu terry pratchett - 157 posts

#kidk says stuff - 123 posts

#dracula daily - 118 posts

#dracula - 116 posts

#homestuck - 105 posts

#hollow knight - 98 posts

#undertale - 94 posts

Longest Tag: 137 characters

#yeah i’d been seeing this and thinking ‘but wolves have been in yellowstone for quite a while now…’ and ‘aren’t coyotes native to there?’

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

We all joke about how silly Terry Pratchett’s character names can be, particularly as regards a certain golden conman, but everyone MUST agree that he was EXTREMELY good at naming witches:

Esmerelda Weatherwax Gytha Ogg Magrat Garlick Perspicacia Tick ”Black” Aliss Demurrage Erzulie Gogol Hilta Goatfounder Desiderata Hollow Gwinifer Blackcap Beryl Dismass Ammeline Hamstring

and the undisputed victor in the Best Name Ever Finals,

Eumenides Treason

1,044 notes - Posted August 25, 2022

#4

Twitter Refugees, these words are for you alone.

Beyond this point you enter the land of Reblogs and Old Memes.

Step across this threshold and obey our laws.

Bear witness to the last and only chronological content feed, the eternal Dashboard.

Tumblrnest.

1,304 notes - Posted October 29, 2022

#3

I just think it’s fun that the Librarian is one of the longest-running characters in the Discworld series, right alongside Rincewind.  He was in The Colour of Magic!  He appears in so many books, too, in a few of the different book-arcs and even the standalones!

But at the same time, I also think it’s hilarious that the Librarian was turned into an orangutan within the timespan the series covers.  It happened during The Light Fantastic.  And yet by the time of Sourcery and Guards! Guards!, just a few books later, people are just like ‘oh that’s the Librarian.’  It’s not just wizards who accept this as mundane reality, even!  The Librarian goes out on the town regularly enough that many regular Ankh-Morpork citizens have already learned the golden rule which is Don’t Call the Librarian a Monkey, not too long after his transformation!

This is so realistic to human nature tbh, and yet still wild to think about.

1,488 notes - Posted August 30, 2022

#2

No one is finally dead until the ripples they cause in the world die away—until the clock he wound up winds down, until the wine she made has finished its ferment, until the crop they planted is harvested. The span of someone’s life, they say, is only the core of their actual existence.

--“Reaper Man”

‘Haven’t you ever heard the saying “Man’s not dead while his name is still spoken”?’

--”Going Postal”

People will always remember the songs he never had the chance to sing.   And they will be the greatest songs of all. Live your life in a moment. And then live forever.  Don’t fade away.

--“Soul Music”

Terry Pratchett 4/28/48-3/12/15-GNU

3,664 notes - Posted March 12, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Me Directing My Extremely Well-Bred Little Cocker Spaniel to Eat a Fly That’s Been Buzzing Around My Office Annoying Me: Right there! Get it!

My Dog: HORFHORGSLURP

My Ancient Ancestors Who Domesticated Wolves: *ghostly cheers*

4,108 notes - Posted January 4, 2022

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